My dear friend Rafiq, whom I'd known from my school years, took me into confidence and told me about his life, thus cementing our friendship that stretched for a long span. Now, how much of it is true and how much not, I can't say but as a judge of character, I know he's not the kind of friend or person you would want to be associated with, but I had no problems with him. The rest is up to you, the reader.
Rafiq and his family hailed from the Bihari and Bengali Muslim families, mostly comprising of the people who were direct descendants of families who had either stayed back or fled the post-partition violence in 1947 from East Bengal now known as Bangladesh.
His parents had struggled a lot during the initial years of their move, especially to provide for the family of five. Rafiq was the second youngest among his three siblings. I don't recall the eldest brother's name, but the youngest was Abdul, I believe, who was a very cheerful, smart boy.
Rafiq's parents were Abida, his mom and his father was known to everyone as 'Komal' kaka for his craftsmanship with tools that he used to make in the local Bazaar.
Now, the whole family were all settled in Malda, which was the most dominant Muslim area in Rural West Bengal and quite content over there. Keeping away from the most orthodoxical sects of the area, Komal kaka had made sure his sons were provided the best of education and had no interruptions, especially by local maulvis who used to constantly pressurize them to make his sons attend the local madrasas.
But Abida, his wife, was not very much lucky as she had to spend a lot of time in the cramped house in their Zilla, which is like a district there and so had to contend with certain traditions that she was not comfortable with but quick to adopt. And it was the only way she would even be allowed inside the local women's society so she didn't complain.
I remember Rafiq's joining day at our school. He had to travel several miles away to where the school was and where I lived, the areas he considered posh and filthy rich. He was seated next to me and I was introduced to, what would become, one of my best friends.
Now, when we were teenagers, I of course understood the feeling of sharing everything with your most close friend but what Rafiq shared with me, made me feel claustrophobic. His stories or antics, that happened in his house and locality left me baffled and at times quite disgusted. But it did leave me in anticipation for more and that even he knew.
Like for instance, he told me about the time he first masturbated. I told him to shut up, as I didn't want to hear it, instead he continued to tell me the time his own mother caught him doing so.
"Are you serious?" I asked, befuddled.
"Yes, you fool. Don't you believe what I say to you? I was going to bathe in the local pool with Bhai and Abdul, but I reached quite early there before them. Usually I jump in with my underwear but then I decided not to and completely naked, I began walking towards the pool. Beside us, everyday in the river, there are these washerwomen who come for their work. I saw one girl among them, playing with her female friend and it suddenly made me horny. Like an idiot, I sat down at the edge of the concrete slab from where we jumped in and began to stroke my dick. I don't know when, but behind me Ammi was coming towards me to tell me something. She saw me masturbating and lost it. She began to cuss me and curse me. Abida goes completely bonkers, you know."
It was shocking to hear him say about his mother catching him masturbating, like it was nothing. But I left it out and didn't judge him. At times, I thought of ridding myself of him as my parents didn't like me to roam around with him, but I didn't want to leave him yet at the time.
We were now in the midst of joining our respective colleges. Dad wanted me to take up medicine as he had a pharmacy of his own and so I had obliged. Rafiq on the other hand was undecided and I was now with him, waiting and helping him decide what the fuck he wanted to do.
Sitting on Rafiq's low terraced roof, we could mostly see the distant slums of Malda to our front and to our backs was an impressive lineup of the city. Both sides were pretty shit but seeing the contrast reminded me or us of the parallels of our community.
Rafiq handed me a smoke as he stared into the sight before him, from the packet he'd forced me to buy as it was prohibited in his house and I gladly took it, inhaling once before I coughed softly.
"I'm gonna be a fucking pornstar, that's what."
"What did you say?"
"A pornstar, that's what I'll be. Or a writer. Of erotic fiction."
I sniggered. "You will write erotica? With that shit mouth of yours?"
"Abe bhosdike (dirty slang word), I have a dirty enough mind to compensate for it."
"That you do. But I think it's time you got real, eh? Look at me." He didn't. Just grabbed the cigarette from my hand and jabbed it in his mouth, before taking a puff.
"Shit man, I know you mean well. But I think I'm taking up on the offer, you know. From the matchmaker."
"What the-- you wanna get married now?"
"Look, I suck at studying, man. I tried ok, I fucking did. Didn't work. No big deal. I make this work out, I'll start making lakhs. Maybe.. "
He said looking at me smiling, "Maybe, I'll even be richer than you."
"Dream on."
We got down and waltzed into his lower house. I had been here first when Rafiq had brought me back in our school days. His mom, Abida, took a liking to me so I reciprocate the same. She mostly appeared, covered from head to toe in a black burqa with only her face uncovered. Today was the same. I saw her and greeted her. But when I saw her eyes, they looked moist like she was crying and she hurried off to the kitchen.
Puzzled, I looked at my friend who brushed it off as overacting. After my insisting though, he relented.
"It's Mousumi Kaki. She's been here for the past week and Abida is all worked up about it."
Rafiq had mentioned Mousumi before. She was supposed to be Rafiq's aunt or something. She and his father had once been married and kept visiting him, after her husband had left her.
'Mousumi is a slut. Plain and simple', is what Rafiq had said, when I asked about her. She was a very curvaceous woman, who had birthed enough children for a classroom and had an enormous sex appeal. She was like a bull of a woman, but seductive. She usually sweet talked her way out or used her much sought after pussy, Rafiq said.
I turned to the sound of groans and moaning coming from the common bedroom. I listened closely to it. I thought I recognized Rafiq's father among the voices shouting. I looked stunned at my friend, who merely shrugged me off and sat down on the sofa, the only piece of furniture in the room.
Rafiq's house was small. Like really small. It was in a T shape, with the main hall attached to the kitchen and dining area then leading to a narrow corridor, which had a common bathroom and a bedroom on either side. The rooms were also quite small, so the bedroom where the noises were coming from was quite clear.
"Yep. Those two fuck like rabbits when they're together. All talks of Haram and sin become bullshit when the 'man of the house' demands. Making Ammi, bhai and me his fucking slaves, the wily madarchod."
I just decided to keep my mouth shut for the time being but he wasn't allowing me to. He nudged me to say something.
"Speak up. I know you're thinking about what's going on in there."
"It's nothing like that man, but is there a problem between aunty and uncle. Like does your mom not, you know... "
"Does Abida not satisfy my father you mean? I have no clue. But no man, I mean just look at Ammi, isn't she desirable enough?"
"Chutiya, that's your mom we're talking about."
"So what? I'm just saying, look, just stop looking at her like my mom and see her as a woman. You don't like what you see?"
I looked at his mother's direction in the kitchen. Through the small gaps between the curtains, I could make out the fine structure of her firm ass cheeks and of course I did feel horny thinking about them, while feeling weird for the same.
"Yeah dude. She is definitely... Nice."
"Nice? Just nice, my ass. I know she's fucking hot. You do too."
"Ok I agree. But shit man, it's your mom."
"Will it surprise you if I say I lust for her?"
"Actually, no. Knowing the kind of perverse bastard that you are, it isn't shocking. Much."
"Yeah you fuck. I know all sons lust for their moms..."
"That's a lie."
"Well some of them. But I definitely want to get a shot at Mousumi, man."
"Really, you have the balls to fuck the woman who's your father's mistress?"
"I do. In fact, I'll make her agree to a threesome with us both." He laughed.
As evening came by, I left the house. The next day, in my dad's pharmacy, Hasina and I were the ones working. Hasina was from a Bihari family, who lived in the slums. Her family was poor and she was the sole breadwinner in her family. She had just finished her first year in the government college for medicine where I too was and we were quite close, though her being a Muslim meant our union was not acceptable.
