lather (standard:romance, 3412 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Apr 11 2010	Views/Reads: 3108/1933	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Relations may wither...they do not die

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

ocean. I vividly remember having had the opportunity of being seated 
with her in this manner in a restaurant and I had deliberately 
straddled up my feet to get the feel of her touch...she had at once 
recoiled and her eyes had betrayed a tinge of passion...her lips had 
puckered into a thin smile and had looked at me stealthily...but now... 


Now having traversed through the long passage of spent years of our
lives, we were at the stage  where touching of feet can only be 
construed as a mere coincidence rather than a planned event. It was not 
my intention to have the feel of her person...it was just an accidental 
and a worthless touch devoid of any feeling at all...and we sat as 
nonchalantly as we could. She had not withdrawn her feet, nor did I 
make any effort to withdraw mine. We continued to sit in that posture: 
no bud had sprouted, nor any ants had weaved webs around, nor for that 
matter she had covetously looked at me to make any magical impact .  
Having crossed the bridge of twenty years, at this juncture of life 
where we stood now even the rustle of dry leaves was also not 
discernible. 

When the waiter came I asked her what she would like to have: tea or
coffee. In reply, she named my favorite snacks. It surprised me no ends 
that she remembered it all so very clearly that I ... 

Coffee arrived. We began to sip it slowly. She was peering down on the
table while I was surveying vacant space in front of me. In the 
meantime, I once observed her closely. She had taken care to comb in a 
manner that an occasion grey or two was visible and on the temple on 
both sides birds appeared to have made signs of claws. Finding me 
watching her closely, she recoiled a little and a flicker of smile 
emerged on her lips like thin ripples on water and then subsided... 

I enjoyed it all....seated together side by side, sipping coffee quietly
and occasional attempts to furtively look at one another, thin lines of 
smile flickering in and flickering out... 

Our legs were still in contact and no one made any conscious effort to
sit properly. It seemed to me that our past was trapped moribund 
between our legs and despite our efforts we were not able to disengage 
ourselves...as though we were in need of this touch...this moribund 
touch indicative of our past...there was no thrill in this touch...no 
mystery...just an illusion...the illusion of living in the 
past...illusion of re-living those moments of the past...the illusion 
of a relationship that never was...my eyes fell on the cup. There was 
very little coffee in it...., one or two droughts more and the end of 
the story...we will pay the bill, rise from there and from under the 
table our past will fall like a dead bird and will be buried....just a 
few draughts more...the illusion of reliving those moments of the past 
was scheduled to terminate at this point of... 

Gulping down the last drought of coffee she asked whether rooms were
available in this hotel....I nodded in the negative and said this was 
only a restaurant... and my flat was close by... 

Suddenly it occurred to me that I had given an absurd answer...she was
not asking anything about where I resided...she had merely asked if 
rooms were available here and I volunteered information about my flat 
which was uncalled for...these days I was living alone in my 
flat...wife had gone to her father’s and all the three children lived 
in hostels. 

I then remembered. In one of the earlier meetings while sipping coffee,
I had tried to touch her from under the table and had enquired from the 
waiter whether or not rooms were available... but it was an 
indiscreetly made enquiry...there was no design, no selfish intents and 
today she had repeated those very words and I had immediately told her 
about my flat...perhaps it had some relation with the past and 
somewhere in our subconscious we were feeling a pang of it...to me a 
room in the hotel and a lonely flat were two ends of the same rope and 
my desire to get closer to her was nothing but my own unrequited love 
that was spread out like dirty linen on this rope... 

It surprised me that she had a clear imprint in her heart of every
detail of our past. The yawning gap of twenty years had not been able 
to erase the memory of those days; for that matter, none of us had been 
able to erase out anything... 

When we emerged on the road after paying the bill, she asked who was in
the flat with me. I told her, I was alone these days...my flat is not 
very far from here...if she wanted... 

And she agreed. 

We boarded an auto. She had moved aside to a corner and I had maintained
a respectable distance...then I could not help thinking that we were so 
comfortable and easy in the restaurant, sitting close to one another; 
but here, in the auto, we were taking extra care to avoid any possible 
physical contact. But when another passenger boarded the auto at the 
next crossing, I had no choice but to move a little closer to her in 
order to make room for the new passenger and in the process we came in 
bodily contact. I realized this contact was not meaningless; rather, 
the arrival of another passenger proved to be a blessing in disguise 
for both of us. 

When auto stopped, I paid up. The flat was barely a few steps from
there. We walked up to the flat and upon entering the drawing-room, she 
busied herself in surveying the room. On the cabinet in a steel frame 
was the photograph of my wife. She perhaps guessed it as to whose 
picture it could have been. She queried with the movement of her eyes 
if she was right in her guess. I nodded my agreement and sat on the 
sofa by her side. A pall of silence descended on us...she was, 
involuntarily may be, with her fingers trying to draw some lines on the 
sofa. Suddenly, the hem of her sari slipped down from her shoulder 
exposing the upper part of her chest...her chest appeared to have 
sagged on the upper side and collar bones had a protrusion akin to a 
pit. Wrinkles too were visible around her neck ...to me it looked 
ugly...I marveled at my idiocy...why did I invite her in the first 
place...and she also came along...! And both of us were sitting through 
an  irrelevant silence...at long last I decided to break the silence 
and asked her whether she would like to have tea or coffee...My voice 
was somewhat indifferent...I thought I was not asking her for tea, 
rather I was expressing my exasperation...and when she nodded her head 
in disapproval, my exasperation grew by several notches....when I 
proposed to show her the remaining parts of the flat, she rose from 
sofa. I took her to the kitchen first, showed her the balcony next, and 
then the bed-room... 

Once in the bed-room, she began to survey it the same way...there was a
nail on the wall facing the dressing table. On the nail hung a bangle 
with a black thread tied to it. She minutely watched the bangle and 
asked what was the purport of the thread...? I answered with a chuckle 
that it could be my wife’s magical protection against evil. Whenever 
she goes out, she removes a bangle from her hand and hangs it there 
with a black thread tied to it. She thinks this way she could prevent 
another woman from entering her home besides reminding me about her 
whenever I looked at it... 

She laughed heartily and said sarcastically that his wife was of
suspicious nature and that she did not trust him...I did not like her 
laughter. Answering disagreeably, I said that it was not a question of 
trust or distrust...it was just a matter of faith and belief and no 
woman would ever want that her husband should have relations with any 
other woman... 

Continuing to speak sarcastically, she said that faith meant fear...my
wife had a fear in her mind that I could do such a thing...and to 
dispel this fear from her mind, she has tied this black thread with 
this belief that this will,,,, 

I was not all enjoying this intellectual intercourse. But I remained
silent... 

Then she gave a swirl to her body and lied on the bed resting her head
on the elbow, then fixing her gaze on the bangle hanging on the nail 
with black thread tied to it asked me teasingly if his wife could 
protect him from the evil designs of other women...? How the poor thing 
would know that I was such a flirt...? It angered me. I strongly 
objected and said why was she calling me a flirt...? Then she 
sarcastically reminded me about what I had done to one of her 
friends...she reminded me about the incident of that party night when 
the lights had suddenly gone off and ... I remained silent...in fact, I 
have a weakness. I am sensually drawn by a woman’s hip...the meaty area 
just above the waistline ... 

That night the lights had suddenly gone off and her friend was seated by
my side. My hand involuntarily travelled down to her waist. I did not 
withdraw my hand and she also remained seated thus...and what you do 
when your hand probes the body of a woman and she does not object to 
it... 

I found it strange. She had told these things to her friend...I was
unable to meet her eyes... 

I looked askance at her. There was a thin line of mischievous smile on
her lips. Then she suddenly bent over me and with a swift movement of 
her hand she fished out a comb from my back pocket. In this process of 
bending over me, her breasts came in contact with my shoulders. Then 
she said with laughter that earlier he parted his hair on the right 
side and used to proclaim that it was his speciality and that Hitler 
too parted his hair like this... 

It amazed me. She remembered every detail. She began to comb my hair.
Her fingers were touching my forehead. It felt good...her bending over 
me, fishing out of comb from my pocket and combing my hair...she was 
standing very close to me...gap between her breasts was right in front 
of my eyes and I was clearly feeling her breathe on my person. Her 
shoulders were regularly touching my chest. Then she put the comb back 
in my pocket in the same manner and with the twinkling of an eye asked 
me to look at the mirror... 

I turned to see...my face had undergone a change. Hair was parted on the
right. I could not contain my smile. She began to smile too and then 
her smile looked bewitching to me...then suddenly I realized that after 
all life had not quite slipped out of hands yet...hair parted on the 
right ...a smiling woman...and that central milky line between 
breasts...we were definitely reliving our past at the moment, where 
there was sound of the flowing river and the mild roar of the 
ocean...she was happy and....I too was overjoyed.... 

In this moment of joy, my hand suddenly slipped to her waist and she too
uninhibitedly clung on to my shoulder...her lips half-opened...and it 
is precisely this that I find highly seductive...hands on the waist and 
half-open lips!.... 

I enveloped her into my arms. Thus coiled around me we moved to the bed
and I unbuttoned her blouse... 

Her eyes were closed and I too was sinking deep...slowly and slowly she
had begun to breathe heavily...and then she advanced towards me and 
grabbed me by my arms; softly whispered something into my ears which I 
could not understand...but this act of whispering appeared nauseating 
to me...the joyous moment immediately petered out into a moment of 
distaste. My eyes settled on the wrinkles around her neck that had 
emerged more prominently then...I felt disgusted...formation of a ditch 
like shape under the protruding bones of her neck...the sunken area in 
the upper part of her chest...her breasts dangling like leaking 
balloons...it appeared to me that her body was like a mound where I had 
mounted like a crab....I looked at my hands. My fingers were clinging 
to her breasts like leeches...I was filled with intense despondency and 
I at once disengaged myself from her and sat upright. 

She opened her eyes and looked straight at the bangle hanging on the
nail. The thread tied to the bangle was swinging slowly....a mysterious 
smile surfaced on her lips...she kept lying on the bed for some time, 
then arranged her disheveled attire and stood up before the mirror. 

Despondency inside me was spreading like mist. I was repentant. I had
not brought her my flat with this intent. She had just about moved in 
with me and so long as we remained seated on the sofa, I had no inkling 
that no sooner we entered the bedroom than we will 
immediately...perhaps this part of the age passes through a dangerous 
terrain. A woman in her forties and a man crossing the threshold of 
fifty-five, both try to run away from the reality  that life has 
actually begun to slip out of their hands. We too had chosen this path 
that traversed through the hair parted on the right and the central 
milky line passing through breasts. While I was remorseful, she seemed 
happy...her happiness surprised me. I looked at with intense dislike. 
She was combing her hair and that mischievous smile was clearly 
discernible on her lips. And when she removed the mark of vermillion 
from her forehead and pasted it on the mirror...it incensed me...I 
detected this act of hers...that meant she wanted to remind me about 
her being even after she was gone. She wanted to show that men are like 
this only: loafer! No thread can tie them! I looked cravingly at the 
thread wherein was weaved the innocence of my loyal and committed wife. 
I thought there was a conspiracy against me. This jealous woman trapped 
me into a despicable net of lust and raised a finger towards 
faith...and she will laugh gleefully all her life...indeed, I was 
equally responsible for the defilement of this thread...a sad wave of 
repentance rose from within me. Perhaps, repentance is another aspect 
of life... just as waves are contained in water so also in our 
activities are contained sins—sins that we have committed directly and 
sins that we have contributed to unwittingly—, for which we must repent 
both as doer and facilitator...for the last twenty years  there was 
this regret of having failed to give permanence to a relationship that 
never was; and today after her submission, I thought I had profaned the 
sanctity of the sacred thread...I had destroyed the trust of a faithful 
and committed wife... 

She was ready to leave and was continuing to smile mischievously. I too
wanted that she left the place at the earliest. I did not ask, where do 
you live...? She herself told me that she was here to attend a function 
at one of her relations and that she would leave the following 
morning... 

The silence suddenly intensified after she left. I lay crestfallen on
the bed and shut my eyes...the image of my wife floated before me...I 
had never craved for her presence with this earnestness ever as I did 
now...I felt a strong urge for her at this moment... 

I opened my eyes like an obsessed patient and looked at the dangling
bangle on the nail,  and the thread tied to it swinging softly in the 
air. 

................................................................. 


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