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The entire room was filled with smoke, smoke which made its way through mucus filled, cancerous, stinking nasal passageways. The silence was interrupted by occasional spurts of laughter which usually ended in fist fights or drop downs. Smell of puke wafted around the air, mingling with alcohol giving an eccentric smell which seemed to burn my wind pipe. Red eyed men were everywhere, if not for the sign at the doorway, anyone could mistake it as a set for a B grade zombie horror movie. The jukebox was playing some inaudible stuff and for drunkards anything inaudible is psychedelic. The voice over the speakers was braying continuously, and I didn’t completely rule out the possibility of the song being sung by Bob Marley.
What a temple means to an atheist was the same in case of a bar for me. I was literally dragged into it, but I went in only on two conditions, I wouldn’t drink and I wouldn't pay. It was a good feeling to hang around with old college pals, but I thought of some good ol’ park, but ended up in a demonic looking bar. Varun, led the way through the vast array of curiously placed tables, shortly followed by Abhi and Shek, with their pace increasing with every step they made towards the empty table. Abhi and Shek were the sadistic tribe of our gang in college and its effect didn’t wear out yet. They both sat together smirking leaving Varun to sit with me. I put up an expressionless face, after all what was going on there was sure not going according to my will. Light talk resumed which intensified with every passing second, and the funny thing being, things didn’t quite change from college. The topic then was about hot, young glam chicks and now it’s more concentrated towards the ‘older’ generation of women. Talk, talk and talk. How I respect women, yet there they were talking about all shit about women, which could freak out even the most hard core porn lovers.
And then, a long list of several monks who made mischief, royal people who made challenges, colors that were over marketed to give them new meanings and if I heard it right some Guinness and Hayward’s also walked in.
The waiter turned his cheerful face towards me, and the magic word boomed out, “Order sir?”
I stammered and finally made a decision, “One diet coke please”
“One Diet coke with vodka, on the rocks”, the waiter subconsciously repeated my order.
“Wtf? Where did the vodka and rocks come from? Do I look like a Russian rock climber?, I want a sealed can of diet coke that’s it”, I screamed on top of my voice.
Half the people in the bar turned towards the new species that entered the bar, the waiter was flabbergasted and gave me a look as if I asked a beggar for some change. Sometimes it’s embarrassing if you sit at the wrong end, especially if you are the receiving end. Like a soldier who wore bullet holed underwear the waiter marched away, I could hear the faint peals of laughter coming from the kitchen, but I had a name to live on.
“Diet coke!”, the three of them shouted in unison.
“Dude, do you know that it has no alcohol?”
“Fuck you guys, I know that Diet coke has no alcohol and I’m gonna drink it, what’s your problem”
“Man do you still know what the condom is used for? The last time you told me its use was to protect from brain fever and that was five years ago” , Shek definitely needed a kick in the balls.
“Fuck you, can’t we talk of anything better? Girls, bikes, cell phones?”
“Fuck you man, your legs will only take you to the doors of the temple but from there on you need the keys, same is the case with piousness, and alcohol is the key”
The waiter still had that evil smile on his face. He dumped flashy bottles from the enormous trolley and little tubs spliced with ice. Somewhere from the many vodka bottles lined up emerged my lone Diet coke and I was feeling like an odd man already. The trio attacked the bottles with vengeance, vengeance of getting married I guess. You marry and everything becomes stale. A round of vodka later they started mixing one bottle’s contents with another’s just like school kids do when they enter the chemistry lab for the first time. From the corner of my eye I saw Varun emptying half a bottle of vodka and then immediately grabbing a chicken piece (or was it a crow? Who knows?) And eating it like a famine struck African villager who sees food for the first time in years. And then he started the talking.
“The first time my father introduced her to me, I was in awe with her intricate geometry. Give or take a few excessive spheroids, I would settle for those sweet little hyperbolic structures on her. Perfect symmetry and she was already the queen of my heart. I would have stepped forward and kissed her, but the very basics of Indian culture prevented me from doing so. I still remembered the day I brought her home. Her man was reluctant to send her in; my man was rejecting her, dowry he says. But what does my little heart know about dowry? I was already dreaming, dreaming of things beyond the reach of the ordinary minds. Various positions, I was feeling her between my legs, the first contact gosh. The whole family made merry as I was bringing her home. Neighbors, pedestrians and what not. I was only looking forward for that position, uptight, the cowgirl. But what does she do? She juggles my balls, the pain, I keep telling her was no orgasm. She ate like a pig but worked like a snail. She was the bog unfulfilling wishes. She drank more than I did, and I started beating her. I raped her every night, abused her. I tore her clothes, punched her. The police wouldn’t bother. One fine day she was gone. Rumors were on that she ran with the watchman. How he eyed the mistress of my crotch. That fuckin bitch. I could make her a whore. But Alas! All is gone. I make this toast for her. Die.”
I could sense the pain in Varun’s eyes. Betrayal surely wasn’t the easiest to digest. Maybe alcohol helped him with his gastric problems. A poor soul could bathe with alcohol and the world can’t drown in it. Tch, it was painful.
“Ah!, it’s nothing when compared with the enormity of my problem. She had the curves too, good big ones I should mention. But they came with a twist, here’s my story” Shek was already in the mood. And the story came out.
“She was with Satya Prakash (Pee) the first time I saw her. She was his sister, or something of that sort. I gave her tiny looks from the edge of my eye from time to time. The little bitch seduced me playfully. Pee resorted to incest; he slept with her and rode around with her. Imagine the pain when this sensuous beauty when through when Pee abused her with his tattered old underwear. She always stank of, you know. I decided that she be shared with me. I remember that day; she longingly stared at me, as if asking for help. My pants couldn’t resist anymore. It was more of a hand job. A finger here and a finger there. I could feel the tickle all down my spine. I sucked her until she ran of it. You know what it is. Pee returned only to find that she couldn’t deliver for that night. He kicked her and I saw silent tears drop down her torso. The beauty and the beast. Pee went to pee. It was time. I gave her what she wanted. She was up asking for more. I said no, and I thrust upon her. She screamed the load moan of hers. I couldn’t control the situation. Pee was back. Getting caught in the act is more shameful than losing in the act. I tried to protest. But he already reached for my balls. A kick here and a kick there and my muscle flanged nuts were in a random motion. All I saw was the white light, peace, orgasm, pain, death whatever. And before I could realize I was behind the bars. Dad had to beg the police, and at last the inspector pardoned me. Rapes are so common these days he said, and they ought to be encouraged he said. After all Adam raped Eve. But what they failed to understand was my complete lack of arousal. I lost my balls for a good whole month”
Shek’s story was terrific too. Imagine the ordeal he must have gone through. I felt sorry for him. Another man who wanted to bathe in the river of alcohol. He couldn’t pollute at all. Before I could make a protest Abhi started,
“My Dad was reclusive but he always had his second love. Often he would take her out, I could see the passion from a distance. He always cheated on my mother for his second love. The trip to Himalayas, the occasional feasts were all in her honor. One day I found a change. It was dark, and I took the helm. A pinch in the front and she started. I humped through all night long. God, surely Dad has his style. I begged her not to reveal the little secret. She admitted, a little young blood does no harm. She drank from my Dad and delivered it to me. The affair always kept me asking for more. My Dad had his suspicions. He was vigilant till the day he caught me and I was thrown away. Dad didn’t talk to me for about a month until she disappeared. Some say she died, but how could she die? Dad must have sent her away. But life was never the same afterwards. I miss her. Let’s raise a toast to her”
I was in awe. Surely these men meant business. Alcohol was sure a wonder drink. It was time I shared my sorrows too and the moment seemed apt.
“Pour me a drink”, I said with a deranged voice.
Shek started pouring diet coke in the glass, I stopped him. I took the vodka bottle and emptied it in the glass. With a huge gulp I swallowed it all. The world started to topple and my throat was burning. I struck a chicken wing down my throat.
“You call these problems? Faggots. Look at you. You hump every other day. You ride, you fuck. But me? I get beaten every day. Every fuckin day. The last time I had sex was eight months ago. I can’t go near her, I can’t fondle her. She…….”
“She beats you?”, Shek interrupted.
“Who are you with?”, Varun joined the conversation.
“The same old one, the first one, I got married ages ago.”
“You mean the thin one right? You are still riding a cycle! Grow up man”, Shek was quick to add.
“Cycle, are you out of your fuckin mind? Wtf about cycles now?”
“Wtf? What are you talking about?”, Shek started interrogating.
“My wife man, Sheila remember her?”
“Wtf does your wife has to do in a conversation deep into bikes?”, Varun shared his knowledge.
“Whoa, look who’s drunk”.
And then my mates, was the last time I was even in a bar. Bikes, it was fuckin bikes all along. I puked round the street corner. I went straight and raped my wife. Sure, alcohol works wonders, and I didn’t see the treacherous trio again nor did I touch the vile concoction again. Who can when one is struck in a ‘real’ rape case?
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 5; the fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Disclaimer: Not for the young and immature.
It’s twelve in the night. I should get Aman a pack of Cerelac today. He should not starve. Fortunately, like many other ‘corporate’ employees my work shift is different. My day starts at eleven in the night and ends at eight in the morning. I’m late today, as Aman was crying a lot, poor child, the outcome of a small mistake. I don’t have the money to buy a spoon but I have to feed a mouth. Talking about the corporate employees, they are the only source of income for me. My day at work generally starts when their day ends. The money fuelled with greed has made this world short, life has become less symbiotic and more rhetoric. Days have arrived when one has to buy guests for a funeral. Friends and foes come and go over bottles of beer. Time has become scarce and so have relationships.
Until a few years ago, business meant only sex for me. Nowadays I even have men who come to talk with me, they don’t even touch me, and they pay me a thousand bucks per hour only to talk. But age has taken its toll. What used to be a beautiful body transfigured itself into a log of wood. My face repels quite a few men, the reason for Aman’s wails back at home. Not all men are good, some try to be brutal, and the bruises of such nights take a long time to heal. Every relationship has become a transaction, I seek and you hang.
I don’t know who Aman’s father is, I don’t keep a track. Aman has the privilege of naming a person of his choice as his dad. I didn’t want to know who fathered the child whom I bore with great difficulty. After all, accidents happen to everyone.
Time passed by as I made myself presentable. A few ugly stares pierce me through glossy cars, especially those of the fat arsed Seths have their fatter halves (read wives) with them, but in private they are the vilest creatures to be in bed with. A few want me to drink with them, and some make me smoke. I do as they say, as “Customer is the King”. I pity these men who come to me, as even if they were to love their mother and sisters for an hour in their entire lifetime they wouldn’t come to harass another girl. Their lack of respect only adds fuel to the fire by shattering mine. Porn influenced youth, and sexually charged henchmen, all of them in one day; they are enough to break some bones even.
Aman sleeps alone at home, for an eight month old baby he is exceptionally quiet. No one wills to baby sit him, as they think it’s a sin to enter my house. All previous earnings have been drained away into newer clothes and scents leaving no way for any savings. Pimps pull out a lot of money too, leaving me absolutely nothing. But ever since Aman’s birth the scenario changed. The pimp left me, dwindling my ‘occupancy’ rate, the police started demanding their share and it has also left me in search for some shelter. I spend time with Aman in the morning, telling him the little good I know. I sleep in the afternoons and again Aman is my preset alarm. Not a second goes without him. I see his beautiful face again and again, only to imagine him during the sporadic orgasm sessions. He is the one pain I love to suffer.
It’s two now, no customer till now. I walked down the empty roads down the seaside. The chilly winter made me cough a little. I walked all the way down to my old fort, Ammi’s brothel. I wanted to hear the calm sea from there. For every step I took towards the Ammi’s house, the wails grew louder. I remembered those starting days; those are the hardest for anyone. For once I drifted my eyes away from the epitome of harshness; maybe this was not the right time. A glance at the nearby sidewalk made me realize the presence of a familiar person. Is it Jittu Dada? I walked a few steps ahead; yes it was him, the pimp who stole my life. But today I needed him, because Aman needed Cerelac.
“”You bitch, don’t you dare to come into this area, this is my business”
“Dada, it’s me Lachmi, have you forgotten? I’ve played roles as your wife many times”
Peals of laughter erupted from the darkness behind. I couldn’t see Jittu Dada but he sure was red with anger.
“Bitch, coming and spoiling my business, get lost”
“Dada, please for once, my son is dying there, arrange one customer please”
“Fuck off, you want me to call the police? You want me to put you in jail?”
Dada was the most violent and was my most frequent ‘customer’. But he took my soul for free, raped me every other night his wife threw him out. The basterd, he has no loyalty.
“What’s the my commission?”
“Bitch, you come here for getting me a meager 20%? Fuck off”
*More peals of laughter*
“Dada, 40%, final, please”
He came forward like a rabid dog; I could smell the cheap toddy he drank every day.
“Come with me”, he pulled me with my arm and took me the adjacent alley.
Dada went into the shadows and returned moments later accompanied with two more people.
They took me to the edge of Gymkhana grounds, where there was plush green grass plus lots of privacy.
“I want Rs 800”, I said.
“Shut up bitch, we know the rate”
All of a sudden out of nowhere, someone came up from behind and pulled me down.
For the next hour I couldn’t believe what was happening. Hands held me firm from outward physical movement but in the insides I was dying. The light of pain eclipsed my orgasmic pleasure. I could hear the shouts of the men; someone punched me hard on my face. I couldn't imagine Aman, It was all over, my career, my life and finally that night. The smell of toddy began to fade, I heard the men leaving. Just then I heard Jittu Dada’s voice,
“Money bitch? Money? Here have some”
I could feel a few paper notes thrown on my body and few kicks followed. I was in pain, and I couldn’t come out of that.
I woke up to find an arm broken and clothes tattered. There was blood everywhere and I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t go to a police station; the police would just ridicule me and put me in jail. I would be termed as a prostitute everywhere then. The basterd left Rs50, which was not sufficient in any case. I walked down the street, to the Government
hospital. I couldn’t die. And I fell down again.
hospital. I couldn’t die. And I fell down again.
I don’t remember how I came into the hospital. I don’t even know who brought me here. The doctor came in after a few minutes.
“Dogs attacked me”
“I understand what type of dogs, but I have a few bad news for you”
“You have to undergo surgery for the excessive, Err dog bites in varied regions and I’m afraid to tell, you have to find yourself a blood donor, you’ve lost lots of blood”
“I don’t have any..”
“In that case get Rs10,000 ready, we’ll take care”
“I don’t have any money”
Newspaper Reports, the following day:
Mysterious woman dies with injuries, police suspect it as a rape case.
Eight month old child dead, as mother abandons him. Cause said to be malnutrition and improper care. – Police – “We’ll catch the mother and put her behind bars for negligence”
“Another day passes on, yet we are not bothered about the evils in our world”
Note: I dedicate this post to my grandfather who passed away a year ago, on 5th December, 2008. I also would like to tell you that December 5th also happens to be the 2nd birthday of the blog you are currently reading. I thank Vipul for providing me an opportunity to write on this occasion and also to fellow blogging buddy Shilpa for her constant support and thank you all other bloggers for following me so ardently! Cheers :)
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
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