All her life she inhabited a world, where she was made to feel somewhat odd for her versatility. There was an unspoken conclusion that it was inappropriate or she was improper. But this need for at least a farce of being in control of a beautiful body, no one understood. This need to perfect the skill to project, that poise, remained unfulfilled.

So to be with a man who viewed these needs as of vital importance, as they happened to be his needs, was comforting over the phone. But in action it was hopeless, his coping style jarred. He praised her looks but it was for an effect, he thought of the girl with him like a man thinks of his expensive car, he merely wanted his friends to be jealous. But Madhu seldom flirted with the friends of her date, stories of my girl friend fell for my best friend could not happen to her, she put off his friends; she was not here to play Miss Cordiality. When she was not putting them on to think of her as hot or cool (they both meant the same), they would not be envious, and hence Rakesh was put off. For her to be desirable to him others had to find her desirable. Just as he thought she was a Barbie she would turn around and be Bhabi. Caesar’s palace had an underground effect, sinking her spirits. He hugged her, while she said bye, his cheeks brushed against hers, he looked at her unwilling face, as her eyes dropped, then looked side ways, he let her go, and he would wait. She went home feeling more familiar with him,  but there was no song in her heart, that loneliness gnawed the night, boiling her sleep like the steam of hot and sour soup.

2 thoughts on “HOT AND SOUR

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