In an earlier narrative of mine, I had described how my friend Rajan had a torrid, illicit affair with a housemaid Padma, who as a result of their adulterous relationship, bore a child sired by him. This affair with the housemaid sharpened and enhanced Rajan's sexual prowess making him an expert at lovemaking and whetted his appetite for sex with women other than his wife.
As luck would have it, he was transferred to Pune by his company. Pune is a large town in Western India. He spent a hectic and frustrating six initial months, shuttling between ill kept rooming houses. As the weeks passed by, Rajan had no opportunity of meeting or getting to know any woman owing to his extremely long hours of work. The office in Pune was a drab, all male outfit. Being in charge did not help his social life either because of increased responsibility. He had to tour the nearby villages and towns often to assist his sales personnel aggressively promote the products of his company.
At the end of six sterile months, he finally got what eventually turned out to be the most pleasurable opportunity of his lifetime. As I mentioned earlier, Rajan was not very happy with his living conditions making him shift a number of times. Finally, his stenographer Das, a kindly old man, suggested the name of a good guest house run by an elderly couple in a quiet area of town. He took Rajan there and introduced him to the couple running it - a Mr. & Mrs. Joglekar. They were a sweet old couple, both from Maharashtra ( a province in Western India ) and had been running the place for the past six years. Rajan found the rooms to be clean , comfortably though not expensively furnished, and just right for him. Convinced that this was exactly the place he was looking for and finding that the rent charged was reasonable, with breakfast included, he paid his advance and moved in the following week.
Rajan found his new surroundings a very pleasant change from his earlier experiences in Pune. His room was comfortable and the other inmates were a very decent lot. He also discovered that the place had a receptionist - a fleshy woman in her late thirties with wide hips and a heavy bosom. An average looker, her name was Mrs. Shakila Ahmed. She was a widow and had been working there for sometime. Quite fair in complexion, she always covered her head with a scarf being a Muslim lady. Rajan's eyes were drawn to the thrusting large mounds of her bust, like pins to a magnet, every time he passed by or spoke to her. Unfortunately he could not make much headway since he seldom had occasion to talk to her and whenever they did speak she was formal and correct although very pleasant.
Late on a Saturday afternoon, Rajan, feeling rather bushed by his work in office, decided to return early and take rest in his room. He got back to his lodgings and stopped at the reception to get his key when he noticed that Shakila's eyes were moist and red from weeping.
He enquired solicitously, "What's the matter Mrs.Ahmed? Why have you been crying?"
"No no. Nothing's wrong," she said in a muffled, tearful tone.
Rajan made a quick decision thinking, it was now or never.
"Look Mrs.Ahmed, why don't we just go out for a cup of coffee. You look terribly upset and it will do you a world of good to talk things over with someone. There's a coffee shop close by; let's go out there, have a chat over a cup of coffee and we can be back soon. Just let Mrs.Joglekar know that you will be away for an hour."
She hesitated and then looking at his face, full of sympathy, she haltingly asked, "Do you think she will agree, Mr.Rajan?"
"Of course she will. Go on, just phone her and tell her. I'll wait outside," he replied.
They walked to the coffee shop and sat down. Over their coffee he asked Shakila about herself. He appeared so considerate and nice that she started telling him about herself. She was from Agra, a town in the large North Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. Her father was in the Railways - a middle ranking officer and she, along with her two sisters, both elder to her, studied in the city of Agra, famous for the Taj Mahal. She was fairly well educated, having done her graduation in History. Soon after, she got married to a businessman, a match arranged by her parents. Her husband unfortunately turned out to be a sickly man, crude and narrow minded who wanted her to hide herself behind a veil and stay at home. They had a child, a girl who was now in High School, studying in a residential school at Bombay. A few years after she got married, her husband whose business was floundering, committed suicide leaving behind virtually nothing. Her parents had died by then and she had never been attached to her sisters anyway. The young widow had to take up a job to maintain herself and her daughter. She found a job as a typist in a small textile mill in Bombay and for a while things were all right. Unfortunately, some months later, the mill folded up and she had to hunt around for another job. A colleague mentioned about the guest house in Pune and the possibility of an opening for a receptionist. She came down to Pune and managed to get the job. Her daughter was doing fairly at school and wanted to pursue higher studies in college. Shakila was finding it very hard to meet the expenses and that afternoon she was feeling particularly despondent. Rajan listened to her sympathetically and told her something about himself.
At the end of an hour when they got up to return he said, "Mrs.Ahmed, if you promise not to get annoyed or embarrassed, may I say something?"
She looked up in surprise and replied, "Of course."
Rajan then said that he would like to help Shakila's daughter financially to pursue her studies since she was a good student. Being a very persuasive and friendly person he managed to overcome her hesitation.
