Borderline

by Shabri Prasad Singh

  I knew he wanted more of me. He told me that he and his friends were going clubbing that night, and invited me to join them. Impressed by his forthright approach, I told him to count me in.

  I put in a lot of effort in getting dressed for the evening. I wore a figure-hugging red dress that accentuated my curves, as I wanted to look sexy. I went to party all thrilled and energetic. The energy between us was exciting and flirtatious, and these were powerful sources of relief for me: An escape from my dark moods.

  Chapter 15

  WHO SEDUCED WHOM?

  Pink was the colour of my confidence;

  there was yearning in the air.

  I did not look for sex, it came to me,

  and that too with so much flair.

  The beauty of such a tryst was the ecstasy it brought,

  Enveloping us in sensual mist, a mist we often sought.

  At the club that evening, while I did enjoy the music, what I enjoyed more was his attention. Even though we did not talk, as he was in a meeting with business clients, his attention was fixed on me. We were in the VIP lounge, where I was with some friends, and he was right behind me. He was staring at my body, my bare legs.

  My phone was vibrating; I checked to see who it was, and saw that there were messages from him. The first one said, ‘Looking hot’; the second one read, ‘I am sending over a bottle of champagne for you. Salut!’ I texted back: ‘Champagne would be lovely.’ I found that in society today, alcohol was used more than KY jelly, as a social lubricant. I looked at him, and he winked. Two glasses and a bit of a buzz later, I checked my phone but there was no new text. I was somewhat disappointed; I sent him a text saying, ‘Have to go, thanks for the champagne.’ I left.

  It was around 3 a.m., but I couldn’t sleep. Suddenly, the phone rang. It was him. I answered in a deep, sensual voice, and an even sexier voice replied, ‘Hello.’ He asked me to come to his guest house for an after-party. I quickly put on some make-up and my coat, and sneaked out of the house, driving to the place he had directed me to. The guest house was in a posh Delhi neighborhood and was a ten minute drive from my place.

  The door was open so I went inside. There was minimal furniture, with a layer of dust on it, which indicated that the place was not used often. It was apparent that there was no after-party; this was going to be a rather private affair. He called out, asking me to come upstairs to a room where he was waiting. As I was climbing up the winding marble staircase, my heart was racing a million miles an hour, and I had butterflies in my stomach. I went in to the room and sat down on the couch. He had a naughty smile on his perfect face as he poured me a drink and sat down next to me. There was no need to talk; we both knew we wanted each other desperately. The sexual tension in the room demanded to be diffused. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he said, ‘Take off your coat. I want to see that dress you were wearing.’ I took it off, and replied, ‘Sorry to disappoint you!’ I was wearing nothing underneath. His face turned pink with excitement. That’s when I thought I would name him Pink.

  ‘I love your confidence,’ he said. ‘That is what attracted me to you in the first place. You are not shy and that goes to show you are a sexual being; one I am yearning to have.’ As I sat in nothing but my high heels, he started touching me all over. I began kissing him, softly at first and then roughly, as though I were hungry for him. As I dug my nails into his back, they left long red marks; or were they pink? His hands were shaking and that’s when I realised he was on something. He stopped and took out a small pouch of white powder from the pocket of his jeans. ‘Let’s have some and really get into the mood,’ he said. ‘I’m already in the mood, but I don’t mind trying it,’ I confessed. I liked to experience new things. And this would be the first time I would have sex with a married man; as also try cocaine for the very first time.

  As I bent over and sucked it through my nostril, my nose froze for a second. This was a strong pungent powder travelling up my nose, numbing the parts it was touching. It felt like I had taken in a lot of water, as one does sometimes when swimming. But it did take the edge off, like alcohol does at a party. However, even as I took it, I knew I would never get addicted to it.

  When Pink took off his clothes, I saw that even his dick was almost pink. It was the biggest I had ever seen. Not just was it beautiful, long, pink and thick, it was also circumcised. ‘Girls get scared when they look at my cock,’ he said. ‘They run away.’ I whispered in his ear, ‘I’m dying to feel it.’

  The sex was intense; and very passionate. Moving from one position to the next while he was inside me, and the pain I felt due to his size, gave me a sense of great fulfillment, not only sexual but also at a completely different level. I could feel nothing but immense satisfaction. It was almost like we were meant to have sex; we were made for each other sexually. He surely knew how to seduce a woman! We took turns pleasuring each other, with our hands . . . with our mouths . . . He was delighted at the fact that I was not intimidated by the sheer size of his dick. We rode together on this wave of erotic ecstasy, and the rhythm kept building up. He was so aroused that he was about to orgasm. ‘I want this to last longer,’ he said, so we took a break and had more cocaine. He even put some inside me. At first, it gave me a burning feeling and then an abrupt numbness that was so exciting that it awoke all my sensations. My pulse became faster, my pupils dilated; every nerve in my body was alive and vibrating. We both had multiple orgasms, and I knew he wanted more. It was as if he wanted the night to come to a standstill.

  This was our first time, and it already felt as though it could not get any better. Satiated and exhausted, we were lying on the now all-rumpled bed. After having shared our bodies with each other, we shared a cigarette. I wanted to leave it at that. I knew I would not hear from him again, and that was how I wanted it to be: A one-night stand.

  I came home drenched in a pleasure I had never known. This one sexual encounter would imprint itself on my memory, and stay with me for the rest of my life.

  I was not guilty about having had sex with a married man. I told myself: ‘It’s just sex.’ After all, what is sex? We are all products of sex. The whole world revolves around three things: Money, Power and Sex.

  While sex is an essential part of life, it is still a subject that is almost taboo even though we are living in the twenty-first century. I am reminded of a quote by John Lennon. He said: ‘We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practiced in broad daylight.’

  Sex is an elixir for the mind and soul. Every civilization has its own form of erotica, and ours came from the Kama Sutra, the magnificent temples of Khajuraho, the caves of Ajanta and Ellora, and even from great epics like the Mahabharata.

  ***

  Milk and rose petal baths, long talks and silent sparks,

  Music and starry nights, all thanks to that white knight.

  Darkness was obliterated by such bright light.

  Let’s sing and dance and be merry tonight.

  Quite unexpectedly, Pink called the following morning. Our conversation was brief, but he wanted to let me know that he was looking forward to seeing me again. I had assumed that our encounter had been nothing more than a one-night stand, since he was married. I told myself that I would refrain from calling him or initiating contact as much as I could. If he wanted me, he would do the needful. And he did.

  We kept in constant touch, and would call each other and talk for hours about our respective lives, politics, psychology, archaeology, history, and more. I even shared with him my problems with my mother. We both had read the Mahabharata many times over, and so we talked, and interpreted the epic in our own way. We were in awe of its immensity and complexity, and the lessons it taught us about life. We analysed each character many times, and debated who we thought was right or wrong.

  At times, we would talk over the phone all night long, and then meet up at a hotel in the morning, check in, order breakfast, take long, hot showers together, get massages done, and then have
passionate sex. He loved fantasies and role playing, and I loved to play them out for him. After which we would start talking again and listen to music, dance together and then fall asleep on the soft bed. Neither of us liked to cuddle; in fact, we could not sleep properly if someone were too close to us. He loved fantasies and role playing; and I loved to play them out for him. He wanted a threesome and I let him have one with me and another girl. After the threesome, I came to a very astute realisation. The threesome was great but what truly was magnificent and magical was what happens between two people alone in a bedroom. Nothing can be compared to a pair of lovers and their own personal dynamics and combustion. Not threesomes, foursomes or orgies . . . nothing. Any sexual act where there are more than two people involved is extremely overrated.

  Pink and I had similar views on most things, except one. While he had a very high opinion of himself, I, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. This difference played a big role in our relationship. He filled my void with his high self-esteem, which would sometimes border on narcissism, and that in turn made me want to value myself. We were perfect together! Not only sexually, we also intellectually stimulated each other.

  Every time we were together, the experience was perfect. How can you possibly improve upon something so grand? But we managed to do so. It was a passionate affair, its illicit nature bringing more heat to it. The peace and pleasure our encounters gave us far outstripped the indignity and guilt. I knew, of course, that this was wrong, but it felt so right. We did not do anything to interfere in each other’s lives. We were living in a parallel reality where we were oblivious to each other’s individual lives. We neither questioned nor needed to know what the other was doing; being possessive of each other was out of the question. His marriage was a boundary which I had made impermeable for myself. I never harboured the feeling or even the thought that he should belong to me; neither did I do anything that might damage his marriage.

  However, I was concerned about one thing: Our constant contact and our late night phone calls to each other must surely alert his wife. Pink had told me that she was extremely insecure; he was always on his guard about his relationship with me.

  Over some weekends, we would explore different places together. One such weekend, he took me to his farmhouse in the hills. It was a beautiful space, complete with a stable full of pedigreed horses, a small studio where Pink painted when the mood struck him, and a private wine cellar. Pink told me he wanted to paint a portrait of me. He took me to the jacuzzi, picked me up and gently placed me in the warm water. When I got out, he wrapped my wet body in maroon chiffon fabric. The smooth, almost transparent cloth, clung to my body and my nipples hardened with the cold in the air; my hair was wet. He took me to the stables and asked me to lie on the hay. We enjoyed a bottle of vintage red wine together while he painted me draped in that soft, beautiful cloth. When the portrait was done, I went into the room and put on a bathrobe. Pink was behaving very differently; he had painted me in a sort of frenzy. When I asked him what the reason was, he told me that his wife had intercepted one of our texts. He also said he was not ready to leave me at any cost, no matter how his wife felt.

  ‘No, we need to be careful, or we should end this,’ I told him.

  ‘I cannot end this with you; I am addicted to you,’ he told me.

  I took a pen and paper and started devising a code in which we would text each other from now on. ‘We need to be extra careful if we are going to carry on with whatever we are doing together,’ I said. As I was devising the code while sitting on the bed, Pink put his head on my lap and started kissing my stomach. ‘Do you think all lovers who meet in secret should devise their own code, their own secret language to communicate with each other?’ he asked me. ‘Maybe that is the only way they can remain safe and undisturbed by this world which is full of people who will not understand the relationship these secret lovers share with each other.’

  ‘Amrita, I love you,’ Pink said in a deep voice.

  ‘And I love you,’ I said in return. We both made soft love that night, not the wild sex we were so used to.

  The following day, I showed him the code; I had named it the introverted reality.

  ‘At least explain to me what the code is so I don’t mess up,’ he said inquisitively. Pink had a very high IQ, and I knew he would understand the code easily. ‘It’s very simple,’ I said. ‘From now on, we are going to text each other through this code.’ He agreed and he took the piece of paper and read the code, which was an alphanumerical cryptograph.

  If A is equal to 26 then Z = ? He read the first line of the code and figured out the value of Z.

  All vowels are the sum of their value.

  If a consonant = to a vowel and a consonant needs to be used, then the consonant will be the alphabet whose numerical value = the vowel.

  If a two digit number appears, then the value of that number is its subtraction.

  If the subtraction is negative, then the value of the number will be the value of the alphabet which it takes to make it neutral.

  If neutral = the consonant whose subtraction gives the neutral, then the value of neutral is the sum of the consonant.

  If the sum of the consonant is in two digits, then the value of neutral becomes the subtraction of the sum itself.

  If the sum is negative, then the value of neutral becomes the number it takes to make it neutral.

  If a number appears in two digits and the number has neutral at the end, then that alphabet will be used whose value makes the number with neutral in the end an increasing odd number.

  Pink saw the code and smiled. ‘You really have my work cut out for me, haven’t you? From now on, texting you will be like solving a mathematical equation.’

  ‘You will get used to it, and knowing you, you will devise some formula that will make the whole thing simpler. I invented the code and you will invent a shortcut.’ We kissed, and then we packed our things. While he left for Mumbai, I came away to Delhi.

  We kept meeting, and using the code to stay connected.

  This relationship with Pink slowly became one of the best I had ever had. Our time together was spent without pretension; there was no obsession or obligations on either side—just passion. It was a very fluid and liberating experience for me. I knew his habits and his moods, I could satisfy him sexually, and I had absolutely no expectations from him. I was attached to him in a detached manner. I was not clinging to him, like I had with Gill and Hafez.

  ***

  The year 2007 was approaching, and I was twenty-four years old. However, I still did not have a goal in my life. The new year brought great news: Sati and Eklavya announced that they were going to get married.

  The wedding took place in February. I told Sati on the day of her wedding that Papa would have been very proud of her. Tears ran down our cheeks as we remembered our Papa. Then we both looked at Rana Uncle, who was exemplary as far as performing all his duties as our father went. We missed our Papa, but we were very grateful for Rana Uncle’s presence in our lives. The whole family had moved into a farmhouse for the wedding. Sati was happily settled.

  ***

  In 2007, I met a girl who became my best friend, until 2009. However, what she did to me in the fall of 2009 would eventually become the proverbial last straw on the camel’s back: An event in my life which brought me to the doors of insanity and made me a prisoner of a deep and scary illness.

  Chapter 16

  THE GREAT INDIAN BETRAYAL

  Friends we were, though not anymore.

  She was in love with herself and she thought she was way too smart.

  I did not know I was going to be stabbed while sleeping,

  and that too straight through the heart,

  For when you betray your one true friend, there is no excuse,

  there is no way to make amends.

  I met Ria in 2007, at the gym. From the moment I saw her sitting on the couch, sipping on her tea, I knew I wanted to talk to her.

 
‘Hi, I’m Amrita,’ I said. She looked up, her long black hair moved to the back of her neck, and she took a break from the book she was reading. ‘I’m Ria,’ she said, seeming somewhat irritated.

  ‘Sorry, I did not mean to disturb you while reading, but I thought I would introduce myself as this is the first time I have seen you here.’

  ‘I just joined, in fact, I just moved back to India from the US two months ago.’ By now she had closed her book and had asked me to sit beside her.

  ‘What are you reading so intensely?’ I asked.

  ‘I am reading the book I wrote a couple of years ago.’

  Impressed, I said, ‘Wow, you are a writer! That’s amazing.’

  She smirked and replied in a very cold tone: ‘Thanks.’

  The following day, I met her again and we talked, this time for a while. We seemed to have a lot in common. Ria and I both had studied at prestigious universities in New York. The difference was that while she had actually graduated, I had not. She came from a political and bureaucratic family, as did I. She had a brother and a sister, just as I did.

  Gradually, we became good friends. I began trusting her as Ria and I spent a lot of time together at the gym, while swimming, going to parties, watching movies, and talking on the phone late into the night. We even explored Delhi together. The bond we shared was based on common interests, high ambitions and a deep love for politics. However, I was a pushover as compared to her. She pretended to be chilled out, but deep down, her ambitions were sinister in nature. Even though they were well masked, I knew they were dark in nature. I chose to ignore this aspect of her since we were friends.

  Together, we crashed Page 3 parties, got drunk, smoked up, and constantly tried to get ahead in life. We were lacking both ambition and purpose, and were desperate to make something out of our respective lives; and to be able to do that, we were willing to go to great lengths. This can come at a very high cost; sometimes, it can even make people sell their souls, or even commit murder. Both Ria and I were trying to get ahead in life, but in very different ways.