Close Too Close (19 page)
‘Anyway I’m glad I scored 7.5 and not four,’ says Bins, and it dawns on us that she’s the winner, given that Number Six, Neerja of recent ‘ten’ fame, was a non-competitor.
‘So Bins wins,’ says Tanu. ‘Congratulations, you lucky, lucky person.’ For a moment I think Tanu means I am the lucky person, and I’m all set to agree, but then I see she’s addressing Bins – I’m supposed to be the prize, after all.
Tanu and Bins have had an on-again-off-again thing for ages; recently Bins and Abhay have been spending time together but nobody knows what’s up and it doesn’t matter. They’ll talk about it if and when they want to or need to. Not that sweeping assumptions have not been made, or indiscreet probing questions not asked – and pointedly ignored.
I turn to Benaifer, who says, ‘Well, I win by default because two punters didn’t get their turns, but I’m not going to be over-scrupulous and refuse my reward. Only thing is – Jo? I’m absolutely thrilled and delighted but can I take a rain check? After this whole Mandira thing, one’s a bit low, yaar.’
‘Yes, of course, I feel the same way – and there is, as we know, much pleasure in waiting!’
‘Oh, I hope it won’t be a long wait – I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll fix a date.’
‘Terrific.’
‘And I still get to take you home. I’ll drop you and carry on, how’s that?’
‘Perfect,’ I say, ‘and maybe we can get to know each other better on the way. Do it right and all.’ Everybody laughs, because we all know each other pretty well already, except for Romi who soon will be one of the gang I hope.
We try to recall what rules we’d invented for right and wrong identification. Everyone’s a bit fuzzy but we decide that I get a date each with the two top scorers from the accurate guess list. So I have not just Benaifer to look forward to, but hot sex with Tanu and a fun evening with Vini as well. My cup pretty much runneth over. Figuring out apt punishment for wrong guesses is left to some other time.
And then it’s past two in the morning and everyone has to be at work in a few hours, so we say our goodbyes to Vini – which process takes another half hour. Abhay, Benaifer and Romi squabble briefly over what they call ‘doing the honours’. Romi uses the ‘oldest friend’ line. Abhay, deliberately provocative, says he’s the man and this is man’s work, and gets called a few choice names. Tanu looks on amused, saying, ‘I think Jo can manage quite well without any of you idiots.’ And then Bins, tonight’s winner, wordlessly wins the argument hands down: she simply grasps my chair from behind and wheels me out towards the lift.
*
‘Oh no, this score is a fail!’
M
annat walked into her apartment, dropped her bags to the floor, kicked off her shoes and pushed her dishevelled hair off her face. It was Saturday, her favourite day, her half day, her day of solace. Without exception, her Saturday after-work routine consisted of switching off her mobile, shopping for provisions after work, changing into her favourite worn-out salwar and t-shirt, making her favourite meal, taking a long, hot shower, eating while reading the latest trashy novel and drinking a glass of beer or wine depending on the meal, her mood and the weather. Saturday night could turn into anything else, but after work it was her time.
Winter was ending in Delhi and that meant that the sun was finally showing its face, streaming into her immaculate kitchen. Mannat rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, so that she could absorb the warmth before it gave itself over to the chilly evening. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and imagined that she could perform photosynthesis to replenish the energy that the cold winter took away from her. She switched on her favourite Rafi CD and felt the weariness of the week fade as she peered into the bowl of soaking rajma.
The rajma had plumped up and some of the beans were splitting. They were a deep maroon. These ones were special because she had carefully carried them back to the city from her father’s farm; in that moment, each grain was more precious to her than her entire book collection. She roughly chopped the tomatoes, peeled the onion, ginger, garlic and threw them into the mixie with the chillies. She switched on the gas, let its flame heat the vessel and put a conservative amount of oil into it. Now came her favourite part: she cautiously dropped one jeera seed into the oil, and it immediately floated to the top, making a satisfying crackle. The time had come – she threw a handful of the jeera into the oil and followed up with the tadka: the tomato, onion, ginger, garlic, chilli mixture. The smells of the frying tadka were so pleasing that she smiled on the outside. When the tadka turned burgundy, the oil separated from it; she threw everything else in then and put the lid on the pressure cooker.
As the steam built inside the pressure cooker, Mannat washed the dhania and chopped it finely. She thought about the contrast of the fresh green dhania on the deep red rajma and felt her belly rumble. She sliced a small onion into fine strips to eat on the side and threw it into water to take away the sharpness. She washed the rice and threw in a few spices to magnify the already fragrant basmati. Now that her dinner was at the stage of preparing itself, she could think about the next stage of her half-day ritual. As Mannat went to switch on the geyser for her pre-dinner bath, she remembered that she had forgotten to set the dahi this morning. She could not eat rajma chawal without dahi; it would not do the rajma justice. She’d just have to make do with bazaari dahi. After the last whistle of pressure cooker, she grudgingly picked up her chunni, threw it over her tshirt, and resentfully headed out towards the provisions store around the corner.
‘Mannat! Mannat! Hi!’ she heard someone call after her. Reluctantly, she turned around and saw a perky, overkajaled woman approaching her.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said, inquisitively at first. ‘Hi. Hi, sorry I didn’t recognise you . . . er, I mean you look different in the day. I . . . I’m sorry, you know what I mean? It’s Sundeep, right?’
‘Actually, my name is Manpreet.’
For Mannat, a one-night stand was usually about satisfying her own sexual desires without the complication of caring. She usually didn’t follow up or even give a second thought after the person left her apartment.
After a moment of tension, ‘Sorry,’ Mannat said, a little indifferently.
‘Oh, it’s ok. Just thought that I would say hello. Anyway, I’m just on my way to meet a friend. See you around.’ Manpreet awkwardly shuffled her feet. She gave Mannat a smile and walked off in the opposite direction.
All evening, even though the rajma turned out superbly and her favourite songs came on the radio while she showered, Mannat couldn’t shake the feeling that she had been incredibly rude to Manpreet. She kept trying to think of nicer ways to say what she had said to her.
Mannat lay down on her sofa and cracked open her brand-new Zadie Smith novel and pushed the encounter on the street out of her mind. The next thing she knew, she had read 75 pages and drunk half a bottle of Sula Mosaic. Just as she readjusted her position, the doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock: 11.45 p.m. There was only person who would knowingly interrupt her half-day ritual.
‘Hey faggot!’ Mannat exclaimed as she unlatched the door. ‘Oh . . . shit . . . hi . . . Manpreet, what are you doing here? Sorry, I thought you were someone else.’
‘You are a bitch with the worst one-night-stand etiquette, you know that?’
‘You’re drunk, but I take your criticism. Come in and abuse me, I don’t want to create a scene for the neighbours.’
Manpreet stumbled into the door, trying to maintain her composure.
‘Would you like a drink of water or wine?’ asked Mannat politely.
‘Wine.’
‘Wine, it is. Listen, I’m sorry about how I said what I said. You are right, that wasn’t cool.’ Mannat handed Manpreet a glass of wine as she apologised.
‘Yeah, you were a total bitch . . . unfortunately, bitches get me wet.’
‘Oh lord, now are you going to go all psycho on me? Showing up drunk at my house, creating a scene and then hitting on me? Listen, I really don’t want any drama.’
‘I just want a fuck, actually. But that’s ok, see you around.’ Manpreet put her hand on the doorknob.
‘Wait . . . wait a second,’ Mannat slid treacherously close to her. ‘You should at least finish your drink.’ Manpreet took a big swig from her glass and wiped her mouth. She raised one eyebrow at Mannat.
Mannat slinked even closer to Manpreet. The electricity was palpable. Manpreet could feel her breath on her neck. Mannat pounced on her and pushed her against the door. They were nose to nose. With danger in her voice, Mannat whispered, ‘Don’t make me regret this.’ Manpreet struggled to kiss her, but was pinned down and overpowered. Mannat pressed up against her and devoured her neck. ‘Listen to me carefully, ok? I am going to fuck you silly very slowly, ok?’ she breathed into her ear.
As she began to stroke Manpreet’s breasts, Manpreet grabbed her breasts in turn. She swiftly found her hands swatted. ‘I think that you didn’t hear me. I am going to fuck YOU silly. Nowhere in that sentence is there anything about you being allowed to touch me.’ Manpreet looked at her with desperation. ‘Please,’ she pleaded. Mannat leaned down to sweetly kiss Manpreet’s cheek, just to tease her. She started feeling her breasts again through the kurta, pinching her nipples and then squeezing her breasts while nibbling on her neck. She continued to nibble and suck her neck, her jawbone and behind her ears. When she started licking the outside of the ear, that resulted in low moans; Mannat was very pleased with herself. She put her hands inside the kurta and unclasped Manpreet’s bra. Her breasts were now free. She took Manpreet’s nipples between her thumb and fingers and rolled them until they were rigid, pleased at the effect under the translucent white fabric. She continued kissing behind Manpreet’s ears, feeling the tension rising from pleasure to frustration. She took Manpreet’s kurta off completely and started kissing around her nipples, until she finally took a nipple and pushed it into her mouth. She greedily sucked on it, teasing the tip with her tongue while preparing the other one with her hand.
Manpreet had been running her hand through Mannat’s hair. Growing impatient, she started gently pushing Mannat’s head a little, just to give her an indication of what she wanted. Mannat kissed her way back up, murmuring ‘Suggestion duly noted, but I’m not really looking for your input.’ She started hungrily kissing her mouth again, going from lips to neck to ear with increased force. She started kissing down again, kissing Manpreet’s round belly, her sides. With a mischievous look, she reached for the chunni she’d worn over her t-shirt. She took Manpreet’s hands and tied them up in front of her, then continued to kiss her belly along the top of her jeans. The smell of Manpreet’s wetness made her grin.
Mannat undid the button on the jeans and slid them and the underwear off. Kneeling on the floor, she kissed the inside of Manpreet’s thigh. ‘Ok, now I want you to flip over and lean against the arm of the sofa with your bum facing me.’ Manpreet’s eyes widened at the prospect of being in such a vulnerable position. Yet her face betrayed her; the idea of being put in this submissive position made her feel even more naked and horny than before. Mannat started running her fingers from the top of Manpreet’s neck down to the base of her spine. As her fingers drifted further down, she could feel the other woman’s body overwrought with excitement verging on discomfort. She grazed the inside of her buttocks, producing shivers. Manpreet writhed in a pleasure that could only be felt for a fraction of a second – any longer would have resulted in a small death. Mannat knew that fine line, as well as the one between pleasure and pain. On the edge of the moment of pleasure, she smacked Manpreet’s ass and then immediately kissed it. She gently rubbed her hands along the bottom of her ass, just grazing her vagina. Much to her delight, she saw that this stimulus had made Manpreet’s pussy start to drip. Mannat touched the droplet of moisture and let it fall onto her finger. She revelled in the power of being able to produce such bodily reactions in a woman. Catching Manpreet’s eye, she raised one eyebrow like Rekha in
Umrao Jaan
. Slowly lifting her finger with Manpreet’s secretions to her lips, she licked it clean.