“Rupali!” Paritosh’ alarmed look at the door-bell ringing changed to a happily excited one when he saw who was at the door. He held her hands and led her inside the house closing the door after them. He held her wordlessly before him for a few moments and then planted a slow, sensuous, lingering kiss on her lips. She was smiling shyly when they parted. “Thanks for coming,” he whispered to her and started caressing her back and nape right there.

“Dr. Khanna,” she objected through her laboured breath.

“What happened?”

“Raja…” she referred to the housekeeper.

Paritosh grinned, “Raja is not a problem. He is fast asleep. But ‘Dr. Khanna’ is. We’ll get rid of it tonight. Come.”

He led her to his bedroom. The lavishness of the room was something she was used to by now.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked after she was seated on the bed. She just shook her head in reply.

“Aren’t you going to talk?”

“Ma thought we had fought,” Rupali said with a smile of shared understanding.

He smiled and sat down beside her. “Did we?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“No,” her voice was hardly audible, but she also shook her head. Her eyes were lowered.

He cupped her face and lifted it to make her look into his eyes, “I am sorry. For scaring you earlier in the evening.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t complain to Ma about it,” she chuckled at her own joke.

“Not even about your crumpled clothes?” Partiosh mocked seriousness.

“No.”

“But they will be crumpled again.”

“This is satin. It won’t crumple.”

“You are telling me we are safe.”

“Yes.”

It was only for so long that he could keep himself away from those lips of hers on which a naughty smile was playing. But if their encounter earlier in the evening was like getting high on tequila shots, this one was like sipping a vintage wine slowly to savour the subtle, delicate taste. He went slowly and she responded in the same rhythm. But that didn’t lessen the power he had over her. Her body grew needier by the moment. She arched her back, grabbed at the sheets and literally struggled under his weight with the sensations running through her body. When he could see that she was at his mercy and he himself was on the edge, he whispered in her ear, “You know what I am waiting for. I want to hear your voice, please Rupali.”

She shut her eyes tightly. How she hated and loved him at the same time! He was really going to use that moment to get her to call him by name? She won’t give in. But that resolve did not last long. The only way to not give in was to pull away from him. Otherwise her need would kill her.  And pulling away was not an option for her. He must also know that. What else could explain her coming to him at that hour? Slipping out like a teenager after her mother was asleep?

“Paritosh. Please!!”

She wasn’t the only one who was helpless. He would have liked to make her repeat that name. Again and again! But his own self-control was giving way. He nibbled at her earlobes as the last act of foreplay and entered her making her gasp in surprise at first, but moan in pleasure later.

—

“I need to go back,” she sat up after a while.

“Do you?”

“Yes. It would be awkward if Ma wakes up to not find me at home.”

“She takes her medicines. She won’t wake up before morning, right? I will walk you back before that. Let’s say at three in the morning?”

“What if we fall asleep?”

“I will set an alarm.”

“Fine, Dr. Khanna.”

He raised his eyebrows, “Looks like you are a dumb student in this course. Shall we repeat the lesson?”

“No. No,” she protested, “You were being mean. That was not a fair trick at all.”

“Everything is fair in love and war, Rupali. And I had fairly requested you many a times earlier.”

Rupali smiled in defeat, but still argued, “It is the habit of years.”

“We hadn’t even spoken for over six years Rupali. How can it be a habit? Of years?”

“Habit from thought, if not from speech. Our not speaking didn’t mean I didn’t think about you, did it?”

“No,” he conceded with a smile, “Then let me appeal on the grounds of change. A lot has changed since the time when we didn’t speak to, only thought of, each other, hasn’t it? So, how you address me needs to change as well.”

“I will try. But I feel very awkward. Especially before others. People in the department, for example…”

“Fine. Let’s start with it in private at least?”

“Okay.”

And they talked on. Intimately and comfortably. About their past, other people in their lives, about their future dreams!

The alarm came handy not for waking them up. But for reminding them that she needs to be back at her house.

“You don’t need to come with me, Dr. Khanna. It isn’t unsafe. Stay in bed.”

“Firstly, if you call me Dr. Khanna, nothing you ask for is going to be accepted. Secondly I just want those five extra minutes with you, walking down the road.”

Rupali blushed and grinned as both of them got out of the bed and dressed up to step out.

—

“Mou. You should sing with me,” Asim was back in town after couple of weeks and was dining with them.

“Sing with you? Where?”

“Wherever! On the stage. In an album.”

“Ma sings?” Rupali was surprised.

“Used to,” Mouli replied before Asim could, “Long, long back. In some other era, Rupa. Asim is joking.”

“I am not joking. Because your mother was very promising as a singer and as a songwriter.”

“Songwriter? As in poetry?”

“Do you hear Bengali songs, Rupali? Have you heard ‘Majhir Nouka’ sung by me?”

“Ma has the recording. She has played it several times.”

“Who do you think was lyricist?”

“I… never found out. You are telling me it was Ma?”

Asim smiled and confirmed it with a shrug that indicated that it was obvious.

“Wow! What all do I not know about you, Ma?”

“Nothing that matters, Rupa. It was all a long time ago.”

“Well. It matters a lot to me,” Asim said, “Until I ran out of the songs from the notebook you had left with me, most of my performances and recordings used your lyrics. Only after that…”

“Good you ran out of them then,” Mouli laughed slightly in a self-deprecating fashion, “Because it is only after you picked up other poets and lyricists that you started becoming famous.”

“That is again not true. Do you know Rupali which is my best-selling album till date?”

“I’d do some Wikipedia search on you before we meet next time, but for now – no. I don’t know.”

Asim laughed, “Since I didn’t understand exactly what you intend to do to find out before we meet next time, I will tell you. My best-selling album is one of Bengali songs and not of Hindi as one would expect. It is called ‘Jibon-Dhara’ – meaning ‘the stream of life’. ‘Majhir Nouka’ belongs to that album. And all other songs in that album were also written by Mou.”

Mouli colored. “I had no idea,” she mumbled. She actually didn’t know that ‘Jibon-Dhara’ was his best selling album.

Rupali stared wide-eyed from Mouli to Asim. Then her eyes fell on Paritosh. He had been silent, but was obviously quite surprised by the revelations.  “In a way, I am not surprised,” he spoke when he felt Rupali’s eyes on him, “Her sensitivity is incomparable. It is not at all surprising that there is a poet’s heart behind it. A great poet’s. What is surprising is, of course, that we didn’t know the extent of her achievements and the sacrifices she made…”

“For me,” Rupali added with some sadness.

“No Paritosh, Rupa. I made no sacrifices. I only took some decisions. We all have to choose between difficult options from time to time. And I believe that we are all the results of our choices, not that of any forced sacrifices. And Rupa. You don’t be an idiot. Even if you term that choice as a sacrifice, it was made at a time when you weren’t even born. The choice was made when I had decided to not wait for Asim and move on in my life.”

“But why not continue with music? With writing?” Rupali asked.

Mouli replied in a low voice, “That would have made moving on impossible. Music was too strongly related to him.”

“So coming to my original point,” Asim said cheerfully to make the mood lighter, “You should sing again, Mou. With me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Asim. The number of years for which I have not practiced is more than the number of years I had learnt.”

“You might not remember the technique, but the soul can’t go away. Music is in your soul.”

“Granted. But the audience won’t be forgiving about technique. I don’t want rotten tomatoes and onions on stage or the studio going bankrupt trying to record me at some minimum acceptable quality.”

“She doesn’t leave much scope for me to talk her out of her conviction, does she?” Asim addressed Rupali and Paritosh, “Fine. We’ll sing together in their wedding. You have to accept that, Mou.”

“Sing in their wedding?”

“We’ll have a live concert during the reception. I will sing and you will sing too.”

“You are so adamant, Asim.”

“What option do I have? One has to work hard to get small concessions from you.”

“Right. Right. Make me sound like an evil woman,” Mouli laughed, “If they agree to having a concert for their reception, I don’t have any objection.”

“I don’t see what is objectionable in that,” Rupali said and looked at Paritosh. He nodded in agreement.

“Actually, I have a better proposal. Let’s get them married in Kolkata. We’d have a great musical gathering then.”

“Kolkata? Come on Asim,” Mouli objected, “Who is going to make arrangements there?”

“I will. And you plan to get married during winter break, right? The weather will also be good.”

“But Mr. Sen, it will be too much of a hassle,” this extended proposal made Rupali and Paritosh uncomfortable.

“They are right, Asim,” Mouli agreed.

“Mou please,” Asim was sincere, “I want to do it. Please.”

Mouli sighed, “I understand you, Asim. But it is not for me to decide. Why don’t we give them some time and see if they are comfortable.”

“Sure.”

—

To be continued