“Hi, Mr. Sen. I am Krystal,” the girl at the door was dressed casually. ‘Stunning’ was not the word to describe her. The right word was ‘lovely’. But Krystal? That was a dampener. Siddhartha understood their need to assume a fake name, but they could do better with that. He would rather have a Seeta, Geeta, Rama – any of those usual names rather than Krystals and Pearls and Natashas of the world.

“Come in,” he stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind them. She was dressed casually. A blue denim jeans and black top. The attire was figure hugging, but didn’t scream prostitute! That’s what he liked about Bittu’s girls. They didn’t come looking ridiculous and inviting suspicion.

She appeared lost and confused once inside, but tried to put up a confident smile when he looked at her. He gave her an envelope, which she deposited in her purse. “Sit down,” he sat on the couch and motioned her to sit next to him. She sat at some distance. Then she appeared to realize what she was there for and shifted closer.

“Shall I get you a drink?” he asked.

“No. I am fine,” she was growing more nervous by the moment. None of them ever accepted drinks. Part of their safe practices. Good for them. “You look tired,” she remarked. Practiced and edgy, Siddhartha thought to himself. Quite unexpectedly, he felt a surge of pity for her. What could have brought her here?

“What do you do, Krystal?”

“I… I am studying.”

“Studying what?”

“M. Sc. in Mathematics.”

“That’s good. But why do this? What’s the compulsion?”

“Who are you? A cop or a reporter?” she chuckled unselfconsciously, unaffected by her nervousness.

It brought a smile to his face, “Neither. Just curious. You don’t have to talk about yourself, if you don’t want to.”

The ice was broken. She no longer looked anxious. “Yes. That’s a given. I am not here to talk about myself. What do you want me to do?”

This sudden transition from anxiety to straightforwardness took him by surprise. “Well…” Get into the bed with me? “Do you mind watching TV for some time?”

“I like TV.”

“What do you like on TV?”

“Movies. Singing and dancing reality shows.”

“Not the soaps?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t get time. Can’t follow them regularly. And they aren’t that good anyway.”

“That’s a pity.”

“You watch soaps?” her eyes widened in natural surprise.

“Some of them. Not regularly. Don’t get time. But they are slow. So, even if I catch a few episodes here and there it works.”

“Wow!”

“Wow?”

“Not many men would acknowledge that they watch soaps, even if they did indeed watch them.”

‘Not to their girl-friends,’ he thought inwardly. “So?”

“Let’s watch a soap. If you find them interesting enough, there is no reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Huh?” he raised an eyebrow, “What does that mean?”

“What I mean is that you are definitely intellectually superior to me. So, if they are interesting enough for you, they should be interesting enough for me.”

“Clever,” he said and switched on the TV. He fiddled around with the remote until he found the channel he wanted. A young woman in heavy saree, jewellery and make-up was getting scolded by a group of elderly women for spilling some milk. Apparently it signified everything from her lack of respect for housework and elders to some calamity that would befall the family.

She didn’t have any context of the show to make sense of the scene. She stifled a yawn. When he emptied his glass, she used this opportunity to get away, ostensibly to get him a refill. He had only been drinking bear. So, no bartending skills were required. A commercial break came and he muted the TV. She felt his eyes on him, but continued refilling the glass. Just as she was returning, she noticed an open envelope on the fridge. She read the name on it and was surprised.

“Is something the matter?” Siddhartha asked.

“Is this envelope here yours?”

“No. They didn’t do a good job of cleaning the room. Must be that of the previous guest. Will you please throw it in the dustbin?”

She appeared reluctant to do so, but obliged him anyway. She looked at the envelope closely for a while before dropping it in the dustbin.

The commercial break was over by the time she sat down again. The scene on the TV screen had changed. And this one made her fidget. Someone was still getting scolded. But this time the complaint was about the girl’s character.  “What have you been doing, you whore?” a man was shouting. “Sleeping around to warm up your purse!”

Siddhartha sensed her unease and switched off the television. She looked immensely vulnerable. He held her and caressed her arms and neck. ‘No kissing,’ he reminded himself as he drew her closer. That was one of the rules Bittu was upfront about. “They are not your girl-friends. They are there to please you. But anything that could even remotely be harmful to you or them is off-limits. They will always carry condoms and if you refuse, the deal is off. No refunds.”

Unknown to herself, she clenched her teeth. She was nervous again. Siddhartha could not proceed. Something inside him was telling him not to. He withdrew and said calmly, “Actually, I am not in the mood. Do you mind if we just talked?”

She looked confused for a moment, but quickly gathered herself together. “Yeah. Why not?”

“You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“No. Why do you like watching the soaps?” she asked to draw his attention away from the drink. Why was he asking for the drinks repeatedly? He was an old-timer with Bittu. Surely, he knew the rules!

He did know the rules. The problem was that he wasn’t sure where to start the conversation that he had committed himself to. Her question rescued him.

“People say that these soaps are unrealistic. Part of it is. The background music, and that makeup and all those jewelleries early in the morning – they are unrealistic. But the basic pettiness of human mind is not. Fighting over spilt milk – that’s pretty much what people do in life.”

She chuckled. “Not people like you.”

“Why do you say so?” he asked sardonically.

“You have important things to do. Those huge companies to run, all the public work, so much depends on you…”

“And yet I am surrounded by people who fight over a little spilt milk. Or worse still, who spill the milk so that they can blame others for it, fight over it, and move up in life after winning that fight.”

She was surprised and impressed at the same time. “That’s so… unexpected.”

“Why? What do you think? That people running companies, or even countries, are somehow above the human weaknesses?”

“A bit at least. I would hope so. That the companies, the institutions, the countries are in capable hands.”

He laughed, “Good for you. Good to have hopes.” He gulped down the remaining bear and stretched his hand towards her. She took the glass from him and went to refill it. “The way you walk,” he said after her, “It reminds me of somebody. I can’t recall who, though.”

“I hope it is someone pleasant,” she replied and wondered at how drunk he sounded. With just two glasses of beer? Probably he was drinking since much before she came. And probably getting drunk was what it took to get him in the mood. She braced herself for the act!

—

To be continued