Dear Karishma,

I apologize for the delay in writing to you. I got busy with some unavoidable work. Coming to your question about understanding stories and writers, I did not mean that reading is pointless. In fact, by reading a story, you can understand what the writer is like. My comment was purely about trying to improve someone’s writing, and not applicable to the pleasure of reading.

Have you written more stories?

Best wishes
Manthan

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“You are unusually quiet today,” Siddhartha said.

“Just slow. Am unable to think of things to talk about. Have you been reading this book?” she pointed to one lying on the bed.

“Yes. He is one under-appreciated writer in India today.”

She smiled.

“Did you talk to him?” he asked.

“Whom?”

“The young man who was here last time…”

Her face fell, “There is nothing to talk about.”

“He is your boyfriend?”

“Ex.”

“Now ex?”

“No. Two-years-ago-ex,” she replied with a chuckle and got up, “Do you want a head-massage? I am noticing you rub your temple too often. Looks like you have a headache.”

“I am stressed, yes. So, that would be wonderful.”

Her mind wandered off again as she gave him the massage and she came to herself only when he stopped her, held her hands and said, “You are crying.” She couldn’t respond and tears continued to flow down her cheeks. “Come here,” he made her sit of the couch and put his arms around her. “What is worrying you? Is it that guy…”

She shook her head.

“Then? Has somebody else said something?”

“It’s me who said something…. Something terrible.”

“To whom?”

“To my mother.”

“What did you say?”

She told him about her altercation with her mother, after which they hadn’t spoken to each other. “At least she held up her dignity, sold her jewelry, but didn’t do what I have done.”

The conversation she narrated confirmed to Siddhartha what he had suspected all along. That she was driven to this profession by the need to support her family.

“Probably it wouldn’t sound convincing enough coming from me, but what you told her was right,” Siddhartha spoke to her amazement, “And yet. You would feel more at peace, if you apologized, won’t you?”

“I can’t figure out right from wrong any longer.”

“Because lines are not so clear most of the time. Try and stop feeling guilty about your choices.”

She pulled herself away at that, suddenly aware that she was not with a friend, but with a client. “I will be back,” she said and went to the bathroom. When she came out after washing her face, he had switched on the TV. Uncertainly she went to sit beside him. “You should go home today,” he said.

She wondered if she should return his money, but remembering the earlier instance, decided against it.

—

Dear Karishma,

You usually reply so quickly that I am surprised to not have received any letter for you yet. Courier record shows that my last letter was delivered. I hope things are all right with you.

Meanwhile, I read a book that I think you will enjoy. The author has brought out several characters quite vividly in the book. But it should be possible to figure out which character is actually the author’s voice. I am sending a copy of the book with this letter. Let me know how you like it.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Karishma stared at the book “God’s Little Soldier” by Kiran Nagarkar. What a coincidence that she should come across the same book twice within three days. Did that rather thick book contain answers to her questions? She thought back to the day when she had read that newspaper article. “College Girls Make Hefty Pocket Money as High-class Escorts.” She had recently started her job as a PGT teacher. The advantage of doing masters was that she was teaching students of class 8^th to 12^th earning slightly higher salary than a TGT, teaching junior classes, would have made. But it was becoming clear that her salary and all her tuitions were not going to be enough for the family needs. Medical expenses for her father were continuously rising. Full-body paralysis had confined him to bed and it had started creating other complications as well. Her mother’s health could no longer be ignored. The private school Kunal went to was as good as an expense machine. Sometimes it was a compulsory crafts class, sometimes a school trip – money was needed all the time, beyond the already hefty monthly fees. Pulling him out from there and putting him in a cheaper school was an option, but Karishma didn’t have the heart to exercise that. Savings had already been exhausted in last two years. She just had to make more money somehow!

When she read about the amount those college-girls were making for just a few hours of their time, the idea had refused to leave her head. Very cautiously, she had scoured the Internet and sent an e-mail to a girl who solicited clients through her website. She replied back advising her to go through an agent. They took some money, but helped you stay safe. After some back and forth, she had told her how to get in touch with Bittu.

And then, on the first day of her job, she had met Siddhartha Sen. What luck! But her not having had sex with him, or rather him choosing not to have sex with her, did not change the fact that she was a prostitute. Her conscience will have to be bear this burden for rest of her life. A burden made worse by the necessity of keeping it a secret.

“Didi,” Kunal peeped in, “Mummy is refusing to go to the doctor.” Their mother had an appointment with the doctor. But she was still hurt about what Karishma had said on that fateful evening; hence the refusal to go. She went to her mother and after profuse apologies and emotional persuasion managed to send her to the doctor.

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

It was flattering, to say the least, to receive your last letter. I had received your earlier letter too. It will take me some time to read the book you have sent. I will write again once I have read it.

I was reading some of my own writings again including the ones that I had sent to you. You have refused to be critical, but don’t you think that those are a bit too optimistic? Reality of life is different.

I have also been wondering about you. I know that you have not published in years. But did you stop writing as well? You must have written something since then. Could you send a copy to me? I would love to read more from you.

I have written a novel, but some parts need tightening up.  I will send it to you, once I have re-read it myself and done some editing.

Sincerely
Karishma

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