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Author’s Note: I wrote this a while back, for someone special, who appeared fleetingly into my life and left an indelible mark. This one’s for you, and no one else. I hate time, distance and all those other Physics 101 terms!
I could feel the stress coursing through my every muscle as I rode my bike back home through never-ending traffic, monstrous trucks belching black fumes of smoke right at my face and millions of people running around on the roads, darting in between the rushing cars and bikes and trucks without, it seemed, a care in the world. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I could feel it – with every breath and every heartbeat. My arms ached as I finally pushed the bike up the incline to my house and parked it beneath the awning. I stood back, stretched my back and burst out laughing.
There was a reason I laughed out that day. It wasn’t very profound; strange, rather. I knew I would quit my job. I had made my mind up on the ride back home and I had had enough of being a needle in a haystack. I had had enough of being a software developer in a country filled with so many software developers that someone had once that if you throw a stone into a crowd in India, you either hit a stray dog or a software developer. I had had enough. I was burnt out and I wanted out.
I took a long, hot shower and washed the grime off my body and stood there under the running water, leaning against the wall and contemplated what I’d do. It was seven in the evening on a Friday and I wanted to unwind. Making my decision, I put on a tee shirt and a pair of jeans and hailed a cab.
“Sports bar, Colaba,” I said and leaned back against the soft leather seats, feeling the air-conditioner blasting on my face and closed my eyes with a blissful smile on my face.
I saw her standing at the other end of the bar, nursing a beer and talking to a few friends. The sports bar in Colaba has a corner where people can play mock basketball and make fools of themselves, and I preferred the more mature game of billiards. A beer in my hand and some spare betting cash can go long way in making a good evening better. I had just won my third table in a row, when I noticed her standing there. She was wearing a white dress that came up to her knees, billowing around them, and I couldn’t help but notice her long legs and the pretty white shoes she wore. As I took my gaze up, I noticed her perfect body, the firm breasts, the slender neck, her heart-shaped mouth, her long lashes and her long straight hair that came up to her shoulders and did a poor job of hiding her smile – the smile that even from that distance, made me want to reciprocate.
It is said that we are all born with a sixth sense, and that we can actually sense someone’s gaze on us. Even in that crowded bar, even amidst the noise and the soccer cheers and the crazy yahoos, she sensed my gaze and turned to me. I stood there, leaning on my cue stick and holding the beer in my hand, and smiled at her. What happened next remains, to this day, my most memorable memory of the city that never sleeps.
It was back at my place, at eleven in the night, when we first kissed. Her lips were on to mine in mid-sentence and there were no awkward pauses and no drum-roll as we drew closer, unbeknownst to each other. Her wet, tender lips were crushing against my rough ones, frantically trying to accomplish something in a savage battle for dominance, her tongue found mine with scary ease and wrestled savagely for the same unsettling prize. We were sitting on the couch, my hands in her hair, hers on my face and we kissed long and hard, and with no apparent end to the lip wrestling in sight, we groped for each other‘s clothes. I struggled out of my shirt, and she, out of her dress, while still kissing with a kind of otherworldly passion.
I managed to get out of my shirt and I fumbled with her brassiere. I unclasped it with one hand while fighting her panties with the other. Her hands found my trousers and forced them down. I broke contact with her lips and traced my way to her neck, still kissing and licking and sucking on the sweet, soft skin and she moaned with pleasure. She threw her head back and moaned louder as I cupped her breast with my hand and kissed her gently on the nipple. I could feel it harden in my mouth as I nibbled on them softly. She screamed in pure pleasure as I bit down hard and gripped my hair and tugged on them.
I entered her in one swift motion and she gasped. She looked into my eyes and I, into hers and we began a slow rhythmic dance of carnal proportions, with gasps, moans and screams. We picked up momentum and soon we were hurtling along the tunnel of desire at breakneck speed and burst through the clouds of mist and emerged into the bright sunlit skies of satisfaction. We lay back on the couch, thoroughly spent, sweating and exhausted. She nestled her head under my chin and I could smell her sweet shampoo mixed with my coarse deodorant. Her hands closed around mine and we fell asleep there, on the couch, just as midnight struck the sensual city.
“Let’s not say goodbye to each other,” she whispered as she went to sleep. “Ever.”
Two weeks later, when I had to leave Mumbai for the last time and move back to my home town, I called her. She never answered. To this day, I wondered whether if I had stayed back there, I would have had the chance to do something about this woman who had come into my life in a whirlwind of passion and shown me the best two weeks of my life, and disappeared without saying goodbye. I wondered about all the things that we had talked about and about all the things we didn’t. I most vividly remembered the nights of intense passion, where we would turn into animals and feast on each other until we were both thoroughly satisfied. I wondered if she missed me.
To this day, we haven’t said goodbye. Yet.