Ardapunia Calling

London May 2016

Ashok felt relieved when Seema called and said that she was done. He was more a scotch person and beer made him sleepy. He thanked Monty, and took his leave, as civilly as was possible. He was quiet in the car, answering in monosyllable to Seema's chatter.

Seema asked, "So, had fun? What's he like? Don't know why, but I was not too comfortable with Monotosh, the day he came home."

Ashok, his thoughts frothing like a sea in storm, caught her comment, lightly but carefully, like the way you would catch a stray feather.

"What was it about him that made you uncomfortable?" he asked, testily.

"Don't know really," Seema answered, her thoughts already on something else. Ashok did not prod it further.

Monty's indications towards Pari's physical attractiveness had jerked the lid off his emotions, till then covered securely with an educated middle-class sense of propriety. The teenage girl who came from Bangladesh had bloomed into a woman in London and so quickly. And Ashok would have been blind not to notice it.

As he drove, he remembered a rainy afternoon from the past. He had been working in the bedroom, as Seema and Pari were cleaning the living room. Pari had come into the bedroom, saying, "Dada, where is the laptop cleaner?" Ashok looked up and saw her. It could not be a furtive glance, for there she was standing in front of him; dishevelled, sweat forming a thin line over her lips, her duppata askew, revealing her cleavage, and he looked. He held-off his well-bred sensibilities, and hungrily devoured the raw beauty of the young girl standing in front of him. Pari by that time had already picked up one of the journals that was lying open and trying to spell and read the headline of an article. Thankfully this gave Ashok time to compose himself and silently hand over the cleaning solution. Pari left, saying "thank you, dada," as Seema had taught her.

As the image played in his mind, he got hard, and wondered vaguely why Seema had needed the screen cleaner that day?

London, May 2019

She was surprised to see Roger Cuthbert's text. "Hey beautiful!" Surprised and pleased, she replied with a blushing happy face. It was her off day.

The last week had been a rush. A whole batch of movies were getting ready. There were re-shots and a few changes. The crew had worked round the clock. They were a small group of people and unless Monty was trying out a new girl or boy, the pairs remained unchanged. For DP shots, Chris and Matt went through their moves in perfect coordination with Jackie. On the client's demand they had to include some light BDSMs. Since all of them were totally against doing those shots, Monty hired two body doubles for a couple of days. The light-skinned girl was very young and new to the profession. She was a Punjabi girl from India. She was crying hysterically during the shots. Pari had gone out of the flat to get some air.

Roger Cuthbert, Pari rolled the name in her mind. They had met on a Bangladesh Biman flight from Dhaka to London. Cuthbert was a second generation British Canadian garment exporter. They had seats across the aisle and the 11 hour flight had passed quickly. Roger knew a smattering of Bengali and Pari, by then, had gone beyond the 'yes, no, good,' with which she landed in London two years back.

In this May morning, the one thing that was still fresh was their first kiss, if you could call it that. She had stirred awake in the early hours of dawn. He was still watching the thriller that she had left him at. "Hey beautiful," he had said softly, before leaning over and fleetingly touching her lips with his. Pari had instinctively opened her mouth, but he had turned back to the movie. Embarrassed at her eagerness and thankful that he had not observed it, she had closed her eyes.

Cuthbert was coming to London next week. Would she be free to spend some time?

London, July 2016

She was going home. Pari could not control her excitement. It was almost two years. She could still remember the video call at Ratan cha cha's house. She was carrying a gift for him. She and Seema had driven to Camden last weekend afternoon, leaving the children at home with Ashok. Seema di was visibly excited. The upcoming Kolkata visit, meeting her family and friends, created a little-girl energy in her. Pari could afford very little, and apart from the family and khalu she got some marmalade for Ratan, who had a sweet tooth.

Seema cooked and froze food for Ashok. One meal, individual packings, so that he could survive almost two weeks. Pari cooked all the raw meat and fish they had in the freezer. "Dada I made all your favourites," she said happily, the evening before their flight. Ashok had grunted a thanks, without looking up. "Everything is packed in small amounts. So finish once you take out a container," Seema said for the hundredth time.

Seema was going home, without Ashok, after a long while. Usually they travelled together. But this time since Pari was there, Ashok managed to wiggle out of the home trip. "Koto bar bolbe?" Ashok sounded irritated. "I know you; even after telling so many times, you will forget," Seema replied.

Pari did not know what was it that was making the normally good-tempered person irritable; she had been noticing this for some time. First she had thought it was his work that was bothering him. But when that happened, he always discussed it with Seema di. This then must be something else.

Pari was too excited; she was going home. Ashok's impatient behaviour could not dampen that!