《A Portrait of Perfection》


 Tickling the Belly of the Worm

    It is mid-august in the ever drenched city of Bombay and the night is cold and windy. Dark clouds envelope the horizon as they have been for a majority of this month. The rain had only just relented, a rare breather on a day of unrestrained downpour, although the spray off the sea more than makes up for it.


    I am Joel, 24 years old and have chosen an increasingly wet night to walk the beach. The sun has long since set and all the colors that remain ranges from shades of black to dull grey, notwithstanding an intermittent blur of red and yellow dots from motorists on the road nearby.


    A few speckles of light down the coast are all the White Sand, a luxury resort has to show for its existence, peeping its way in the darkness as stars would on a night as clouded as this. Normally, a prime destination for tourists and other weekend traffic, it had been running low on guests in this dismal weather.


    Now, while I myself don¡¯t frequent the place, the resort¡¯s happenings are common knowledge to me, as my office is located just a few blocks down the road from it.


    During the summers, scores of tourists would rush by my window streaming down to the beach in excited droves as would befit cackling geese.


    They would hop and play in the sand, frolic amongst the gentle waves and bask in the sun. Yet, not one would chance a glance towards me, nor see me observing them as they skip by ready to jump into their vibrant pieces of swimwear, eager to feel the sea.


    They wouldn¡¯t really notice a lone man by the window innocuous to their heady spree now, would they?


    The office itself is a colorful building with huge sliders to let the sun in and is completed by an underground warehouse and I suppose it¡¯s only the daily morning prayers, our boss, a devout Believer, religiously performs that keeps it from flooding.


    The work is, well, exhaustive. We are the Western arm of a leading clothing manufacturer and our office is a focal point in its distribution network all the way down to the southern coast of the country.


    I deal with the logistics part which is nothing more than an amalgamation of tedious and highly unimaginative tasks, coupled with a great deal of shouting at people.


    The summer though, is a distant dream as I am soon soaked even though the rain has stopped. It¡¯s a sudden rush of madness that made me walk the beach on a night as this.


    Normally, for the entirety of this month, I had been avoiding it completely, hitching up auto rickshaw rides to the nearby local station. But the smell of the sea and the freshness in the air was too alluring as I ignored the chill and the late hour and made straight for the waves.


    There is a certain effect the waves have on the feet that is magical, the way fresh air calms the mind.


    I reached in my bag and found the last few rumpled up cigarettes for the day. The match, already damp, took a few tries before lighting up and then blew off almost immediately as the wind took hold of it.


    Another match went the same way before I somehow managed to light a third up enough to get the cigarette going. A few puffs in and the familiar feeling of warmth began to seep through me.


    The sea had calmed down by now and the waves that had been crashing not a little while ago had dropped to a gentler rush.


    Onwards I continued along the length of the beach. I still had a couple of hours¡¯ time left until the last train went by. The fog had cleared and I could see a few stars twinkling aimlessly in the night. Soon others began to pop out though the moon remained hidden.


    The beach seemed completely deserted save for the occasional gull, screeching its presence, hunting for food as the tide began to recede.


    The sound of motorists were by now left far behind and all that remained was the constant noise of the waves crashing on the beach.


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    I had reached a point of the beach isolated from the road, where tourists rarely ventured, and no hawkers shared their coop, a stretch undisturbed and raw.


    A dense forest lined its landward side and lumps of coral were scattered around in the sand. The tide had retreated leaving the stretch pale and cold, the wet sand sloughing beneath my feet.


    I walked on towards a spot I frequented in the summer, brilliantly lit in the summer night, when the full range of stars would shine at its brightest and the moon be a luminous beacon; dark and hazy in this weather, the meagre stars just not enough.


    A large chunk of coral lay right ahead at a point where the forest stretched almost onto the sand. Water gently lapped at its base forming shallow depressions where it lay in the sand.


    I reached over and climbed onto its top. It had a reddish rough texture and slightly abraded at my trousers though I had achieved a position of lounging comfortably over it on the back of months of regular visits.


    The view provided from this place was pristine. All around me the sea gently lapped, the waters dark and endless , melting into the horizon.


    A light breeze emerged from the forest behind leaving a trail of rustling leaves. It whispered gently over me, colder in its bearing, sending a sudden chill through me.


    I reached back into my bag and took the now almost empty pack of cigarettes out. There rolling in the vacant space was a solitary cigarette three quarters in length and flattened out by the day¡¯s exertions. Its upper portion had been rolled closed to prevent its contents from spilling out.


    The tobacco in the cigarette had been long gone and I had stuffed it in weed. The match, damp as before, took a few turns before lighting up but held a steady flame as I blew on the joint and got it up. A few more drags and it began to burn steadily, the red glow on each drag throbbing in my lungs.


    The result was instantaneous. The clogs in my senses suddenly seemed to pop out. I could feel the breeze brushing through my hair, tantalizing each strand as it made its way, as if a sea of grass would sway.


    I could smell the sea and its million little minions, laced in a struggle of existence, so primitive that men would shame, and no evolution could seek to conquer.


    I could see the shimmer of a million stars hidden in a haze of clouded skies, concealed as if to mask their sparkling splendeur.


    I could sense them all, from every crab that walked this bay, to every gull that lost its way. They were now all a part of my being. I was like a giant tree and my roots touched them all.


    The joint had smoked out by now and I flicked it away. The burnt stub in perfect harmony with my mind, free-wheeled in the air before it hit the sand, ready to be washed away in the next wave that came, naive to the force that lay ahead, unaware of its final repose.


    It¡¯s peculiar how we give ourselves so much importance, when there¡¯s so little to choose between us and that tiny stub. The sea consumes us all. The land consumes us all. There is little our relative differences in size or innateness could change.


    The wind had picked up again and the chill had suddenly become more pronounced. I could have stayed on in that place for an eternity, stretched in comfort on Nature¡¯s lap, her musicians at the peak of their prowess, banishing away the screeches of discordant human strings.


    But I had to get back. It was fortunate that tomorrow was a Saturday. The office was a couple of miles down the beach, but to me, it couldn¡¯t have been farther away from my mind.


    There is an endless monstrous monotony about work which no one in my childhood had warned me about. It was all about studying and getting a good job.


    But I will not dwell on this. Precious moments of being high on a serene evening by the sea are not to be wasted. And I had to get back.


    I quickly gathered my bag, swept off the coral and threw my shoes on. There was a momentary pause as my head spun, the power of weed was still on, and I had to remember to get more; but I gathered my senses and started the long walk back.


    The breeze was a pleasure to walk into. A faint moon emerged from behind the clouds, and for the first time that night a trace of a shadow was formed, complimenting my every step as I hurried along the coast.


    Soon the main beach emerged and a little while later I reached the road, poorer in my mind to what I was leaving behind.


    An autorickshaw dropped me to the station, and I hurried along past the police check gates, not wanting to miss the last train.


    The rain had started again, and it was with an otherworldly swagger that the train came steaming into the platform, rain billowing off its sides, swathed in garish maroon coats of paint.


    The Mumbai local train is a one of its kind beast, ugly to the core, a monster crude and unforgiving, fit it seems to journey you down to the depths of hell. It¡¯s the wheels that drive Bombay on, an ersatz of an earthworm, snaking its way through an urban jungle, long and continuous, feeding off the soil of this great city.


    And here I was, settled snugly in the belly of this earthworm, glad to be out of the rain. There was a lone man who had got in with me, and save for us, the compartment seemed empty.


    The train quickly picked up speed, rain streaming down its windows and blowing in through the open doors. I plugged in my earphones and turned the music on.


    An explosion of trance greeted my ears as I tucked the player back in my pocket, the beats in unison with the rocking of the train.


    The ride back from suburban Bombay to New Bombay takes about an hour and a half. I have made the journey stoned on a number of occasions, many of them in worse conditions; but this was special, positively groovy with the luxury of an empty compartment.


    The rain, the train and the trance in my head, had struck a beat and they were jamming to my senses. I felt alive. The world around me felt alive, and it was kicking.


    The earthworm gave out a long roar as it slowed down to a halt. It was hungry, rolling along on an almost empty stomach. It had an insatiable desire that reached its crescendo when the morning hours came and men of all castes arrived in numbers to be fed as fodder until it belched in its greed and its innards burst.


    But it still resumed its feeding, moving on to the evenings when it practically has a feast before slowing down through the late hours, heading towards bed.


    Yet I knew it was hungry still, as only a worm can be on its final round before bed and I liked to tickle its belly and feel it writhe in hunger, roaring in disapproval.


    An hour later I reached my destination and the worm dropped me off, heading on its way, not before playfully snapping at me as it passed by me beyond the sides of the platform. I think it was beginning to like me as the guy who tickled its belly.

 The Lioness on the Hunt

    The walk home from the station was a short one, the street lights lining up on the sidewalk as sentinels, their orange glow sparkling in the air, shorn off its perennial haze, washed clean by the rain.


    The peace and quiet of the midnight hours appealed to me and I loved to listen to it hum. Men fear the night , crammed they believe in dangers they cannot see. I thrive on the night and the freedom it represents. Its music is an expression that reaches unhindered by cacophonic traffic or by bawling pedestrians.


    I reached my apartment a little while later, the guard asleep as usual, as I let myself in. Home was a three bedroom flat, perched up on the fifteenth floor. I had it because of its view. The creek was on one side and on really sunny days, you could see the entire New Bombay coastline set in a bay that was once blue. Mangroves lined its coast and during the rains would be deluged in a flood.


    I took the old lift up, creaking and cranking all the way. It was stupid. It didn¡¯t even have a laser, you had to push the doors back if it closed up on you, and the noise it made terrified me.


    So, it was with a sigh of relief that I got off it when it finally reached the fifteenth floor. I fumbled for the keys as I reached my door. Once inside, it was a surprise to see that all was quiet. The guys it seemed had slept off.


    I shared the flat with two others- Leon and Gaurav. Leon was a Goan and Gaurav was from Delhi. They were both working and it seemed they too had a long day. And yeah, our girl friends lived with us too, though they had their own flat on the ninth floor.


    I dropped my bag on the floor and walked into my room to the sight of a girl stretched on my bed, lying flat on her stomach, her chin propped up on a pillow, staring into a laptop screen. The light from the laptop was all the light in the room, though from the light streaming in through the now open door whence I came, I could make out her silhouette dressed in a little spaghetti and underpants, and nothing else.


    Her name is Emily and we had been together for a year now.


    I still vividly remember the first time I had seen her. We had doped on an exquisite stash of charas and the world we beheld had sparkled into an explosion of colours. I had gone down to eat and was coming back for another round when I saw her down at the lobby. She had just got off the lift and had stepped into the sun.


    I still recall the way her hair dazzled under the sun¡¯s rays and the way she squinted as her eyes adjusted to the brightness before regaining its doe-eyed shape and transfixing on me, as I stared back lost in a gaze so deep that made me dream of a forest lake bright and mysterious under a morning sun.


    I had been standing by the door for a while now, lost to the sight of the light bouncing on her curves. And it must have been for a long while because she turned around and asked,


    ¡°Long day?¡±


    ¡°Yeah!¡± I exclaimed. ¡°Very long. I had gone down to the beach after work.¡± There was a pause before I said,¡±I am high.¡±


    ¡°I can see that,¡± she said, turning back to her laptop.


    She smoked too and there were few around me who didn¡¯t. However, of late she had developed a cavalier approach to it, ever since she had been going out with a guy from her church group. She suspected I knew it, but I never brought it out in the open. I liked having her around.


    ¡°I want you¡±, I said, my eyes still fixed on her curves, the light dancing on it, attuned to the flickering of the laptop¡¯s screen.


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    ¡°I am tired¡±, she said, not glancing back, completely aware of my gaze.


    ¡°I still want you¡±, I said , sitting down beside her, sliding my hand beneath her dress, feeling her smooth back.


    She did not react, emitting an expression of mild resistance, but I knew she wouldn¡¯t stop me. So, in one fluid motion I slid off her underpants and turned her around, giving her no choice but to look back at me, a charitable expression on her striking face.


    ¡°Oh all right¡±, she said, pulling off her top and then proceeding to unclothe me. I suspected she felt an argument at that point would take up more time. Well, I couldn¡¯t care less, I was setting myself up for a mini explosion.


    Her body was warm to the touch and her lips sweet. There was no eagerness about her but I knew how to put that right.


    The lioness was sleeping in her golden den, deep in the forest. I readied my spear, quivering in anticipation of the hunt, wading through the shrubbery, determined to make the kill.


    The lioness roared, she had heard me approach. Slowly she walked out of her den, her tail poised high in the air, sensing my overture as I reached her dominion. She pounced at me as I sidestepped her, jabbing at her golden skin as she passed by me, her crimson blood dripping on my spear.


    She retreated, licking the blood off her skin and then began to circle me, roaring in agony, waiting for the right moment to attack. I reached out and began to jab at her but she dodged my every thrust, patiently waiting for her chance.


    Drums rolled in the background, their lackeys screeched; the entire forest watched in bated breath, pulsating in the rhythm of the hunt.


    Her circling had slowed, she appeared to be tiring down, her strength ebbing out with her blood. Now was my chance, I thought , as I charged at her with all my strength, the spearhead glinting in the sun. But just at the precise moment when I was about to gouge her, she leaped aside with surprising agility, her weakness it seemed had been a ruse, and then pounced, devouring me whole.


    I pumped, sweat glistening on my brow as she began to moan, her body gyrating to our union. There was an energy about her now as she gasped in ecstasy tuning to my every beat as I slammed into her, every nerve and fiber of my body propelling me on with the fervour of a bull in heat, going on and on, faster and faster until every sensation of my body converged onto one spot and shot up the shaft as it throbbed for one final almighty heave and a fountain of spurt shot out, gushing forth in unbridled glory.


    I rolled off her, tired and spent. I knew she had enjoyed it too.


    ¡°I like being with you¡±, I said, turning back to look at her face, little drops of sweat gleaming on her perfect brow.


    She smiled,¡±I know that¡±, and got off the bed and into the shower, the room glorified by her naked presence, blushing on her every step.


    There had been a time when our passion wouldn¡¯t let us stop holding each other and I had skipped office just because I had not been able to tear myself away from the sight of her naked body cuddled up beside me. But things had cooled, and nights as tonight were not as many as before.


    I got off the bed and joined her in the shower. The water was warm and de-stressing, the weariness shedding off me like an old skin. She had been soaping herself, and was soon finishing off, towelling herself dry as she leaned over and gave me a quick kiss before going out.


    There I was, encased in the water, the fragrance of her scent hovering all around me. It had indeed been a long day with a pleasant end to the night, and a well earned weekend to look forward to.


    Two days with little to stress, dissolved into nonexistence in a vast solution of flavourless days.


    ¡°I need a smoke¡±, I thought; the previous joint had run its course.


    I turned the shower off, towelled myself dry and got out. Emily it seemed had got back to watching whatever it was that she had been watching. Outside, the rain continued, relentless in its splattering against the window, highlighted in fitful flashes of sudden lightning streaks.


    I reached into my locker and got the last pouch of weed out; I had to remember to get more tomorrow. A single pouch carried enough for three joints. A chillum would reduce that to one.


    I got the chillum out and began stuffing it. I was too tired to make a joint and it was time for bed anyway. The chillum would quickly do its work without the nuances of the more gracious and cultivated joint.


    ¡°You should sleep. Its four in the morning,¡± said Emily looking up from her screen, her frown lighted in the laptop¡¯s glow.


    ¡°Soon¡±, I replied, not looking up, ¡°You want?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    As you wish, I thought groping for the lighter, finding it and flicking it on.


    The smoke was harsh. It clobbered you, which was what I wanted anyway.


    The rain was still coming down in pours, as I made my way to the balcony and settled down on the mattress we kept there. I love to watch the rain come down. It always accentuates my highs. The stimulation that every drop generates while falling down flows through the air to me, caressing my soul.


    My soul smiled back at me, content in this moment of solitude. The pitter patter of the rains had emboldened him to come out of his shell. He seemed more serene since the last time I had seen him, flitting inside my head in wisps of fleeting glances. His flaming red hair had grown long, swept back from his smooth, angular face.


    ¡°How have you been?¡±, I said to him hoping to elicit some sort of response. But all he would do is smile back, as had been his wont, every time he had graced me with his presence. Nevertheless, his smile always assured me, and sitting side by side, basking in each other¡¯s presence, we watched the rain pour down endlessly filling the air with a fragrance as fresh as heaven itself.