Stories Of Young Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

and went
and leaned on the railing. Two young English surveyors had arrived
in the grounds and saw her. She waved to them gaily.
    Raju lay on the
steps panting for many minutes. His legs hurt and his chest was on
fire. He lay quietly with his eyes shut, waiting for life or death,
whichever one it was to be, to snatch him from this intermediate
state. And slowly, life triumphed. Desire returned and throbbed for
the promised reward. He ran his tongue over dry lips to relive the
kiss Eileen had planted upon them two storeys below.
    Raju raised
himself and climbed the last few steps to the balcony. Eileen
showed no fear of heights as she leaned on the stone railing,
looking at something or someone far below. Raju stood in the
doorway admiring her figure from behind. Its form was impressed
upon him, he was convinced, after the climb. He felt one with it,
and moved easily and confidently to stand beside Eileen. He brushed
his hand against hers, certain that she would entwine their fingers
again. But she turned upon him fiercely, eyes blazing contempt. One
of the English surveyors was watching her and Raju realized this
too late.
    He staggered
backwards and once again felt tears welling into his eyes. But this
time, they weren’t the tears of a helpless, confused boy. They were
hot with anger and shame. Raju descended rapidly. He wanted to
leave the hamper behind but remembered his father, and for his sake
picked it up. He reached the car, started the engine and waited.
Eileen came down slowly, grandly, but this time she couldn’t bring
herself to meet his flashing eyes. She wore her jacket and took the
backseat. Raju never missed a gear on the drive home, nor did he
move to the shoulder to let other cars pass. He had finally learned
to drive.
    ***~~~***

Coffee
    What’s instant
about instant coffee? It takes two minutes to boil a cup of milk,
longer if it’s been sitting in the fridge. You need half a minute
to stir sugar and coffee too. That’s two-and-a-half minutes. Not
instant enough for me when I have been up all night listening to a
man who is almost 30 but suddenly starts talking like a boy going
on 13. What a night this has been!
    I got home later
than usual because a woman colleague had to be dropped home first.
I hate escorting other people’s wives and girlfriends and sisters
and daughters and mothers home at night. It’s not my job. If we got
waylaid, I wouldn’t so much as raise my finger to stop harm from
being done. Take her by all means, I would say. Don’t expect me to
be martyred for a woman colleague. That’s not what I have slogged
for all these years.
    They aren’t doing
me a favour by working, are they? It’s more money in their family
purse to buy fancy clothes, phones, cars and houses way out of town
so that I have to spend an extra hour in the night cab seeing them
home. As for me, I am still stuck in this damp flat with Adil, who
is as moody as he was when we were at school, but then his dad was
rich and being his friend had its perks. Now, the old silver spoon
is gone and Adil lives off me practically, unless he gets one of
his cheques for a story that’s cost him much more to write than
what it brings home.
    I should have
thrown him out long ago. What is he to me? I pay his bills, and
he’s not exactly an undemanding wife. I had a nice, new desk,
modular and all, with smooth pine veneer but he made me sell it off
for a scratched and flaking wooden table that he thinks is antique
and puts him in the mood to write. The smooth veneer of my table
was too crass, too middle-class for his refined literary taste. An
‘abomination’, he called it and I couldn’t say anything because I
wasn’t sure what the word meant. It’s not a word you find in
medical journals.
    I must be in awe
of his dad still, for he was a towering figure in his day. There
was always a row of people waiting in their house lawn to curry
favour with him. And although we boys were very welcome to the
house, we knew our place