The Homing Pigeons... Read Online Free

This woman is a walking sex shop: Condoms, Viagra et al. I am just hoping she doesn’t produce a dildo to sodomize me.
    “No, it’s not that. It’s just that this doesn’t seem right,” I say.
    “It’s a one night stand; we have sex in the confines of this room. I go back home, you go back home and all’s forgotten. That’s it!” she says.
    Simplistically put, that’s it. Most complications in my life occurred when I enhanced my vocabulary to include words like guilt, morals and cheating. Ignorance is definitely more blissful.
    “You can make some money too, if you are good. Let’s call it the performance incentive,” she says, luring me on into immorality.
    Money was always a priority in my life but now it is a real need. The last year has been such an eye-opener. When you are living off your wife, you have no rights. I have been living a life of being questioned for every little expense. It has brought me to a point when suicide seems like a viable option. The money can be used.
    I look at her. Even without the make-up that she wore last night, she doesn’t look repulsive. A thought crosses my mind – what’s the harm? We are complete strangers and the moment I walk out of this room, this will be forgotten. Never to be retold. I make my decision.
    “Are you coming to bed or leaving? I didn’t give standing there and brooding as an option,” she says.
    Divya is pushy and demanding; I pity her subordinates at the advertising agency. I climb into bed and do what most people count as unethical and immoral. But sometimes, food, water and shelter counts for more than all of these.

Radhika
     
    I wake up from the deep slumber and my first thoughts are of freedom. In a strange way, I feel like a revolutionary who has fought so long for freedom, that when he obtains it, he doesn’t know what to do with it. I have hated this life, of being the trophy wife to a rich, old businessman. And now, that freedom is finally obtained, the elation is so starkly missing.
    Even today, I wake up exhausted. The tiredness of the past few weeks refuses to leave me. The planning and execution of the big, fat Indian wedding has left me feeling like a sponge that’s been squeezed. I’m happy that the worst is behind me; I only need to send off the relatives.
    Out of habit, I pick up the bottle of water that sits on my bedside table and drink until the bottle is empty. At one of those times when I had wanted to become size zero, a dietician had recommended drinking water to speed up my metabolism. Although I still remain a few sizes above zero, the habit clings on. I keep the bottle back, careful to not drop the unused crystal glass.
    I get up from bed and stretch to loosen up my taut muscles. The clock on the wall reminds me that it is past nine. I remember my childhood when the scho ol started at seven and I would make it in time. Today, it is unfathomable to even wake up that early. I promise myself that I will wake up early tomorrow and go for a walk. It is my daily ritual to swear that I will wake up in time. Yet, I sleep through the alarm the next morning.
    I shower and come out of the bath to face the large dresser. I let the towel drop in the middle of the room. There is a naked, five-foot-six woman in the mirror who refuses to stop staring at me. She looks a few years older than me – maybe she’s had a bad marriage. She puts on the foundation to hide the few blemishes on her face – maybe she grew up in the hills where the sun is so harsh. She looks into my eyes – she’s got hazel brown eyes. They have a twinkle about them – maybe her bad marriage hasn’t left her dead. She brushes down her long, lustrous, brown hair. She can keep them because I am done being a rich socialite. I’m going to get my irritating tresses chopped. She adjusts her sari to hide the few ounces of fat that don’t let her look younger. Even then, I think she’s beautiful. She sighs, a long wishful sigh. I think she wants to be younger.