The Revenge

Disclaimer: The names of characters and situations occurring in this story are all fictional and any resemblance to any person dead or alive is purely coincidental. The story is purely for leisure reading and the author at any point does not mean to make fun of or degrade any caste, religion or sex in the story. If you think so, it is purely unintentional and the author apologizes for the same.

I had a troubled childhood. And I hold all my relatives, the endless list of uncles and aunts and my neighbors, another endless list of uncles and aunts, responsible for this. My only fault that I can remember was that I was a cute kid, with chubby cheeks, a mop of curly black hair on my head and round plump buttocks.

Whenever these people would come to visit my family during festivals or we went to visit them, I would be put to third degree torture. My cheeks would be pinched, my hair would be ruffled, my belly would be poked and tickled, and if they ran out of ideas my buttocks would be slapped so that it jiggled. And they would all laugh with sadistic pleasure as I would make faces and try to wriggle out of their grip, trying to get away from them.

Soon I reached a point where I was scared to death whenever I heard of a family get together. I started to device plans to escape the torture, wearing a cap to prevent from my hair being pulled or applying too much oily face cream on my cheeks so that people would not be able to get a proper grip on them. Once I even thought of placing a thick cardboard under my pants to protect my buttocks, but all in vain. The torture went on, I continued to suffer and people continued to pinch my buttocks and laugh with sadistic pleasure. But this story is not about my helpless sufferings, it’s actually about my revenge.

As I reached adolescence and hair started to grow all over my body, the tormenters stopped harassing me. But there was one lady, (name not disclosed because it’s classified information) who didn’t stop. She used to live a couple of blocks away from our house and she had befriended my mother at one of our neighbors’ weddings, a few years ago.

She was a good looking, married lady, much younger than any of the other tormenters, and had a nice, voluptuous body. She used to come to our house during the afternoons just after we came back from school and have had our lunch. She used to come to our place sometimes to learn to knit, or sometimes to learn a new cake recipe that mother had tried or sometimes just to chat. And every time she came I had to run for my life.

Sometimes I would hide on the terrace or in the garage but she would call out my name and come looking for me until she would find me. And then she would pinch my both cheeks, pulling me towards her and I would sway too and fro, screaming helplessly. But she wouldn’t stop at that. She would hold my face close to hers and smother me with kisses on my forehead and my cheeks which would leave my whole face wet. Sometimes she would hold me very close and in all the excitement her duppatta would fall off and her huge breasts would be right there in front of my nose, the cleavage showing through her deep neck salwar suit. And it was such an incident that prompted me to take my revenge.

It was actually after my thirteenth birthday when we were newly into our teens and were discovering ourselves that this incident happened. At that time the discussions with friends revolved around the things people did on the first night of their marriage or around the huge breasts of some actress in a new movie or newly learnt jokes on private parts of people. Each time someone would mention a girls body part I would feel a sensation all over my body.

One afternoon this lady was half way through her ritual of tormenting me when she held me very close and suddenly her duppatta fell. I could see her cleavage right in front of my face. And then it happened, accidently my face brushed her breasts, her open cleavage to be exact, and I felt something move in my groin. I pushed her back, turned around immediately so that she was unable to see the bulge in my pants and ran from there. I must have sat for at least an hour all alone on the terrace before the bulge in my pants finally subsided. But all the time I thought about her soft cleavage and realized that I had actually enjoyed the whole thing. I was secretly happy.

It was Holi, the day when I finally came of age. I was on the streets with my friends, putting paint on everyone in sight, when I saw her opening the gate of our lawn and enter. I dipped my hands in dark green oil paint and rushed in front of her and greeted her “happy Holi aunty”. Her face, hair and hands were all red with gulal and her white salwar suit had a few color spots here and there. I could see her cleavage through her transparent duppata. “Happy Holi”, she replied with a big smile, and caught hold of my cheeks. I could see there was some red color on her teeth as well.

She bent down, started pinching my cheeks with both hands, and started to pull me towards her. As soon I reached very close to her breasts, I pulled her duppatta very lightly which she didn’t seem to notice and it fell off her shoulders. She gave one big pull to my cheeks, and I almost fell on her, but I raised my left hand to prevent myself from falling directly into her breasts and my hand, wet with deep green oil paint, landed on her right boob. It all happened in a flash and I don’t know whether it was my reflexes or male instincts which told me to squeeze her breast really hard. I did, and almost immediately removed my hand. She stood shocked for a second, her mouth open, looked at her breasts, her duppatta on the ground and then at my face as I looked at her with my left hand raised and my mouth open.

“Shaitaan (demon)”, she screamed. I ran. She ran after me screaming, “Shaitaan rukk jaa abhi batati hoon tujhe. (Stop you devil, I will teach you a lesson).” I ran out of the house, she followed me. I turned around and saw her running after me in her white salwar suit, tying her duppatta around her neck. And as she ran her round breasts bounced up and down, the right one deep green in color.

The Big Red Bicycle.

“Baba!” he cried and ran into his grandfather’s open arms, as soon as he saw him arrive at the gate of his house at the far end of the lawn. The grandfather was happy and received his grandson with a tight hug and smile on his face. “When did you people come back?” asked his grandfather. “We came back this afternoon”, replied the boy. “And how was your vacations”, asked his grandfather putting him down again and holding his hand as they walked towards the house. “It was great, Baba, I learnt how to ride a bicycle. “Oh really, that’s wonderful!” exclaimed his grandfather. “Yes, I learnt it on Rohit’s old bicycle, it felt great. “ He said excitedly. “You know Rohit has a new bicycle now, a big black one. I didn’t ride it I was afraid I would fall off, and everyone would laugh at me.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of people laughing at your mistakes. Everyone falls off a bicycle when he is learning”, said his grandfather, as he opened his bedroom’s door and switched on the fan and light. The boy climbed up the bed and opened the window, the cool evening breeze started to drift in bringing along with it a faint smell of newly sprouted mangoes from the tree nearby. “Did you fall off the bicycle too?” asked the boy. “Yes I did, many a times”, said his grandfather. “Did Papa fall off the bicycle too?” he asked again. “Yes he fell off too”, his grandfather said, the gentle smile never leaving his face as he sat down on his rocking chair and the boy settled down on the bed.

“Did everyone laugh when Papa fell off the bicycle?” he asked. “Yes they did, they laughed at me too when I fell from the bicycle. But your father never gave up, he continued practicing and see now, he can not only ride the bicycle, but the scooter and our old jeep too.” his grandfather replied. “I will also practice then and I will learn to ride the big bicycle without falling off it” he said and ran out of the room. The grandfather gave out a short laugh and looked at his grandson as he ran out with a twinkle in his eyes. He looked at the calendar hanging on the opposite wall, his eyes rested on the next Thursday of the month it would be his grandson’s tenth birthday. He smiled.

That Thursday he came home early in the evening and as usual met his grandson at the gate of the house. He greeted him with “happy birthday”, he responded with a thank you and asked where his gift was? The grandfather called out to the boy’s mother. “Tell me Baba, why didn’t you get me a present”, said the boy tugging at his arms. The boy’s mother came out running from inside the house, the pallu of her saree tugged over her head and stood in front of him motionless looking at her feet. “Get him dressed I am taking him to the market”, said the grandfather. “Tell me Baba what will you buy for me at the market”, asked the boy. “Go wash yourself and get dressed first”, said his grandfather. The boy was excited. He immediately ran into the house dodging his mother and in to the bathroom, he washed his dirty feet and his hands and his face. The mother took out some fresh clothes from the cupboard and gave it to him. In a few minutes he was wearing a fresh set of clothes, clean shoes and his curly hair was combed.

The boy came out and saw his grandfather sitting on a chair in the verandah sipping tea and reading the newspaper. “Baba, I am ready”, he said. “Yes, yes let me finish my tea and we will go”, said his grandfather. “What are we getting from the market? Should I get a bag?” the boy asked. “No we will not need a bag”, said his grandfather. “Then what is it? Tell me Baba, please?” pleaded the boy. The grandfather put down the cup of tea, folded the news paper and stood up. The boy ran and opened the front gate. The grandfather followed him in to the street. The boy walked in front of him, he asked him to hold his hand. The boy came back and held his hand and walked beside him. The boy looked at the shops with excitement. All the time he was thinking what his grandfather would buy him, may be a pair of new jeans or a cricket bat because his old one was chipped at the end, or will he buy him a set of the latest Asterix comic books, like Rohit had. But he had no way of knowing it, he kept asking his grandfather to tell him but his grandfather did nothing but smile at him.

Then they turned into a lane on their left and he saw a row of bicycle shops lined up till the end of the lane. The boy went berserk with excitement. “It’s a bicycle, it’s a bicycle”, he jumped with joy. His grandfather laughed. The crowd around them watched them in amusement. The grandfather took the boy into a shop. The owner seemed to have known him for long and greeted him with a Namaste. The grandfather asked the boy to select a bicycle that he liked and he sat beside the owner to have a chat with him. In few minutes he heard the boy call out to him “Baba, this one”. He was sitting on a bicycle red in color with a red seat and long curved hands, both his legs firmly on the ground. “Do you expect to stay this tall throughout your life?” asked the grandfather coming up to him, “how about this one”. The boy saw that his grandfather was standing next to a big red bicycle with straight handles the latest one that he had seen on television advertisements. He knew all the kids in his block would be impressed with him if he could learn how to ride it. But he knew that his legs won’t reach the ground, so he might fall off and make a fool of himself. “But I will not be able to ride it”, he said to his grandfather. “I will teach you how to ride it, don’t worry”, said his grandfather, reassuringly. The boy smiled at him.

They came out of the shop the boy holding the bicycle and walking beside it and his grandfather walked on the other side of the bicycle. As they reached their block the grandfather asked the boy to mount the bicycle and ride it home. He held the bicycle, while the boy sat on it and pressed his right foot on the pedal. The bicycle took off, the grandfather held the seat and walked beside the bicycle. The boy pressed the left foot, the bicycle gained some speed, he pressed the right foot again and then the left again. The bicycle gained speed and gently his grandfather let go of the seat. He was now riding the big red bicycle all by himself and he had not yet fallen off it. He was jubilant with excitement. He saw his friend and called out “hey look, my new bicycle”. But he was now reaching his house he saw his mother and his little sister standing at the gate waiting to welcome his new bicycle. He applied the brakes, the bicycle slowed down, bumped into a small pot hole, the front wheel wobbled and the boy went flying to the other side of road falling on his back on the pavement. His friend came running to him and picked up his bicycle, his mother came running to him, his grandfather came running to him, his little sister laughed at him and so did his friend. He looked up at his grandfather, tears swelling up in his eyes, his vision became blurry.

“Now that you have fallen you have learnt a lesson, always be careful”, said his grandfather squatting beside him and dusting off the dirt from his clothes. His mother wiped his cheeks. “Come on give it another try and this time be careful”, said his grandfather holding the bicycle and dusting the seat. The boy looked at him. “Come”, said the grandfather gesturing and giving him a assuring smile. The boy sat on the seat, held the handles firmly and pressed his right foot. The bicycle started to roll. Slowly the grandfather left the bicycle, his friend ran beside him clapping and laughing. The grandfather watched him with a smile on his face.

The Passenger.

The passenger on the backseat asked him to stop the auto rickshaw. He slowed down the rickshaw, swerved slightly towards the pavement and stopped. The passenger got out, paid and disappeared into the building just ahead of where he had stopped the auto rickshaw. He kept the money in his khaki shirt pocket and took out his Chinese made mobile from his pants pocket.
He checked the time on his mobile screen it said 12:13 a.m. He got off the front seat of the auto rickshaw, stood on the pavement and stretched. He breathed deeply, took in the cool night breeze and rubbed his eyes. He could hear the sounds of vehicle going by. He got in to the backseat rested his back against the other side of the auto rickshaw and stretched his legs. He plugged in the earphones into the mobile and loud music from the local FM station started to pour into his ears.

It had been a busy Friday evening for him as usual. Ferrying passengers from their offices to their homes, from their homes to the clubs, pubs, restaurants, malls, theatres and to every place they had wanted to go. Most of his passengers on Fridays would be young couples, who held hands, talked, laughed sometimes kissed each other and sometimes did things which he couldn’t bear to see even through his rearview mirror.

He had picked up his last passenger from a multistorey office building, half an hour before he came to where he was now. The passenger looked like one of those who was used to working late even on Fridays. He had a loose blue tie hung around his neck which lay limp on his light blue shirt, which lay taut over his round belly. His sleeves rolled up and a black leather bag containing his computer, hung across his left shoulder. The passenger received three phone calls in the short span of half an hour. All the phone calls, it seemed were from his wife, who kept him asking when he would be reaching home to which he kept answering “in five minutes honey.” Must be newly married he had thought.

The FM station started to play some English song. He couldn’t understand the song but he liked the beats so he kept listening to it. He saw the cars going by in high speed, filled with people who he knew were going off to some restaurants to eat. He had never been able to understand the rich of this city ever since he had come to the city two years back. He had been driving his auto rickshaw in the city since two years and had been to every street where they would allow him to take his rickshaw. Even though he had been in the city for just two years whenever someone asked him since when he had been driving auto rickshaw he proudly said “ab toh bahut baras ho gaye saheb” (it has been a long time now sir).

Two years back, he was living happily in his village, married to a simple but beautiful girl, doing nothing all day just wasting his time loitering around with friends. He had left the school after he completed his tenth standard. Not being interested in further studies he never thought about it. Instead he spent his time watching the kids play on the street, sometimes playing with them, or loitered around the fields. Since he was the youngest in the family he was a spoilt one. He had been married to a girl from the other village as soon as he turned twenty. The girl was hardly fifteen and didn’t know how to react when he had touched her on the first night.

His father and elder brother used to work in the garments factory located five kilometers away at the outskirts of the village. His father had tried to get him a job at the factory too but he had simply stopped going to work after a couple of days. He always said he wanted to go to some big city and earn his livelihood working for a big company. So when his uncle from the city called him and told him that he had a job ready for him he was so happy that he didn’t even blink when his newlywed wife cried her heart out. But he assured her that as soon as he had made arrangements for a house etc, he would come back and take her to the city too.

His uncle had been living in the city ever since he could remember. His uncle had come to city and started to drive an auto rickshaw. He had worked hard and saved enough to buy two auto rickshaws. He used to drive one himself and had rented out the other one to some other guy who also was from the same village, a distant cousin. Now this guy had run off and was nowhere to be found. So his uncle had called him, had given him an opportunity to live in the big city, to have a better life and an opportunity to make more money than he could have even thought of making at the factory in the village.

Two things his uncle had warned him to stay away from, girls and alcohol and since the day he picked up his first passenger he had never touched any of them. But whenever a beautiful girl sat in the backseat he would look at her through the rear view mirror, when she was looking away, and think of his wife and her soft skin. In these two years he had been to his home twice at the interval of one year and both times, within a month of his returning to the city, he had heard the news of his wife being pregnant. He had just received a call from his mother a couple of weeks back telling him that his wife was expecting her second child. Every time after he had had sex with his wife, she would make him promise her that, he would take her to the city, and every time he would promise that he would do so the next time he came. His uncle had once told him that the city will give him everything that he wants, but it will also take away everything from him. And this had turned out to be true. He worked hard day and night sleeping in the backseat of the rickshaw waiting for passengers all night but wasn’t able to save enough to rent a decent house for his wife.

The FM changed the song, another English one, the singer was shrieking at the top of his voice and the noise of drums was horrendous. He fiddled with the buttons and changed the channel, the phone started to play old Hindi film songs. He relaxed again watching the street, a car passed by, filled with people. He had never been able to understand the rich of the city. At nights they would go out to expensive restaurants eat all kinds of delicious food till their stomachs would swell in the shape of a pot. And in the mornings they would go to expensive exercise centers, which they called the gym, to get rid of the pot belly.

A taxi sped by, and then a man on a motor bike. He looked across the street there stood girls, of all ages, dressed in loud clothes, sarees, jeans, salwars and what not. They had gaudy make up on their faces, probably bought cheap from roadside makeshift shops. Some of them stood and chatted in a group under the street light, another stood leaning on the bus stop, two of them, who were more women than girls, were flirting and having fun with a drunk, two more were haggling with a prospective client, all of them were waiting for a passenger. He could see their bright dresses fluttering under the street light. An auto rickshaw stopped near the group standing under streetlight, two of the girls both in jeans and t-shirt approached the auto rickshaw, after some haggling one of them got in and the rickshaw pulled off. The other girl joined the gang back.
Suddenly his vision was obstructed by two figures, both girls, in same flashy clothes and makeup. Their lips, cheeks were red with paint and they smelled of cheap scent. “Aey chalega kya”, (hey will u go) said one of the girls. “No”, he mumbled, pulling back his stretched legs as if their touch might cause blisters on his feet. “Nahi jaane ka hai toh yaha phukat mein kahe ko baitha hai?” (If you don’t want to go then why are you sitting here and wasting your time), said the same girl. The other girl spat on the pavement mumbled something, both laughed and walked off. They had gone only a few steps when a car came and stopped near them. After exchanging a few words both got in and the car sped off.

He relaxed again leaning against the backrest of the seat. The cool night breeze and the music in his ear were making him drowsy. Slowly he dozed off and started to snore mildly, his head rolled over to one side. He started to dream. He saw his wife dressed in a bright yellow saree running in the field. He was running after her. After running for sometime he caught her by her waist. He could feel her stomach in his arms, a small bump forming just near her navel. Her hair had the same smell that he had noticed the two girls were wearing. His wife turned around and he saw that her face resembled the face of the girl who had come to his rickshaw and was speaking to him. Her lips and cheeks were painted red and she had black kajal around her eyes. He started to feel scared, and his face became moist with sweat. He was unable to understand when had he married this girl?

Suddenly he felt his body being jolted and he woke up. He heard a man’s voice asking him something. He rubbed his eyes, and stretched himself. He saw a man standing in front of him. He had a girl with him. The girl looked to be dressed in expensive clothes and was pretty, unlike the girls standing across the street. He also noticed that the girl looked very young unlike the man, who had very less hair on his head and had a big round belly. The man had his right hand around her shoulder and the girl had her hand around his bulging waist. “Chalega?” (Will you go) the man asked. He reeked of alcohol. “Gas nahi hai” (there is no gas in the vehicle), he mumbled in reply. The man and the girl left. The man said something in his drunkenness and the girl laughed nervously. The FM continued to play sweet music into his ears. He checked the time on his mobile screen it said 1:59 a.m. He stretched his arms, gave out a grunt, rested his head on the backrest and in a few seconds started to softly snore again.