16
फेब्रुवारी
16

She, he and the primal rhythm III

Part I
Part II

He woke up weary next morning. He was still very much in sleep, unsure of his surroundings. Then he saw her sleeping beside him, occupying majority of his bed. He somehow reclaimed some of his space. He thought he should feel like planting a peck on her forehead but surprizingly he wasn’t feeling so. He realized how empty and filmy that thing was. This wasn’t the first time he saw her sleeping still he was somehow glued to it. She was sleeping on her stomach. Weather wasn’t particularly cold yet she was covered up till her nose. Her hair was messy. He could even spot a few stray long strands of hair around. He still didn’t feel like planting a peck.
He got out of bed. Kept milk on one burner and started making masala chai on another. She also had gotten up by the time his extra strong masala chai was ready. She had brushed and combed her hair back into a lazy bun. He couldn’t decide whether to kiss her first or offer a cup of masala chai. He obviously made an obvious choice. Eventually, she reluctantly broke out from his embrace and complained that she had to go now. They went back to their chai. He realized they had spent a considerable amount of time in kissing; his piping hot masala chai was now only lukewarm. She wasn’t complaining. This way she could drink it faster.
Slowly, whatever they had had for each other for the weekend was starting to wane. They had to get back to outer world. Meet people, talk, discuss, gossip, draft, plan, eat, run, be late, be early, be happy etc. He did whatever he had to; yet kept finding something missing. Involuntarily, he would check his pockets, check email, messenger. He even walked till the security guy, averted his questioning look and went back. Soon it was evening and he hit gym. He ran his usual course. His sweat was reminding him of numerous scratches his torso had suffered a day before. He wasn’t complaining. Today was his cardio day. He completed a short circuit of light weights for large muscles and went back to elliptical trainer.
He came home. He still felt something was missing. Clueless, he stood before his wardrobe mirror. His reflection was questioning him. He removed his clothes. He hadn’t a remarkable body but he showed no bone either. His thighs were sore, thanks to the elliptical. Naked, he walked into his shower. He let sprinkling hot water relax his muscles, clean his scratches for long time. Dried and came out and spread himself up on his bed. He knew he will have a hard time coming back to ground reality of daily life. What he didn’t anticipate was it had such a physical edge to it. There he was spread on his bed, naked. Streetlight was flickering outside. Random street noises were continuing as usual. Neighbouring aunty’s cooker had let off steam thrice in last 15 minutes. Someone was trying to musically reverse into the parking spot but couldn’t in one go. And he was having troubles balancing a few magical hours to lifelong reality of life. He toyed with the idea of calling her. He didn’t. He looked down. He was flaccid. He didn’t want to touch himself. Soon he was hungry. Reluctantly, he wore clothes and went to kitchen to cook.
He took two eggs out, and started beating them ferociously. He wanted a street style masala omlette. Took tomato, chilies and onion and tried to chop them as finely as he could. He was yet to get out of that enigma. He was physically feeling everything. He felt light touch of his cotton tee, frayed bottom edges of this pajama, ammonia from chopped onion, just everything. He mixed everything in the egg batter, beat it again. Then he generously put oil on a hot pan. Emptied the batter on. Omlette soon took a shape and was fluttering on hot oiled pan. He remembered himself when she bit his nipple. For a second or so, he was thrown into a totally different dimension. Omlette’s fine ready smell brought him back.
For next 5 days, they did not contact each other. No call, no message, not even on whatsapp. It was sixth day, his sixth omlette, he was still flaccid and his whatsapp rang up. He had all whatsapp notifications muted, except for her and his mother. It was her this time.

She: Hey dude, almost a week since and we haven’t even talked.

He: I know. I am just coming to terms with it. Something feels missing.

She: Vagina

He: Shut up.

She: I am serious. Even I feel like just showing myself off to you… be there with you.

He: I see. Babe, I do love you and all but that was such personal experience to me… I felt more like was of me, than us.

She: Looked like I saw myself from outside… just another aspect of mine…

He: My words… How did you… I mean…

She: Yes dude

He: Oh I love you. When are we meeting again?

She: No idea. You know what? I am naked since I got home today. (Sends a selfie, breasts partially visible)

He: Oh…

She: I stood in front of the mirror for like a straight hour, or so it seemed like. I couldn’t see myself like that again. Why do I need you to see myself?

(He again opens her photo. Her nipples don’t look excited to him. He looks in his pant. Same.)

He: Why are we so similar, dear? I just hope you are not my twin!

She: Fuck you. We are not.

He: So what now?

She: We mean so much to each other. Our bodies mean something else to each other. Like my body is a subset of my identity yet it itself is an independent identity to your body.

He: Hmmm. (Contemplative. Removes clothes like they are made of thorns)

She: Why does it even make sense? (Frustrated emoji)

(Sends her a pic of his flaccid downside)

She: I am not feeling like touching myself. My hand just doesn’t go down there.

(3-4 minutes go. None sends a message.)

He: Babe, when is your cycle due?

She: Any day now. Why do you think am I acting crazy like this?

He: Why am I acting crazy then? Just tell me when you get it. Good Night. Love.

She: GNTC (heart emoji)

They slept naked.

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