The Chess Master

The personal impact of a recession can bring out the best or the worst in people. In my case, it was both. But on balance, whether it good or bad, I still haven't been able to figure it out. Only time will tell, I guess. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Let me start at the beginning. My name is Prerna and until a few months back, my husband Dhruv and I were living the vaunted Indian middle class dream. We were both working in mid-level positions in the same small but influential financial corporation. In fact we met as colleagues, became friends, then fell in love, and then got married. We had decided to postpone having children until I got promoted to a managerial position. So two decent incomes without any children translated into a pretty comfortable lifestyle. We had both grown up in families with financial troubles, so when we had a good income, we spared no expense at acquiring any luxuries. A sea-side 2 bedroom rented apartment in Juhu equipped with every luxury from a flat screen TV to a washing machine and even a drier. An expensive foreign-made sedan. Frequent foreign trips in Europe and East Asia. And of course, the services of a drive, a maid and a cook.

The problem is, we started living more like middle class Americans than middle class Indians. And by that, I mean, we racked up quite a debt. Our salaries were decent, but not lavish enough to pay for all these luxuries out of our pocket. So almost everything had been financed by loans, and most of our incomes went in paying the monthly installments, credit card bills, and the rent. The thought of saving for a rainy day did cross our minds occasionally, but Dhruv and I always said that we'd start saving once we get promoted to senior positions and our salaries grew really big. After all, the stock markets worldwide were booming, our bonuses every year were growing, our stock option value was multiplying, and our company was considered one of the rising stars in the financial sector. So we thought that as long as we were both young, we should enjoy our lives, and start saving later. The later, as it happened, was really bad.

A Girl Chooses a Coach

Sudhir sat in his corner of the large hall that served as his house's living-cum-dining room and watched the young girl bounce about. Aruna, his 22-year old niece had recently got married and had just come back from her brief honeymoon visiting her mother, and both mother and daughter had dropped by at their house to say hello.

Sudhir had always had an awkward time around Aruna in recent years. The girl didn't seem to understand that a grown up girl needs to be circumspect with men -- even if those men are relatives.

That is the custom in Indian homes. Till she is a toddler it is fine for uncles and older cousins to carry the kid all around the house and fete and treat them. But once she was in her teens- and especially if she had attainted puberty -- the nature of that interaction changed.

Some of them remained playful and tom-boyish but the physical touch was completely eliminated. Not even a handshake, let alone a hug.

And so it jarred him every time Aruna came visiting. She would insist on a proximity that bordered on intimacy. And yet, the girl behaved as if sex did not exist. Nothing else could explain her behavior as a teenager -- right though her teens -- and right up to the days leading up to her wedding day.

A Thakur and His Bahu - Part 1

Chapter 01: A Thakur Challenges Her Womanhood

The marriage preparations were abruptly stopped. As usual, there was no provocation for it beyond a sharp exchange of words, and egos were bruised on all sides. The boy's father, Thakur Hari Singh, flew into a rage when his plans for the young couple's future were challenged by the girl in front of her father and other family elders.

But what really set the stage for what happened next was the way in which the disagreement became a war of words. In the typical swaggering style of a feudal lord, the Thakur had pronounced that he would wait for exactly 9 months to become a grandfather and that his newly married son should set about propagating the clan forthwith.

This announcement was made at a gathering of the two extended families. Binita, the bride-to-be was expected to sit in on the proceedings only to know what was expected of her and not to respond, react or offer comment. But her father had not brought her up in that manner, even though socially they were from a family that would be expected to be subservient to the Thakur. To her father, the escape from the social inferiority lay in higher education. He sent his daughter Binita to the best of schools in the town and later to a larger city in a hostel. Now, at the age of twenty, she was among the best educated from the village.

The Masala Moment

It all came to be because the house was full. Children were visiting with their own toddlers and his father had come to visit them. And because the house was full Deepu couldn't get enough of his wife Paromita. And because he couldn't get enough he was like an untamed bull.

And that led to the brash decision to fuck on the kitchen floor. The rest of what followed was not known to him.

She was sitting on the kitchen floor, grinding masala for tomorrow's hilsa fish curry and it was late night. As it is with Bengali households dinner ended late. One by one all the family members went to bed and the lady of the house, after clearing the dishes and putting away things was getting a lead on next day's intended menu.

She sat on the floor, her saree pulled up naturally and was using the heavy grinding stone on the slab below to make the masala paste for tomorrow. A day in advance not only saved time but also somehow made the mix more pungent and potent.

She would wake her husband early to go get the fish fresh from the first catch. As he came by she opened her mouth to say just that. But he had come not to be told an early morning errand. He had come to see what his Paru was doing. And there she was, dress pulled up and by accident so far up that he could practically see the deep dark recesses where he loved to linger.

Uncle Shom and Sunita

Sunita watched in fascination. No doubt, Shom Uncle had his back to her and he was fully clothed. But there was no mistaking what he was doing. The elderly recently widowed, father of her dear friend Deepa, and was busy stroking himself fast and hard. His hand was holding the railing and his head was thrown back. His hand was moving in long strokes and short thrusts.... A rhythm she was familiar with for all the times she had masturbated her own husband Kunal to orgasm. That was how she managed Kunal, when she needed to and it never took Kunal too long to come.

But Shom Uncle seemed to go on for quite a bit. His hand was clearly under his dhoti and every now and then, his tall broad frame shuddered. He paused as he relished that wave of pleasure and then gave himself a few more long strokes. As he leaned forward and sometimes back, he turned a bit which gave her a glimpse of his hand on his cock. It seemed a full fist and the head was jutting well beyond the clenched fist. Sunita felt her throat catch, and the dryness in breathing coming from excitement. She felt a release of fluid between her legs and she shifted uncomfortably.

Uncle was now hunched over. Hard strokes with the hand flying over the pillar of flesh he caressed lovingly. Then after a few short ones his head was thrown back and she heard the groan of satisfaction in the release and frustration at being alone by himself. He shook shuddered and spasmed, for several long seconds as he came. Sunita watched in fascination as his body jerked. As the elderly man thrust, jerked and slowed down, she heard him exhale with a long and deep sigh. Satisfaction. And then a shudder and a stifled moan.

Breaking Barriers

It was not their fault that they were spotted by him while pleasuring themselves shamelessly. Nor was it his fault – he had not planned on spying on the young housewife that was his tenant.

Either way, as Narain slowly climbed down the metal stairway he saw and was transfixed by the sight of Shanthi, his tenant's young wife, pinching her own nipples and mauling her breasts while a woman had her head busy between the her legs.

He was over 70 years and he had cursed his luck for having to climb to the third floor to where the water tanks were. There was no place left to dry his clothes and no one to help him either. He had slowly climbed one step at a time, hung out his clothes to dry and was climbing down, wrapped in only a thin bathing towel.

Since few ever came to the rooftop and still fewer climbed that metal ladder to the third roof, the women had thought themselves safe from discovery so long as the room door was shut.

But the elevation of the stairway allowed Narain a full view through the ventilation window. The woman who he considered young enough to be his daughter was opened out and in a sexual position he did not know could exist, certainly not between two women as far as he knew.