08.16.06

How I spent my summer vacation

Posted in Humour at 6:16 am by The Intellectual Terrorist

It was the April of 1989 and I had just turned 14. My friends had enlightened me on all there was to know about sex. You have the little thing, it grows big … just thrust it in … and you’re pretty much there. Simple.

It was simple …yes … but we needed a subject to try it on. Me, RadheShyam and Harjeet decided that it was high time we took matters ‘out of our hands’. This wasn’t something that we could just approach some girl with and believe that she would gladly accept our proposition. Finding the subject was the only stumbling block to the whole operation. The other three pieces were eager, ready and willing. After a lot of brainstorming we realized that this was something that we couldn’t approach someone who we studied with or lived in the same colony with, since there was no way they would be in for something like this and even if they refused the word would fly. This would even be worse than Khanna-saab’s liaison with the lady in No 112. All he had done was return her underwear that had fallen in his balcony. Nothing much to read here, except that No 111 had seen the exchange: 45 year old Khanna saab, blushing profusely as he handed the garment to an equally blushing Kumkum aunty. And the stories that the society fourth estate had churned out about this transaction, would have even made a hidden camera blush.
We would have to be careful.

Harjeet was the first to zero in on Phoolvanti bai. Phoolvanti bai was the maid servant at our house. True to her name, she was a flower that has bosomed. Hugely, if I may add. She was in her 30’s had two children aged 7 and 10 and she was hot. Really hot. She was black, charcoal black, very busty and wore her blouse with the hooks that opened from the behind. We always wondered whether she bloused/debloused by herself or needed assistance in this task. We would have been glad to help, if asked. But she never did. She was Maharashtrian and wore the saree with the lower portion pulled inside, between her legs and tucked below her navel. Her belly button was always exposed and when she was at work sweeping or wiping the floor, we always had a good look at her bosom that carelessly showed whenever she bent. We were sure that there was enough milk in there to cause all of us to have a lactose overdose. The part of her body that universally appealed to all of us was her behind. It was huge. You could have shown a 70 mm movie on it or placed a gigantic hoarding there. We were convinced that it had taken years of hardcore bedroom activity to achieve those proportions.
All we had to do now was convince her to have sex with us. Simple … once again.

Harjeet was the oldest 14 year old, amongst all of us. He was a lot bigger than either of us. He was our unanimous choice. But that wasn’t to be. Harjeet felt that this was a question that did not require any biceptual assets, any one of us who could smooth talk was good enough. It was evident that he was as unwilling to pop the question, as were any of us. We drew the lots and RadheShyam(Rads for short) emerged the unfortunate winner. His face was all red and his -3.75 thick glasses quickly fogged.

As a consolation we decided that Rads would get the first go at Phoolvanti bai. This didn’t help de-fog the glasses and we knew we had to do better.
Our first task was confidence boosting measures for the man in the hot seat.

After many internal practice sessions Rads was finally ready (at least as far as we were concerned). We decided that the best time to approach would be at 11:00 in the morning on Saturday. Dad and mom would have gone to the market and would only return by 3:00. It would have been 12:00 normally, but there were going to the PhoolGate market and they would definitely stop for lunch at Dadi’s place. We assumed that this would be adequate time for us to do the honours.

Rads was the smartest amongst us. He demanded to know what we were going to use for protection? Protection? Yeah morons what if Phoolvanti bai got pregnant? None of us had given this a thought. Harjeet had the answer. He went straight to JaiBharat Medical Store and stammered and hawed, until he realized he couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to give up though. He turned to Mohan Mini Mart and bought 6 of the largest balloons Mohan had. We used three for practice and were satisfied with the fit and the feel. Now it was time to get the plan in motion.

Phoolvanti bai was in the bathroom wrestling the clothes. She sat squatting on the bathroom floor, on a wooden stool that balanced gingerly on its three rickety feet, and banged the clothes on the stone that stood in the middle of the bathroom. There was water, water everywhere. Rivulets were flowing from her forehead as she systematically ‘banged the clothes’. We were hoping that we were next.

All three of us stood at the bathroom door and gazed at the sexual orgy in motion. She reminded us of Xena the warrior princess, in a sex-goddess avatar. Phoolvanti bai in an extremely tight wet saree, her arms going up and down in linear motion, the clothes making contact with the stone, the slight arch at the waist, adjusting everytime the arms went up. We were enthralled.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed us. ‘Kya chahiye, baba?’.
‘Kuch nahin bai .. aise hi dekhna tha ki kapde kaise dhulte hain.’ All three of us smiling sheepishly.

We kicked and prodded Radheshyam to get into the act. As he had been thoroughly tutored, Radheshyam blurted out the words, “Bai kya aap hamare saath sex karengee?’.

The rapid arm motion stopped, the clothes came to a rest and there was silence in the bathroom. The tap was the only object that dared to cut into the visual with some audio, as it kept dripping, unaware of the seriousness of the situation. Time had stopped.

Everything looked surreal. Just like in the movies, in extreme slow motion, Phoolvanti bai slowly twisted her torso, the stool angling to accommodate for the shearing motion and simultaneously managed to turn her neck in the same direction covering enough ground to see us eyeball to eyeball. We were petrified. Her face broke into a smile and her mouth moved to form the words ’Haan snakz zaroor karoongi tumhare saath.’

Did she say Yes? We did it!!
But what the hell was snakz?
‘Kya hai khane main?’
What was she talking? Did she think snacks instead of sex?
Rads you moron try again.
Meekly ‘Bai.. sex.’
‘Haan wahin snakz’

There we were now in a spot.
Muttering ‘Harjeet, she doesn’t understand sex. It’s English. What’s sex in Hindi?’.
Harjeet was stumped.
So was Rads.
So was I.
How could we have been so stupid? We should have had the whole script in Hindi. What do we do now? Do we ask the watchman what it was? Even he wouldn’t know. We could at least show him in mime and get the word. But did we have time?

As we all thought and tried to pick up something intelligent from all the extended individual thinking, the stool made the decision for all of us.
Since Phoolvanti bai was angled towards us, the huge torsional force on the stool was being carried by two legs and not three. One of the legs decided that it was time to give way. A sharp crack and the leg broke. The stool gave way from one side and spilled it’s sole occupant on the tiled bathroom floor. Phoolvanti bai lost all balance as her body hit the floor with a thud, a thud that was slightly cushioned by the water. Her head was not as lucky, and we all heard the tile crack as the head made contact with it. Phoolvanti bai was down; her legs spread, her hands as stretched as they could be. Standing, this would have been the ‘Spread Eagle’ stance in ‘Enter the Dragon’. But she wasn’t standing. Time stood still for the second time.

The tap continued its monologue which was interrupted by the heavy breathing of Phoolvanti bai that had now become extremely audible. More audible once our hearts had stopped thumping like crazy and relaxed to take in the situation.

I was tense, since this was happening in my house. Rads looked like he had been hit by a truck. Harjeet did not have the look that either of us had. What the hell was he looking at? We followed his gaze to the breasts that were spilling out, barely being covered by the wet saree.
We all now shared a matching look.

Rads as usual was the first to bring in reality into this dream sequence.
‘Damn is she dead.’
‘Moron .. she’s still breathing.’
‘Let’s take her to the bedroom and let her recover. ‘
That seemed to be the best thing to do, for the moment.

Rads went for her feet, Harjeet held her at her armpits and I supported her middle.
Holy mother of Christ !! She was heavy. She weighted a ton, wet saree and all. All 3 of us were panting by the time we got her to my parents’ bedroom. We had to stop twice in-between to catch our breath. Rads was worried that carrying this heavy load, would have him end up with hernia.

We finally covered the distance and plopped her in my parents’ bed. Her breathing was relaxed and rhythmic. We all gazed at her in admiration. But just for a second.
We all heard it simultaneously and stopped right there. The front door lock had turned and the door had opened.

‘Koi hai ghar pe? ‘

This was not as we planned. How come they were home early. Holy DharmaTeerth baba !! Dadi was fasting since the Baba was in town, so mom and dad had come back straight home.
What do we do now? The only escape route was the main door and we had no way of accessing that. Harjeet quickly opened the bedsheet and covered Phoolvanti bai with it, from head to toe.
We looked around and Rads was nowhere in sight. Where the hell did he disappear?
‘Psst .. under here’
There he was under the bed with his head peeping out. Smart Rads. We all got in with him.

All we could see from under the bed was roughly a frame of 12 inches. In walked a pair of chubby feet with the brown pant stopping at the ankle. This was dad; hugely overweight, balding and thinking of his next Physics lecture subject(as always). As we looked on, the brown pant slid to the ankle and with a deft flick of the foot was in the air, as it got folded and placed on the hanger. Dad was changing his clothes and looking for the lungi. As he stood there in his underwear a shrill scream cut through the air. Phoolvanti bai had woken up at this precise moment and as she was staring at the tub of lard in front of her with an underwear covering the basics. Her initial reaction of surprise was followed simultaneously by the shrill vocals. We could see the bedroom door open and another pair of feet, encased in a red cotton saree, rush in. This was all too much for Rads, who promptly fainted. Mom was shocked to see dad in his underwear and Phoolvanti bai in bed screaming her lungs out. Unknown to her there were 3 more people under the bed, one faint and two petrified.

That was the last day Phoolvanti bai worked in our house. Mom could never figure out what she was doing on our bed and why there was a red, blue and yellow balloon lying on the bathroom floor.

I’m 31 now and happily married and know that sex in Hindi is ‘Kama Kriya‘. I keep trying to convince my wife to buy a Maharashtrian saree, a blouse with hooks at the back and wash the clothes herself in that garb, just for a day. But she’s not biting. My 2 year old son, sleeps blissfully, unaware that a man’s finest fantasy ever, has been replaced by a washing machine.

The Intellectual Terrorist

-blows your mind

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