heat, absorbing it all into my palm, getting a taste of it in my mouth and attaining some kind of semi-nirvana. You really have no clue how you affect me, Ms. Sharma, do you?”
I am stunned is an understatement.
I shake my head without really wanting to shake my head (yes, my body is synchronized now to his voice, his breath, his words). Disgusting.
“Give me your hand,” he demands.
I think we are way past him asking anything politely or disinterestedly. I resist or maybe my hand is now stuck to my thigh for I am finding it difficult to raise it to the level of the table and towards him.
“Now, Ms. Sharma,” he says it slowly but firmly.
His eyes, I look up, remain warm. I slowly withdraw my hand from my sweaty thigh to slither is up to the edge of the table. He reaches over my glass of water, pulls at my index finger and my hand is in his. He places palm into his left palm and with his right index finger traces it. He gently lifts each finger as if testing its tensile strength before letting them sit back on his palm. Without any warning, he picks up my pinky finger and quickly bites it. I think I stop breathing for a good three seconds before snatching my hand back with some force. My face is a good hundred degrees and getting warmer. But I cannot stop looking at his now very wicked expression. The food re-arrives and now mine is way beyond cold. I have lost my appetite, for food anyway. Food is a poor substitute for what is growling in my belly now. However, even before the plates make it back to the table, I am piling my plate with everything I don’t even like. And then I am chomping, yes chomping. I need some noise in my head to replace all the sensations coursing through my body.
He is quiet, I kind of notice. And he hasn’t begun eating yet.
Oh! What is wrong now? He shouldn’t have started what he did with me in a public place. This is no place to start something like this lest you want to shock the clientele and get thrown in jail for public indecency. He is sitting back watching me chomp with an amused aroused expression on his face. I smile but go back to my chomping. Maybe my smile re-assures him that we are good, he pours himself some food but then eats with enough disinterest to give anyone watching constipation.
He eats in silence. I don’t. But there is silence between us as we eat and think, not necessarily in any degree of clarity about what is happening, has happened, or might happen between us. There is Kung Fu fighting playing in the background, quite appropriate for an Indo-Chinese food joint, I think to myself.
He has stopped eating again. I look up, irritated now. But he is looking over my head at something or someone else. Oh, really! But he is looking uncomfortable. His lips are moving to articulate that which has already formulated in the three nanoseconds between looking up and spotting the irritant.
A body slides into focus from my left and I look up into an unknown male face. Thank god! They shake hands while the new guy kind of stares at me, unashamed curiosity reflected in his eyes.
I feel uncomfortable so I look away and continue eating as before. I am not interested in knowing this some one I instantly do not like. They exchange inanities for what seems like eternity. Inanities shouldn’t take eternity. They should end like in the last minute that slipped by. I think the new man wants to extend these inanities so he can get to know at some point my identity and what I am doing here with his apparent friend/ colleague.
And I know he doesn’t want to introduce me. Too many willing ears everywhere; too many complications arising with it herewith. In short, I wasn’t worth an introduction to Mr. Nosey Parker. But Mr. Nosey Parker continues to stare and I can hear him exhale exasperatedly at this unexpected situation.
“Samir, this is Ms. Sharma, my third cousin. She is visiting from Hyderabad.”
What the fuck?!!
Cousin ?!!
Did he really introduce me as his cousin
I am stunned is an understatement.
I shake my head without really wanting to shake my head (yes, my body is synchronized now to his voice, his breath, his words). Disgusting.
“Give me your hand,” he demands.
I think we are way past him asking anything politely or disinterestedly. I resist or maybe my hand is now stuck to my thigh for I am finding it difficult to raise it to the level of the table and towards him.
“Now, Ms. Sharma,” he says it slowly but firmly.
His eyes, I look up, remain warm. I slowly withdraw my hand from my sweaty thigh to slither is up to the edge of the table. He reaches over my glass of water, pulls at my index finger and my hand is in his. He places palm into his left palm and with his right index finger traces it. He gently lifts each finger as if testing its tensile strength before letting them sit back on his palm. Without any warning, he picks up my pinky finger and quickly bites it. I think I stop breathing for a good three seconds before snatching my hand back with some force. My face is a good hundred degrees and getting warmer. But I cannot stop looking at his now very wicked expression. The food re-arrives and now mine is way beyond cold. I have lost my appetite, for food anyway. Food is a poor substitute for what is growling in my belly now. However, even before the plates make it back to the table, I am piling my plate with everything I don’t even like. And then I am chomping, yes chomping. I need some noise in my head to replace all the sensations coursing through my body.
He is quiet, I kind of notice. And he hasn’t begun eating yet.
Oh! What is wrong now? He shouldn’t have started what he did with me in a public place. This is no place to start something like this lest you want to shock the clientele and get thrown in jail for public indecency. He is sitting back watching me chomp with an amused aroused expression on his face. I smile but go back to my chomping. Maybe my smile re-assures him that we are good, he pours himself some food but then eats with enough disinterest to give anyone watching constipation.
He eats in silence. I don’t. But there is silence between us as we eat and think, not necessarily in any degree of clarity about what is happening, has happened, or might happen between us. There is Kung Fu fighting playing in the background, quite appropriate for an Indo-Chinese food joint, I think to myself.
He has stopped eating again. I look up, irritated now. But he is looking over my head at something or someone else. Oh, really! But he is looking uncomfortable. His lips are moving to articulate that which has already formulated in the three nanoseconds between looking up and spotting the irritant.
A body slides into focus from my left and I look up into an unknown male face. Thank god! They shake hands while the new guy kind of stares at me, unashamed curiosity reflected in his eyes.
I feel uncomfortable so I look away and continue eating as before. I am not interested in knowing this some one I instantly do not like. They exchange inanities for what seems like eternity. Inanities shouldn’t take eternity. They should end like in the last minute that slipped by. I think the new man wants to extend these inanities so he can get to know at some point my identity and what I am doing here with his apparent friend/ colleague.
And I know he doesn’t want to introduce me. Too many willing ears everywhere; too many complications arising with it herewith. In short, I wasn’t worth an introduction to Mr. Nosey Parker. But Mr. Nosey Parker continues to stare and I can hear him exhale exasperatedly at this unexpected situation.
“Samir, this is Ms. Sharma, my third cousin. She is visiting from Hyderabad.”
What the fuck?!!
Cousin ?!!
Did he really introduce me as his cousin
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