A drop of sweat trickled down his spine and conspicuously navigated itself through the tshirt-low waist pant separation into his ass-crack, losing itself forever. The humidity had escalated the feel of the summer heat in Kolkata, causing the sticky effect in touch & vision.The denizens were however immune to the discomfort as their beloved Maa was coming home, it was Mahalaya. It was that time of the year where the world meant only shopping and fanfare for them everything else could wait just fine.
He shifted a bit to calibrate his line of sight and then continued with stealing glances.Diagonally seated across him was a Bengali oomph-istress (as he liked to call them), with the inherited customary wholesome bosom, concealed tightly with a buttons-ready-to-pop blue striped shirt and blue jeans clinging on to her legs revealing quite a shapely bottom. She fingered at the smart phone furiously but effectively with one hand and brushed the hairsticking to her oily face to reveal “the average Indian girl” face, with the kajal smeared carelessly but the gloss doing the job. She had to be an Arts major in one of the major colleges he thought analyzing her with his small-town assumptions.
He thought to himself how he loved Kolkata for such sights, it may sound provoking to women all over India asserting that they are unsafe on the streets, but it was a fact. Boys are made to ogle, even he believed that ogling should be within respectable limits and should be left at that. No teasing should follow and in no pretence should rape. “Sir, your masala cold drink and your chicken kathi roll.”, came the waiter from nowhere disrupting his thoughts rudely yet food ruled his heart anytime over visual orgasm.
“Thank you. Can I get the tomato sauce please?” he cut back absent-mindedly.
It was 4.45 p.m when he glanced at his watch after working through half his roll slowing, not wanting to leave before another “natural beauty” of the famed city placed herself right across him much to his amusement. She was slimmer and fairer than the previous one but that didn’t make any difference in their cup size. In fact she wore a V neck jumpsuit which was graciously and generously bringing out “the heavenly line of separation” people like to call cleavage. He had tikka chicken in the mouth that too more seasoned with the kathi paratha, the drooling smell of masala-thumbs up in his nostrils, the feel of gushes of AC air on his skin, “Ashiqui 2” soundtrack tripping him and the sights of voluptuousness made him sort of complete for that infinitesimal moment at quarter to four.
He was busy getting the paper wrap off his roll when his visual background alert went off. “Excuse me, do you mind?” came a honey dipped voice.
He looked up, nodded his head sideways and then bit into his roll as she took a seat right in front of his place of synthesized fantasy. He glanced at her, those eyes are like Maa Durga he thought. Her sight however didn’t make him the leeching male that he loved to indulge in. The sari effect maybe he thought. She looked elegant, graceful and mysterious at the same time. The orange saree radiated her features more along with the dangling earings and the traditional gold chain with a jade stone pendant. She smiled knowingly at him “Maa aschen. How is your pujo?”
He started to panic, fumbled with his drink a little and then replied awkwardly “Yes. It is okay.”
She gave an assuring nod and turned to the waiter “Dada, one egg chicken roll and one double chicken roll”
“Madam, jol mineral dibo na normal?”                                                                                                                                                                                                       “Mineral”

He reached out as the waiter whose name tag spelled Raju Bor was leaving “Dada, one double mutton roll for me.”

The waiter acknowledged his order and left making notes menacingly. He looked at her, she was texting someone on her iPhone, the light from the display gave her face the same calm demeanour as her role in the Airtel ad (Lifetime prepaid with Nokia).
“You. Here. Alone.” He managed to blurt.

She smiled amused “Arrey I love the rolls here. Why can’t I enjoy the good things of life?”

“Na. Na. I didn’t mean that way.” ,he tried to explain. “Its good to see you here like this.”, he shot one blankly.
“I have such a lot to shop but the weather here is making it impossible. Have you finished yours?”
He let out a small chuckle “All girls mane same. Na. Na. Ami..mane…I will finish the shopping tomorrow and head home. I am from Asansol. I work here in IBM.”
“Oh..that’s great pujo should always be with family.”
“Maam, Sar, apunara rolls.”, Raju barged in again with three hot rolls placed them roughly and left wondering “Man, people can eat!”
He had ordered extra not because he was hungry but because his inner voice refused to leave such an opportunity. He had always been fond of her and had repeatedly shown his mother pictures of her to find him brides like her. She was the perfect Bengali beauty for him. Those almond-shaped Thakur eyes embellished with kajal, cultured dressing, “rosogullar jhul” like voice and her grace made him an ardent fan.
This was however a tad bit less than graceful seeing her gorging on the two rolls simultaneously, biting one, chomping and then the other. Still nothing could stop him from savouring the moment, or wait could it? There was that feeling, the feeling that this is most untimely and unwanted. The feeling of something of a flash mob inside your stomach. The double mutton had undoubtedly proved to
be oomphing for the bowels it seems and the signs were beginning to show. He was not sure what it was but something was pushing itself from the inside of the deep abyss of his same ass-crack. It could be the toxic gas or the real deal accompanying it. He was sweating now. The cold AC air was really annoying him now. His perfectness was intently working her way through two rolls coolly without any glitches or damn to all the jaw-dropping glances she was attracting. It was a moment of great desperation. Leaving his place so that another random dude takes his place of glory which might be very well be his place of humility in a few moments.
When the thumping in his bottom subsided a bit he decided to take a chance. Looked left, looked right and then release. The concentration was strong and the prancing air from the AC dispersed it immediately.
She stopped munching looked up at his messed up sweaty face and arched her eyebrows questioningly. He thought “Way to go bro. You farted infront of her and she knows. Waaow” He shamelessly mumbled “Sorry. It’s the mutton.”

She giggled helplessly for 1 minute and then regained her composure and said “Arrey baba,don’t be. I always carry pudin hara for situations like this.” She reached out for her Hidesign bag and rummaged it a bit for the digestive relief tablets and handed him one. He took it sheepishly but smiled in embarrassment.
“Thank you Raima. I loved you in Mirch and The Japanese Wife.”

(pics courtesy: google image)