By: Rajendra Roul
The weather could not have been more pleasant.
There was no humidity. No sweating either. A soft breeze was blowing calmly darting a romantic surge through their spines. The sun was nowhere in the sky. That does not denote the day’s meteorological condition was cloudy and/or somber. As a matter of fact, the sky was clean blue. The overall ambience was serene, sweet and soothing as well.
“Hooey! It should have been exactly like this,” he chuckled and almost danced in rejoice. “Otherwise,” he bethought himself, “how could have they enjoyed this rare opportunity wholeheartedly!”
Suppose it was scorching April with a burning ball of fire over their heads. The wind was blistering. Would it have been possible to walk so carelessly and slowly on the PMG road of this capital city? The heat from the molten tar on the road would have been spiking the feet. Relentless sweating and perspiration would have made the body wet. Their heads, by then, would have been started to ache. Maybe, they would have been experienced the wavy lines or bright spots of light as though a person sees auras before going to be affected in migraine. From where the hell would have this flow of romanticism come?
But nothing happens like this. In some ways, it’s, however, a rare phenomenon without any melancholic elements, the climate has offered them of its own accord. It’s really a supper sunny day with gentle breeze to lounge at anywhere you wish. Isn’t it?
He glanced at her while all these thoughts crowded his mind. Simultaneously, she asked, as if, she heard something very close to her-
“Did you tell me something, eh?”
“No, I didn’t,” he replied astonishingly.
“Ok, do you wanna tell me something?” she asked calmly with a subdued voice as if she was expecting to hear a pleasant secret from him.
“Nope,” he said in a firm voice and swayed his head over his shoulder in deep denial. Yet, he kept on thinking about the so many things he wanted to ask her. And he wondered if she had nothing to tell him. Did she actually nothing to tell him?
‘Should we hire an Auto?’ he asked.
In fact, the moment he asked, an auto rickshaw was passing them by and the driver was looking them back with an anticipation that lest they might need him. Seconds later, as if noticing their zero interest, he speeded up his vehicle and vanished into the traffic.
“What about your cycle?” she asked.
Annoyed, he wondered why girls answer a question with a question. Are all girls like this or this one walking with him has a little mental flaw!
Of course, her question made him a bit aware. He instantly returned to his existence and realized that he was no longer in his own world. He had even forgotten that his right hand was clutched tightly on the left handle of the cycle. If one puts all these things into the proper order from right to left, the entire arrangement will be simple like this: cycle – he, himself to the left of the cycle – she to his left. He holds the cycle’s left handle in his right grip and his left hand encapsulating the right hand of hers.
He was unaware of the number of times he had pressed passionately her soft silk-like palm; the number of times he had played with and twirled the thin golden ring she wears on her index finger. It was also beyond his sense that they, in the mean time, had already crossed Nicho Park of Unit-IX and now they had started to push the Rotary Bhawan back. Most significantly, he was unaware of the number of times he had felt the calls of nature and suppressed, teeth clenched.
Strange! How and when did all these things happen? He tried hard to remember when he got so much out of his mind.
Whether it was after he got the call from her, at around 8 AM, through the house owner’s Cell-phone, Or, it was when she proposed after her younger sister entered the examination hall for appearing Bank P.O. exam in Regional Institute of Education that let’s have a pleasant stroll of the town instead of sitting idle in front of the examination venue! When did it happen, really?
If it’s 8 AM when she told him over phone that she was coming Bhubaneswar along with her sister for an examination which is about to held at 10 PM and she wish him to wait for her at Acharya Bihar square by half past nine – then everything must have destroyed.
Subodh, the boy with whom he shares his quarter, had already left the room for his institute at six in the morning. He himself was dozing off alone on his bed when the phone call came and ran hurriedly for bus-stop to receive her and her younger sister also. Has he shot the door? Closed the gate, properly? Else, it may end up in a mess. He felt scared. What if somebody would enter into the room and theft? Importantly enough, if he had not closed the gate and something went wrong; like a stray bull or cow having entered the yard and devoured the carefully nurtured flower plants; then, the house owner won’t hesitate to kick him out.
Perhaps it was an extremely prickling sensation he felt in his lower abdomen which made him pound his leg on the tar road. At least he should have defecated once before coming to bus-stop. Was there a single reason why he developed such type of attraction towards her? Her bus was to duck into the stop at nine thirty and she had called him at eight or quarter past eight. He had a full one hour in his hand. What was the need to hurry? He, if he had wished, could have visited the toilet twice or thrice and evacuated his bowel – finished his breakfast and at least prepared his lunch. There was really ample time in his hand to complete all these things one by one. But lo, he rushed the bus-stop casting all his basic duties aside – counted the wheels waiting there enthusiastically for a full one and half hour and peeped into the windows of each passing bus. All it was, as though, the magical effect of her phone call. He sighed.
“Are you finding it difficult to walk?” she asked. “Let me roll the cycle for some time,” she proposed after watching him pound his leg.
He looked very closely at her. Her right hand was still searching for something secret in his left hand. He could feel the restlessness in her fingers. But the call of nature was getting more and more intense. He was experiencing an excruciating pain that was unsettling his stomach and he really wished an instant fecal relief. So he pressed his teeth against his lower lip, looked at her in distress and smiled faintly.
“Not a bad proposal, of course!” he thought. What if she rolled the cycle for a more while? He would at least feel a little bit free and relaxed.
“But could she roll the cycle, properly?” he asked himself, doubted. Neither the cycle was ladies pattern, nor was it gents one, too. Seems like a combo. No harm if she rolled it. But what matters most is ‘could she handle it on this crowded pavement?’
He recalled how she had once stubbornly insisted on learning cycle when he used to stay in Baudapaur, a suburb village of Bhadrak District and how she had unfortunately slipped of it. It ended up in a torn dress and a scar on her left chest. And cycling-learning-session came to a full stop. He wondered if he could ask her to show if the scar still existed. At least he could see the other things on her chest! He sighed and felt ashamed of his thoughts.
No, let it be himself; rolling the cycle.
Then he wondered what if he could ride the cycle with her on the rod! She is frail and it would not be tough to handle her weight. He felt some chilling breeze touched his forehead and imagined her carrying on his cycle.
He visualized the scene of carrying her on the front bar of the cycle. She looked sideways; not straight at 900 angles. He imagined pedaling rapidly and tilting in the process to the front; his lip occasionally brushing against the nape of her neck or sometimes against her cheek. She is not reacting; instead she is just looking ahead. As if she is thinking something – not happy – neither sad. He is not able to decipher her feelings, as her face is not entirely visible to him. Her hair is untamed and floating in the air, sometimes a bunch sneaking into his mouth. He tastes the shampoo. Well. Sometimes the rays of her hair are entering his nostril and ear, teasing him to no end.
“Would he invite her to come to his room?” He thought. “But why would he do? For what?” He objected. His room is not a palace into which he would invite her. If, by chance, she refuses, he won’t even hesitate to flatter her. Instead, he will request her telling that it might be an ordinary cottage for her; but she is very special for him. Hence, she should be pity for him and ought to come once and grace his room with her aromatic presence.
Then he thought about his room.
What he meant by room is actually a 10 x 10 feet extension of a government quarter. The roof is of asbestos. Two plastic ropes are drawn in the middle of the room to facilitate the keeping of the clothes of the inmates, himself and Subodh. Two plastic mats, purchased five years back, lay unattended with oil-laced pillows over them. A green color bucket with little water inside it and a small mug. The bucket is covered with a newspaper. Towards the fire corner of the room is a stove, some utensils, half a sack of rice, some potatoes, garlic and onions in a cartoon, some dal and a bottle of mustard oil. Close to it, some biscuit and mixture in a container. Towards the north is a window. An electric meter is impaled to the wall with a nail. A comb clipped to the mirror with shabby glass. Behind the door lay the weeklong garbage from which a pungent aroma had been floated out.
This is all he could summarize about his room. Could he call her into such an ambience? If so, then why? What to display? His poverty, suffering or helplessness? What really is with him except all these miseries?
Apart from that, how, with no reason, could you invite a girl whom you love into your room!
No matter how does she close to you – no matter how you both are bosom, intimate and inseparable; no matter how you keep thinking about her – fantasizing her – feel erect with her touch; she may also be harboring such romantic feelings in the same way as you are thinking about her. Who knows if she is also yearning for a quite private moment, soft touches and sweet exchange of desires? No doubt, she is crazy for you – no doubt, she is holding your hand tight and yet stumbling repeatedly and no doubt, her soft chest is getting brushed against your shoulder; yet there should be an excuse – atleast a reason to invite the girl into your room – as if it’s your happy birthday – as if you have had a new painting to your room. Or at least you have had some rare achievements to show her off.
Is there any excuse with him to tell her ‘Asima, please seat on the cycle. We’ll go visit the quarter I live?’ No, he has not a single ostensible reason to call her into his room except the bloody call of nature which he can’t divulge. Could he ever tell that he needs quick relief? It’s urgent. Hurry up! Let’s go, room. Won’t it enough to let her laugh? Won’t have he laughed at anyone disclosing something like that. Call of nature!
“Saroj, your room is close by; isn’t it? I think your roommate won’t be there, right now? Why don’t we go to your room? Actually, I have to get fresh.”
She told with great eagerness. But he got a shock. As if, he had heard something unheard-of. He felt as if his palm was burnt on a hot oven. He started palpitating and perplexed, nodded helplessly.
He was wondering about the turn of events, about his desire to invite her to his room, his indecisiveness, and arguments with self about the propriety of the same. And yet he was startled when she proposed the same on her side, not sure whether to accept it with joy or not.
And why had she to get fresh, now?
No, it was utterly impossible on his part to take her to his room for the condition of his room is not well. It was not that sort of room into which a girlfriend can be invited. To be very frank, just a day before, he had purchased two porn journals and kept them openly by his bedside. Besides, he had pasted the life size nude poster of Barbara Mori on the wall. And he was sure enough that going by which not only she; but any grown up girl of her age would take no time to develop a bad impression on him.
Most of all, she was his sweetheart. It’s probably the only reason why he couldn’t invite his lady-love into his room and let her see all the sleaze in display. Of course, at the same time, the ultimate truth is that they have never told yet that they love each other. Nevertheless, he knows she loves him as much as he loves her.
“We are going to your room; ain’t we? Are you listening to me or just ignoring my words?” she asked pressing his palm lightly. “By the way, what are you thinking about? Why are you so out of self, today?”
“No…, yes… actually…,” he stammered and tried to reply. But she prevented him to proceed and told aloud, ‘Whatever it’s, I have to take a shower. You know, I got up at four in the morning. My whole body feels jammed. Please Saroj, let’s go.’
Finally, they reached the room. To his surprise, nothing else happened as he feared for. She didn’t react to the stink or garbage; neither did she even make her mood off glancing at the nude models on his bed. She rather whispered enthusiastically on his ear hole with her left eye winkling at him ‘hi, buddy, is this your room? Wow, s-w-e-e-t home, eh.’ And she went into the bathroom with the towel hanging out of the rope.
He frowned a while and wondered how could someone call the room as ‘sweet’? Sweet home! Ugh – disgusting. Then why did she really say? Did she heartily wish to be invited to his room – his fucking stinky enclosure? Is she really longing to enter into his life as his better half? If yes, then why doesn’t she say, ‘Saroj, I love you, let’s get married. Let’s elope if you fear for any sort of hindrance from either side. No, she has never proposed like this.
Ok – she walks her way with mouth stapled. Maybe, she may not bring her words out for an eon. But, what about him? Which initiative has he been taken from his own side? Has he ever proposed her, or even made an attempt to offer her a proposal? No – nothing. But, he could very well do that, if he wished. At least he could have asked ‘hey Asima, do you love me?’
If all goes well, she would nod; otherwise, his heart will implode like Hiroshima? His bones and fleshes would explode and scatter over the sky. He would wail loudly; but no one would listen. He would wish to shed tears; but nothing would ooze out of his eyes. He would decide to commit suicide; but alas! The police on duty won’t let him do so.
“But why should she say ‘no’ to his proposal?”
He felt like he was in a labyrinth of indecisiveness. Something from his inside was prompting him to ‘be positive’… ‘be positive’. Annoyed, he ranted- Not B+; A+ is of my blood group. Nonsense!
There he found an alarming jerk in his stomach. Sharp as well as inflammatory. He was, in fact, not in condition to bear further abdominal pains. He feared to have a fecal leakage at anytime into his undergarments.
“What the hell is she doing inside the bathroom for so long? Should he knock at her?”
He thought clenching his teeth with an immense irritation. But in the next moment he found it inappropriate to knock while a beautiful girl whom he loves is refreshing herself inside. No, he couldn’t do such an evil deed with her. For him, even thinking of it is an act of sin.
But why is she making so late? Isn’t her refreshing ritual coming to an end? What’s she doing there inside? Is there anything wrong with her? Has she been fell down and laid flat with bones fractured? Or, she’s going through her menstrual cycle and looking for a paper to wrap the napkin soaked with uterine lining; yet, she can’t ask, perhaps, due to some sort of inherent feminine shamefacedness? But she is, however, expecting an instant help from his behalf.
He peeped, albeit in reluctance, through the door hole just to find her trying to hook her bra into the loops. Her upward projecting breasts resembled two fresh oranges. A chill traveled through his whole body. For the first time, as he knows, in his life, he discovered a grown up girl only clad in a single undergarment. He ran back into his room and closed his eyes in sheer excitement. The spine throbbing scene inside the bathroom – clearly enough – watching of a beautiful girl with two magnificent feminine properties lovingly called boobs – flashed once again through his memory. His heart beat fast.
After a short while, she came out of the bathroom playing a soul-shining-smile on her face. She looked really fresh, and clean.
“If you have to get fresh, get it done, buddy and we will move,” she said.
He wondered what was getting fresh about for him! Yet, he went inside and came out in a couple of minutes. The alarming force of call of nature and the consequent relief from the purgative release did not let him bother if she was peeping at him.
She was busy in spraying ‘Deo’ over her left armpit. Seeing him back she asked in an elated voice, ‘Saroj, you know for the first time I have come here to your room; haven’t I? Wouldn’t you gift me anything?’ Her eyes were still fixed at the mirror which is why he wondered if she was asking the question to him or to the mirror? He prompted to catch a glimpse of her face and noticed a tiny wave of smile escaping from her lips.
Would he grab her from behind, kiss her nape; make her humid with his hot breath? Would he place his lips on her lips and smooch for a long? While having an enchanting hug with her, would he whisper, ‘Oh my sweet swan, what could I give you more better than this, ask, then, what you need from me?’. He further thought of declaring his affiliation by saying ‘my entire entity is of yours, my love. All that is visible to your two almond eyes is of yours – only yours.’
“Give something man,” she insisted as she brushed the lipstick on her lips. “You were never so miser to my knowledge; were you?”
“Yeah, sure, there is some spicy mixture in the container, would you like a little?” he stammered.
She burst into a deluge of laughter and told, “No, let it be so. I do not have any desire for your mixture. Let’s go, dumbo.”
He did not take the cycle deliberately this time to omit any third party interference between them.
‘Where are we going, now?’ she asked.
He wanted to say, but braked somehow. ‘Yet, what was the problem in going to IG park,’ he just murmured. ‘In fact, there could be no more romantic place than IG park for them in Bhubaneswar. You can do anything you want and say anything you wish there in IG park. But what matters for him the most was would she like to go there?
At that time they were just turning towards Master Canteen Square after crossing PMG. IG park was to the right and a very few couple were entering into it holding hands. Still the street wore deserted look. He couldn’t resist his urge to go into it and seat with her beneath a bougainvillea bush. Perhaps this is the reason why he stared at park-going couples with an enthusiastic eye. She watched him for a few second and told blinking her eyelids as if she skillfully decoded his feelings, ‘there is no charm in IG park in broad day light; is there? The real charm is in the evening – in dim light. No light to disturb. Only darkness and some twinkling stars in the sky. What do you say?’
“It might be right,” he said putting a mark of probability in his answer. He could easily say that she was utterly right if he wished to say so. In fact, he wanted her to get irritated and drag him into the Park.
Yet, she didn’t react which soured him to no end. Why was she so silent, today? She could at least have challenged him- ‘let’s go and find it out if there is really any charm in the park in day time’. Yet, she became quiet. Why?
“Had his words hurt her?” he wondered.
He located a kulfi trolley standing just a few yards back to the traffic circle at Master Canteen Square. The seller seemed him depressed as he found no customers due to daytime. Yet, he was going on trolling the bell to attract attentions of the passers-by strolling to and fro.
An idea all of sudden crossed his mind. He thought, ice-cream might be a good way to turn her mind well. He chuckled.
“Hi, let’s have ice-creams. We have walked a lot; haven’t we?” he asked and got two without waiting for her reaction.
“Why two? One wouldn’t have enough?” said she while sucking her piece.
He wondered what she was really thinking of. Was she calculating that two ice creams would cost him thirty bucks if one just fifteen? Being a part-timer, how could he spend thirty bucks for her in an extravagant manner? What if he had to borrow at the end of the month?
Or, was she thinking of sharing the ice cream interchangeably? Once on her lips and once on his. Or, at the same time keeping the cream in centre. Ahhh…the poor flavored desert! How long will it take to prevent their lips to link them up? Why couldn’t she express if she had had such an awesome motive deep inside her? She could well have told him that ‘let’s finish the ice-creams one by one’. Why didn’t she, then?
So, what was she doing exactly? Rudimentary math or Algebra??
“Saroj, have you proposed anybody else?” She asked making him shocked.
“Propose? Ha… ha… ha…!” he laughed lustrously.
“Why? What is the great deal about it?” she argued with a bit inquisitiveness. He sighed and thought it was not at all a small thing either.
‘We have started from Acharya bihar square and were about to reach at Master Canteen circle. Have we proposed each other? Can you heartily defy that you don’t have possessed a minimum magnitude of weakness for me? If no, why then your palm enclosed in me getting sweaty? Why are you stumbling repeatedly without having any hindrance on the road? You could well express your love for me; couldn’t you? Do you wish me to open my feelings first? But I need that too from your part. We both are ready to bend ourselves down, oh my love. But who would be the first – the question tingles the most? I ain’t a bit hesitant to bend; I’m scaring of breaking. Would you rush over to make me stable if I go collapse? It is true the LOVE is unconditional; yet it needs something in reciprocation too.’ He thought to himself.
“I know you’ll keep thinking only. At best, you’ll grin. Stupid!” she told in an attempt to cease the silence. Her words seemed him soaked in artificial objection. “But remember,” she continued, “love is not merely thinking; you should have proposed someone you like. OK.”
She pressed his palms again and smiled. A deep breath gushed out of his heart. He wondered how could he propose anyone else if he failed to propose her.
“Let’s go to the other side. I have something to shop,” she asked him indicating the opposite side. He saw a few ladies matching centers proudly displaying nude models in various poses with lingerie of various brands which reminded her bra-locking position inside the bathroom. She was equally hot.
“Would he order a sample piece for her?” he thought while entering into the shop.
He was damn sure of it that she would get shocked seeing him ordering a bra sample and definitely would ask, frowned- ‘hoeee, for whom are you ordering?’
“For you, darling. Are you looking anybody else other than you by my side?” he would reply with a silent chuckle of merriment. But his confession would definitely make her puzzled. She would measure the band, strap and cup size of the bra in a haste. Once finding the size almost fit for her, she would look more perturbed.
“How could you guess my size?” perplexed, she would ask.
“It’s simple. I have watched you when you were in bathroom. Everything I have seen including your boobs, brassiere, naval etc. Yours is 34-C; is not it so?”
Would he ever be able to express his feelings for her? His fluid desires? No, actually, he isn’t that brave. And if he could tell, would she take it lightly? Would she smile at him in satisfaction? Maybe, she would look at him, red-faced and yell slapping him hard, ‘you son of bitch, how dare you, rascal, to peep into the bathroom to have a sneak peak of a bathing girl? Shame on you for hurting my emotion. Go to hell’.
She shook his shoulder to get him back to his sense and asked with dancing her eyes as he was watching wholeheartedly at the bra-wearing models, ‘they are hot, aren’t they?’
He smiled again. She came close to him and whispered into his ear, ‘I’ll be back a few while after. Won’t you present me anything?’
“Why not, yes for sure,” he stammered again. He called at once the sales boy and asked him to pack the pink nail Lacquer.
“This would go well with you, wouldn’t it?”
He asked her. But she whispered again. ‘You fool; damn fool… you could only see this nail polish in this big store. Nothing else?’ And she said loudly, ‘let’s go. I already have a set. It’ll become dry if not used for many days’.
He watched as her face turned pale. Her eyes looked like two dead fishes in desperation. And he could feel that his own face had turned pale, like a leukemia patient.
They came out of the matching centre. He sighed. They walked on the left side of the road. There, she found a temple, to offer her devotion. He looked at the road just to watch the competition of running – up and down. Nobody was looking at any body. As if no one knew any one. All have same feature – a pair of legs, a pair of hands, eyes, ears, and a face – still nobody knows none. As if all are aliens for each other. There is a rush in the fruit market. The fruit seller is looking lustfully at the cleavage of the woman picking up oranges. A Romeo, drinking lassi on the roadside stall, is referring a college-going-girl to his friend as a fresh item.
Everything, he felt, robotic. The human being, as though, had been relegated to a machine.
She tangled his palm with her and came closer making him feel the heat and softness of her two beautiful breasts.
“Let’s go and have chaat in the RD square. I love this street food so much. Yummy. You know, I used to come there everyday for the tasty treat of that savory snacks,” she proposed.
Saroj wanted to ask her if it was she alone or together of them who came to the RD square.
He wondered why this feeling of having been stabbed in the heart suddenly jolted him at the mention of RD square.
When he was in Boudpur, Bijaylakshmi, one of their classmates, once told him that Asima had fallen in love with a boy and that she had stumbled her upon sharing a plate of chaat with him. Not only that, they went visit IG park everyday. They had even been to Puri-Konark trip and stayed there for three days in a single room. He had remained in shock for days, wondering what a pair of young boy and girl would do after watching those naked statues at Konark depicting various sexual positions!
Was it the words of Bijayalakshmi that came into his mind when Asima asked for RD square? Else, why would have he felt pained, as if pricked by thousand needles? Or else, why would he be hearing the deafening noise of a building crashing down? The building of his dream, of spending a happy life with her!
And lo, he is not even able to look straight at her. Yet her palm is full of sweat inside his and she is still brushing her body against his.
Why did Bijayalakshmi come to his mind, so unanticipated? Everything was going well – so nicely. Has he became selfish, a narrow minded fucking fox?
Her cell phone rang. It was her sister on the other side whom she suggested to catch the bus. She would board the bus from the next stop. And looked at him. Her eyes were full of despair. He returned the look with equal amount of pain in his eyes.
As if she was saying, ‘the road has ended.’
As if he was saying, ‘the talk is over.’
Yet, both of them were silent.
He stopped an Auto and told her to get in so that she could pick her sister easily. Baffled, she stared at him for a while and get into the Auto dragging him inside. She let a long sigh out. He wondered why her looks were so painful. Did she not wish to return early? Did she wish to catch the next bus to go? She could have told all that. Why didn’t she say all that?
Then he wondered why he stopped an Auto when she herself was not showing any sign of hurry. Was it because he wondered about what Bijayalakshmi had told about her spending time with the other boy? What would a boy and girl do for three days in Puri and Konark? They would bath in the sea, come back to the hotel room and bath under the tap together, naked. Then, they would make love as many times as they wished trying to ape the positions crafted lively on stone. He could not think further, his head was jammed. He didn’t know if he existed or not. He did not know whether to laugh at his misfortune or cry over it.
Why did he actually hurry? Did he wish her to stop him from hiring an Auto? Did he wish to hear from her that she wanted to walk with him till the bus stop? No matter how many buses she missed.
They reached finally at the Vanivihar square. The bus for Bhadrak was already there and her sister was seated inside. She signed him to bye and signaled her to get in. She pinched his finger for the last time and boarded the bus.
The bus started moving slowly and he prepared to move back.
Suddenly he felt as if she was calling him, shouted.
And yes, he found her calling him back. She had alighted down to the footstep of the bus.
“It won’t be too hard to reach at her,” he calculated and with a little sprint, he reached the bus. She held him out a packet covered with an elegantly red wrapping paper and told, ‘you miser. This is for you.’
And the bus moved on.
“How strange is she?” he wondered with an awefull admiration. “From where did she purchase this? Had they stopped anywhere, except the matching centre? Had she purchased it from Bhadrak only for his sake? If she had so, then why had she not given it to him for so long?”
It seemed him as though somebody prompted from inside and asked if he had asked her for anything. Had he asked why she had not brought anything for him from Bhadrak? Instead, she was chanting like a parrot ‘give me something, give me something.’
He felt lack of patience and torn open the packet.
He remembered he gifts a Cadbury to the little daughter of his house owner. At least once a week, if not daily. The pastime poet Subodh says Cadbury is the supper choice for a loved one. But why did then she present him a gift: Cadbury?
Did she think of him a boy or a beau???
(Translated, from the Odia, by Sukanta Kumar Mishra)
Really very nice… I completely enjoying it!
Awesome story!!! I loved the flow of your writing and also the translation in English by Sukanta kumar Mishra is also very well match for your story.
The fight with in ourselves are very well evident in your writing.
Definitely a pleasure to read your work.
Congrats Rajendra Babu! I went through your story ‘C-A-D-B-U-R-Y’ like a boat breezes though a river without worrying about the current. I was mesmerazied by the pull the story. One can not help finish the story once he starts reading it. It was out and out an enjoyable one. Please shower us with such masterpiece (or mistresspiece) from time to time. You rock ! Bro. All the be(a)st!!!!!!!!!