I Traced Her Out

One should not be obsessed with the chimera of success. Every woman, at the pinnacle of success, will find herself alone, utterly left alone. In penury, we experience the warmth of caring and the ecstasy of sharing. The one single lesson she learned from the school of life, was that there is no free meal in the world. And money, if at all, could give us comforts, but never happiness. Happiness is a state of mind which is independent of the circumstances. No matter what we could be happy, when we are at home with ourselves.

She had taken over her father's business as a natural continuity. Then she realized the inner creativity dormant in her. The Usha brand of women's innerwear, the high-end sophisticated lingerie, penetrated the world of high fashion, because her imagination, her soul and her entire creativity went into it. A woman's body is the most beautiful creation of mother nature. The flowing musical curves, the natural rhythmic movement of her body parts, the angelic charm of her face, a woman can hold the world in awe. But her innerwear reinforces her charms and buttresses her confidence. The trademark of Usha innerwear is a fluttering butterfly. One could see the trademark on the panties and bras. This signifies that a woman's body is almost like a quaint flower, colorful, fragrant, and full of sweetness. Such a delicately strong body deserves a fabric closer to her velvet skin that is worthy of her. The secret of success in her case lies in her love. 'I love what I do, in every product emerging from the production centers in various parts of the country, my love is there, my honest appreciation for the boy that wears it, is there'. If you cannot do what you do with love and inner happiness, you had better not do it at all. She had begun from almost nothing, and now she has the connections, success has blessed her, but even without all that, she could be happy as long as she could do what she loves to do. Mistaken identity in life is a mistaken life. One has to identify what one is.

Ultimately, she thanked us for inviting her to the temple of higher learning, which had conditioned her log back. Her mind was flooded with many memories on a campus where her hallowed and ebullient yesterdays lay, where her sweetly painful chapters of life lay. She thanked me, Nisha Mary John, for embracing her with all the sweet and kind words.

After the speech, the university offered her a memento, when the PVC handed it over, cameras flashed. The university union offered her a ceremonial shawl. I was entrusted to place it over her shoulders. When the dreamy duty was performed, I was trembling, her saree touched me like floating silken leaves in Autumn, and her soft halo of hair kissed my fingers. My hands were inches away from her marvelous breasts and her musk drowned me in the sweet other world.

She shook hands with us all while parting and I was in a dreamy mood, probably my feet did not touch the ground. I was literally floating. I think she bathed my in her enchanting eyes, before stepping into the car. Late at night, back in my hostel, I realized that my panties were flooded.

The fragrance of the event lingered in me many days more, the memories had a sweet aroma. I wondered what perfume she was wearing, it continued to haunt me. My olfactory system time and again regurgitated that hooking soft scent.

Almost half a month passed after the landmark event. I was still basking in the shadow of that function. I achieved nothing out of that, except that I could stand very close to her and convinced me that she was a reality. I could glean a bunch of bonny memories to revel in. Hereinafter, when I read through my father's journal, I could appreciate it with a tinge of realism. By habit, I had been hating my father. Now I find no reason to hate him, but the long-term conditioning cannot be expunged in a day or two. Despite all that, my macabre attraction to that lady was a standing reality.

One evening I was sitting at one of the many local cafes over a cup of tea. Suddenly a strange number called me. My style was not to take calls from strange numbers. But, by a quirk of destiny, I chose to attend it, of course, I could block that number, it proves to be a vexatious admirer.

'Good evening, could I speak to Miss Nisha Mary?'

The ringing female voice asked.

A deep thrill washed past me, and as if by reflex, I stood up.

'Good evening, madam. It is my pleasure and prerogative to speak to you. I am honored that you remembered me, though you had no reason to.'

'Are you busy, shall call you after some time?'

'No madam, I can spare an eternity to talk to you.'

'Okay, that is very sweet of you, child, I noticed that you could charm the entire campus in your rose saree and rosy eloquence.'

'I cannot hold a candle to you, madam. You are my model and inspiration.'

'You must be good at studies too, otherwise you will not reach there.'

'The union activities claim a great deal of time, but I am serious about my studies.'

'Study well, the tomorrows are yours. If I ever get a chance to support and help you, I will not miss it. By the way, this is my private number, I do not share this with many, only a close inner circle has this number. You could contact me when you want to. This is my private WhatsApp number also.'

'Ohhh, thank you, I am tremendously honored madam.'

She laughed sweetly, it provoked goosebumps on my skin.

'Nisha child, I guess somehow our wavelengths clicked. I do not easily get friendly with strangers. But with you, I had a feeling that we knew each other across many existences.'

'Thank you, madam, I will treasure these hyper charged moments. I will tell this to my friends, and they may not even believe me.'

'No dear, you should not tell this to anybody, this is between us only, not a soul should know this. This is our dear secret, okay.'

'Absolutely, this will be my private pride in the sanctuary of my cherished memories.'

'But Nisha, you mentioned that I am discussed in your household right from your childhood. I have been in the limelight only for the last decade or so. How come you knew me ever before that?'

'It is a secret madam,' I was confused.

'Care to share?'

'Please do not hate me and shut me out, if I told you the truth. I will be terribly disappointed if this happiness proves to be perniciously transient.'

'You are provoking me with a strange angst. Tell me, and you shall be insulated from the consequences thereof.'

'Well, as a matter of fact, your invisible presence has been presiding over my family affairs for the last twenty years or so. Because, because forgive me, because I am the only daughter of Dr. John Kunnil.'

I was deflated and got ready to face the music.

'Oh, oh..' there was a long pained gasp. Silence settled between us; silence heaped up between us like litter in late Autumn.

'Are you annoyed, madam?' I asked softly.

'No, not really. The truth is sinking in, goodnight child, take care.' The line went dead. I plonked to the chair like the ultimate lead, forfeiting all radio activism. The momentous tryst was short lived, the excitement ended up in a shady melodrama.

I saved her private number and every morning I opened my WhatsApp in trembling hope, hoping to get a redeeming message. Nothing came. The days were once again laden with an inky boredom, I settled into my drab every day. My body still continued to respond to the lingering memories. I relieved myself in my bed imagining her on my lonely bed. One afternoon, just after the lab, she called me. I was carried away like a teenager.

"How are you, Nisha?'

'I am fine and good, madam. I am thrilled that you remembered my poor self again.'

'There is no need of remembering you, you are always on my mind.'

'I am happy that I am in my mind, the way you dwell in my mind.'

'Would you be free to meet me this evening, just an hour, over a cup of tea?'

'Sure, where do we meet?

'There is a nice hotel close to your campus, during my time we used to go there, do you remember Chandni park?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Can we meet at five?'

'I will be there, I will cross deserts and oceans, fire and tornadoes, only to be there.'

'Chivalrous girl!' she hung up.

I rushed to my room, took a long bath and put on a knee-deep black skirt, and black shirt, which contrasted my pure white tingling bra. I dressed my hair beautifully, to grace my head like a silken hood. I applied a gentle lip gloss and eyeliner to magnify the charm of my eyes, the eyes that used to enthrall many on the campus.

To my surprise, she also had put on a black skirt and a black shirt that accentuated the delectable promises inside. She received me nonchalantly. There was tension in the air, her scent softly spoke to me. We were furtively checking out on each other. There was a fascinating synchronism in our choice of dresses.

I ordered a vanilla ice cream, probably to cool down. Moisture was spreading in my armpits, on my shaky palms.

'Tell me, Nisha, where is John now?'

'Have you both not been seeing each other and communicating?'

'We have never met or talked or communicated after my university days. He was two years senior than me. As long as I was on the campus he used to come and meet me, he used to send letters to me. After my education, my parents arranged a marriage for me. John is not at fault, I ditched him, I had to, I was not in a position to defy my parents. And John was too much of a recluse to fight his way and claim me. He is a masochist; he is happy to give up everything that he treasured. No, for the last twenty-five years I have never heard from him. I never made an effort to trace him out, I did not want to hurt anybody. I have imagined what his house looks like, amidst the verdant hills, on the Meenachil river. But I have never been there, and I do not want to be there anymore.'

So, for nothing my mother had been badmouthing him, casting choice aspersions on him. I felt sorry for my parents.

'My father stays far and away from us, to get his peace of mind. He is at a government college in north Malabar. Rarely he comes home.'

'I see, so he became a teacher. I had expected him to join a research institute to spend his life away in a dingy lab. I had even fancied him to retreat to the Himalayas, to become a hermit, or to the woods to spend his days in solitude and to compose his enchanting poems.'

'Now that you mentioned his poems, I have read many of them hidden in the dusty moth-eaten books, written about you, about your charms, about your glorious frame.'

Her eyes widened; she bathed me again in the cool moonlight of her eyes.

'Do your parents quarrel over me?'

'Not anymore, they used to. As long as I can remember, they used to quarrel. But it is impossible to quarrel with somebody who refuses to quarrel. My father refused to argue with her. She used to accuse him of stealing away for his illicit sinful liaisons with you. My mother used to tell me that he was squandering his money over you, that his occasional tours were guises to join you. Through my mother, I had learned to hate him and abhor you.'

'Do you hate me now?'

'No, rather I admire you and I am thrilled in your presence.'

She was lost in thought, in between silences.

'What do they quarrel about?'

'One night, when I was hardly five, it was mid night, I suddenly woke up by the searing noise. My mother was jeering at him, stating that you have perfect and delicious breasts, and he had no reason to bother hers. From that day on, your breasts have been in the midst of us as a strong distracting presence. She had stumbled on his private journal and found numerous poems celebrating your breasts. Fortunately, she cannot properly understand his English. Otherwise, it would have been far worse. I read them all, and I have learned to admire you and your beauty. All these years I had been wondering whether his words of admiration would prove true. Back in your office, when I came with Satish to invite you, I stole a glance at your marvelous bust, and I realized that he was not exaggerating. Later on, I realized pleasantly that every poem of his worshipping your different organs placed in harmony was true to the ground realities.'

She sighed and stole a furtive glance at her own bust, then she cast a glance at my breasts.

After a long silence, she asked, 'what size are you?'

''34 C, going to be D.'

She nodded.

'I don't ask for his phone number, or his photo, I do not want to meet him or talk to him. It is all over, now my priorities are different, my orientations are different. If we had married, perhaps my life would have been much different, a simple life in the village, amidst the hills, amidst enchanting farming cycles, and seasons. I would have appreciated his loving ministrations, his verses, his melancholy charm, his caring words, and unlisted caring deeds. I would have mothered his children. You are his feminine edition. Now he must be forty-seven, but he is twenty-four in my mind. He remains etched deep, frozen in time. I see him in you, and I admire you.'

There was moisture in her eyes.

'I love your shirt, it is beautiful,' I distracted her from her inky silence.

'Yours too, it glorifies your natural beauty.'

I blushed.

Then she pulled out a beautifully packed and guilted packet.

'This is for you, some bras and panties, they are not generally available in India. Hope you would love them.'

'But how did you know my size?'

"Experience girl, experience. With a single glance, I know the size of each woman.'

'I guess it is time to part, for the last many days you had got me thinking. Our yesterdays walk with us and breathe with us. We are the fruit of our yesterdays, primordial yesterdays. Tomorrow morning, I am flying Dubai, thence I will go to New York. It is a long business trip. Hence, I must go now. Good night.'

She took my hand and patted my back. We parted amicably. Her car melted into the evening traffic; a metro train rumbled overhead, perhaps it was inside of my head. Suddenly, the spell was broken, I was back on hard ground.

Back in my room, I opened the gift box. I found a note inside, 'To my precious daughter, whom I could not give birth to. Your Usha Mommy.'

I was swept away in a violent storm. I touched the snow-white cotton; the feel was so sweet. There were four pairs of bras and panties. I got naked in a hurry, closing the room. My pussy was already flooded. I washed myself clean, I did not want to pollute precious lingerie. The panties smoothly and sweetly hugged my torso, it felt like a puff of mountain mist hiding my feminine core. The fabric embraced my garden like a lover. The gusset was ingeniously designed to absorb any kind of secretion. Then I put on the matching bra. My nipples were erect and hardened into pebbles in anticipation. I adjusted the straps and the support base below my breasts. The effect was terrific, the material impeccably got molded into my skin, it was a perfect second skin to my girls, not a trace crease was there. My full breasts excelled and radiantly beamed inside the cups.

I surveyed me in the mirror and the image made me very passionate. I looked like a goddess. The trademark butterfly flapped just above my vagina, and in between my breasts. I closed my eyes and reveled in the celestial feel.

'Mommy, thank you so much for the innerwear, I love them,' I sent a message on WhatsApp.

'It is my pleasure, see you next month, when I am back from the business trip, and study well,' she responded.

The promise of meeting again was tantalizing indeed. I kept it all a secret, my kinky heady precious secret. At night I imagined her in my bed, I fancied myself worshipping her luscious lascivious rippling feminine charm. I was monstrously infatuated, it was not lesbian infatuation, it was adoration of the mother figure, I justified.

One day I took a selfie of mine in the lingerie she had provided and shared it with her.

'Thank you, dearest, it is so sweet, exactly as I imagined you would look like. Just a sparkling daughter of pristine beauty, which is what you are. I am travelling to Washington.' She responded.

The next evening, she sent a photograph of hers, in her self-designed marvelous lingerie. I was speechless. My whole body was throbbing and trembling. My nipples instantly hardened.

Her forty-four years notwithstanding, she looked hardly thirty-five, in the prime of her youthful perfection. She had just taken bath, her hair looked fresh and closed. The adorable breasts were perfectly wrapped by the cups. The bra seemed to be happy to support the most beautiful breasts in the whole world. There was no freckle, no extra fabric, and the cotton perfectly melted on the glands, like an integral part of the adorable body. The sight of her waist, hips and thin white panties was dizzying. My panties were drenched by the sight of the fluttering butterfly just above her sanctum sanctorum. The long long feminine legs made me glassy eyed and dreamy. I transferred the picture to my laptop and kissed every part of her singing body. I marveled the picture as if a buxom lithe and lissome diva had walked out from a steamy movie scene.

Thereafter every day, we exchanged selfies and greetings. Without her good mornings, I felt incomplete and let out. My passionate countdown had begun to meet her again. I was not going to let that chance pass for the whole world.

I was lost in a heady ecstatic fever, the waiting was excruciating, and yet sweet. I was very light on the ground that I walked, my nights were light, and my days were bright. Flowers serenaded me, my eyes were dreamy, the world had transformed into a magic theatre. The heavens looked down on me with a newly fanged affection. I was in love, and love had transmuted the world.

'Your memories bless me like a breeze

On a dreary dry land, denuded of trees'

I thought that the flowery words of my father were literally true. She was my refuge, my sanctuary, my salvation, my destination, my ultimate joy. In her the uncertainties of life dissolve and disappear. In her full moon smile, all the shadows in my life seemed to flee.

After a month she was back in India and geographically we were closer now, the same city hosted us, the same skies canopied us and the same sun smiled on us, the same night enveloped us.

On a Friday in September, she asked me whether I was free to have a dinner with her. I said I was.

That day I did not feel like going to the classes. I was getting ready for the fulfilling rendezvous. I wanted everything to be perfect, I wanted it to be romantic and redeeming an event. I wanted the imperious lady who had monopolized my dreams to be impressed by what I am. Hence, I was very meticulous and fastidious in my preparations. I washed myself sparkling clean and my fresh flowing hair had the scent of my favorite shampoo. I ruled out putting on a saree, it looks too formal. A churidar will be very modest and conservative. But there was no confusion about the lingerie, I put on the soft panties and bra provided by my mommy. But I was all the time wet from the morning. I put a sanitary napkin as if I was on my period. Then I put on a black knee-length skirt which showed my legs. And a black top that hinted the promises of my deep cleavage. Consulting the mirror, I fine-tuned my makeup, trying various shades of cosmetics. My dry gossamer hair fluttered in the breeze. I like the effect of the makeover.

Mommy had succinctly mentioned that Deepa, her secretary would come to collect me. I waited at the bus stop near the international seminar hall. The bus stop was crowded with students, ready for the weekend. I watched the cars streaming west, one of them could be for me. I had seen Deepa at mommy's office, I vaguely tried to remember her. She was quite young, warm and beautiful.