Sangita: Village Girl to Urban Maid

Sister and brother were both a lot more tired than they realised, especially in view of his long shopping excursion during the day and her hour-long walk both ways to and back from the tailor. With her lying topless and bare-breasted next to him, her hand lightly on his detumescent penis, they fell asleep.

They awoke relatively late the next morning and were startled when they saw that sunlight was filtering in through the small curtained window. Sangita shot out of bed, alarmed at what time it was and painfully aware that their parents and younger sister would be returning that morning. She quickly put on the blouse which she had discarded on the floor and woke her brother up, shooing him away to the bathroom and warning him to hurry.

As things turned out, the rest of the family returned by 8:30 that morning but Sangita and her brother were readied ad dressed by then, the house swept and cleaned, and cooking was in progress. The two elder siblings never again had the opportunity to pursue their sexual dalliance; they pined for each other initially, then came to terms with the fact that it was not to be.

*****

All that was more than 13 years ago. A year after the amorous two-night play between brother and sister, Sangita was married to a man from the township near which her mother's uncle lived. When she had first seen him, during the 'talks' that arranged the marriage, she thought he was handsome and charming. She was impressed that he worked in the country's capital city even though he hadn't finished school. As the wedding day approached and she talked regularly with her married friends, she looked forward to the conjugality; and even though she never admitted it overtly, she also looked forward to the sex.

The first few weeks after marriage were busy because the couple moved out of the village and came to the big city where Sangita's husband had a two-room apartment on the outskirts of a slum. They had sex every day, sometimes more than once, for the first month; but it was just plain sex, he never made love. She was extremely disappointed because it didn't feel anything near as pleasurable as the two nights with her brother had been, not even the ecstasy and joy that she had got out of masturbating. In three months, it was clear that she was pregnant.

As she grew in size with her first baby, her husband began to lose interest in her and had started coming home late and drunk. He still fucked her but only for his physical release; there was more pain than pleasure in it for her. Over the next four years, before she was 23 years old, Sangita became the mother of two girls and a boy. One year later, when the youngest had just celebrated her first birthday, Sangita's husband left home and never returned. Two days after his disappearance, she reported it to the police but nothing ever came of that; he was gone from her life for all practical purposes.

Sangita requested her youngest sister, who had so far refused all her parents' entreaties to get married, to come to the city and help look after the children. While the young ones spent the days with their aunt, their mother worked at whatever job she could get to earn enough money to look after them. She had even been approached by pimps and whorehouse madams but refused to sell her body; instead she worked variously in a school as a cleaner, a hospital as a cook, a bank as a peon, and a street sweeper for the local municipality. All were temporary jobs that never lasted beyond four to six months, but they were strenuous and very demanding on her time.

Sangita and her sister would spend hours together in the evenings after the children had gone to sleep, reminiscing about the past and planning for the future. She felt extremely guilty for having disrupted her younger sister's life and often wondered how she could make it up to her. But she was a good aunt to the kids; they were very fond of her and getting closer to her by the day.

After much discussion, Sangita decided that she would stop chasing temp jobs in the hope of getting permanent employment; with her lack of education, that was going to be difficult. Instead, she began taking part-time jobs as a housemaid or cook in various homes within walking distance of her flat. She did four, sometimes five, jobs a day working for housewives or mothers-in-law of young working girls; she swept, mopped, dusted, or cooked and washed dishes for 90-minute stints in each house. Although she still worked hard, she found that the flexi-timings allowed her to visit her sister and children during the day sometimes, and she was usually back home earlier than before in the evenings. And most importantly, her earnings grew; she was able to buy new clothes for everyone including herself, and she regularly received gifts of food, clothing, and cash from her various employers.

The years went by; Sangita's children grew up and her sister also started taking some part-time jobs once the kids started going to school. Once a year they would all catch a train and go to their parent's village where they helped with the farm work but mostly spent time with their mother and old friends. On many of the more recent trips, their brother would also visit along with his relatively new wife. Leaving home at the end of their holiday was always a heart-wrenching experience but everyone knew it had to be done.

By the time she was 31 years of age, her children were all going to a private school and were fairly independent with the eldest always protective and caring for the other two. Her sister had a good job teaching kindergarten children in another school and was in a relationship with a senior teacher; they were thinking of getting married sometime soon. Sangita herself had accumulated considerable savings and the family still lived comfortably together. Many men had approached her over the years because she was extremely attractive, voluptuous even, but obviously none of them was interested in a long-term relationship.

One of the houses that Sangita was working in belonged to a gentleman, the only exception she had made while choosing to work only for families or women employers. His name was Ardik; he was about 35 years old and worked as a senior executive at a large company but Sangita didn't know much more detail. She had taken the job because one of the elderly ladies she worked for had requested her to do so, and had even recommended Mr. Ardik as a "very good person". He paid well and never interfered in her work, although he frequently complimented on her cooking; she had learned a wide variety of cuisines and dishes from the ladies of the other households that she worked in.

Although Sangita had not had sex of any kind for more than seven years, she still had physical urges but did nothing to satisfy them, devoting all her energies towards her jobs. She had been working at Mr. Ardik's penthouse apartment atop a 12-storied luxury building for almost two years and saw him infrequently because he was out most of the time; he had given her a key to his flat and told her to come daily but at any time that suited her. The apartment had to be immaculate and hygienic; and she needed to cook for his dinner on the days he was not travelling. On the occasions that she did see him in the house, she enjoyed their banter and actually found him very attractive.

Ardik was 6'2" tall, was well built and dressed immaculately, kept his hair long but tidy, had an easy sense of humour, and she thought he was very bright and intelligent. He had told her that she should take Sundays as an off-day, something that none of the other employers had offered, but Sangita always came when he was in town because she enjoyed seeing him and being in his company, or at least in his vicinity. Ever since she had got married, Sangita had taken to wearing the traditional Indian saree, giving up the casual tunic-and-pants 'salwar-kameez'. While the saree could be worn in a very provocative way as well, it was also possible to wear it as a modest garment without revealing any of the body which is how she preferred it.

She usually wore delicately printed sarees in pastel shades, wrapping the six yard length high on her abdomen tucked into the waist of her petticoat above the belly button. The long swathe then rose from her right hip, diagonally covered her entire torso before she slung it over her left shoulder, allowing it to fall down to her arse. Underneath, she wore blouses of matching, sometimes contrasting, colours that had a shallow neck at the back and front and sleeves that covered half her upper arm. The blouse was cut well below her breasts so that only about two inches of bare skin remained uncovered in a band between the tucked-in folds of her saree and the hem of her blouse. She still hated wearing a brassiere so she always had her blouses tailored to fit her bosom snugly; of course, the drape of her saree covered her chest completely, even at those embarrassing times when her nipples would swell and harden on account of the cold weather.

Her hair was still thick and long and she wore it in a long pleated braid from the back of her head, the end swinging loosely against her rump. The only pieces of jewellery she possessed, and wore constantly, were tiny golden studs on her ear lobes, a thin and small golden nose-ring, and a silver ring on the middle toe of her left foot. The physical energy that she expended at work each day had kept her trim and fit without an extra ounce of fat on her body. She had maintained, to the extent that her age and childbirth had permitted, her figure which would have been the envy of any a younger woman. Her breasts, even though always modestly covered, were large and sagged slightly only because of their weight. The DD cup breast size tended to highlight the narrow 26" waistline and the 34" hips, but no one ever got to see these assets of hers, except maybe her sister.

Ardik had in fact been a senior executive like Sangita thought; in fact he had been the country CEO of one of the top 5 global retailers till six months ago when he chose to give up the position and start something for himself. He had given them half a year to find themselves a replacement, which wasn't an easy task for them but finally, on the 31st of December he had handed over full charge. He however remained a member of their board of directors. Since then, four weeks ago, he had been at home most of the time and seemed to enjoy the leisure and tensionless hours of each passing day.

He was seeing a lot more of Sangita, and had in fact begun to look forward to her arrival every day. He couldn't understand his fascination and hankering; it wasn't as though he was starved of female company or sex for that matter, but he couldn't get himself to forget about her when she was not around him. When he thought about it, he realised that he hadn't particularly sought out any female company in almost a year, although there had been some midnight trysts in luxury hotel rooms from time to time during his travels.

It was late Sunday morning and Ardik was sitting in his glass-fronted living room looking out at the terrace outside; for mid-February an unusual weather disturbance had resulted in a heavy rain shower that was washing the large fronds and potted plants to a pristine green as they swayed in the breeze outside. Indoor, it was warm and comfortable as he sat on a leather armchair taking in the view, sipping from a mug of steaming coffee after a late but heavy breakfast. He wondered if his housemaid would come that day. He knew she came on Sundays if he was going to be at home but he had flown out of town on Friday night and returned on Saturday without having been able to inform her.

He pictured her dressed in the ubiquitous saree; she always looked so graceful and elegant whenever they met. He had often wondered how she would look if she wasn't so conservative in her demeanour; if she revealed a little more of her physical beauty that he always longed to see but never knew how. He had always been perfectly gentlemanly towards her, never giving her the impression that he may be physically attracted to her. He admitted to himself that he had ogled her on occasion, even imagined undressing her and picturing how she would look at each stage of undress. There were times when he would get a glimpse of the size and shape of her breasts, looking at her in profile and spying the contours under the saree. He had even gone to the extent of fantasising about her pubic region, sometimes visualising a thick hairy bush and other times a smooth shaven vulva.

It was almost noon when he came out of his reverie with the realisation that he had a throbbing hard-on inside his cotton tracksuit bottom; he was not wearing any underwear. Getting up from his comfortable seat, he walked to the open kitchen, drained the remnants of his coffee, rinsed the mug and left it in the sink. He then went to his bedroom and put on a pair of briefs and an old faded pair of jeans before slipping into a black t-shirt that had "BAD CO" emblazoned across the chest in an electric blue colour.

Ardik used his Amazon Prime membership to find and play a classic country album through his Acapella Arts Audio Apollon floor speakers; they had cost him the tidy sum of $133,000 and he was extremely proud of them. He then went to the bar counter next to the kitchen and made himself a martini, using gin and dry vermouth, stirred not shaken. He took a delicate sip, liked what he had mixed, and walked with the cocktail glass to the glass-front looking on to the terrace. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started; he slid the doors apart and stepped outside barefoot.

When the rain stopped, Sangita had been waiting at one of the houses she worked in, regretting that she had not carried an umbrella despite the weather forecast after the 6 o'clock news on her small TV at home. But as soon as the downpour ceased, she set out quickly on the 15-minute walk to Mr. Ardik's apartment. She knew from her visit to his home on Saturday morning that he had travelled because the bathroom was dry and the towels unused; also the bed was still made from her housekeeping the previous day. She was still undecided whether to cook dinner for his return that evening, or would he only come back on Monday?

Walking across the marble floor of the lobby, she stepped into an open elevator car and held her key card against the sensor, punching the penthouse button. Seconds later, she used the same card to open the entrance door to his apartment and stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind her. Taking off her slippers and placing the key on a side table next to the door, she walked towards the kitchen. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sliding doors open, but then she smiled when she saw her master outside peering down intently at one of his potted plants.

"Namaste! Sir," she said, standing in the open doorway, a happy smile playing on her lips with her hands folded in the traditional gesture.

Ardik straightened up, turned with a wide grin on his face and said "Namaste Sangita!" He had recognised her voice and his cheerful expression was spontaneous. While he was thrilled she had come, he still admonished her, saying "Why are you here on a Sunday? I have been telling you for months that you should take one day off every week."

He walked back into the living room as she turned and headed towards the open kitchen saying, "I don't mind coming, Sir. I have to go to other houses also. And in any case, what will I do if I take Sunday off?"

"You can spend time with your children, with your sister. You can go shopping or take them out somewhere. Or you can just sit at home and relax."

Sangita sounded mildly dispirited when she responded, "It's OK, Sir. I'm happy doing my work." It was clear to him that she didn't want to pursue the subject any further, so he kept silent.

Ardik walked behind her into the kitchen, then went past to the drinks cabinet and started making himself another martini while standing next to her. He could smell the fragrance from the strand of jasmine flowers she had pinned to the top of her head, quietly breathing it in. He looked surreptitiously to his side and saw her focussed on washing his coffee mug and breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink. She was wearing a soft pink coloured saree with daisies printed on it and a six-inch wide contrasting border than ran along the edge of the draped portion. While stirring a couple of cubes of ice in his drink with a plastic swizzle stick, he looked at the side of her face and neck; marring the delicate smoothness of her skin was an inch-long scar just below her jawline. He had a sudden urge to run his finger along the scar but desisted, concentrating instead on making his drink which he then took away to the living area.

He was thinking of the time some months ago when Sangita had come in one morning while he was still asleep. She had been cleaning one of the bathrooms when he woke up and walked out of his bedroom bare bodied, wearing only his pyjamas. Hearing noises from inside the washroom, he had known she was there but had still walked in nonetheless. She was wiping down the large mirror in front of the wash basin when he walked up behind her, already getting an erection because he had lusted for her for weeks. Pretending to reach for a washing liquid on a shelf next to the mirror, he had pressed his mushrooming phallus against her rump but then apologised and stepped away trying to hide the hard-on from her. He had felt stupid after that, rebuking himself for behaving like a hormone-loaded teenager.

He now took a sip of the cocktail and went to change the music on his audio system. His mind however was on his housemaid; over the months he had assembled fragments of information from conversations with Sangita and also from the lady who had recommended her to him, or him to her. He knew about her children, her sister, her village and the life she used to lead, and the unfortunate marriage to a drunkard with the consequential pain and suffering. He was only too aware of how traumatised she must have been during and after her marriage, and could only imagine what may have happened in the time afterwards. Without actually knowing any intimate details, he believed she hadn't been in a relationship with any man since and probably had to ward off innumerable unsavoury and unwanted advances from menfolk over the years.

Sitting down on a settee that faced the kitchen, he continued his rumination, wondering how she would react to any approaches he might one day be bold enough to make. Would she be abhorred by him? Would she even contemplate a physical relationship with him? Or any man, for that matter. Would she ever get over the years of celibacy and overcome the hurt and damage that her marriage had done to her? While Ardik had long ago stopped feeling guilty about his desire for this woman, at that moment he only wanted to hold her, console her, erase any grief that still remained in her, comfort her and dispel the wounds that still impaired her subconsciousness.

Sangita was busy preparing food for him, not knowing if he would want to eat lunch or whether he would be home for dinner. She was working at the counter, unable to see Ardik but felt a rising heat on the back of her neck. Hands busy in front, she turned her head back to look towards the living room, wondering why her master was silent for so long. When she saw him looking at her, noticing the melancholy in his eyes, she said "What are you looking at, Sahib? What are you thinking?"

"I was looking at you. Thinking about you," he replied truthfully. In fact, he had been staring at her back although all he could see beyond the counter which separated living room from kitchen was above the waist. And when she offered him a side-view, his eyes would catch the fullness of her breasts underneath the edge of the saree draped across her chest.