THE incessant rainfall grew incredulously unbearable. The suburban lands were nearly submerged. It was impossible to see through the fused-glass rain. The dizzy lights were like smudged water colour dots splattered placidly. The point of interest here is a whorehouse just bordering the suburbs. It has been serving the needy and the greedy for quite some-time now. Men ordinarily are incapable of taming their demons. Otherwise Utopia wouldn’t have been a farce. However, there remains one sin which the very devil embarks upon one, compatible to one’s despair. Some are capable of cutting through the entwining and ever-strengthening creeper but most of them form a symbiotic relation with it. Maybe some are driven by the manoeuvres of fate and some by the stain of thrill that forbiddance carries.
The whorehouse was dimly lit. Red has long been associated with lust. Let’s start afresh. I will add a few drops of brown and a few pellets of black to it; some grainy crystals to complete my mix. That will give lust its colour for this story. The ground floor of the two storey building had a guest room where complementary liquor was served to the insatiated. On one corner couch three misfits were seated. Neither did they fit into the ambience nor did they bore the intent of a predator.
One of them looked bewildered. He had an annoying expression of utter confusion. Deep inside his eyes, one could see a series of bell towers. The bells collectively resonating to distract the air with a tumultuous buzz. Gradually they come to rest. Then they sporadically start buzzing, ending with the same intolerable buzz. Abiding by the laws of Physics, they must be “in phase”. This bloke was haphazardly dressed. He devoured each glass of liquor with the thirst of a camel. A rather pleasing person was seating next to him who was in no possible hurry. He had expressive eyes, camouflaged by thick glasses. He was distinctly austere and had an aura of wisdom. There was a stain of a unique undying thirst in his unshaven face. The third one was comparatively poor. This incarnation of despair seemed to suck out the last atom of hope from the room. His weary grey eyes had no desires. The thin yet firm torso showed signs of prolonged toil. He didn’t drink.
The wise man stirred up a conversation. He asked the bewildered one his name and whether he was a regular or not.
“Well, sir… yes. I am the most regular of the lot. I come here to make full use of my manhood and give those whores a real orgasm. These fellas out here can only tickle and they always have to fake it like that prostitute from a Coelho novel… What was she called?” he ended with his regular look.
“Maria,” replied the wise one nonchalantly.
“Yes.” A speck of triumph sparkled with all might in his eyes. “My name’s Kallol. Kallol Kundu.”
“Alliteration of K, I must say,” was the pensive reply of the wise one. “My name is Jagadish Ghosh.”
“Nice to meet ye Jagadish. So as I was saying, these whores… even they should experience the epitome of lust. I give them that… but without any psychological misadventures… no sadism involved,” declared Kallol with pomp along with residual triumph.
Jagadish seemed amused. He could clearly see the bells in Kallol’s eyes resting like a tramp after a hard day of work. However he was no mood to calm him down. He urged him further with a basic question.
“Why do you need to waste your time doing charity to these women? They might be happier to get a customer less.”
“You… you don’t understand…. That’s not how it works… its… its essential… they are always happy after am done with them…. You can ask that pimp… they want me…” muttered Kallol - a distinct mistrust in his own words. The bells were again in motion.
“That’s not my point. The way you address yourself makes it apparent that you are here to prove something. This something is not the regular need or greed of the society. It’s something way more vehement. As far as my understanding goes, it’s not perversion. You don’t intend any harm yet your inner turmoil is unique and speaks differently.”
“I don’t understand what you are trying implicate. What do you think? Huh? What exactly are you trying to say?”
“All am trying to say is your purpose of visit is a white lie. It’s a shroud you use to cover up the real reason of your visit.”
“Don’t indulge in my matters. I am a calm and composed man. I don’t intend to lose my temper. If I do so, someone’s surely going to suffer. Moreover I cant sabotage my Lust.” It was like a staccato. Kallol was about to cross his tolerance threshold.
“I am a truth-seeker. Being that is my part time job as you might say. I am allergic towards lies.”
Infuriated by these venomous words, Kallol felt like smashing Jagadish’s face. He had to restrain himself. He was very sure of this one fact. He had to control his anger. He didn’t want to get into a pointless brawl and get thrown out. He had to prove it. He had earlier and was still uncertain. He had to show the doctor what he was capable of doing. The test reports were erroneous. He was perfectly fertile. He will summon the god of Lust to prove it. He will walk that extra mile to shove of the insults hurled at him. His beguiled wife will get the repercussions she deserves. A sheepish voice, half lost in the mistimed sigh repeats like before “you are infertile”. The bells are beginning to toll. The tolling bells will now aid to the reverberation of my inner voice. It is despair that seeks me? What does this stranger speak of? Did he hear something? A half mutter thrown randomly? The bells are louder than before…
The thoughts ended rather abruptly as Kallol finds his hand in the clasp of the unnamed stranger who was sitting next to Jagadish on the far end of the couch.
“Watch out fella… control your sentiments…” a gritty strange voice said. The same voice, now concentrating on Jagadish – “And you… your non-terminable gibberish pains my ear. Therefore watch-out. I saved you to warn you… if you want to be saucy, seek some other shelter. Otherwise get beaten up by us.”
Jagadish, now cautioned by the broad sinewy hands of this pathos-procuring stranger said in a tremulous yet firm voice “My words were not meant to invoke such extreme words or actions… I sincerely apologise to you (turning towards Kallol) Kallol.”
Then briskly turning towards the new man, as if glinted by his grief asked “Whats your name?”
“Sandipan Sinha”
“So Sandipan, why do you look so morose? Anything wrong?” He modulated his tone so as not to sound sympathetic but more concerned.
“Well, I have a very common problem. The woman whom I loved turned out to be a lesbian. This sort of fettered me to a wall. Am no superhuman who can break the shackles. There is no sane bloke in this multitude who understands me. Neither do I expect anyone to understand nor anyone to empathize. Let alone sympathy. People have only one opinion. The stereotypical urban montage still lacks certain sketches. Thereby, I don't pique them with my reasoning. Now that’s what should be done. However, letting go is not a mere option because my unrequited love doesn't permit me to go astray. It’s a self-condemnation which is unique to my consciousness. I don’t bother to weave my sentiments into a fabric of pathos, that's not me. I blatantly blurted out the portion of the pang that afflicts me. Now don’t urge me further. If you do so, I will adhere to my previous words.”
Jagadish was cajoled to circumspect. Fidgeting with other’s private points of discomfort had always been his hobby. He had not yet faced proper consequences for doing so. He doesn’t want to sacrifice his Lust for such trivial issues. Therefore He decided to stay mum.
Kallol was still in a state of confusion pondering over that report. This is not the first day when the bells tolled. He has been acquainted to it for quite sometime now. In spite of that, Sharmistha’s monochromatic eye and sullen cheeks were floating all around him. Then there was a child at the airport, which he cuddled for a few minutes. The dazzling crystals of innocence embedded in his smile. The yellow mellow warm air, which had filled around him then. The insinuations of the betrayers whose acceptance in this dire condition was an utmost necessity. The bells were rejuvenated. His sexual urges were beyond any control now. This is where he vented out all these exasperations. The bed was like a battlefield to him. The whore - his mate and sex is the war fueled by Lust.
Parallel to his thoughts were Sandipan’s. He was straightforward. Only outwardly, though. Why didn’t he talk about his ulterior motive to visit this whorehouse? What pleasure did these whores bring along with them? Was it solely the call of Lust? Then why didn’t he opt for the most agile ones? Those plasticine bodies which can be independently manipulated. His affinity towards that dark eyed one whose virginity was taken all by him. What is it with him and that woman? If he would have had the intention of freeing her from these shackles, then he could have done it a couple of months earlier. He didn’t. All the crooning did beseech him but he won’t let her into his life. He consumed Lust with money. Why should guilt probe him then? He was very sure of his demands. Shylock wanted a pound of flesh. Blood was nowhere in the agreement.
Suddenly, Kallol and Sandipan realised they were staring at each other while being engrossed in their respective thoughts. They now focus on Jagadish.
“What purpose does your visit serve?”
“My purpose is much simpler than yours. I suffer from an exclusive complex. You can call it a digression from the Oedipus complex on a Platonic base. I don’t intend to let any other woman into my life. That would jeopardise my intellectual relationship with my mother. She is a prodigy of this age marked my stagnation and monotony. After the death of my father we have formed a symbiotic relation where our existence is intertwined. We cannot demarcate the level of comfort we find in ourselves. That’s how the ideal mother-son relationship should be. The problem with me is I don’t want to share such a bond with anyone other than her. The reason being the incapability of the women I have met, to challenge her intellectually. To someone of my domain, mental compatibility is of the prime concern. Therefore, I come to this place satiate myself and free myself from the grasp of Lust.”
“What if you don’t come to this place?” asked Sandipan, at a loss with Jgadish’s reasoning.
“Well, I might fall in love with someone inappropriate”
The incompleteness of hope leads to dependence.
With dependence comes desolation. With desolation comes dependence.
The whorehouse was dimly lit. Red has long been associated with lust. Let’s start afresh. I will add a few drops of brown and a few pellets of black to it; some grainy crystals to complete my mix. That will give lust its colour for this story. The ground floor of the two storey building had a guest room where complementary liquor was served to the insatiated. On one corner couch three misfits were seated. Neither did they fit into the ambience nor did they bore the intent of a predator.
One of them looked bewildered. He had an annoying expression of utter confusion. Deep inside his eyes, one could see a series of bell towers. The bells collectively resonating to distract the air with a tumultuous buzz. Gradually they come to rest. Then they sporadically start buzzing, ending with the same intolerable buzz. Abiding by the laws of Physics, they must be “in phase”. This bloke was haphazardly dressed. He devoured each glass of liquor with the thirst of a camel. A rather pleasing person was seating next to him who was in no possible hurry. He had expressive eyes, camouflaged by thick glasses. He was distinctly austere and had an aura of wisdom. There was a stain of a unique undying thirst in his unshaven face. The third one was comparatively poor. This incarnation of despair seemed to suck out the last atom of hope from the room. His weary grey eyes had no desires. The thin yet firm torso showed signs of prolonged toil. He didn’t drink.
The wise man stirred up a conversation. He asked the bewildered one his name and whether he was a regular or not.
“Well, sir… yes. I am the most regular of the lot. I come here to make full use of my manhood and give those whores a real orgasm. These fellas out here can only tickle and they always have to fake it like that prostitute from a Coelho novel… What was she called?” he ended with his regular look.
“Maria,” replied the wise one nonchalantly.
“Yes.” A speck of triumph sparkled with all might in his eyes. “My name’s Kallol. Kallol Kundu.”
“Alliteration of K, I must say,” was the pensive reply of the wise one. “My name is Jagadish Ghosh.”
“Nice to meet ye Jagadish. So as I was saying, these whores… even they should experience the epitome of lust. I give them that… but without any psychological misadventures… no sadism involved,” declared Kallol with pomp along with residual triumph.
Jagadish seemed amused. He could clearly see the bells in Kallol’s eyes resting like a tramp after a hard day of work. However he was no mood to calm him down. He urged him further with a basic question.
“Why do you need to waste your time doing charity to these women? They might be happier to get a customer less.”
“You… you don’t understand…. That’s not how it works… its… its essential… they are always happy after am done with them…. You can ask that pimp… they want me…” muttered Kallol - a distinct mistrust in his own words. The bells were again in motion.
“That’s not my point. The way you address yourself makes it apparent that you are here to prove something. This something is not the regular need or greed of the society. It’s something way more vehement. As far as my understanding goes, it’s not perversion. You don’t intend any harm yet your inner turmoil is unique and speaks differently.”
“I don’t understand what you are trying implicate. What do you think? Huh? What exactly are you trying to say?”
“All am trying to say is your purpose of visit is a white lie. It’s a shroud you use to cover up the real reason of your visit.”
“Don’t indulge in my matters. I am a calm and composed man. I don’t intend to lose my temper. If I do so, someone’s surely going to suffer. Moreover I cant sabotage my Lust.” It was like a staccato. Kallol was about to cross his tolerance threshold.
“I am a truth-seeker. Being that is my part time job as you might say. I am allergic towards lies.”
Infuriated by these venomous words, Kallol felt like smashing Jagadish’s face. He had to restrain himself. He was very sure of this one fact. He had to control his anger. He didn’t want to get into a pointless brawl and get thrown out. He had to prove it. He had earlier and was still uncertain. He had to show the doctor what he was capable of doing. The test reports were erroneous. He was perfectly fertile. He will summon the god of Lust to prove it. He will walk that extra mile to shove of the insults hurled at him. His beguiled wife will get the repercussions she deserves. A sheepish voice, half lost in the mistimed sigh repeats like before “you are infertile”. The bells are beginning to toll. The tolling bells will now aid to the reverberation of my inner voice. It is despair that seeks me? What does this stranger speak of? Did he hear something? A half mutter thrown randomly? The bells are louder than before…
The thoughts ended rather abruptly as Kallol finds his hand in the clasp of the unnamed stranger who was sitting next to Jagadish on the far end of the couch.
“Watch out fella… control your sentiments…” a gritty strange voice said. The same voice, now concentrating on Jagadish – “And you… your non-terminable gibberish pains my ear. Therefore watch-out. I saved you to warn you… if you want to be saucy, seek some other shelter. Otherwise get beaten up by us.”
Jagadish, now cautioned by the broad sinewy hands of this pathos-procuring stranger said in a tremulous yet firm voice “My words were not meant to invoke such extreme words or actions… I sincerely apologise to you (turning towards Kallol) Kallol.”
Then briskly turning towards the new man, as if glinted by his grief asked “Whats your name?”
“Sandipan Sinha”
“So Sandipan, why do you look so morose? Anything wrong?” He modulated his tone so as not to sound sympathetic but more concerned.
“Well, I have a very common problem. The woman whom I loved turned out to be a lesbian. This sort of fettered me to a wall. Am no superhuman who can break the shackles. There is no sane bloke in this multitude who understands me. Neither do I expect anyone to understand nor anyone to empathize. Let alone sympathy. People have only one opinion. The stereotypical urban montage still lacks certain sketches. Thereby, I don't pique them with my reasoning. Now that’s what should be done. However, letting go is not a mere option because my unrequited love doesn't permit me to go astray. It’s a self-condemnation which is unique to my consciousness. I don’t bother to weave my sentiments into a fabric of pathos, that's not me. I blatantly blurted out the portion of the pang that afflicts me. Now don’t urge me further. If you do so, I will adhere to my previous words.”
Jagadish was cajoled to circumspect. Fidgeting with other’s private points of discomfort had always been his hobby. He had not yet faced proper consequences for doing so. He doesn’t want to sacrifice his Lust for such trivial issues. Therefore He decided to stay mum.
Kallol was still in a state of confusion pondering over that report. This is not the first day when the bells tolled. He has been acquainted to it for quite sometime now. In spite of that, Sharmistha’s monochromatic eye and sullen cheeks were floating all around him. Then there was a child at the airport, which he cuddled for a few minutes. The dazzling crystals of innocence embedded in his smile. The yellow mellow warm air, which had filled around him then. The insinuations of the betrayers whose acceptance in this dire condition was an utmost necessity. The bells were rejuvenated. His sexual urges were beyond any control now. This is where he vented out all these exasperations. The bed was like a battlefield to him. The whore - his mate and sex is the war fueled by Lust.
Parallel to his thoughts were Sandipan’s. He was straightforward. Only outwardly, though. Why didn’t he talk about his ulterior motive to visit this whorehouse? What pleasure did these whores bring along with them? Was it solely the call of Lust? Then why didn’t he opt for the most agile ones? Those plasticine bodies which can be independently manipulated. His affinity towards that dark eyed one whose virginity was taken all by him. What is it with him and that woman? If he would have had the intention of freeing her from these shackles, then he could have done it a couple of months earlier. He didn’t. All the crooning did beseech him but he won’t let her into his life. He consumed Lust with money. Why should guilt probe him then? He was very sure of his demands. Shylock wanted a pound of flesh. Blood was nowhere in the agreement.
Suddenly, Kallol and Sandipan realised they were staring at each other while being engrossed in their respective thoughts. They now focus on Jagadish.
“What purpose does your visit serve?”
“My purpose is much simpler than yours. I suffer from an exclusive complex. You can call it a digression from the Oedipus complex on a Platonic base. I don’t intend to let any other woman into my life. That would jeopardise my intellectual relationship with my mother. She is a prodigy of this age marked my stagnation and monotony. After the death of my father we have formed a symbiotic relation where our existence is intertwined. We cannot demarcate the level of comfort we find in ourselves. That’s how the ideal mother-son relationship should be. The problem with me is I don’t want to share such a bond with anyone other than her. The reason being the incapability of the women I have met, to challenge her intellectually. To someone of my domain, mental compatibility is of the prime concern. Therefore, I come to this place satiate myself and free myself from the grasp of Lust.”
“What if you don’t come to this place?” asked Sandipan, at a loss with Jgadish’s reasoning.
“Well, I might fall in love with someone inappropriate”
The incompleteness of hope leads to dependence.
With dependence comes desolation. With desolation comes dependence.
