The Swing

[First published on my Facebook Notes on 2nd Jun, 2010]

Yesterday was easy on the work front. The day had been hot and sultry, with the promise of rain in the evening. Evening came and went but the promise remained unfulfilled.

I was driving on National Highway number two, a great length of road that connects the east to the north of India. The sky was a dull, dark grey and the sun was setting somewhere above the clouds. Here and there, streaks of lightning were drawing bright electric lines. My progress on the tarmac was steady, yet unhurried.

I spotted the swing to the left of the road. It was bolted to the ground alongside a dhaba. I flashed the turn signal and pulled off the road and on to the red, brick- dust path that led up to the eatery. The swing was just the way we had discovered it, many years ago. Only change was that we had left it rocking gently but right now, it was still. Just like the leaves of the great mango tree which gave it shade all afternoon.

It was in this shade, hundreds of afternoons ago, that I had first touched her. I had started with her fingers, which till date are the prettiest I have ever seen. There was not much conversation that day. Just the sweet nothings lovers always tell each other.

While I ran my fingers gently on her smooth, goddess like skin, she hummed a tune. Her eyes looked into mine and they told me that she was enjoying being loved. The past had been harsh to her when it came to men. She had loved many indeed but had never felt truly loved in return.

Then we kissed softly. Her soft, moist lips and her sweet smelling breath short circuited my mind. My eyes closed and my hands felt her soft breasts. The fragrance from her loosely tied hair wafted all around, mocking my sense of reasoning as I tried to figure out how an angel like her, was mine to love.

Divya gracefully slid down from the swing a little later and left it rocking. It went back and forth for as long as I could see it in my rear view mirror as we drove away.

Presently, a young boy, with a table cleaning cloth slung over his shoulder walked up to me and asked, “What can I get you?”

“Nothing, Divya”, I answered.

The bewildered lad turned towards the dhaba and disappeared back into the darkness, just like Divya had, on one such still, electric evening.



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