The Diary of a Hooker – Final Part

The simplicity and the finality of that statement made me smile, not smile laugh.

I released her and asked, “Do you always like your customers?”

“Mostly, but they don’t meet me in the middle of the night in the middle of the road. But your case I made an exception”, she replied in a matter of fact tone.

“Because you did not like me right”, I said curving my eyebrows towards her.

“That’s correct" , came along with a flash of gleaming white teeth.

“Well if you did not like me, then why did you want to meet me? That was pretty evident from the “look” you gave me”.

“We have been reading a lots of Mills & Boon, and watching friends rerun have we”, said she  in a flow, giving away her convent education.

“Sudha, don’t play around ……..tell me……. Why?”

“Why……… what?” , a maddening open ended retort by her.

“Why are we here?”, a soft plea from me.

“It is because I don’t like you, but I ….lust you”, came an equally soft but firm reply.

She was speaking like me, she was resonating my frequency. That perhaps explained her dislike for me. Nobody likes a duplicate version of himself, particularly if he loves his/herself too much.

It is self hate that makes you go against the world, snarling and growling at everyone. However it is a modicum of self love that makes you distrustful of a person having the same emotion.

“So what are we going to do about it?” , I asked.

“Fuck mostly”, the matter of fact tone returned.

“And …what apart from the mostly part of it? “ , I asked.

"Kiss perhaps" , a flash of gleaming white teeth , again.

This is it, I thought. Goodbye the last vestige of pubescence, the last remnant of the stretch marks on my arms. This it seems is the way it is going to end.

A hooker………in the middle of Banglooru …………a nondescript hotel and….. 11 minutes.

I will not go into further sordid details. I don’t want to do a mast ram, or a desi M&B here, but yes the hotel wasn’t nondescript.

When you have a lot in your mind, and when you have gone through a lot of unexpected, or experienced a high degree of non–conformance, within a short span of time, it manifests somewhere. Astronauts who experience the bone jarring takeoff get some fluid accumulation in their legs. I however am simpler, I just can’t sleep.

And, neither could she.

A formal goodbye later…I realized.

After blowing my half months pay, on a spur, for a mere 11 minutes, I did not really fell burdened. I just felt …happy!!

Reaching home, but first to my friends place. One look at my face told him to keep shut. We both acted that it was just another night, I took my stuff, we lunched and I came and finally crashed into his room itself.

Later when I woke up, I went on to this (winword) and put this down. On a spur, I hit Google for Sudha. Some names and hits popped up. “Sudha Bangalore”, was not forthcoming either. Finally I hit on images. I scanned each image, till the last page. (Now how many times have you gone beyond the second page, what follows next is a lesson that Google is not all that mighty)

I hit pay dirt on the last “o” of Google. There was a giggling snap of her, among a gaggle of friends. None of whom seemed familiar from the night drive before. I searched for the source, but “oops the link is broken”, appeared. It was a nonsensical link indicative of nothing; it was like an internet pensive, a ghost of information that perhaps escaped slaughter (just guessing this part)

Do I wish to see her again, not really? Do I lust her, no not much. Do I disrespect her for her profession... no …

Then probably I do respect her….. Not for her candidness, nor her brazenness or defiance. It is for the power she knew she had over people, and her willingness to use it ruthlessly for herself.

I bid goodbye to my friend, and then I made it down the staircase, to the open door. The poly bag, fluttering on his door was a common sight, it was for the milk. But it was having something inside of it and it said “Sudha”.

Darn she followed me here!

I opened it and found some wads of money. A note, written in cursive said” I lusted not you!!(It ended with two apostrophes also, which I most often do)”.

So here is the diary of a hooker!!

PS – I got a lot of dings on Google uncle, asking me if this is true. You are free to believe what you want to …………..I am neither going to deny nor confirm it.

The Diary of a Hooker – Part 2

“Can we take a walk “?

“It will cost you “she said in a melancholic manner. I had withdrawn quite some money for my rent, and had enough cash.

“This do for a 10 minute walk...?” I said drawing a couple of notes.

She did not count or examine, she just took it and pocketed it.

Scary…………weird ……….and definitely something amiss.

She did not seem to treat me like a customer, rather as a connoisseur out to samples some wine or an art lover out to display her works.

“This way”she said leading, I waved to my companions and mouthed you guys leave I will find my way back.

We walked into a crack in the wall kind of lane. It was the kind of lane which silhouettes people, giving plenty of scope for hanky panky. She seemed to be floating rather than walking .We weren’t holding hands .......rather just fingers............... not even holding rather we were ............just touching tips.

There was no perfume, or spray on her but................. she was having a nice smelling sweat.

यह रंडी तो नहीं है बालक...........!!

Let’s try the brute force method of debugging, or rather the potshot theory, I thought. Sometimes when you talk to people, particularly in sales, you tend to spot tenor changes in voice if you keep giving them options to choose from. Chadda once told me this, after a meeting with UPPCL,for the veteran the right tenors can then be identified, to be built into a symphony. My boss is a veteran Zubin Mehta ,  and I have seen him in action, once.

"Where do you study? " , I asked.

“I don’t “, no change in tenor, so probably true, no skeletons.

“So what do you do other than this? I find it hard to believe that this is your only vocation” ….

“This…... “, a rather mischievous tone I her voice.

Tenor change !!

Suddenly, with no warning I grabbed the back of her head, yanked a chunk of her hair and then pushed her against the wall heavily.

“Don’t force me darling,” I tried to mimic the schizophrenic lady beater image.

There was no response; none. 

It was blank, no smile........ no rage........... no offence...........no defenses and no ........peace

“Time perhaps , could make her react “, I thought. I pushed more against her, feeling the warmth of her body, getting aware of the curves and the senses.

There was a response, a definite physical response.

She then replied,” My name is Sudha and I …….do not like you”

The simplicity ............and the finality.............. of that statement made me smile....... not smile laugh.(To be Continued!!)

The last part ...Click here

The Diary of a Hooker – Part 1

Some stereotypes of sadness ,  are the kinds which hide their demons behind a veil of gruffness, or violence. You would expect hookers to exhibit some remnants of this sentiment. Alas, it is not so!!

Not all hookers are abject symbols of exploitation, or symbols of misery. There are indeed a lot of layers to the proverbial grease some predictable............ some surprising......... and some........ rather astonishing.

I spent a night with a surprise. Hold your horses as they undertake their flights of imagination. This is not Chandani Bar or Chameli rehashed. It however is definitely,  wild.,  unplanned and of course pleasurable. (Definite pun intended!)

This happened last Sunday when I was with a third party acquaintance stretching the term friend by a wide margin. I did not like the guy, and he had not planned in joining us for dinner, but it just so happened that we three were together.

Now a little about this guy, he is very recently married in fact he had just returned from his honeymoon, and he was the types who are victims of quantitative metrics, bigger, finer, expensive. Case in point, for sake of conversation all he could talk was about his honeymoon suite and how costly and exclusive it was.

“Lets go to MG road, you know at this time and day we can find a lot of birds, if you know what I mean”, in a rather I know and you don’t know manner.

Woho he wasn’t quite doing justice to the ideal husband part. Although his other half was not here, the activity he was suggesting did not quite fall within the ambit of ethical.

I am a horny techie, there is not much I don’t know or haven’t seen. But this guy was definitely one exotic specimen.

“ Sure “ ,  I said at once, I wanted to hang out a little bit more with this guy and see what type he actually was and of course also curious to visit a red light area after a long time.

The first time was in New Delhi, and it was a very sorry affair, or in real terms I did a bunk.

Anyways, this guy also had a new car (ostensibly to steer his wife, if only she knew!), and surprisingly the drive to MG road was traffic free too. We went in there and pretty very pretty birds’ line greeted us. They went on to the extent of throwing themselves on the car, yakketing and chattering in alternate measures.

I had suddenly spotted a very different specimen. I can’t put a finger down and say what attracted me to her but I just had to be near her to find out. Our eyes were locked for quite some time and then she did a curt disengagement.

“Stop the car, I wish to get down”, I said.

My tone had an edge of hyper in addition to authority. So there was a screech of brakes.

The guy who I had intended to meet was, concerned and turned back, only to find me staring at the fast vanishing specimen.

I made to unlock the door, and he intervened and said, “Are you mad, we are here only to see (he said indicating the gaggle of girls), if they get you once you can’t escape. Don’t play around here it is dangerous. And you look like a newbie too.”(Clean shaven alas!!)

"I am not a kid, and I can handle it don’t worry", for posterity sake I handed all my cards, purse, sans cash and other identifiers, including my beads, and threads to him, before brushing him aside and getting down.

“I am Srikant “, I said extending my hand to her. There were guffaws and cat calls from all around including the driver I had come with. She however extended her hand and shook mine. 

Handshakes are often revealing. However hers, wasn’t soft, nor firm neither authoritative nor submissive, it was ……….seductive to say the least.

“Can we take a walk “? , I asked with a smile .......To be continued.........Cause there is a lot !!....

Click here for second part  .......

Institutionalizing the Art of Helping

Look around, these days there is always help available. Oh corrections, modern colloquialism dictates that I use the word counseling/coaching, for “help” by its very nature seems to indicate a diminished self capability.

A kid is born ……………hallelujah!!!


The celebrations over the first couple of years rush by in a haze of dirty nappies and now, he has to go to a school. Admissions are not so easy, so in step coaching to guide the child in the form of preschools. Thanks to my humongous memory I remember my pre-school and school days as times where I just ate (and ate I used to have 5 meals a day ,  morning breakfast, school lunch, back home another lunch, evening snack and dinner, courtesy amma) , played and slept.

Now preschools are no longer about kids having fun, even if it is having fun it is always with an intent to cram in some statistic in the kid, to prepare for an interview (kids giving an interview , they are still shitting their pants and they are expected to know the name of the president of India !).

Pre-schools proudly show their success rate in getting admission to “convent” schools. Convent, again a remnant of our colonial mentality, I regret not having gone to a government school, but I kind of made it up in graduation, (unintentionally though).

Ok, school is in now. Now the harried mom needs to unwind, after all a 3-4 year gap in life has to be compensated. So she takes up her life hopefully where she left it, obviously there is less time now for the kid.

Fear not, tuitions are available.

Tuitions and school make up a major part of a kids life. Soon he enters into high school. Now tuitions won’t do pal, you need coaching. Specialized coaching granting you a chance at elitism (read engineering and medical).It is really a pity that the options that are considered good socially, are of a binary nature.

Coaching is now done; outcome is now derived, elite or otherwise. Now, studies have to be continued, and of course it is all so tough. Having been through a prop at each stage the kid (ok, a grown up), now finds it hard to walk without crutches. He sends an SOS home, “I want to leave this place “.

Parents get all harried….. They look up………. and look down…………….wondering if it is in heaven………… or is in hell ..........the dam elusive solutionel.(Scarlet Pimpernel love the sing-song of it !).

Someone is found who can give coaching at engineering level too. I came to know about it in Mumbai, for I saw a card that read, “Specializing in thermal engineering for all engineering students”.

Come on, coaching at engineering level, you are undermining the value of the course, of course with engineering colleges mushrooming all around, is also adding fuel to the fire.

What would engineers do when they realize that a bridge can’t take the load it has been designed for, or the material ordered is adding a tad bit more weight to the assembly, or there is a last minute design change that may just work? Go figure.

It’s coaching all the way, all to the point of entering an organization. Thankfully you don’t have coaching for carrying on your regular work, here of course training is there, (courtesy generous HR budgets!) Finally it is time to find your own path, your own way and throw off those crutches.

PS – I am not undermining the importance of support in life. I am merely highlighting that we have conditioned our self to rely on props for support and institutionalized the art of helping.I am one of the above cycle, having gone to coaching institutes all the while, thinking that it is a magic wand for all worries.
 
I realized pretty late, that the best things in life are learnt by oneself, nobody can teach it to you !


Finally, it is curious to know that while I was typing this away, an acquaintance(Gtalk!) suggested that I put something similar to this here on the blog