While there can be no doubt that what had happened between Swati & I was nothing short of adultery & fornication, it did have a salutary impact on her marriage. Our little affair brought her morally down on the same level as her husband. Satish had awaited Swati's return with some trepidation and was rather pleasantly surprised by her sweet & pleasant demeanor. She had really forgiven him, he was happy to note. Both of them made a genuine effort to work on their marriage and succeeded in rekindling the fire between them. The next two years were the golden period of their marriage.
Swati set about systematically to imbibe the customs, traditions & rituals of her husband's family. She mastered the names and the intricate web of relationships between near & distant members of the family; friends, retainers and servants. She was soon able to recall all important birthdays and anniversaries. Above all else, she took pains to understand the likes & dislikes, quirks and habits of her immediate family, i.e. her parents in law, her husband's sisters and Dadima, Santosh Kumar's widowed mother and the grande dame of the family.
Satish was of no help at all in her efforts. However, she found an ally in Pratibha, her eldest sister-in-law, the one who had found out about her affair with Satish. Pratibha also lived in New Delhi, not very far from Swati's home. The two women got along well. Since Pratibha too had recently gone through the experience of adjusting to the ways of a strange new family, she went out of her way to help Swati. Dadima soon warmed to Swati. She liked Swati's sincerity and cheerful demeanor. Santosh Kumar was also impressed by Swati's quick mind and easy grasp of current political & economic affairs.
However, what really secured Swati's rank high in the pecking order of the family was the birth of her son, a little more than a year after her return to New Delhi. The entire family was overjoyed by the arrival of a male heir. Even Swati's mother-in-law thawed. A daughter was born just fifteen months later. Swati became busy as a full time housewife and mother of her two adorable and energetic kids.
Santosh Kumar had built a large, beautiful kothi (house) on one of the many plots of land he owned in New Delhi. Satish, Swati & the two kids moved into the new house in due course, while Santosh Kumar along with his wife & mother continued to live in his official quarters. In keeping with the family's style, there was a full retinue of servants at Swati's beck and call, including an ayah to look after the kids.
Swati's close friend Priyanka was getting married in Mumbai. Swati decided to attend the wedding. Besides the importance of the occasion, Swati also badly needed a few days' break. Her kids were to be left in the care of the ayah, under the supervision of Pratibha Bua (father's sister) whom both the kids adored.
***
I completed my course and graduated from IIT Kharagpur with an excellent score. Unlike many of my colleagues, I decided not to go to USA. I soon joined a large and prestigious multinational company as a management trainee. It was a coveted job with a "four figure" salary (those days, anything over a thousand rupees a month was considered to be a king's ransom). The company laid great stress on training and grooming its future managers. In that laid-back age, the training period stretched to three languid years. Apart from exposing the young trainees to the company's business, a lot of importance was given to the development of a personal rapport with the company's executives, as well as with people from customers' and suppliers' companies. Great emphasis was also placed on teaching proper etiquette, dressing & deportment to the future managers. As a part of my training, I was posted for a few months at a time at various establishments of the company that were scattered all over the country.
***
Although we never wrote letters, Swati & I had kept in regular touch by exchanging birthday greetings, Diwali & New Year cards and kept each other informed about our changing addresses. One day, while I was posted in our Mumbai office, I received a letter from Swati. She wrote about her plans to visit Mumbai, and wondered whether I might be able to meet her. She was scheduled to arrive on Saturday, just a couple of days ahead.
"You bet!" I muttered as my heart skipped a beat.
***
I reached the Santacruz airport a good one hour before the scheduled arrival of her flight on Saturday morning. Those days, there was only one terminal for domestic as well as international flights; there were just two or three daily Indian Airlines flights between New Delhi & Mumbai. Being a Saturday, there were very few people at the terminal. The flight landed only half an hour late, a record of sorts for Indian Airlines. In a few minutes I spotted Swati walking out through the gate into the arrival hall. Her eyes lit up as she saw me.
"Sameer! It's great to see you again after such a long time. I wasn't sure my letter would reach you in time. My God, you look wonderful!" She gushed, smiling delightedly.
"Thanks… You look great too. How are Satish & the kids?" I blushed at her compliment and formally enquired after her family.
"Oh, they are fine… Ah, here is my driver." She spotted a man carrying a placard with her name on it. Soon, her baggage came out and the driver loaded it onto a cart (those days, there was virtually no security; anybody could walk into the baggage delivery area). The driver led us to a white Ambassador car with tinted glasses, a ubiquitous symbol of power & privilege. It was parked just outside the terminal building in the no-parking area. The driver had instructions to drop "Swati madam" off at the MLA's Hostel in downtown Mumbai and thereafter be available at her service throughout her stay in Mumbai. The MLA's Hostel was in theory intended only for housing out of town members of the legislative assembly when it was in session. In practice, its facilities were enjoyed by powerful people with the right connections, who often had nothing to do with the legislative assembly. The accommodation and transportation arrangements had all been made by Laxmanrao for his darling daughter Swati.
"So, what are your plans for today? Are you working?" Swati enquired.
"No, we have a five day week so I am free on Saturdays & Sundays." I replied.
"Oh, good. Why don't you ride with me? Let's talk on the way." She suggested. I agreed immediately.
She told me about her friend Priyanka's marriage schedule & about her plans to do some shopping and if possible to meet a couple of business associates. I told her a little bit about my job. The conversation was however rather stilted. She sat far apart from me, her handbag & vanity case placed between us. She wore lightly tinted sunglasses and most of the time gazed out the window, trying to avoid looking at me. After a few half-hearted attempts at reviving the conversation, I too lapsed into silence, taking my time to properly look at her.
She was dressed in a fashionable, expensive looking salwar-kameez outfit with a generously proportioned neck opening. She had put on perhaps fifteen pounds since I had seen her last. Her figure was now distinctly plump. The dupatta carelessly wrapped around her neck did nothing to conceal her large, well shaped bosom that swelled out of the neck of the kameez. Her décolletage was invitingly soft, deep and creamy. Her breasts jiggled & danced deliciously as the car proceeded on its bumpy ride on Mumbai's pot-holed roads. Her hips too had broadened after having endured two pregnancies. Her waist looked curiously small, perhaps in contrast with her enlarged hips and bosom or maybe due to the perfect cut of her expensive kameez. Her complexion was smooth and clear and her face had not lost any of its youthful attractiveness. And yet, she was rather quiet and subdued, not at all like the effervescent, cheerful, mischievous Swati of yore. A few times, I caught her stealing a sideways glance at me and immediately spotted the familiar hungry "look" in her eyes. That was enough to create a stir in my loins. She too spotted me catching her "look" and responded by wrapping her dupatta securely around her shoulders and looking away.
"I will get off at Marine Drive & meet you at the MLA's Hostel in an hour. Do release the driver for the day." I scribbled on a piece of paper & passed it to her. I didn't want the driver to spot me going into the MLA's hostel. She tucked the paper into her bosom after reading it and gave me a quick nod, then again determinedly looked out the window.
I got her room number from a bored looking man at the reception desk of the MLA's Hostel and proceeded to her room. It was situated on the uppermost floor, in an area reserved for VIPs. The rooms here were all air-conditioned. The door opened almost as soon as I knocked on it. Swati closed the door after me and stood leaning on it.
"What took you so long?" She asked, and rushed to me without waiting for my answer.
"Oh, God! How I've missed you." She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight, burying her face in my neck. Sobs wracked her body and I felt her hot tears on my shoulder. I held her tight against me and straightened up, lifting her feet off the ground. Her soft body molded itself against mine, from bosom to thighs. I crooned gently while stroking her back and cupping her generously enlarged buns.
There was a credenza placed along the wall at the foot of the bed. I seated her on it after sweeping off stuff lying on top. My heart beat fast as we tried to kiss. Both of us were so breathless and panting with excitement that we were just about able to brush our open lips against each other's. I quickly ran my wet tongue over her lips. My fingers fumbled with the dainty little buttons of her front-opening kameez. In my impatience, I ripped the kameez open down to her waist, sending buttons flying all over.
Swati set about systematically to imbibe the customs, traditions & rituals of her husband's family. She mastered the names and the intricate web of relationships between near & distant members of the family; friends, retainers and servants. She was soon able to recall all important birthdays and anniversaries. Above all else, she took pains to understand the likes & dislikes, quirks and habits of her immediate family, i.e. her parents in law, her husband's sisters and Dadima, Santosh Kumar's widowed mother and the grande dame of the family.
Satish was of no help at all in her efforts. However, she found an ally in Pratibha, her eldest sister-in-law, the one who had found out about her affair with Satish. Pratibha also lived in New Delhi, not very far from Swati's home. The two women got along well. Since Pratibha too had recently gone through the experience of adjusting to the ways of a strange new family, she went out of her way to help Swati. Dadima soon warmed to Swati. She liked Swati's sincerity and cheerful demeanor. Santosh Kumar was also impressed by Swati's quick mind and easy grasp of current political & economic affairs.
However, what really secured Swati's rank high in the pecking order of the family was the birth of her son, a little more than a year after her return to New Delhi. The entire family was overjoyed by the arrival of a male heir. Even Swati's mother-in-law thawed. A daughter was born just fifteen months later. Swati became busy as a full time housewife and mother of her two adorable and energetic kids.
Santosh Kumar had built a large, beautiful kothi (house) on one of the many plots of land he owned in New Delhi. Satish, Swati & the two kids moved into the new house in due course, while Santosh Kumar along with his wife & mother continued to live in his official quarters. In keeping with the family's style, there was a full retinue of servants at Swati's beck and call, including an ayah to look after the kids.
Swati's close friend Priyanka was getting married in Mumbai. Swati decided to attend the wedding. Besides the importance of the occasion, Swati also badly needed a few days' break. Her kids were to be left in the care of the ayah, under the supervision of Pratibha Bua (father's sister) whom both the kids adored.
***
I completed my course and graduated from IIT Kharagpur with an excellent score. Unlike many of my colleagues, I decided not to go to USA. I soon joined a large and prestigious multinational company as a management trainee. It was a coveted job with a "four figure" salary (those days, anything over a thousand rupees a month was considered to be a king's ransom). The company laid great stress on training and grooming its future managers. In that laid-back age, the training period stretched to three languid years. Apart from exposing the young trainees to the company's business, a lot of importance was given to the development of a personal rapport with the company's executives, as well as with people from customers' and suppliers' companies. Great emphasis was also placed on teaching proper etiquette, dressing & deportment to the future managers. As a part of my training, I was posted for a few months at a time at various establishments of the company that were scattered all over the country.
***
Although we never wrote letters, Swati & I had kept in regular touch by exchanging birthday greetings, Diwali & New Year cards and kept each other informed about our changing addresses. One day, while I was posted in our Mumbai office, I received a letter from Swati. She wrote about her plans to visit Mumbai, and wondered whether I might be able to meet her. She was scheduled to arrive on Saturday, just a couple of days ahead.
"You bet!" I muttered as my heart skipped a beat.
***
I reached the Santacruz airport a good one hour before the scheduled arrival of her flight on Saturday morning. Those days, there was only one terminal for domestic as well as international flights; there were just two or three daily Indian Airlines flights between New Delhi & Mumbai. Being a Saturday, there were very few people at the terminal. The flight landed only half an hour late, a record of sorts for Indian Airlines. In a few minutes I spotted Swati walking out through the gate into the arrival hall. Her eyes lit up as she saw me.
"Sameer! It's great to see you again after such a long time. I wasn't sure my letter would reach you in time. My God, you look wonderful!" She gushed, smiling delightedly.
"Thanks… You look great too. How are Satish & the kids?" I blushed at her compliment and formally enquired after her family.
"Oh, they are fine… Ah, here is my driver." She spotted a man carrying a placard with her name on it. Soon, her baggage came out and the driver loaded it onto a cart (those days, there was virtually no security; anybody could walk into the baggage delivery area). The driver led us to a white Ambassador car with tinted glasses, a ubiquitous symbol of power & privilege. It was parked just outside the terminal building in the no-parking area. The driver had instructions to drop "Swati madam" off at the MLA's Hostel in downtown Mumbai and thereafter be available at her service throughout her stay in Mumbai. The MLA's Hostel was in theory intended only for housing out of town members of the legislative assembly when it was in session. In practice, its facilities were enjoyed by powerful people with the right connections, who often had nothing to do with the legislative assembly. The accommodation and transportation arrangements had all been made by Laxmanrao for his darling daughter Swati.
"So, what are your plans for today? Are you working?" Swati enquired.
"No, we have a five day week so I am free on Saturdays & Sundays." I replied.
"Oh, good. Why don't you ride with me? Let's talk on the way." She suggested. I agreed immediately.
She told me about her friend Priyanka's marriage schedule & about her plans to do some shopping and if possible to meet a couple of business associates. I told her a little bit about my job. The conversation was however rather stilted. She sat far apart from me, her handbag & vanity case placed between us. She wore lightly tinted sunglasses and most of the time gazed out the window, trying to avoid looking at me. After a few half-hearted attempts at reviving the conversation, I too lapsed into silence, taking my time to properly look at her.
She was dressed in a fashionable, expensive looking salwar-kameez outfit with a generously proportioned neck opening. She had put on perhaps fifteen pounds since I had seen her last. Her figure was now distinctly plump. The dupatta carelessly wrapped around her neck did nothing to conceal her large, well shaped bosom that swelled out of the neck of the kameez. Her décolletage was invitingly soft, deep and creamy. Her breasts jiggled & danced deliciously as the car proceeded on its bumpy ride on Mumbai's pot-holed roads. Her hips too had broadened after having endured two pregnancies. Her waist looked curiously small, perhaps in contrast with her enlarged hips and bosom or maybe due to the perfect cut of her expensive kameez. Her complexion was smooth and clear and her face had not lost any of its youthful attractiveness. And yet, she was rather quiet and subdued, not at all like the effervescent, cheerful, mischievous Swati of yore. A few times, I caught her stealing a sideways glance at me and immediately spotted the familiar hungry "look" in her eyes. That was enough to create a stir in my loins. She too spotted me catching her "look" and responded by wrapping her dupatta securely around her shoulders and looking away.
"I will get off at Marine Drive & meet you at the MLA's Hostel in an hour. Do release the driver for the day." I scribbled on a piece of paper & passed it to her. I didn't want the driver to spot me going into the MLA's hostel. She tucked the paper into her bosom after reading it and gave me a quick nod, then again determinedly looked out the window.
I got her room number from a bored looking man at the reception desk of the MLA's Hostel and proceeded to her room. It was situated on the uppermost floor, in an area reserved for VIPs. The rooms here were all air-conditioned. The door opened almost as soon as I knocked on it. Swati closed the door after me and stood leaning on it.
"What took you so long?" She asked, and rushed to me without waiting for my answer.
"Oh, God! How I've missed you." She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight, burying her face in my neck. Sobs wracked her body and I felt her hot tears on my shoulder. I held her tight against me and straightened up, lifting her feet off the ground. Her soft body molded itself against mine, from bosom to thighs. I crooned gently while stroking her back and cupping her generously enlarged buns.
There was a credenza placed along the wall at the foot of the bed. I seated her on it after sweeping off stuff lying on top. My heart beat fast as we tried to kiss. Both of us were so breathless and panting with excitement that we were just about able to brush our open lips against each other's. I quickly ran my wet tongue over her lips. My fingers fumbled with the dainty little buttons of her front-opening kameez. In my impatience, I ripped the kameez open down to her waist, sending buttons flying all over.