Swati Ch. 01

I did visit her home a few times after that, playing badminton with Kirti & Kirit, but Swati had become remote & withdrawn and just barely acknowledged my presence. In any case, she was in the final year of her Bachelor of Arts course while I was in the eleventh standard, a crucial year from the point of view of securing admission to a good college. The final exams were drawing near and so we both became busy with our studies.

***

Swati Goes To Mumbai

Swati had an artistic streak in her and was particularly good at drawing. I had seen some of her sketches & even to my untrained eye, they had looked beautiful. After graduation Swati joined a post-graduate course in fine arts at a well-known art school in Bombay (now Mumbai).

I surprised everyone including myself by scoring excellent marks in the high school final examination. I also sat for a competitive test & gained admission to the prestigious Indian Institute of Technology, Kharagpur.

***

In Mumbai, Swati suddenly found herself unshackled from many of the restrictions that a small town places on young, nubile girls. Moreover, in Swati's case, in spite of her attractiveness, her father's influence & power had made potential suitors wary of approaching her. Swati, having inherited her father's earthy, hot-blooded sensuality had found these restrictions all the more galling. It was no wonder then that in Mumbai she went a bit overboard with befriending boys and having a good time. She soon acquired a quite undeserved reputation of being a "fast" girl. She had an assertive, strong personality, quick wit and a sharp tongue. So, although she enjoyed being in the company of her many male admirers and reveled in the attention they bestowed on her, she never allowed anybody to take liberties with her, staying true to her mother's strict admonition: no canoodling and most certainly no sex before marriage. Nor did she ever violate the strict curfew rules of the girls' hostel she lived in. Until she met Satish, that is.

***

Satish

Satish was a tall, fair, well-built, handsome young boy, studying in St. Xavier's college. He had the looks and build of a Bollywood hero. He was the son of a powerful bureaucrat then posted in Mumbai. His family belonged to a wealthy, land-owning, well-connected North Indian Brahmin clan that traced its roots back to the days of the Mughal emperors. Over the centuries the clan had produced a galaxy of distinguished civil servants, academics, soldiers, diplomats and businessmen. Never had there been a time in the last four hundred years when there had not been clansmen in positions of power & influence in the durbars of rajahs & nawabs scattered all over north India, including the Mughal durbars at Agra / Delhi. The British era had been particularly propitious for the clan. Not only had they produced more than their fair share of Rai Bahadurs & Dewan Bahadurs, they had also accumulated immense wealth; lately by cornering lucrative war-time supply contracts.

Satish was an only son, born on the back of two daughters; the apple of his mother's eye. He had attended the best public schools; was urbane, polished and well versed in the airs and graces of high society. He was always well dressed, even foppish and never seemed to be short of money. He had access to all the good things money & influence could buy even in the socialistic era of the nineteen-sixties. His most prized possession was a shaft drive BMW motorcycle his father had bought for him from a departing West German diplomat. No wonder then that he was always surrounded by a bevy of girls.

Unfortunately, although Satish was reasonably bright, he was vain, weak willed, ambitionless and lacked a clear goal in life. The deficiencies in his personality and character had not been helped by the shortcomings in his upbringing. Being the only one to carry forward the family name, he had been coddled and spoilt from an early age. An overweening sense of superiority about his illustrious family and their rightful position in India's power elite had been instilled in him since childhood. It was not surprising therefore that he was rather self-centered and used to getting his way; his petulance and arrogance lurked just under the surface.

***

Swati Gets Married

Satish & Swati had met at a party and fallen hard for each other. Satish had everything that Swati wanted in her man: the looks and build of a bollywood hero, a background of wealth & privilege and a Brahmin to boot! To cap it all, Swati had been "shafted by his shaft drive motorbike" as she ruefully put it many years later while resting in my arms. Satish on the other hand was utterly captivated by the bright, smart, self assured, sexy, articulate young Swati who was so totally unlike any girl he had met till then.

They were soon inseparable. They bunked college and spent many an afternoon together, chatting in coffee shops, watching matinee shows, going on long drives on the powerful BMW bike and once in a while making out in the privacy of an obliging friend's bedroom. Although Swati was as passionate & hot-blooded as they come, she never allowed Satish to "go all the way", in spite of his desperate pleading & entreaties. She was very firm that to attain that prize, he would have to marry her first. This was a blow to Satish's pride; he had rarely had to take a no for an answer.

Weak willed & indecisive as Satish was, he waffled and procrastinated for a long time before finally proposing marriage. Swati was only too glad to accept, and immediately demanded to be introduced to his parents. Satish was realistic enough to know that his parents would never accept a "half-caste" Maharashtrian girl as their bahu (daughter-in-law). He didn't have any idea how he was going to broach the subject with his parents. He kept putting the matter off until one day Swati served him an ultimatum: there would be no more meetings until she was introduced to his parents. Fortunately, Satish was spared the pain of breaking the news to his parents when Satish's married elder sister accidentally found out about the relationship. When confronted, Satish had sheepishly admitted that he wanted to marry Swati.

With this, all hell broke loose in Satish's house. His hypertensive mother threw the mother of all tantrums and took to bed, refusing all food and drink, reducing Satish to a quivering lump of jelly. His father Santosh Kumar had a sound appreciation of his son's capabilities & character and knew that he would never be able to make the grade in the civil services entrance exams. He had therefore nursed dreams of setting Satish up in business and had even short listed marriageable girls from wealthy families of their own caste who could bring in a large enough dowry for the purpose. He was not prepared to see his dream shattered by an uncivilized, upstart half-caste ghati (a derogatory term North Indians sometimes use to describe Maharashtrians) girl. He was a powerful, influential bureaucrat with connections in high places. He immediately called his good friend, a highly placed police officer and asked for help to try and scare the girl off or, if absolutely essential, to bribe her to leave his son. His friend listened and promised to see what he could do. When his friend called back the next day, Santosh Kumar broke into a cold sweat.

"Do you know who her father is?" His friend asked Santosh Kumar and then proceeded to describe the reach and power of Laxmanrao's connections, right up to the highest political levels in New Delhi. Santosh Kumar was left in no doubt that Laxmanrao could be really bad news for anybody who dared to cross his path and that he was quite capable of ruining not merely Satish's life but also Santosh Kumar's career if he chose to.

"It is best to reach a compromise" was his last piece of advice as his friend hung up on Santosh Kumar. This left Santosh Kumar in a pretty pickle. He thought long and hard trying to find a way out. He made some more discreet enquiries about Swati & her family, probing for some weakness. He soon came to know about Swati's Brahmin mother & Laxmanrao's hunger for assimilation into the upper caste society. He developed an even greater appreciation of Laxmanrao's wealth & political connections. Gradually, it dawned on him that there was a real opportunity here. His spoilt, good for nothing son might actually have hit the jackpot, he realized.

Santosh Kumar's illustrious forefathers had been adept at reading straws in the wind and ingratiating themselves with ascendant political forces early on. That had been one of the secrets of the clan's great success. This faculty seemed to have curiously deserted the clan elders when in the late nineteenth century the forces of nationalism had risen from the ashes of their defeat in the 1857 War of Independence and slowly but inexorably gathered strength in the twentieth century, eventually resulting in the overthrow of the British Empire. As a result, there was not a single member of the clan in the nationalist movement in the pre-independence era and none in the political establishment, post Independence. Santosh Kumar had had to face many occasions to rue this grave omission. Being a hard nosed pragmatist, he now saw an opportunity to set the matters right by gaining a toehold in the political establishment. Thus it came by that Santosh Kumar decided to approach Laxmanrao to ask for Swati's hand in marriage for his son!

How Santosh Kumar managed to get his wife to agree to the match is an interesting story in itself but it need not detain us here. Suffice it to say that he succeeded as he usually did when he really put his mind to it.

***

To her credit, Swati never thought of using her father's power & influence to coerce Satish's family to accept her. Having delivered her ultimatum to Satish, she stood fast and waited. Her parents didn't have any inkling about this storm in her life. She called her father only after she had been dropped back to her hostel by Santosh Kumar and his wife after a high tea at their residence, during which they had formally welcomed her as their future bahu.

Soon, Santosh Kumar met Laxmanrao and all matters related to the forthcoming wedding were sorted out. Laxmanrao was very happy for his eldest and favorite daughter. She had done him proud; he could hardly have picked a better groom for her had he tried. He was determined to use this occasion to display all his wealth, power and connections. Needless to say, the wedding was a grand affair, running to five days. It continued to be the talk of our town for many years. After the wedding in our city, there were glittering receptions held in Mumbai as well as in New Delhi, attended amongst others, by prominent state and national level politicians and cabinet ministers. Even a usually blasé Santosh Kumar was dazzled. The brilliant display of power & wealth also served to nip in the bud incipient murmurs of protest by Santosh Kumar's clan brethren about the caste of the new bahu.

The newly weds eventually settled down in New Delhi where Santosh Kumar had been transferred to, on a plum posting (one of the early benefits of the recent alliance). Satish soon started an import-export business and became sole selling agent for several large European companies. Canny and farsighted Laxmanrao had ensured that Swati's name was included as an equal partner in the business. Apart from the huge profit the business generated on its own, it also served as a convenient conduit to siphon Santosh Kumar's "other" income to safe havens in Swiss banks. It was a dream arrangement that benefited everybody at the cost of the poor Indian taxpayer.

Although outwardly things were hunky dory for Swati & Satish, clouds had soon started appearing on the horizon. It had emerged that Satish had an inordinate fondness for liquor and an inability to hold his booze. Worse still, there had been whispers about his dalliance with other women. Not one to take things lying down (with one exception!), Swati had kept a careful watch and caught Satish red-handed. He had failed to convince Swati that he was "merely trying to comfort an old friend". There had been a flaming row and Satish had finally tearfully asked her forgiveness, promising to behave himself & never to stray again. It was in such circumstances that Swati had decided to take a break and arrived in our city to spend a week with her parents.

***

We Meet Once Again

At that time I was in the second year of my course at IIT Kharagpur. It seemed that I had a natural facility for engineering and was soon rated as one of the better students of my class. Unfortunately, I suffered a severe bout of typhoid and as soon as I had recovered sufficiently to be able to travel, my hostel warden had packed me off home, to recuperate & regain my strength. My professors had promised to help me to make up for lost time after my return so that I wouldn't have to lose a semester.

***

Long ago, my grandfather had purchased a small plot of farm land quite far from the city, bordering a "state highway" that was at the time little more than a dirt-track. He thought that the farm would supplement his small income as an astrologer. He had however proven to be an indifferent farmer. His son, my father had decided to quit farming and become a civil servant instead. Unlike many other small farmers, my grandfather had avoided falling into a debt trap and had eventually been able to bequeath the farm and a little house he had built on it, to my father. The farm had not been tilled in a long time. Instead, a neighbor's cattle were allowed to graze on it, in return for a small compensation. Over time, the city had grown and the state highway had been metalled and asphalted. Our farm & house were now just on the outskirts of the city.

When my father had last been transferred to the city, I was in high school. My mother had taken up a job as a school teacher. This not only helped her to do something useful with her education, she was also able to supplement my father's meager income (he was an honest civil servant, a species that was quite common in those days but is now perhaps on the endangered list). Within a year and half, my father was transferred out to a taluka town again. However, my parents decided that my mother & I should continue to live in the city so that my education and her job continued undisturbed. Soon we had moved from my father's official quarters to our little house. Although it was rather far from the city, we were hardy folk and riding twenty kilometers a day on a bicycle was no big deal for us. My mother continued to live by herself in our little house even after I had moved to IIT Kharagpur, since my father was soon due to retire & return.

It was early spring. Lush green grass grew on the farm and a mixed herd of cows and buffalos grazed on it. Mango & peepal trees grew along the boundary. It was late morning and my mother had already gone to school after cooking my lunch. I was pottering about the house, fixing some broken gadget. It was quiet and peaceful, the buzzing of bees, chirping of birds and the occasional snorting & snuffling of grazing cattle being the only sounds in the background.

The putt-putt-putt of a scooter intruded upon the peaceful scene; I looked out and saw Swati alighting. Since I was at IIT Kharagpur when she got married, I had missed her wedding entirely. In fact this was about the first time I was seeing her since our memorable scooter lesson more than two years ago. My pulse quickened and my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw her.

"Sameer! What a great surprise. What are you doing here? Where is Pushpa mawshi (aunty, a reference to my mom)?" She rattled off.

"And what brings you here? How long are you going to be in town? By the way, you look great!" I rattled off my own questions and a spontaneous response to her appearance.

She beamed at my compliment. It was true too. Although she was dressed in a simple cotton sari, she looked radiant. Although still slim, she seemed to have filled out a bit and her smooth fair complexion positively glowed. Her large, expressive eyes flashed and danced merrily. She wore a pinch of sindoor (red ochre powder) in her hair parting, a mangalsutra (gold necklace with black glass beads) round her neck and green glass bangles on her wrists, all symbols of her married status. A furtive inspection showed that under the pallu of the sari wrapped securely around her shoulders, her blouse was well cut and snug fitting. It had a largish neck opening; a departure from the rather more modest style of her earlier years. Even from the way she carried herself and her sinuous movements, it seemed that after marriage she had overcome some inhibition and found a new confidence to let her sensuality show through. Altogether, she looked vivacious, ravishing and sexy.

Strangely enough, it seemed that I too had lost my earlier awkwardness & reticence. My recent scholastic success and the opportunity to interact with a cosmopolitan crowd of bright students from all over the country had greatly boosted my self esteem as well as my command over spoken English. We were soon chatting away happily, bringing each other up to date with the recent, eventful happenings in our lives.

She wanted to be shown around our little farm; she wanted to sketch some nature studies, she said. We continued to chat while we took a leisurely stroll, picking our way around clumps of weeds and lumps of fresh cow dung.

"How is Satish? Is he going to be here too?" I enquired after her husband.

"Oh, he's fine. No, he won't be coming. He is too busy with his business." She responded, looking away quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"So, have you found a nice girl friend in Kharagpur?" She asked mischievously, changing the subject.

"No… No such luck." I responded.

"Oh come on, don't tell me there are no pretty girls on the IIT campus!" She ribbed me.

"Well, there is a nice girl, but I don't know how to talk to her." I admitted after she had probed a bit; and then told her about a dusky, doe eyed Bengali beauty, the daughter of our math professor whom a lot of us boys used to moon over.

"I am sure she must be dying to talk to you too! After all, you are quite a stud, so tall and strong! Look at those biceps!" She teased huskily, looking into my eyes and playfully gripping my upper arm.

"Oh, maybe." I responded non committally.

"Maybe you should give her scooter riding lessons!" She said, giving me a sideways glance. Blood rushed to my ears. Although my dark complexion hid my blush, she sensed my acute embarrassment and laughed out aloud. She once again had succeeded in turning me into a stammering idiot. I felt my anger rising but that merely made me more tongue tied. We strolled on. Once in a while she daintily raised the hem of her sari to avoid getting it soiled by the wet, overgrown grass. She followed my eyes as they furtively glanced at her slim ankles and shapely calves & smiled mischievously. Once she paused to admire a pretty flower and bent to pluck it. Her pallu just naturally slid a bit and I got a quick eyeful of the tops of her plump bosom. She noticed that too; arching a saucy eyebrow as she readjusted her pallu. The whole act was repeated again after a while. In short, she was once again being her old teasing & flirtatious self, getting a kick out of my discomfiture.

We soon reached the other end of our little farm and stopped near a beautiful stand of mango trees. Both of us were sweating after our walk through the sunny field. She unwrapped her pallu and fanned herself with it. I couldn't help noticing the dark circles of sweat that had formed under her armpits.