3
August, 1979
When Independence Day was celebrated across India in 1965, I was born in a derelict state-government-run hospital in Uttarpara.
However, I had to wait fourteen years to take a close-look at my birth-place. No, not the hospital, but from where I stuck out my head for the first time.
The day before my fourteenth birthday, there was a big surprise waiting for me.
One of my distant-cousin-brothers, Tuntun, came to our house to stay for a few days. He had some jobs to be done in Calcutta.
Since Uttarpara was near Calcutta, many relatives would often come and stay in our house. I was always glad to get the company of men and women even though they were older than me.
Tuntun was not like others. He was my friend.
A short, fat, black young man whose teeth were too white and, moreover, he was my first and the last sex-tutor.
He first taught me how to pull back the foreskin of the penis to get more pleasure out of this wonderful device of mass destruction.
Every time he surprised me with some new tricks.
So I waited for him, and the age difference had never been an issue.
We became close friends and the common bond that we shared was sexual pleasure and stories.
The last time when he came, he showed up with a great idea of using potatoes as a sex-toy.
I stole a big potato from our kitchen and we went to the rooftop room.
He flashed a small pocket knife, and said, “Look how you can make this potato look like a pussy which you can fuck.”
He made a hole and dug that hole a little bigger so that it could fit his erect penis.
I watched in wonder. What a scientific mind. But unfortunately the teachers didn’t understand his brilliance. He could not clear the school leaving examination and failed for five consecutive times.
Inspired by his scientific invention, I stole another potato and he made another hole for me.
This time, he said, “This is not the right way to celebrate your birthday, Ami.”
Innocently I said, “What do you think, we should hoist a flag?”
He had a broad smile showing his extra white teeth, “Flag will definitely be hoisted, my brother. But not here.”
“Then where?” I asked.
“Have you ever heard of Indra-Puri?”
I nodded, “No.”
Tuntun patted my back, “Well, the god of all deities Indra has a big palace where there are only women. Beautiful nude women. They dance, sing, and do whatever you want them to do. Think how lucky Indra was. But you can do the same.”
I laughed out loud, “That’s bogus. They are all imaginary stories.”
My laugh offended him least, because he understood that I was too small to understand this big concept.
He said slowly, “You are right, that is the story, but it has a moral and it happens in real life. Do you want to go to the Indra-Puri and do anything with the girls?”
I nodded vigorously because I knew he had a scientific mind to invent something which was full of brilliance.
So it happened that way.
With a seven years older cousin, I went to a brothel where I got my first sexually transmitted disease, although before presenting this gift the big woman had advised me to go back like a good boy. But I was determined to get my first fuck.
Maybe it was my bad luck that I got the gonorrhoea as an extra.
The big whore’s voice still reverberated inside my mind, “Go back son, good boys never come to this place.”
She told me “son”, and I was eager to enter her like an animal, just because I had already given her money. Moreover, I wanted very badly to take a look at the birthplace for the first time as I had already come to know about human births. I was not a child anymore.
My cousin had taught me many things about a female body that I didn’t know before.
In addition, he showed me colour photographs of nude girls who were having sex with men. In pictures though.
Before that we had to read sex-stories in Bengali Books we lovingly called “Pondi, or Choti”. In those books the size of the penis was never less than twelve inches, and the description was explicit enough to convince you that every woman in this world wants one thing in life – a twelve inches long penis inside her two legs and they are dying to have it. And according to a story, if they are too horny, sometimes they get stuck like dogs.
However, watching images, and that too in colour, was an experience that I hadn’t gone through before.
Not only that, looking how excited I was, Tuntun suggested, “Will you like to do the same thing?”
It was such an absurd proposition which I didn’t believe. In fact, I laughed it out and asked, “Where will I get girls? Why will they let me do that?”
“There are girls, my bro. They will allow you to do everything. Do you want to do it?” He threw his questioning eyes to me and added in a Shakespearian style, “Fuck or no fuck, that is the main question in life, brother. The Indra-Puri is not very far. We can celebrate your birthday there.”
“Where? In heaven, perhaps.” I joked, still thinking it was a prank.
He smiled, a very special crooked smile he had chosen for that occasion, “It’s better than heaven. Like to go there?”
It was impossible for me to reject such a proposition.
So I nodded, “Yes. Of course.”
Watching my greedy face keenly, he said, “But you have to spend some money.”
“Why?”
“Without money how can you buy a girl?”
It was sheer innocence that made me comment like a fool, “But after buying a girl, where will we keep her?”
He laughed out loud and felt my erect penis over the half pants and when his examination was over he nodded his head like a doctor as if he made the correct diagnosis of my disease.
“So you have not fucked a girl before?” He used the slang to make the meaning clear and used his both hands and fingers to show how people do it like the renowned mime artist Jogesh Dutta who ran a mime academy in Calcutta.
“No.” I vehemently nodded and that was true.
I had done many things that I could not say to anyone ever. But not this one. For God’s sake.
On his insistence, I stole from my mother’s purse.
He told me to steal ten rupees.
I knew where she kept her purse and she never counted her money.
I didn’t feel deep regret or guilt for the wrong committed.
Maybe I had reasons for that. Actually, I had never seen my parents talk to each other and it was true that their hysterical silence made me angry.
It disturbed me a lot. I went to friends’ houses and watched their moms and dads laughing, cracking jokes, talking to each other; even quarrelling like hot dogs in a mating season.
However I really liked the way my parents lived separately just because I could live in two disparate places.
Although my mother took great care of my studies and other well being, still it was not enough to fill the blank space created by their eternal silence.
I was good at school, but in other ways, I was introverted, and all my curiosity was absorbed by women’s bodies and guided by uncontrolled impulses. Tuntun studied my character perfectly so he trapped me like a chowderhead and didn’t imagine that the very first visit to the brothel would bring venereal disease and as an after effect his visit to our place would be jeopardised forever.
Our place, Uttarpara, was a good twenty kilometres away from Calcutta.
To go to Calcutta, you needed to board a local train which passed through our station every five or seven minutes.
My maternal cousin boarded a local train and took me to the opposite direction, a place called Sheoraphuli. It was a very big junction station with many platforms and an odorous crowd everywhere.
While climbing up the over-bridge, I saw a deep black cloud hanging over our heads.
In the air, I smelled the rain.
He whispered, “I will bargain with the girls. Never tell them how much money we have.”
It was a ten minute walk, not very far from the station, and we proceeded to a long stretch of a road where girls and women were standing near the doors, talking and smiling to each other. I sensed it was a strange place which I had not seen before, coming was a far-fetched idea. Watching me coming with Tuntun, they started laughing out loud. After all, I was so young a boy of fourteen in his half pants, however, I was trying to walk like a matured man who knew every mystery of life.
The sun disappeared behind the thick black cloud that would burst at any moment.
It was hot and humid and my agitated mind swaying with strange expectations made me sweat heavily.
Tuntun went to a girl with heavy make-up and waved at me.
We followed the girl and went upstairs to a room which was semi-dark and the girl told me to sit on the bed.
My brother Tuntun who acted like the local guardian said, “I will call you before we leave. Don’t go anywhere. After it is over, stay here.”
While leaving the room, the girl turned around and hung her tongue and it rolled across her thick red lips like a snake.
The cousin winked and said, “Wait here. A girl will come to you. First give her the money and after that do whatever you want to do. But don’t leave without me.”
The girl told him, “He will go nowhere unless a girl comes. Come with me.”
I looked around and found a bucket full of water waiting patiently in the corner of the room. Around six inches high guard wall had been made to demarcate that place from the rest of the room. The place was wet as if a few minutes back someone had used that place to wash something.
Bricks were added to extend the legs on the bed frame making it too high for kids like me. My legs were hanging, dangling and I was curious to look around. A small tricolour flag was also tied with the black-and-white picture of Mahatma Gandhi and the photo frame was very old. Most probably the owner of this house was a Gandhian.
I was curious to look below the bed frame so I lowered my head.
“What are you searching for? A girl?”
A massively built woman appeared on the doorstep. She stared at me and smiled.
In her front row she had one tooth missing.
She entered and closed the door.
After that she didn’t take much time to undress, however, it was not as fast as aunt Sushila so I had enough time to ogle her bare body which was a heap of mass. In a hand shaking distance I saw a big woman standing before me, completely naked.
She had breasts that would shame the biggest pumpkin, I watched her wide pubic hairs in wonder and felt the hardness inside.
She came forward, smiling, “Have you got the money?”
Her voice was hoarse and it sounded almost like a man’s voice.
I nodded and handed her all I had, five rupees. Tuntun took the half of it.
She said, “Good. How did you manage this amount of money?”
“My mother gave it to me.” I lied.
She smiled without one tooth, “Have you told your mother, you’re coming here?”
I said, “No.”
It was true and after telling the truth I took a look at the photo of Mahatma Gandhi. He was watching us. I almost felt his skinny presence.
She said, “You must have told her. She would have given you fifty rupees. Next time you must tell her. Okay?”
I nodded and she was watching me in a strange way.
She suddenly laid a comforting hand over my shoulder and said, “You have seen me. Now you can go away. Never come here again. Good boys never come here. Be a good boy, son.”
Her voice sounded soft and she talked to me like my mother and I disliked it immediately which was evident in my vocal protest.
“I am not a good boy.” I said adamantly in my cracked voice, adding, “I have given you money.”
She sighed, a long and deep sigh that had come from deep below her large belly, and then she said, “Well, stand up.”
I had to jump down from the bed and she unbuttoned my half pants.
When she held it in her hands, I couldn’t control myself.
She wiped the semen with a dirty piece of cloth and ordered me to get up on the bed.
She lay on the bed face upwards and widened her thighs which were heavy and gigantic.
A guided tour was made for me, “Can you watch the hole, kid?”
Not only the gaping red hole, I was busy watching the whole scene, my birth-place, above all; remembering the colour photographs where girls widened their legs in the same fashion and men entered.
I also remembered the stories I read where girls were waiting for a twelve inches long prehistoric penis.
My penis looked much smaller than the tail of a small lizard compared to her wide and vociferous vagina.
Even before penetrating her I ejaculated again, which was quite natural for a fourteen years old boy.
But like a persistent bastard, I tried again and entered her finally and returned home with the disease.
From the photo, as well as from the currency note, Mahatma Gandhi silently watched how I carried out my first experiments on truth. Moreover, I couldn’t say whether I was able to make him happy in contributing my best to help grow the small cottage industries like sex work.
It happened when we were about to return to Uttarpara and as we just stepped outside we met aunt Sushila face-to face. She was entering the brothel house from where we were emerging out, happy and content.
Tuntun was singing a hindi song and he didn’t know aunt Sushila but I recognised her immediately and she stood before me speechless.
Tuntun looked at me and sensed something was going to happen but he had never anticipated what it could be.
“Amu, what are you doing here?” That was the only question aunt Sushila asked me in a breathless voice. Her long and narrow eyes were wide awake as though she was not seeing me in front of her but someone else. A strange disbelief connected us because I thought about what she was doing here.
I stood motionless and said in a feeble voice, indicating Tuntun, “I came with him.”
In a moment, aunt Sushila jumped on Tuntun and started beating him mercilessly, slapping, punching and pulling out his hair; shouting at the same time, “You, son of a bitch, how dare you get a child here…” Her speech was jumbled together due to her uncontrollable anger and Tuntun was saved because a few girls watched us from a distance, ran towards us and tried to separate them.
Finally they were able to separate them but the sudden attack made Tuntun bleed and his extra white teeth were tinged with red blood.
Aunt Sushila was crying now as she said to me, “Amu, please promise, you’ll never come to this place again. Will you?”
Although I nodded, I was busy thinking how aunt Sushila would undress at lightning speed; images of her bare breasts, hairy joints, and above all heavy and wavy buttock, frame after frame crossed my mind. Moreover, what I just did to that big woman, I could have done to aunt Sushila had I known it earlier. So I decided to come back again.
Sanjib Sinha 