“Your teacher is much better now.”
I smiled back and walked in. Madame was resting on the bed. She did look a lot better, though extremely weak. She smiled at me affectionately. I sat on a folding chair next to her bed.
“How are you feeling now, Madame?” I asked.
“Much better thanks to all the care you took,” she smiled weakly. I blushed.
“Doctor Sharma asked me to check the fever and report back.” I handed over the thermometer that I brought with me to her after ensuring that it was reading below normal.
She still had a mild fever at 99.2F.
I went to the doctor and informed him. He said it was okay and Madame would be normal by next morning and we could give her bread with milk. I bought some fresh bread from a nearby bakery and went back to Madame. As she ate bread with warm milk, I told her how everybody at college was missing her. Her mother gave me hot coffee in a small glass.
“Sekhar, mother told me how you helped with doctor, medicines, everything. We just do not know how to thank you,” she said with lots of affection.
“It was nothing much, Madame,” I mumbled, at a loss for words.
Neither of us was able to carry the conversation forward; nor did we really try to do that!
Soon it was time for me to leave and I was desperate. I very much wanted to spend another night at Madame’s house.
“I will come back after dinner and sleep here tonight, Madame,” I said ,my voice low and shaking a little.
She was quiet for a long while and looked at me. I lowered my eyes and burned with a little shame. Did I make a fool of myself? Was she upset by my statement?
“I would very much like that Sekhar, though I am getting better,” she said with that nice smile.
I went home and told my mother that Madame still had fever and I better spend another night there to take care. After a quick dinner, I went back to Madame’s house, carrying some more sweet lime that my mother gave me. Around ten pm she sweated a lot and we took the temperature and it was normal at 98.4F.
While I sat in the front room for a while, Madame washed and cleaned up with her mother’s help and changed her dress and the bed sheets. In about half an hour she was tucked in. All the activities took their toll and she lay back on the bed without much energy. Her mother left the room after giving me the mat and pillow and saying the usual wake me up if you need bit.
Even today I do not know how I got the courage to do it or why I did it. It was neither an accident or by design. It was just the impulse of a young teen.
I got up from the chair, walked to the bed and sat next to Madame. I gently put my palm on her forehead. At my touch she opened her eyes, gave me a little smile and closed her eyes again. What did that smile say, I asked myself? I wasn’t sure. I started massaging her forehead and temples very lightly. Her eyes remained shut.
After a few minutes, I got a little more adventurous. I had this strong urge to touch her cheeks. I was old enough to know that touching cheeks of a woman was considered an expression of love and more intimate. I was scared but very much wanted to do it. I had to touch those cheeks and let her feel my love for her. I let my finger tips just brush her left cheek which was closest to me.
Madame was one of those women who had nice healthy cheeks, may be a trifle chubby. They felt soft and heavenly to my touch. I let my tips caress them with a lot of love in the act – first one cheek and then another and finally both. At some point my forefinger drifted and made a tentative contact with the corner of her mouth and the lower lip.
I marveled at my own audacity. Here I was, sitting next to Kamala Madame on her bed and touching her lip! I withdrew my hand with a jerk. Oh God! What would I say if she woke up and asked me what the hell I was doing? I kept looking at her mouth and lips and after a few minutes of dithering, my finger returned to her lower lip. It caressed her lower lip very gently. It was slightly moist and was reddish pink.
I was at an age where I knew the basics about kissing. I knew lovers kissed and I knew husband and wife kissed. A thought occurred to me. Kamala Madame’s lips were perhaps never kissed! I felt so bad for her and my heart was heavy.
“It must be quite late, go to sleep, Sekhar,” her soft voice gave me a shock.
I pulled off my hand as if slapped.
“Madame, when ever my mother or sister have fever they ask me to rub and massage their feet and legs. They say that it feels very good and puts them to sound sleep. Shall I do it?” I asked sincerely.
“But you don’t mind doing that to your teacher?” she asked, smiling.
“No Madame, you are as important as them,” I answered, rather cleverly, I thought.
“Okay. But as soon as I sleep, you should stop and go to sleep.”
I nodded in the affirmative and Madame shut her eyes again.
Madame lay in the middle of her bed, flat on her back. I was on her left side. I now sat on the left corner of the bed and facing her with my feet down and dangling from the bed. I gently lifted her left foot, held it reverently in both hands and then allowed the heel to rest on my right thigh. I started massaging her tender foot.
I first rubbed the foot gently with my fingers to get the feel of it. Her skin was smooth and cool and felt nice to touch. I worked on the sole and the ankle, then on the toes. I rolled each toe between my fingers and also the tender joints between toes. I heard a sigh from Madame and when I looked at her, the eyes were still shut. I didn’t know if I imagined, but it sounded like a sigh of content.
I repeated the process with her right foot. And, as I played with her toes, they appeared to respond to my touch and tease. Her feet were average size, neither small nor big and they were without any cracks or blemishes and shapely. I liked touching them. After a while I felt the urge to fondle them – press and squeeze and role the toes between my fingers. There was no reaction – audible or visual from her.
Massaging the legs of the older people was a part and parcel of the duties of the younger ones, those days. My parents, uncles and aunts all called upon me at times to do it for them. I was therefore quite good and adept at doing that. I started massaging her legs – first the right and then the left – in quick succession.
I started at the heel and slowly made my way up, all the way to just below her knee and then retracing my path back to the heel. As I did this, I gently pushed her sari and the petticoat away so that I could see them myself.
Kamala Madame’s legs were nice. They were neither thick nor too thin. What I liked best about them was they were hairless and smooth and shapely. Yes, they were nicely shaped and long with the right taper over their length.
It occurred to me that Madame had hidden such beautiful legs from everyone under drab saris and I was perhaps the first one to see them thus exposed in their bare state. Not just see them but touch them and run my hands over them, as I was presently doing.
Her shins were very smooth and healthy looking. As my palm rested on her calf muscle and gently squeezed it, I felt a heavenly pleasure. It felt so good that i started fondling it. I delighted in playing with her calves for long.
“Stop it, Sekhar,” she said softly. There was no anger or rebuke in her voice. It was more a plea, a request.
I quickly took my hands off her legs and pulled her sari back into its original position. As I got up from the bed she said, “Come here.” As I stood by her side she took both my hands in hers, brought them close to her lips and kissed them softly, looking at me all the while.
“Now be a good boy, go to sleep and let me sleep,” she said, smiling.
I was already flying on the high clouds as lay down to sleep on the mat.
Kamala’s narrative
Sekhar woke up at six in the morning and rushed home. The fever was gone but I was still feeling weak. I decided to continue my sick leave for one more day. That gave me ample time to think about the events of the past few days.
What exactly was happening with this boy Sekhar, I wondered!
For over ten years, I had taught hundreds of boys, some of them very good and bright, most of them average. But they were all her ‘boys’. They all respected her as their teacher and she loved them as her students. But not one of them ever behaved like this boy!
Kamala, the respected teacher, the respected colleague and the spinster! I stopped being a woman more than five years ago. I had even stopped thinking of myself as a woman. I had tried hard and succeeded in forgetting the sexual wants and needs of a healthy woman of my age.
Everyone respects me – seniors, peers and students. All relatives respect me for sacrificing myself for the family…the quintessential Indian woman! People have sympathy for me because I am a spinster. Poor Kamala; they say behind my back. I know all that and stopped even thinking about it.
Respect, sympathy, like – yes! These are the feelings people have for me and I am used to them. But Love…love as a woman? That is a big laugh. Who loves a spinster of thirty five, an average looking woman in drab clothes like Kamala Madame?? Ha ha ha ha! That is a big laugh!
And here comes this young boy, almost young enough to be her son, with his puppy love!!
Her mother told her everything. How he came that afternoon when she was literally delirious with high fever. How he went and fetched the doctor, the medicines, how he returned on his own to take care of her and provide support to her mother. Her mother was in tears when she said all this. She was all praise for the boy. What were her exact words?
“That boy is very strong and mature for his age. He took decisions and acted like a man.”
Yes, her mother was right. His actions spoke for themselves.
And, this boy was in love with her. In love with his Kamala Madame! She saw it in his eyes, in his words and in his touch. Oh god! His touch more than anything! It started innocently enough, massaging the forehead of a sick woman. There was nothing wrong with that.
But what was he doing caressing her cheeks with such gentle touch! The very thought brought a faint blush to her. And then caressing her lower lip – the very audacity of the act! No one, absolutely no one ever touched her lip that way. His finger tip touching her lip sent sensual sparks down her body. The first time something like that happened in ages.
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