The counsellor comes every Wednesday and Saturday. We all wait outside her room fighting for a chance to talk to her. She always comes at 11.30 am and stays till lunch time. She once stayed back to eat lunch with us, but when she saw what we ate - worm-ridden dal, ant-infested curry and broken yogurt - she never stayed past 1 pm. During summers 11.30 can be suffocatingly difficult. Our lines used to meander into the small fake garden right outside her room and almost outside the vocational course training room. If I got there really late, I could chat with Chamundeshwari sitting next to the window with her pathetic sewing machine. She was determined to stitch a blouse for her daughter. The girl is marrying a Muslim boy during the winter.
It's Saturday. I ended up fighting with the girl in my cell till 11 pm. The stupid girl not only stank up our cell, but also left her shit in our toilet. We already struggle with No. 8's night-time farts, so we don't need her adding to the aromas in our 'room'. I politely told her she better get her act together and stop making us take turns to clean up her shit. She got aggressive, so I punched her and she pulled me hair. Chammy says I need to relax. But come on! I ain't gonna tolerate someone else's shit, especially when it's the first thing I see in the morning!
Stupid girl made my fist all bloody and my sari a tad stained. Had to quickly wash up before the counsellor comes. I've got a new story up my sleeve. I'm glad that I get to chat with Chammy girl while I wait. I found a new secret corner just behind the big bush right behind the counsellor's room. The super doesn't look there and it's the perfect place for me to try the banana thing we've been desperate for. (Although, I have to admit the banana has kind of gone old!) Chamster looks very happy to hear my good news. Ah. It's so nice to see her rotten teeth...I want to lick them with my hungry tongue. For that matter, I want to tear her flimsy blouse and suckle her full breasts. You know, if I sucked hard enough I sometimes can taste her breast milk. Sometimes I feel bad for her 3 month old son, but what the heck!
The line is moving forwards so I simply wink at her and walk on. What shall I talk to the counsellor about today? I better concoct something good coz she's damn clever at kicking us fakers out. I can tell her about how I jumped out our 4 storeyed house coz my husband was not fucking me right? Or did I tell her that one already? I have a vague recollection of her kicking me out on that one. Hmm. Did I tell her the real-life incident about my boy getting crushed under our Innova? I bet I told her that I slammed the accelerator in sexual frustration coz of my unimaginative husband and that the little fucker happened to be cycling just at that moment in our drive-way. You know..I think she kicked me out on that one too...I think I was enjoying the comfortable chair and cool aircon a bit too much. Shit. I better come up with something. I can't talk about the crime - it's too commonplace. Who doesn't kill their husband coz of the money? And their son by mistake? It happens!
I noticed that that bitch Sonam managed to beat me at the line. She'll get the Saturday special sweets before me. Sonam came here on some petty case and managed to stay on. Bitch. I didn't need someone else vying for Chammy's affection. Ofcourse, Cham-girl's been saying she's enjoyed it only with me. That's some consolation, right? I look at the chick behind me. Nope. No one is like Chammy, with her fair skin and curly hair. When she looks at you you get so fuckin' wet that sometimes I leave a stain on my white-and-blue sari. Man-o-man. Hmm. New chick behind me. I size her up. About 18, slight pot-belly (baby?), wavy hair, thick arm hair, big eyes and obvious odour. I lace my lusty eyes down her waist, thighs and legs. Then I see it. Ugh. There's blood pooling near her feet. I tell her to come close to me. She did. I pull her closer to my ear, "You've got your period, child. There's a pharmacy-like thing right over there. Go get yourself some diapers, yeah." I squeeze her preggy breasts before she runs away in shame. I wink at the oldie behind her.
Oh blithering blistering barnacles. I'm the next one in that door. What the hell. This bleddy sun didn't let me think of something. Come on! Come on! I too did a PhD in Psychology. Should I tell her about my love for Chamu? About how I fuck the new kid in our cell thinking about Chammy? I have to slowly tip-toe past the 7 others just to get her. Is that fucked up enough? Nah. Even I can interpret the circumstantial simplicity of that. How about my absolute hatred towards my parents that led me to the murders? Now there's something. You would think my in-laws would lead me to the crime...not my own. Then again...we're talking the crime. I know the counsellor doesn't like talking about the crime. The social workers loves it. She laps it up like my chocolate-colored Labrador, Cocoa. She just sits there -
Oh god. I'm in the wonderfully cool room with the chair calling me. Oh shit. I'm so freakin' screwed that it's not even funny. What the hell do I do. The counsellor is in her Lucknow salwar kameez. She's got a ring on her finger. That's new. She's only 25, men! She's smiling at me with her pink lips. But I can see her question-mark eyes behind those frames. She doesn't believe I've got a reason to be here. I have to come with something good or else I'll not get my share of pity and cool air. Then it strikes me like a bleddy bolt of lightening.
I walk upto her. Congratulate her on the engagement. She gushes and says I'm the first one to notice. I smile down at her. I plant one full on her lips. She's stunned. I adeptly slide my hand under her top. Yummy bra. She's completely still in her plastic chair. I play her nipple like my violin. It's erect. I get my sign. I quickly find my way into her precious regions. Darn. She's got her period. I shut my eyes tight and do what I know these women like. She suddenly moans. I'm startled. It dawns on me. I've just found my unlimited entry into the aircon room.
It's Saturday. I ended up fighting with the girl in my cell till 11 pm. The stupid girl not only stank up our cell, but also left her shit in our toilet. We already struggle with No. 8's night-time farts, so we don't need her adding to the aromas in our 'room'. I politely told her she better get her act together and stop making us take turns to clean up her shit. She got aggressive, so I punched her and she pulled me hair. Chammy says I need to relax. But come on! I ain't gonna tolerate someone else's shit, especially when it's the first thing I see in the morning!
Stupid girl made my fist all bloody and my sari a tad stained. Had to quickly wash up before the counsellor comes. I've got a new story up my sleeve. I'm glad that I get to chat with Chammy girl while I wait. I found a new secret corner just behind the big bush right behind the counsellor's room. The super doesn't look there and it's the perfect place for me to try the banana thing we've been desperate for. (Although, I have to admit the banana has kind of gone old!) Chamster looks very happy to hear my good news. Ah. It's so nice to see her rotten teeth...I want to lick them with my hungry tongue. For that matter, I want to tear her flimsy blouse and suckle her full breasts. You know, if I sucked hard enough I sometimes can taste her breast milk. Sometimes I feel bad for her 3 month old son, but what the heck!
The line is moving forwards so I simply wink at her and walk on. What shall I talk to the counsellor about today? I better concoct something good coz she's damn clever at kicking us fakers out. I can tell her about how I jumped out our 4 storeyed house coz my husband was not fucking me right? Or did I tell her that one already? I have a vague recollection of her kicking me out on that one. Hmm. Did I tell her the real-life incident about my boy getting crushed under our Innova? I bet I told her that I slammed the accelerator in sexual frustration coz of my unimaginative husband and that the little fucker happened to be cycling just at that moment in our drive-way. You know..I think she kicked me out on that one too...I think I was enjoying the comfortable chair and cool aircon a bit too much. Shit. I better come up with something. I can't talk about the crime - it's too commonplace. Who doesn't kill their husband coz of the money? And their son by mistake? It happens!
I noticed that that bitch Sonam managed to beat me at the line. She'll get the Saturday special sweets before me. Sonam came here on some petty case and managed to stay on. Bitch. I didn't need someone else vying for Chammy's affection. Ofcourse, Cham-girl's been saying she's enjoyed it only with me. That's some consolation, right? I look at the chick behind me. Nope. No one is like Chammy, with her fair skin and curly hair. When she looks at you you get so fuckin' wet that sometimes I leave a stain on my white-and-blue sari. Man-o-man. Hmm. New chick behind me. I size her up. About 18, slight pot-belly (baby?), wavy hair, thick arm hair, big eyes and obvious odour. I lace my lusty eyes down her waist, thighs and legs. Then I see it. Ugh. There's blood pooling near her feet. I tell her to come close to me. She did. I pull her closer to my ear, "You've got your period, child. There's a pharmacy-like thing right over there. Go get yourself some diapers, yeah." I squeeze her preggy breasts before she runs away in shame. I wink at the oldie behind her.
Oh blithering blistering barnacles. I'm the next one in that door. What the hell. This bleddy sun didn't let me think of something. Come on! Come on! I too did a PhD in Psychology. Should I tell her about my love for Chamu? About how I fuck the new kid in our cell thinking about Chammy? I have to slowly tip-toe past the 7 others just to get her. Is that fucked up enough? Nah. Even I can interpret the circumstantial simplicity of that. How about my absolute hatred towards my parents that led me to the murders? Now there's something. You would think my in-laws would lead me to the crime...not my own. Then again...we're talking the crime. I know the counsellor doesn't like talking about the crime. The social workers loves it. She laps it up like my chocolate-colored Labrador, Cocoa. She just sits there -
Oh god. I'm in the wonderfully cool room with the chair calling me. Oh shit. I'm so freakin' screwed that it's not even funny. What the hell do I do. The counsellor is in her Lucknow salwar kameez. She's got a ring on her finger. That's new. She's only 25, men! She's smiling at me with her pink lips. But I can see her question-mark eyes behind those frames. She doesn't believe I've got a reason to be here. I have to come with something good or else I'll not get my share of pity and cool air. Then it strikes me like a bleddy bolt of lightening.
I walk upto her. Congratulate her on the engagement. She gushes and says I'm the first one to notice. I smile down at her. I plant one full on her lips. She's stunned. I adeptly slide my hand under her top. Yummy bra. She's completely still in her plastic chair. I play her nipple like my violin. It's erect. I get my sign. I quickly find my way into her precious regions. Darn. She's got her period. I shut my eyes tight and do what I know these women like. She suddenly moans. I'm startled. It dawns on me. I've just found my unlimited entry into the aircon room.
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