Wordsmith of the month: Sairam Natarajan



Disclaimer: Portions of this story contain graphic elements.


By Sairam Natarajan

They’d been driving for about 15 kms now and they were still not talking to each other. The drive on NH8, for the most part was should have been extremely smooth and enjoyable. 150 kmph on the Audi A7 should have made it even better. But there was no music in the background and the silence in the car was eerie, almost sinister. This was not the first time Anjali was fighting with Vishal. Married for four years now, they’d had their fair share of fights and disagreements. Nothing was drastically unusual, and yet, something was.

Vishal broke the monotony.

“Why did you walk out of the movie? You were the one who suggested that we watch it.”

“And I suggested that we walk out; how difficult is that!” remarked Anjali. Her tone was full of contempt. Something was not right about her tone, thought Vishal. She was never this hostile.

“And how many times have I told that you should not touch me when we’re in a public place. I do not like you touching me when we’re in a movie hall, I HATE IT WHEN YOU DO THAT.” It was almost like something was erupting inside her. She had said the very same things before as well, more than once; but this kind of aggression was new for him.

Vishal tried to do what he does best; the smart alec that he was, he tried to take the conversation on another tangent.

“So you’re saying that you like being touched, as long as it is in private, right? We are alone now, aren’t we? There is not much traffic and it’s just you and I in the car. Can I touch you now?” Vishal was smirking, his vanity getting the better of him. His hands were sliding on her bare thighs ever so slyly. He knew he’d made the right move, he usually made the right moves, or so he believed.

“Can we not stay silent for some time? Can I enjoy the drive while you can do what pleases you, as long it does not involve me?” Anjali was sure that she only wanted to focus on the road ahead and the drive. She was also worried if her parents had eaten the gajar ka halwa that she’d made for them. She’d made it with extra care, making sure that everything was perfect.

Vishal’s parents had passed away when he was child in a freak accident. But they had left behind enough and more for him to be spoilt as a brat. Brought up in hostels throughout his school and college, he’d been used living a binary life – a life where you either bully people, or get bullied by them. He’d get into fights and brawls every now and then, he’d do drugs when he was angry and alcohol when he was not, and he was generally used to being angry and upset with the world most of the times. But things were changing for him since Anjali entered his life. It had been four years since that difficult phase of getting to marry Anjali, but as they say, all is well that ends well, or so he thought. The first few months were really bad, but it was improving over time. In fact, the past few months had been great for him and his marriage, as Anjali was warming up to him. He wanted a baby and they’d been trying for some time; he wondered why she wouldn’t conceive. They were doing everything right and they had got themselves checked as well. Nothing was wrong – either medically or strategically. On the other hand he was extremely happy that he was getting so much sex with Anjali; the oh-so-sexy Anjali, the Anjali who was ‘Babe of the college’ thrice in three years, the Anjali who all the men in her college had fantasised about, some do even now, the Anjali who became his, not by chance, but by choice, his choice. He wanted her, and he had her. As simple as that!

Anjali belonged to a very conservative middle-class family. She was a doctor, brilliant in academics, a state level swimmer, and the lead singer of her college band; all of this came very naturally to her. Besides all her brilliance, she was also a gorgeous woman, with the perfect curves, on her face and body. That should earn her the right to be outright snooty and arrogant, people thought; a right, she willingly and very gracefully forfeited. She never aspired for greatness in life or in men, and that simplicity was her coup de grâce. She never wanted to be, and yet was always, the most popular girl in her college. She never wanted to participate, but would end up winning, not once, but thrice, the ‘Babe of the college’ award. She had an extremely normal, almost boring life until Vishal happened. Post their marriage, her parents moved in with them in Vishal’s plush apartment in south Delhi.

She snapped back to reality; she was driving a monster at 150 kmph and more on a highway known for drunken rowdies and worse and she didn’t want to make a mistake.

“Do you think the gajar ka halwa would have come out well? Neither of us tasted it, we should have.” Anjali said almost endearingly, ending a long silence.

“But it was you who said that you wanted your parents to taste it first; am sure it was great. You are an awesome cook; but hey, this time I added the sugar, so it would’ve come out better. I am glad you asked me to add it; you’re always miserly while adding sugar.” Vishal was happy that her mood was getting better. A man with a better judgment would’ve noticed that her smile was vile, almost foul. That is when his phone rang.

It was Anjali’s father who was on the call and he was complaining. He said both he and Anjali’s mother were feeling unwell suddenly and they wanted to be taken to the hospital. The moment Vishal said this out loud, Anjali sped faster trying to the find the first bend to take a U-turn. On their way back, they said nothing to each other. Both of them had worried looks on their faces. When they reached home, her parents were on the bed lying down and looking unusually drowsy and worn out. She checked their pulses and the blood pressure; she said that they were fatigued and some rest would help. She insisted that they did not need to be taken to the hospital and being a doctor, he did not question her. She murmured something to her father and tucked both of them to sleep.

Vishal was just standing at the room entrance and watching her, lustfully, as always. When she turned towards him, he could see the same lust in her eyes. This was strange considering she wasn’t the kind and besides, the moment seemed inappropriate for her to be this way.

“Tonight is my lucky night,” she whispered in his ears while sliding her hands into his trousers. He just went back to the wall, tilted his head backwards and let her do what she was doing. In the past four years, this was the first time she was leading the show, he just wanted to sit back, relax and enjoy. She was quick in taking off his clothes and when he least expected it; she grabbed his throat, almost trying to strangle him to death.

“Someone’s feeling kinky tonight, eh?” Vishal blurted out from the corner of his mouth only to receive a sadistic smile from her. She pulled him to the kitchen and once there, pushed him to the wall again and kissed him passionately, as she’d never done before. She wanted him to like what she was doing to him. In one swift motion, she made enough space for him to lie down in the kitchen counter and she winked at him.

“I want to do it in the kitchen.” This was all very very sexy, he thought. This was the way it was meant to be, she knew. “You won’t get any action tonight ba****d, if you move an inch. Let me do what I am doing; you try anything other than what you are told to do, and it’s over for you”. He was not prepared for this, but he was more than happy to play along.

“I am going to tie your hands”, she said and did so to one of the many nails driven into the kitchen wall. She had secured him well, he could not move from there even if he wanted to. “And now, I am going to be all dirty with you, because you have been a bad boy”. With that she slapped him, and hard. He was hurt but didn’t show it. He wanted more. “Do not smile a**hole, you’ve been very mean, you’ve done some ugly things and for that you are going to get hurt.” She slapped him a few more times. He was really hurting, but he was also extremely turned on. Her parents were sleeping in the nearby room, and they could very easily hear the noise and wake up. That thought turned him on even further.

She spat on him, humiliated him in words and action, over and over again. But he had seen it all in porn before and he really had a liking for the ‘dominatrix’ breed of women. And then she picked up the butcher knife. That startled him but something in him told him that this all a part of the act, that it is safe.

She looked dangerous and yet, sexy. “Spread your legs”, she said “and you’ll get something you should’ve got long back.” He complied gingerly as she moved in and lowered herself to go down on him. He pulled his head back, closed his eyes in expectation of something great and wham! He was screaming his lungs out, and crying out in pain and horror. There was blood all over the kitchen counter. And his vision blurring out, he could see her standing with the knife in her hand, content that she had castrated him without much ado. He wondered why her parents didn’t her his screams and come running out. “Help!” he shouted out as loud as he could, but no one came.

He staring at her in utter disbelief, and she was looking back at him, cold and evil.

“Why? Why would you d…..” wham! Her second swing and she had decapitated him.

She woke up with a heavy head. Her parents hadn’t woken up, so she went to the kitchen counter, cleared up the mess as much as she could and got down to making her coffee. She opened the sugar box only to remember that she’d mixed cyanide in it. She closed it back and sipped on her black coffee. She looked a little disturbed; it was the sugar may be.

The cops came by after the milkman and some neighbours complained about the foul smell coming from their house; and they hadn’t seen Vishal or Anjali’s parents for a few days. Anjali of course pretended that everything was fine, even when the cops entered the house to find the rotting corpses. She didn’t try to run or hide, in fact, she offered to make breakfast for them. The Inspector was a middle-aged guy, and spooked out of his wits; he gathered some courage to ask her, “Why”?

“He raped me when I was in college. I told my parents. And they forced me into marrying him. That was wrong. This is right!”


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