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Saturday, April 25, 2009

Field visit

"For a year now, Baksh had been teaching himself the art of farming. It was October, the time for sowing wheat, the main winter crop, and the days were long as he supervised. Consequently, Baksh had taken to sleeping in the fields for a while. At the day's end, exhausted, happy, he was content to lie in a cot and watch the starry night. Another month and the winter mist would begin to roll in, which would render sleeping in the open impossible."
"One such night, as Baksh lay in the open, he felt warm. The thick quilt was pulled over his head. Somebody was snuggling next to him. Who the... A hand closed over his mouth, soft, firm. It paused, waiting, as the breath fell on him in short husky draughts. Then it trailed down, pushing aside the kurta neck and resting over his chest. It moved with a deliberate smoothness, fingers stroking the hairs, palm massaging the exposed skin. He exhaled sharply and a mouth closed on his."
"The hand was down now, caressing, gripping, moving him to fullness. His legs trembled, he pulled the woman closer in a tight embrace. She placed an index finger on his lips, then slowly proceeded to disentangle herself. As he watched, she removed her shirt with practised ease, without disturbing the canopy of the quilt, and brought her chest to his face. There was nothing to see in the dark, but he smelt her: the aroma of rotis fresh from the tandoor."
"She guided his face towards a snug valley. Next she moved it to one mound, then the other, in a firm slow motion..."
(Manreet Sodhi Someshwar in 'The Long Walk Home,' p. 94 Harper)

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