On Intimacy

The fumble lasted for only a few minutes. I was utterly nervous and in a confused state of mind, yet so subtle that only she could have discerned. She parted her lips and revealed a mischievous smile, an art she deftly and deliberately performed to soothe my fraying nerves. I never asked for it but she always knew that I loved and needed them nonetheless. Then she lifted her jacket on one side and pulled me inside her confines. I lay there snuggling like a child against her strong muscular form. Her gentle perfume seemed to soothe me somewhat. At last, the warmth emanating from her soft warm and slow rhythmic heaving bosom made me feel a little better. The day had been colder than usual and I had almost felt frozen. Miranda had seen me coming out of the library and struggle against the bone chilling cold.

I had been reading a tract on the philosophy of intimacy as a part of my doctoral dissertation. To escape the tyranny of a regular life in a government office (with a fixed salary on the last day of every month), I had enrolled for a doctoral programme at one of the many obscure universities dotting this part of the globe. To add to that, I had been successful in fooling them to grant me a meager amount of scholarship just enough to keep my body and soul together. But I had never factored the terrible cold as a price to pay to lead the chosen life of a vagabond. The summer months had passed without much ado. I was on a reading spree then. I had finished reading the pre-Socratic philosophers and was about to reach the 20th century philosophers. Rains had slowed down my progress as I was wont to go out in the rains more than often. I would catch a cold and would be down with fever for a week or so. But as soon as I was fine and it rained again, I would be out in the rains. And now it was winter. I was barely able to survive the days and nights.

I had seen Miranda on the day of the university seminar on the 20th century philosophers. Her paper on Kant seemed rather appealing to me. I liked her quite positive vision of a human being and its state of affairs. To add to that, I also liked her long pointed nose and the slight lilt in her tone when she would pronounce certain words ending with the letter ‘z’. We met during the lunch break and engaged in a little bit of banter. I wanted to see more of her so I invited her to tea after the seminar got over.

The college café was a nice and cozy place full of all kinds of people. Professors out to get a bite after a tiring lecture, serious types grabbing their share before they rush to the library or the reading room situated nearby and couples sharing their lemonade or cold coffee were the dominant species seen at the café. She was on time. She had gone to her room and after a quick wash and change she was sitting beside me and giving me her famed mischievous smile. To get the conversation going we started with a discussion about the events of the day but it seemed we both wanted to change the topic as well as our chosen place of rendezvous. I suggested we take a walk on the road.

She led me out of the café and we started our first walk together. We talked about all sorts of stuff. She was of Portuguese descent from her father’s side and her mother was a Brazilian. Her birth was a side-effect of Brazil’s colonization by the Portuguese. And she had the features of both of them. Later she showed me their photograph which confirmed my ‘informed’ hunch. Her mother was on the muscular side and looked resplendent in her evening gown with a blue tint on the abdomen region. Her father wore a dinner jacket and held a cigar in his right hand. She wanted to know about India. I was rather confused to talk about my own country in all its supposed glories and tell her all that jazz. I found it easier to tell her my own life stories. I embedded those stories with bits and pieces of India’s geography, history or whatever elements of Indianness appeared in them according to me. To my great surprise and somewhat subdued sense of happiness, it seemed she liked them. Later, our walks became regular at some periods of time and intermittent at other times. We seemed to be in easy company. We did not demand or expect much from each other. It was like a long wave coming over and kissing the shore at a certain point. The wave could choose to come back to the same point or move elsewhere. Similarly we were not bound by any kind of social contract between us. We did not believe much in the prevailing institutions of the society so kept ourselves free from their oppressing definitions and expectations.

The chill had been terrible for the past week. It was double whammy for me now. The cold weather notwithstanding, my deadline for the submission of first draft of the thesis was due in a week’s time and I was nowhere near to completion. Walks with Miranda had been taking a lot of my time. So I had to focus now and finish the work come what may. Armed with a sense of determination and purpose, I had been visiting the library continuously for a week now. Miranda had seen my state of affairs and offered to help me but I had politely declined for I knew she had her own thesis to finish.

Saturday morning was colder than usual but I got off to the library and was working the whole day. At the end of the day I got up to go. I saw Miranda on the library road waving towards me. She had seen me coming out of the library and shivering in that bone chilling cold. We walked together to my room at the hostel. My room was always in perpetual mess. I knew she was a keen advocate of cleanliness and order and would be aghast to see my room. We entered the room silently. She asked me for the keys of my cupboard, opened it and brought out a fresh set of bed sheets and pillow covers. I asked her for tea and she agreed. I put on the kettle and went for a wash.

When I came back, the room looked a little changed and a lot cleaner and in order. She had put on the clean set of bed sheets and pillow covers and folded the blanket. Little embarrassed, I asked her to sit down and make herself comfortable while I myself seemed terribly uncomfortable even after I had put on the heat blower.

We had our tea. We talked for a while. She knew I liked to read stories after the day’s work was over so she suggested we read stories to each other. I readily agreed. She took a book from my shelf and got ready to read out to me.

We lay side by side and covered ourselves with the blanket. My cold feet touched hers and I immediately apologized but she said, “Your feet are so cold. Keep them under mine and you will feel better.” I agreed and kept my feet under her feet. She was beginning to read now. But seeing me still so cold and shivering, she motioned me to snuggle up close to her. I fumbled with the blanket for a while. The fumble lasted for only a few minutes.  I was utterly nervous and in a confused state of mind, yet so subtle that only she could have discerned. She parted her lips and revealed a mischievous smile, an art she deftly and deliberately performed to soothe my fraying nerves. I never asked for it but she always knew that I loved and needed them nonetheless. Then she lifted her jacket on one side, pulled me inside her confines and covered us with the blanket. I lay there, snuggling like a child against her strong muscular form. Her gentle perfume seemed to soothe me somewhat. At last, the warmth emanating from her soft warm bosom made me feel a little better. “Do you feel better now?”, she asked. I just shook my head inside the blanket and brushed against her bosom after which she gave me a little tap on my head.

I was beginning to feel warm and comfortable now. She read me stories and then some extracts from my favourite books and authors. I would go out of the bed, collect four or five books, give them to her and get back at my anointed place close to her bosom. We continued reading and did not feel the passage of time. In between, we also talked and exchanged views on some topics. Towards the end of our reading session, I do not how but I blurted it out. I asked her, “What is the most satisfying way to love? Is it about the physical act of making love or having awareness about it all? She began eloquently, “What do you know about love? You are lying side by side with a girl and still asking about it? Kid, you will need to feel it and not read about it to know it.” And she smiled and kissed me. “And how you feel about that kiss”, she asked. “It was soothing”, I said. “See, the best way to have a kiss or to make love or to express love is to let your whole being, I mean all the cells, tissues and organs of your body and even your metaphysical self be aware of that act in all its totality.” She closed with a kiss again. “And now how do you feel now”?, she asked. “Blissful”. It was the only word that I could speak.

With that small bit of talk we closed our reading for the day. We both were too lazy to move out of that warm bed and find separate places to sleep. And anyway we felt it was not needed. I switched off the reading bulb. She pulled me closer and I snuggled further towards her body. My hands meandered towards her hair slowly and then her back and encircled her complete form lovingly. We kissed in embrace and peace descended upon us. We were asleep after a while.