excerpts from Mohan
It's My Life, a novel about Mumbai's high society.
Few would have believed the next conversation between them on the same day
in the evening. Bhairavi was relaxed, leaning against her leather
upholstered chair, clad in an out of the glossy pages of 'Vogue'
thigh-high split lingerie of silk chiffon. Lying with his hands over her
milky naked thighs, between her long legs was Vasant.Vasant was drowning
in her juices. But then Bhairavi was a Scorpio. All woman. And her only
regret in life was that her looks didn't match her desires and riches. In
fact, she would have preferred to be a man where the looks didn't really
matter as much. She had spent weeks and thousands of dollars abroad in
cosmetic surgery with the best in the field, changing her from a dark,
plain Jane to a fairly attractive woman. The surgeons could only add
silicon and a shape to her breasts, alter the shape of her nose and
somewhat reshape her thighs with liposuction. For the rest she depended on
the best money could buy. Her life style worked against her. Men, endless
cigarettes, alcohol, late nights played havoc with her looks. First, she
delayed her marriage. Now marriage eluded her.
Getting married for a builder's daughter with millions to her name wasn't
difficult but for her 'I want a man. A real man. A man who doesn't feel
insecure if I ride on him or dominate him. He should be strong enough for
a strong woman.' Only Bhairavi and God knew what kind of man she wanted to
marry. She didn't want to waste her years searching for him. Not Bhairavi.
Like any willing woman who has power and money, she had a line-up of 'em.
And Vasant was one. It is difficult to know what went on in Vasant's mind
at that precise moment when he was sitting in her feet. Resentment at
being used by a ruthlessly selfish girl he couldn't afford to annoy,
uncertainty about the next morning when she would grill him again about
going over-budget. Much later when their tale took an unexpected turn he
was to confess that he felt like a gigolo and 'I was simply not enough for
her. No one man could match her appetite. She was a man-eater.' Vasant
picked up the cigarette packet and lit two cigarettes, gave her one. This
was always the way their love-making ended. She inhaled the smoke.