WONDER LUST - COLLECTION OF STORIES ON EROTICA

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WONDER LUST

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A COLLECTION OF STORIES ON EROTICA

STORIES:

1)           Wrong bed, Right guy

2)           Seducing Shalini

3)           The boy in the Heart-case

4)           The wild ones

5)           One stranger’s child

6)           Two women

7)           For His pleasure

8)           Double Dare

9)           The other man’s wife

10)   All she ever lusted

11)   Mira’s Tales

12)   Repentance

13)   Wrong life, Right Death

14)           Cleopatra’s Heir

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The other man’s wife

                                                     Who decides our fate? I had thought many a damp night with nothing much to do. Is it God whom we have never seen or the society who instructs the code of conducts silently into our ears from our very birth or is it just us. Are we not the architect of our own fate, or are we just pawns in this big historical irony. For whenever I think of Madam Ajanta’s fate, I shudder with fear. Perhaps, the war has still not ended, it’s all raging within us.

                                                         

                  

                                        

                                                                           

                                                    The drizzle of rain was like a veil over the world, mysterious, hushed, not cold. Madam Ajanta was anxious, tensed and excited. She watched the glittering skeleton of the moonlit valley from the curved window in her room and thought of Neil. Her body was now out of the shackled cupboard of marriage. Neil was yet to come from his English classes which made her a bit restless. Her mind wandered in that camouflaged darkness and it brought back the bruise .The bruise was deep, deep, deep... in her heart. The bruise of the false cultural war. To remain tied to those words which never spoke of love. It was words, just so many lifeless words. Those of her husband- retired army lieutenant Bhupati, a coveted Bangladesh war veteran. The war made his famous but shipped him home paralysed and impotent .Words of customs and rituals .Of superiority of men and their instructed life.The only reality was nothingness, and over it a hypocrisy of words.

                                                    Neil was very late today, she felt. A bicycle swirled and curled swiftly across the mud patches in the road. A dull, lifeless moon reflected on that dirty grey water. That night she remembered it was raining like this. That mad, mad night. When she first came close to him. Downstairs, the lights were still on. Bhupati was perhaps awake, busy with his reading. After the war he had shifted his family to Siliguri, a sleepy little small town in those times situated in the foothills of Himalayas. His family was small, just Ajanta and him. He was afraid of his hometown Kolkata with people constantly reminding of his disability. Coming here, Bhupati felt relieved. He also brought a couple of servants with him from his hometown who took care of all household stuffs. Soon, he started his security agency. His war reputation helped to grow the business and in a very short period of time he made a good fortune. He felt happy with his success. The locals thought of him in awe and respect. Ajanta who had hardly spend few weeks of marital bliss before Bhupati went away for the war, felt quite lonely here. She was accustomed to the din and bustle of Kolkata. Here, she missed her friends badly. And when Bhupati came back, there was nothing much between them, except words. Words of strict discipline and social responsibility. The business was going all smooth and soon Bhupati immersed himself into literature. Day by day, Ajanta became wearier with her boring life. There was always people around her, distinguished guests, prolific leaders and local party members. Like last time when the great poet visited them in the summer. But there was nothing much life had to offer till her elder sister Manda send her son Neil to study at the local university.

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4.0 out of 5 stars 

Beautiful Book
By GUNVANT 

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This review is from: RUDRA TRILOGY 1 - THE SECRET OF IMMORTAL CODE (Kindle Edition)

Great Mythological fantasy , expertly narrated by Author.I gave four star to this Book because on details mentioned it is easy to absorb the story as a factual one whereas it is fantastically narrated novel

IF YOU TOO WANT A FLAVOUR OF IT, READ THE FIRST 5 CHAPTERS HERE

RUDRA TRILOGY

*************************************************************************************

                                                   She watched the clock tick ten. Neil was the only fresh air in her stagnant life. Ajanta felt that the night was slowly passing by. It made her angry.She closed the window and switched off the lights in her room. Resting her head on the pillow, she thought of her life. If Bhupati ever comes to know about them, what might happen. She shuddered at the very thought of it .Their full time maid servant could be heard downstairs in the kitchen. She was busy cleaning up and waiting to serve Neil his dinner. Ajanta got up and went downstairs. ‘I thought you have gone to sleep’ Bhupati looked up from the pages smilingly and watched her tired face. ‘Neil hasn’t come yet. Shankar’s mother...’ Ajanta called for her maid servant. Shankar’s mother was an old woman who loved and cared for Ajanta. ‘You go to sleep. I will serve Neil his dinner...’.  ‘Come here Ajanta...listen to what the great poet has to say’ Bhupati always shared his literary world with her.But by that time, Ajanta had just got tired with sheer burden of words. She silently came and sat beside him. Her mind was elsewhere, it roamed with the thought of an adolescent body. Neil came late that night. The rain had stopped. Bhupati was off to sleep. Ajanta was asleep on the dining table when suddenly the doorbell rang...

***

                                                                            

                                                           

                                               It was morning now. The soft, golden rays poured into the room. His sleepy eyes caught the early glare of the sun. He looked around and saw her sleeping. The clock showed six in the morning. She lay lazily on the bed, curled on one side. He watched her face for sometime. Her untied hair kept a part of her face hidden. Her lips were broadened as if she was smiling in her dreams. He suddenly slipped out of bed with his back to her, naked and thin. Neil went to the window. Drawing the curtains a little, he looked out for a moment. The road below was empty. His eyes wondered at the far off hills drowsily .There was a silence like just before a storm. Thoughts were entering seamlessly into his young mind. All kind of thoughts. Of fear and delight. Of mutiny and unrest .The ample light coming now inside the room made her awake. She silently watched his nakedness while lying awake in the bed. His back was white and smooth, the small buttocks beautiful with a delicate manliness. There was no hypocrisy in them. She felt that she wanted him now, that very way .It was ages before she had felt like this .the back of his neck glowed in that radiant sunlight .It was delicate yet strong. She watched him for a moment and when he turned and saw her watching him, he felt very ashamed. Blushing, he quivered. She liked that flushed tinge on his soft face .He quickly caught hold of the curtain and tried to hide his aroused nakedness. Somewhere, there was a delicate inward strength in Neil’s youthful body. Ajanta thought .She smiled at him and got up. ‘No! Let me see you. You look beautiful, so pure in this morning light! Come to me’ she said holding her slim arms out from her dropping breasts…   [ TO BE CONTINUED...]

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                  RUDRA TRILOGY

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ALL SHE EVER LUSTED

                                                               I had been married for long. My husband is a General Manager in a multinational company. Mostly he stays outside due to high work pressure. Even at times he frequently travels abroad to attend numerous business meetings. Our only son studies at a boarding school in Darjeeling. I have all the luxuries at home. My husband has given me everything except the physical pleasures for which I keep craving. I don’t have to do anything at home. My four maid servants take all the care. I spend my time shopping, attending kitty parties and visiting friends. All was going smooth. I was deeply bored from inside but accepted my fate. I spend my lonely nights watching boring movies over and over again. My lips have forgotten what a good kiss is. I look at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling and mourn my days. It was all going in the same fashion. Then suddenly I met Gourav at the office party and everything changed.

                                                                                                       It happened in the month of August. I still remember it was raining heavily that day when Gourav and I entered his flat. We were all wet and extremely excited. My husband, Subrata had gone abroad for a business trip. I was spending my days as lonely as ever. One day, I got a call from Meghna .She was the wife of Subrata’s colleague. I had met her couple of times at different office parties. We soon became good friends. Meghna had called up to invite me for the office party happening next week. I said to her that my husband was out of town. Without him, it’s very boring going to those parties. But Meghna kept pestering me a lot. She said all the other wives will be there and we will have great fun. Reluctantly, I accepted. It was long I haven’t attended any such parties. Most of the kitty parties happened to occur at friend’s home. So, no one bothered much to dress up very delicately.

                                                                             That evening I looked at myself in the mirror. It had been long, long time that I had looked at myself deeply and delicately. It had been long that someone had caressed my body. My breasts were waiting long for a man’s kiss. I took a long time and dressed up very beautifully that evening. I was wearing a red Jamdani sari and a deep cut black blouse. I asked our driver to take out the Honda city and went to Subrata’s office where the party was being held. Meghna and the other wives greeted me as I entered. ‘You are looking very beautiful’ she said. I smiled and blushed. The cultural programs had already started. I watched a few officers staring at me. A ten year old girl was performing Rabindra sangeet at the stage. Soon, I started feeling deeply bored. I asked Meghna to accompany me to the coffee shop inside the cafeteria. We came out of the auditorium and walked towards the coffee shop. It was evening now, the birds chirping on the tree branches .Somewhere, I felt deeply lonely. I remembered my son. We ordered cold coffee for both of us. It was there I met Gourav. His handsome looks made an immediate impression on me. His masculine figure attracted me. He came to take the order and smiled at me. I could see his eyes twinkling looking at the deep cut of my blouse. I smiled back at him. Meghna haven’t watched us silently speaking .I slowly drank the coffee at times watching Gourav. He was also looking at me occasionally. I could see his curved biceps under his tight t-shirt. Suddenly Meghna got a call from her husband and left. I was alone sitting at the shop. Gourav came towards me. I could feel my heart beat growing faster. ‘Hello Maam’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you earlier. Have you recently joined?’ he asked. His eyes were fixed at my blossomed flowers. I said that my husband work in this office and that he is out of town. I wanted to take his mobile number but I couldn’t. Somewhere deep in my heart, a sense of guilt was pestering me.

                                                                                    That night I couldn’t sleep properly. I dreamt of Gourav .My body became very hot. I could feel his lips all over my body. Instantly I woke up. I was profusely sweating. I went to take a bath. I watched my naked body in the bathroom mirror. My body seemed flattening and going a little harsh instead of ripening. My belly has lost the fresh, round gleam and my breasts looked meaninglessly hanging down. I twisted my neck to get a clear view of my back, my waist and shuddered. The longish slope of my buttocks has lost its richness. That triangular puff of mousy brown hair down which guided a man to the place seemed worn out.  There seemed a strange sense of meaninglessness in my body. It was long waiting to make love. I felt a deep sense of nothingness mixed with the sudden desire of making love passionately in my body. After a deep shower, I could sleep. Again I had the same dream next night. And the night after. I tried to remember my husband. I tried to remember my son. I tried to break free from the strangling clutches of desire.

                                                                               

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                                                                                            I rebuked myself for such guilty thoughts. I tried to erase those dreams off my mind. I went to kitty parties. I went to friend’s homes. I tried to forget everything. I tried to remind myself that being a married woman I cannot love another man. It’s strictly against our custom and society. Even if the man of my life, my husband sleeps with numerous girls in his business trips. No one questions a man’s character. But God perhaps had some different plan for me.

                                                                                                                                                                      

                                                                                             The next Sunday, I suddenly met Gourav while shopping. I had gone to the local mall for buying some sarees and cosmetics. Gourav had also come for his monthly groceries. We talked for an hour about different things. I watched Gourav frequently looking at my voluptuous breasts. I adjusted my sari. We went to the snacks parlour inside the mall. I was about to leave the mall when he invited me for a cup of tea at his place. He said his flat was quite near to the mall. At first, I refused. Those dreams came haunting me. Gourav kept on pestering till I agreed. He was behaving like a little kid. His sharp looks combined with his childish nature made an instant impression. I called up our driver and said that I will be late as I had a lot of shopping to do. I told him to take the car back home. I will be catching a cab and coming home, I said to him. I didn’t want my driver to watch Gourav with me.

                                                                                      Soon, we came out of the mall and started walking. It was cloudy. My heart was beating faster thinking of what will happen. I was feeling nervous. I looked at the faces walking past if anyone had recognised me. Luckily none of the known faces were there on the street. My mobile buzzed all of a sudden. I looked and saw Subrata calling. The pangs of guilt catched me as I picked up the phone. It went for a few minutes. Same usual talks, same mundane thoughts, same routine dialogues. The distance between us had made our relation just a compromise .I left the phone and scolded myself for such evil thoughts and felt maybe Gourav has nothing in his mind.

                                                                                                         I adjusted my saree which was fluttering in the wind. It’s just a cup of tea, I told myself. Suddenly, it started raining heavily. We were caught unguarded as we haven’t brought any umbrella with us. Gourav said to me that his flat was just a few minutes away. A cold breeze started blowing. We walked briskly and then started running. By now, it started raining heavily. I was completely drenched. I started panting soon and stopped. I was short of breath. My bosom was jumping. I saw Gourav’s eyes fixed on them. I looked up in his eyes. Desires craved within those chestnut brown eyes. His hair was all wet and looked beautiful. I felt like running my long fingers through them. His t-shirt stuck to his masculine body. I was now walking very close to him. I could feel his hand on my bulged buttocks. He was slowly rubbing his hands there and then suddenly pressed it. I felt extremely excited but didn’t tell him anything.Soon, we came to his apartment. The watchman observed us from his small room near the gate. I was totally wet now and so was Gourav.

                                                                     As we entered, it was all dark. I could feel a sensation running all along my body. He immediately switched on the lights. His room resembled that of a bachelors with shirts, vests, underpants all scattered. I smiled as my eyes slowly examined the room. Gourav took off his shirt and went to get a towel for me. I silently watched the small turf of blackish masculine hair round his chest. His shoulders were broad and manly. Drops of rainwater clinched to them. His white slim back was curved with a small patch which seemed like a birthmark near his hip. His jeans were heavy with its wetness and dragged down, making the elastic of his underpant clearly visible round his waist. My heart was pounding a thousand times faster now. He came back soon with a towel and handed over. Gourav’s eyes had a sense of nervous excitement in them. I opened my hair pin and started drying my hair. I was shivering in cold. Suddenly, I felt a strong touch on my belly. My body was on fire. Gourav has grabbed me from behind....

 to be continued.....

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A DIARY LEAF - MIRA’S TALES

My God died young. Theolatry I found
Degrading, and its premises, unsound.
No free man needs God; but was I free?

― Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire

                                                                  My name is Mira, whom perhaps, no man on this very earth will ever possess.  I am famous now, full of men around me, but then…my God died very young. The day He made me…

                             My days are now very busy. The shooting of my next film is about to end in a week. Tension and thrill mixed in my veins run as pleasure seekers. Today was one such busy day. My film is on a man who fights with his own identity from his very childhood. The suppressed feminity within made him vulnerable equally to his friends and foes .They made joke of him, played with his emotions .When at last, he underwent surgery and became a woman.

                                          My doctor called me up today and asked about my operation, how I was feeling. Till now, it went on well I think .I still have a slight persisting  pain in my bosom and below, rest is all fine.

Just a few years before had we thought of all these possibilities in India?  Is it right to tamper with God’s decision. Questions like these had corroded my childhood. But then, what can you possibly do, if you felt someone else inside your own body. Trapped in the dungeon of your heart pit. My parents felt I was obsessed , they were pained to see the adulteration in my behavior. I was pained myself, fighting with who I am. My God never helped me, made a joke of me and asked me to fight back. As I grew up, as I got more haunted, I fought for the identity my heart looked for. And slowly amidst these fights, my God silently died…

                   Thank God, my movie is coming off well. It was very difficult to get an actor for the role. No one was obliged or happy to do it. I really like Amarjit, my hero. I feel he is doing a fantastic job. On a second thought, I feel I have a slight crush on him. The way he looks at me. His gym overworked masculine body. His erotic body smell. His swindling curls in that afternoon rain…

     My fights were my very own. Still they are. The decision of the operation was a tough one. My parents were shocked with fear. There were vehement protests from different strata’s of the society. But then, in turmoil times, your decisions should be rock solid. And the decision was my very own.

Have I done the correct thing, I don’t know. Coming out of the closet and declaring my identity. But I couldn’t continue with the iron shackles on my conscience. I was trapped inside.

                                                   No free man needs God, but was I free?...Perhaps, I was never….For I was born as Mrinmoy…A man with a woman’s feelings buried deep inside…Mira was born after surgery….

           Let’s pack up now as its turning really dark….

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About the author:

Saptarshi Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for last 8. However, writing has always been first love, his passion. His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group (Times of India)  launched in november'11 has already created a lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.

Blogging and travelling are the biggest pursuit of him. He had subsequently travelled and lived in London, Toronto, San Francisco, Dubai till he came back to Kolkata, his hometown.

                Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and columns for some online magazines

THE LAST KISS OF DECEPTION

THE LAST KISS OF DECEPTION

EXCERPTS ......

The eerie darkness of the murky night got disturbed by the howling of the lone dog.

    It was slowly drizzling outside. Mishra Ji’s restless sleep got disturbed with the pitiful cry and he sprang up. Despite of the unrelenting cold, he kept profusely sweating .Looking outside, he shivered as the thunder stuck the barren land adjacent to his shanty. Tiny drops of rain clinched to the glass window as he slowly came down from his bed. He searched for his glass of water kept beside his bed and gulped at once. The whole house seemed fast asleep, untouched with the tumult happening outside and inside Sashodhar mishra’s feeble heart. He opened the window a bit to feel the gushing wind on his face.Dark,rigid lines appeared on his forehead as he feebly repeated the single sentence ,bringing chill down his spine.

‘Give me your daughter or return the money!’

‘gggivee mmeee your daughter or return the money in a month! Or else….’

He blankly stared at the ravine gushing with the rain water. The edgy thoughts came creeping each and every moment into his mind. He felt time was passing by. But there was not much in his hand. Eight lakhs and that too in just a month!!! It was impossible for him…Mishra Ji’s business was running into troubled waters and he barely managed his family.

             Suddenly a streak of lightning struck on the barren paddy field and Mishra Ji dropped the glass from his hand. The steel utensil made a cracking sound before coming to a standstill. He started trembling and immediately closed the window. A few seconds after, Mishra Ji fugitively slide the window covers to have a glance at the ravine. He looked for a moment but no one was there. Sashodhar Mishra cursed himself for his foolishness and felt relieved. And just then! he realized that the shadow he had seen crossing the ravine was now entering his compound!

     Mishra Ji trembled and ran towards the drawing room .He fearfully checked if his wife or daughter was awake but no one could be seen. A bit relieved, he opened the door .The shadowy figure slowly removed the blanket and a mid-aged man emerged. In the dim light of the verandah, he looked straight into Mishra Ji’s eyes terribly. His threatening words made Mishra Ji hysterical.

 ‘Mano yaa Maro (agree or die).

Your Daughter or My Money –it’s your choice!!!’

About the author:

Saptarshi Basu, a Gold Medallist in Mechanical Engineering, has been in IT industry for last 8 years . However, writing has always been first love, his passion. His second Novel , AUTUMN IN MY HEART published by Vitasta Publishing with Times group launched in november'11 has already created a lot of stir due on causes of broken heart and homosexuality.

Blogging and travelling are the biggest pursuit of him. He maintains a blog called http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/ which had huge following with visits from all over the world. He had subsequently travelled and lived in London, Toronto, San Francisco, Dubai till he came back to Kolkata, his hometown.

Saptarshi Basu also does screenplay writing for movies and columns for some online magazines

THE FOREIGNER'S GIFT - EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL

{

The below mentioned chapter is an excerpt from my work- THE FOREIGNER'S GIFT  .All characters mentioned ,living or dead is fictional and any resemblance with anyone is purely coincidental

}


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ABOUT THE AUTHOR :

Saptarshi Basu is a gold medalist in mechanical engineering and has worked in the IT industry for the last eight years. However, writing has always been his first love, his passion.  His second novel, Autumn In My Heart was published by Vitasta Publishing with Times Group (TIMES OF INDIA) in November’11. He maintains a blog http://saptak-firsttry.blogspot.in/ and writes screenplays for movies and columns for some online magazines.

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                                           My ancestors shifted to Shikohima much before India got its independence. A small island town in Japan well connected on the sea route, it offered a perfect blissful land for trading spices. Gokuldas Shekhawat, my great grandfather had a small business of cardamoms in Kunnor which he later shifted to Shikohima- the land of two rivers. The Ota and Motitsu River crisscrossed each other in a serpentine fashion spreading fertility across its banks. Lush green it was, before little lad landed from the sky. 

                                                 The harbor used to be crowded with vessels and merchant ships whistling sharply sending vibrations in the air. I still remember my childhood spent on the banks of Motitsu playing frog jump on the serene waters with Seigo by my side. How delightedly we watched those fishermen dismantling their catches to be taken to the fish house. Seigo was my best friend. A creamy white boy with a flattened nose, he lived in the small house named ‘Heiwa’ two blocks away from our home. My mother told Heiwa meant peace .You know Shantaram, Seigo and I used to be in the same school. Early morning, when the dew drops still rested on the hibaku leaves, fishermen returning with their early catch and the nearby Shikohima plant yet to blow its morning siren, Seigo and I use to run to school. How much I miss those days, Shantaram .It was heaven .Till hell came down on earth.

                         My father, Nandalal Shekhawat worked as the chief engineer of the Shikohima automobile plant. After completing his engineering from Tokyo institute of Technology, he had joined the then newly setup plant and slowly moved up the ladder. My grandfather at times use to lament saying my father lacked both the zeal and the acumen to run our family business. A tall, well built man with a thin, finely kept moustache, he looked more of an army general than an engineer. I was quite in awe of him. My Daadi used to tell me how frantically they have searched for an Indian bride of the same caste for my father in Japan. It was tough to get one as very few Indian families lived there at that point of time. It was only through one of the close relatives in India that they came to know about my mother’s family in Kure, a nearby port city. The marriage was a lavish one as by that time my grandfather, Ramdas Shekhawat had already made a fortune. I was born after two years of their marriage .Being the only grandson of the family, I was highly adored and pampered by everyone expect my father who was of a quiet nature and a strict disciplinarian.

                                 Summer holidays were fun. I still remember those days crouching by Daadi’s side and listening to her world of stories. Full of kings, queens, giants and dwarfs. Tales of India, river Ganga and its million Gods and Goddesses. How the Rakshas king Ravana eloped Sita and how God Ram killed him. How good prevailed over evil in the end. Daadi use to fall asleep after a few hours, tired of telling stories .Then, I enchantingly watched shadow puppets all over my wall. Sometimes, it was of the ice-cream pedlar strolling with his cart .At times, it was of the lone man cycling all over my dark room on a lazy summer noon. 

                                                                The flower festival was a major attraction for people in Shikohima. The dragon kites encompassed the sky as people dressed in new clothes flocked around the harbours singing and dancing. You know Shantaram, there’s always something strangely beguiling about the sight of a kite ducking and diving with the will of the wind. It looked as if someone has painted the sky with butterflies, flapping their colourful wings all around. Each kite had a different story embedded on it. Some had beautiful Japanese women in kimono drawn on it, while some pictured dragons and even tidal floods .You know, there were about hundred different styles and types of kites, each region having its own unique shape. They were normally decorated with characters from Japanese folklore, mythology or had some religious or symbolic meaning. At times like a hawk spreading its wings .At other times, it took the shape of an angry dragon’s face throwing fire from its mouth. Painted with bright colours and Sumi which is the Japanese name for black ink, they are constructed with washi paper and bamboo. As evening slowly descended and the music catched its speed, Seigo and I use to sit for hours on the banks of Ota mesmerized by the colourful lights.

                                  Seigo’s father, Hiroshi Yamayito made a small boat for us. He was a gifted carpenter .Their house ‘Heiwa’ smelled of fresh wood carvings whenever I visited. We used to sit hours watching mesmerised how he listened to the sound of music of each wood. And then the hard pieces would slowly get soft and take beautiful shapes. He taught us how to fish, Hiroshi and made me the luckiest fishing rod. I still remember my mother keeping a keen watch on us as we rowed the small boat across the banks of Ota fishing salmons.

                                             Then the war started. Troops went passed our homes down the road and the dust they raised powdered the leaves of the trees. The violet roses of our garden turned grey and our school was closed for almost six months .The plain were rich with crops; there were many orchards of fruit trees and beyond the plain the mountains were brown and bare. There was fighting in the mountains and at night we could see the flashes from the artillery. We heard there were many victories. People worshipped the emperor as God and many civilians joined the war only for him. In the dark it was like summer lightning but never did we felt a storm was coming. Sometimes in the dark we heard the troops marching under the window and guns going past. Seigo and I use to keep a count of the aircrafts hovering in our vanilla sky. We also watched the flocking citizens crying ‘Banzai’ as the troops left the harbour. The air which once was loathed with flowery fragrance had now been replaced by strong stench of gunpowder.

                                                                       I was eighteen when dad decided to send me to America for study. My Mamaji, Amarnath Chauhan was then residing at Utah working as a physics lecturer at Broadview University. I wanted to stay back in Shikohima but the war conditions were worsening and my father didn’t want to take any risk. My mother opposed the idea of sending a teenage boy so far away from the family. My grandparents also joined. But dad was somewhat adamant, might be he gauzed something. The war was now taking a sudden turn and several residents feared its conclusion. Assured that I was going to stay with my Mamaji, my mother accepted. A week before leaving, my bags were packed with tearful eyes. Seigo came to bid me goodbye. He said that he had taken admission at the local university of Shikohima for a graduation in literature. I looked into his eyes and they were shining with tinge of tear at the corners. We promised each other to write two letters each week even if we were busy. Soon after three days, I left for Utah where I met Li Mei- my beautiful flower.

                                  

  -    By  SAPTARSHI BASU