An open letter...

Hello Bhatiya,
I don’t know you nor do I want to know who you are. But the scathing comment you left on my last posting warranted a reply and I was forced to write you an open letter for you had left me no other option by denying me access to your email address. And I hope you would visit my page once again to read the letter…
Anyway, your criticism was pinching and left me sleepless for some nights. The question reared its head in my mind if I had really crossed the line of decency by writing my exploits, which you said is good fodder for readers’ fantasy, and which are of course very personal and involves someone who is very dear to me. (I also wondered what made you stop short of calling my exploits a figment of my fantasy!)
It is not that your comment was any great; any person with average intelligence and education would have made same comment; for that that is the way your upbringing prepares you to comment on such things. It is only after you get some education in and exposure to literature, you become more open to the idea of sex and passion being inseparable parts of love.
Being a student of Sanskrit literature, I don’t need your help in classifying what I write. You can call it cheap because there is a lot of passion in it but then that is the limitation of your understanding as you cannot see the undertone of the posting which is full of love and the pain of its loss. Before I write something else, I would like to suggest you (for it costs nothing!) to read the Sanskrit classic of Kalidas, Kumarsambhavam, in which the great poet has vividly depicted the lovemaking scenes of Lord Shiva and Parvati. The depiction is so crude and descriptive that it is said that after writing that part of the Mahakavya, Kalidas earned the wrath of the Lord and fell ill. He had to do penance before he could complete the work. No doubt, Kalidas was a great scholar and his works are unparalleled in the History and despite being full of sexual overtures, his works are called classics.
Such examples galore in all the literatures of the world. And there is one particular reason why I cited this example. And that is that one meaning of the name of my character is Parvati. And I believe that by writing like that if Kalidas could not cast slur on Parvati or defile her, my posting too won’t affect the Goddess. Goddesses are like lotus, though in mud, yet beyond it.
So as far as your genuine suggestion of generating revenue by writing porn story is concerned, I would just like to thank you for your advice. I do write for a living but in newspapers and I am making good enough for myself. So you needn’t worry about that. My blog is my personal space in the virtual world and that I write just to give vent to my feelings and I won’t take suggestions from you on what to write, where to write. If ever there would be anything like what you suggested, it would be here only. So keep visiting my blog.
But the initial question still remains unanswered. What was it in your comment that made me go sleepless for some nights? Well, I wondered what was it in my writing that influenced a stranger, a non-stake holder, to write a comment like this. Had it come from some other quarters, it would have been understandable. Had it not been for the support extended by the friends, especially that of a lady, who posted her comment as anonymous, I would have removed that posting.
In retrospect, I conclude that if I can elicit such a scathing response from you, a non-stake holder, the purpose of my writing is served. Keep visiting the page for more action...
And your criticism is always welcome...


Amitabh Shankar

Kiss of life!

Amitabh Shankar


I wanted to gift myself an evening full of love and passion with her. She was to leave for her native place to attend her brother’s wedding the day after. It was about being for a fortnight alone, and it was impossible to live for a moment without her and her memory.
I wanted her to be with me for an evening and she was turning down my requests all the time. Writing an e-mail to her full of emotions was the last resort. My room partner used to call it blackmailing tactics of mine but I used to do it every time I felt like, without compunction. And I wrote one, she was subjugated and she obliged.
I left the office early and picked her from her office. She had to do some shopping, of some artificial jewelry, to match with the cloths she had to wear on her brother’s wedding. And we went to the South Extension. There she looked around the jewelry, she liked some but found the price unreasonable and decided to leave without buying any. I offered to gift her one but she refused to oblige and we left the place.
We decided to go to Pind Baluchi for dinner, a restaurant in Lajpat Nagar, which was probably sealed later. I don’t know if it is still running or not. We had a nice time over dinner. Being from a state bordering Punjab, she kept me telling about the Punjabi culture and the food and their dress and all.
After dinner, we headed to the JNU, the place which I like most and which is also a lovers’ paradise. Sitting on that Partha Sarthi Rock, earlier also we had enjoyed the serenity and the silence of that place. Fresh air and the peace of mind that comes with it adds to the romantic ambience. And this was the place where…
The security guard posted there did not allow us to go to the PSR saying you can go only if you have an I-card and we were not the students. So we decided to go on a walk on the campus. I parked my bike at a secluded place and we went for a walk after the dinner. It was late in the night and not many people were around. We took the east gate road, on which lives the vice chancellor of the university, and very few people take that road.
You need to go on that road to know how beautiful it is during night. The line of trees on both sides and the vapour lights which light up one moment and goes off another make for a romantic setting.
We were talking about everything; about love, relationships and ourselves.
“I don’t know why everyone I talk to proposes to me?” she said.
“When did Varun propose?” I asked.
“How do you know he has proposed to me?”
“I know, it takes just a little of common sense to know that.”
“Hmmm… He proposed to me last night through SMS. I don’t understand why everyone I talk to proposes to me.”
“Because while you ensure that you don’t carry anyone’s tag with your name, you get the tag of being available.”
“My being ‘available’ tag doesn’t mean that anybody comes and takes me along. I think I will have to stop talking to every man.”
“The man you won’t talk to will have his hands around your waist as I am having and you will walk with him alone on these lonely roads.” She giggled.
We had gone too far and she said we should return.
We were talking like always. My hands one her arms and I kissing her all the time on her cheeks, arms and neck. Somehow she left me behind and an idea clicked in my head. I went behind her and put my hands around her waist and lifted her. I was myself surprised by my prowess as her body did not brush against my body for a moment and I lifted her beyond a feet from the ground. She was so surprised that next morning she asked if I had really lifted her or she was just dreaming.
I put her down after few seconds and started walking along with her. Walking by her side was so exciting; I wanted to do all the wild things.
I caught hold of her chin and pulled her lips towards mine. She resisted, half-heartedly though, “Amitabh, Amitabh…” And the next moment our lips met. It was for the first time that I had planted a kiss on her lips. As we parted, she lowered her head.
It is impossible to read a woman’s mind. I don’t know whether she was angry or happy or what but I said sorry.
And as we were walking back again, I put my hands on her shoulder and our bodies pressed closer to each other, and closer … and so close that it ended up in a deep hug. My hands slipped on her back and ended up cupping her butts and then it rose to slip inside her T-shirt. It was soft and slippery like butter inside. Her hands on my back…
And in the dead silence of night, amid heavy breathing of two souls, the sound produced by the rubbing of the zips of jeans was quite audible in the forests of the JNU.
If ever I pass that road again, I still do hear the reverberations… I don't know if she too listens too those reverberations...