Exposure

Note: Wish you all Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

‘What was your first exposure to sex?’

I mimicked the fat man’s whisper along with his gurgling near-orgasmic giggles.

‘And did he stop at that? Oh no, as an accompaniment to his act he kept on nudging me heartily in the ribs, laughing before each sentence while he told me all about his exposure…what the…’

I was narrating to my friends the harrowing experience on the plane. I continued with my lament,

‘My bleeding luck…I was literally between the devil and the deep sea! On one side, I had this hyperactive fat man; and on the other side, a nun with an enviable mustache. Excuse me for being politically incorrect…but there is a limit to one’s bad luck, right? I can’t even decide who was worse. This nun…I could feel her disapproval when my eyes tracked the derriere of the buxom airhostess. And, during lunch, she pointed at my tray and asked me, ‘Young man, aren’t you having the fruit?’ I had to finish off the fruit bowl…compared to that, the fat man’s sexual exposure was definitely an improvement.’

I looked around and the laughing faces of my friends hardly provided the balm for my traumatized mind and soul. Winston asked me,

‘So, what was his first exposure to sex?’

I mimicked the fat man once again and also gave Winston who was driving the car a few well-placed nudges in the ribs to recreate the scene,

‘Betty, man…of Archie comics…not Veronica, mind you…Betty boiled my young fifteen year old blood and kept it on simmer, man…what do you think of Betty, man?’

‘Betty…at fifteen…?’ Winston gave a hoot of laughter. From the back seat, Swapna and Josephine also joined in his mirth. It was Josephine who changed track and asked me,

‘And…what did you tell him about your first exposure to sex?’

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Josephine, Swapna, Winston and I studied together in the same class from kindergarten till primary six – seems like eons back.

Josephine – she used to be a petite girl with an infectious smile – was Swapna’s main rival for the top rank. Though rivals in studies, they maintained a close friendship. Swapna then was an attractive dusky girl with lovely dark eyes and a powerful forehand for tennis and stinging slaps on our bottoms. Winston had the face of an angel and the heart of the devil. He was my chief comrade-in-arms. As far as studies were concerned, we rarely troubled the girls’ ambition to be on top (other than in math where we trounced the girls regularly). I guess they must have been on top in our extracurricular activities too and decided most of our joint actions. Girls feel terribly insecure in any other position, Winston used to say.    

In class, Josephine and Winston were paired together. That could have been based on race or religion or social class. Swapna and I were considered to be born for each other since we were the only Indians. Of course, there was Muthu but he was the son of a labourer and therefore, not even considered. A primary class is a good place to learn about social structure, practices and hierarchy. Our pairing was taken quite seriously by the rest of the class and to be a sport, we played along. In primary three, when I composed my first love poem, I strayed a little and gave the poem to Josephine rather than Swapna. I must have had this urge to share my love. Winston was ruled out, of course; and, Swapna seemed formidable with her forehand. Josephine did receive it well – she gave me a delightful smile, held my hand for a while and it remained our first dark secret. That was all I wanted from love at that point of time. I do not know if Winston and Swapna engaged in anything hanky-panky like this. Swapna would have been tight-lipped about any indiscretion and Winston would have followed suit, more out of fear of her rather than due to any sense of decorum.

In primary five, we started showing signs of dissatisfaction with each other and also began exploring beyond our own circle. It coincided with the entry in our lives of two staff members.

Mr. Omar was our Math teacher. Winston and I considered him to be very stiff and old. We could not understand why Swapna and Josephine decided that he must be Adonis. He wore black pants (the same one, we decided) and starched, crisply ironed, half-sleeved cotton shirts (he slips his hands in the sleeves without removing the shirt from the hanger, we declared to the girls). Thinking back, he must have been in his late twenties. But then, for Winston and me, he was a stereotype of a Math teacher. We made fun of his evenly-measured steps, careful slow speech and writing, perfectly symmetrical pencil mustache and, worst of all, a refusal to be perturbed by any disturbance from our side. We tried to convince the girls that he was either a weird mutant or a robot and that he even drew margins on his bed before sleeping on the proper side without deviating in any way.

Then, there was his antithesis – Miss Lim, our school dentist. When my perfect set of milk teeth gave way to a crooked crowded bunch, it was she who consoled me in those tough formative years. She was so young, so lovely, so delicate and so full of life. Winston tried to pull rank by saying that she belonged to his community. After a few days of hot battle, cold war and mature thought, we openly declared that we would share her. The girls kept their teeth to themselves while we exhibited ours to Miss Lim and tried to extract every bit of mileage from their rotten nature. Only a man would brave a painful, silly deed (like war or a duel or a visit to the dentist) for the sake of a woman, Winston and I proved that truism.

In primary five and six, our gang still held together even though our affections and infatuations without the group raged a continuing war on our unity. During one vacation, we raided the vacant school boarding house. We rummaged in cupboards and drawers for secrets (Swapna and Josephine were particularly interested in that) and loads of cash (Winston and I focused on that). All that we managed was a delightful time getting dirty with dust and cobwebs.

In school, we waited for the free periods when a teacher was absent. Most often, we were allowed to play outside on the school grounds. The four of us used these opportunities to explore the area beyond the school. To the north, there was a hilly climb and the scenic view from the top was worth the effort. Josephine did not like the hard climb but Swapna usually goaded her to follow. To the south, there was the road leading to town and our homes and we stayed away from that direction. To the east, there were paddy fields. It was muddy and filthy and the girls preferred to stay away from that direction too. Once, I slipped on the path through the paddy plots and fell in, and I was in deep shit or manure, literally. I tried to pull in the laughing fool but Winston stood at a safe distance, not even offering a helping hand. To the west of the school, there was our favourite spot in the middle of a rubber plantation – a clearing within a circle of granite boulders with velvet mossy ground under the canopy of huge trees.

In primary six, during a free period before lunch in the early part of March, we raced to that spot. We had an hour at our disposal and we planned to stake claim over our fiefdom and have a picnic lunch. As part of our usual game, we approached the area by stealth, ready to vanquish all our imaginary villains and demons. On that day, we saw that we were not the first to reach the clearing. From behind the rocks, we watched the scene within.

Mr. Omar was bare-chested and seated on the ground. Miss Lim sat next to him with her head against his shoulder. They whispered to each other, laughed and seemed happy. He kissed her lips, cheeks, neck and then unbuttoned her light summer blouse. It was not a Mr. Omar we knew. This man seemed like a boy unpacking a wonderful gift. He opened her blouse slowly, admiring her naked body. She laughed at his youthful amazement while he unclasped the front hooks of her bra, and kissed her breasts and nipples. Strangely, she seemed like the senior partner in the act. We watched them make love, hearing every cry of joy and whispered endearments.

We left that stage quietly at the end when the couple collapsed against each other, in a tight embrace and breathing hard. We hardly talked till we reached school. I cannot remember if we talked about the episode but some time that week, the four of us together reported that incident to the Headmaster of the school.

For some reason, we thought it was right to do so even though we received a severe reprimand for straying from the school campus. It is usually easy to find a reason to make any action seem so right. The one good thing about growing old is to be recognized as a sinner, to lose that garb of innocence, a mask for vicious and childish righteousness.

 Those two adults were discreetly removed from the staff and the matter never even reached our parents or the rest of the school. We heard that Mr. Omar had to leave town in search of another job. We lost track of Miss Lim.

xxx---xxx---xxx

I guess that was our collective answer to Josephine’s earlier question. There was not much talk in the car for a while after that.

Mid-way through primary six, my family relocated to India and I lost track of my friends and that life. I got back in touch with them much later when I met Winston by chance at a casino in Macau.

By then, he was already into his second divorce. He told me how he lost his virginity at fourteen, how the girl’s parents wanted to get him arrested and how he managed to escape only because the girl made the mistake of loving him. By twenty-four, he was a fixed-income trader in a bulge-bracket investment firm. By thirty two, he was a managing director. At thirty-four, he was chucked out of the firm when he misused his position and brought heavy unexpected losses. His private life was definitely more reckless. Maybe, he was always like that but I think his manic nature developed later. I never asked him if he had been affected by our childhood experience.

It was Winston who filled me in on the other two. Swapna had married beneath her station and after her wedding, she moved to her husband’s town. She had to cut off all connections to her family and friends, by force or by choice. She was a competent cardiologist, an abused wife, a mother of one stillborn kid and a recluse on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, her husband met with an accident two years back and she has slowly started coming back to normal life. Josephine, that petite girl, became a barrister practicing in the capital and a fearless human rights activist. She married a colleague, has two kids and seemed to be the only one leading a proper life. It was Josephine who contacted us a month back with a near shriek on the phone.

‘Guess what I found on the Internet…I was checking hospitals in our old town…our Miss Lim is still there. I have even got her residential address.’

None of us asked Josephine why she had been searching for Miss Lim. We had all been searching, I guess. Anyway, that explains why we decided to get together, visit our old town and meet Miss Lim. In the car, racing to our destination, we shared our hopes.

I hoped that Mr. Omar and Miss Lim had got together later after facing stiff resistance over their interfaith marriage. I reasoned that, in those days, society was more tolerant and it must have been possible.

Swapna hoped that Mr. Omar had died but only after the two lovers were reunited. We asked her why she wanted him dead. Love stories have the best ending that way, was her morbid reply.

Josephine hoped that we would enter Miss Lim’s house and Miss Lim would call for her husband and then, Mr. Omar would enter the scene to greet us. She hoped to see the two holding each other’s hand and then, forgiving us.

Winston laughed and asked Josephine what she expected to get out of forgiveness. She did not reply for a while and then said,

‘I want them to forgive. I want to forget their love. Their love has haunted me every single day, to the extent of making me frigid. I feel as if I squeezed life out of something precious. I feel as if I have no right to life myself.’

Even her proper life was just an illusion, it seems. With the glint of near-madness in his eyes, no one asked Winston what he hoped for in Miss Lim’s place.

We got to our old town around four in the evening. The place had changed a lot. We asked our way to Miss Lim’s residence. We parked the car in the street and Josephine led the way to the door. A little girl of five or six opened the door, raced inside calling to her mother that there are four strangers at the door.

We watched the little girl return with her mother, Miss Lim. We introduced ourselves. She remembered us. She said with a laugh,

‘How can I forget?’

She served us tea and cakes. She invited us for dinner and told us that her husband would be back from his club around seven. I decided to broach the topic,

‘Miss Lim, we…’

‘It should be Mrs. Chung actually. I have not changed my maiden name – it is such a bother changing one’s name in every employment register.’

‘Mrs. Chung…?’ one of us echoed.

It turned out to be a simple tale at the end. Miss Lim had married Mr. Chung and they have three kids. She told us that Mr. Omar had migrated to Australia, married a colleague, have two kids and live happily there. Mr. Omar was her friend on Facebook, she said.

We left her place after tea. We thanked her for the dinner invitation but declined the offer. We did not say much to each other that night.

I remember feeling breathless then, as if I had been punched in my guts. It seemed like I had spent days and months and years perfecting a love letter and at the end, the woman I loved had laughed at my letter – like a cherished thought rendered meaningless and exiled without hope of return or hope of utterance.