After The Kiss

 

If she had opened her mouth or even allowed a lizard-like flick of her tongue, I would have moved back protesting, ‘Brrrr… Byuk! Byuk! Byuk!’

Memories are supposed to gain a golden hue with time but, even though that first kiss is still a cherished trophy time has done little to erase those details. It didn’t matter then. I was focused on my goals. Like most guys of my generation (most won’t admit it), I wanted to smoke and kiss before thirteen, and have sex before sixteen. Later into my teens, I added a secondary list of priorities - money, booze, movies, music, books, studies and work (in that order). Even marriage, kids and whatever were included in a tertiary list when I felt altruistic and equally farsighted about cooking and washing on my own.

I did smoke at ten. I salvaged a half discarded by a family friend’s fifteen year old son. The kiss was delayed by a year. Jojo was sitting next to me. We were going through an album of photos. She was wearing a summer dress. I turned towards her, that is, to my left. I raised my left hand to her straight silky hair, caressed and tucked that lock shielding her face behind her right ear. She turned her head towards me. She looked uncertain and even a little alarmed. I stared at her face, her eyes and her lips. I leaned towards her. My right hand held her face. I pressed my lips against hers. It was a dry thin-lipped lingering touch. She kept her eyes closed. I closed mine too, for a few moments before its abrupt end. It wasn’t much of a kiss. But that’s how Jojo’s mother found us, and of course, I could not explain that to her.

Jojo’s mother cleared her throat. We stood up, looking suitably ashamed and scared. We were still holding hands. I broke off and walked out of their house with my head hanging low. I should have said sorry. But I was mortified about the bollocking I would receive from my parents when the news got to them. Jojo’s mother did not tell my parents. Or if she did, they decided to let it pass without making a fuss. In return for that silent punishment, Jojo and I tried to present a very correct behavior from then on. We met only in the open, never in our rooms, and never touching. I stopped pulling her hair and slapping her back. She stopped holding my hand.

She (unlike me) has a lovely name, Josephine. But I have always called her and thought of her as Jojo. When I was four, my father was transferred to that small town (village). They lived in the flat above ours. I never got to know her father well. He was away most of the time. A year before the kiss, from what I overheard from my parents’ conversation, I gleaned that he was a philandering rascal. My parents were talking about how or why Jojo’s mother puts up with that, silently, without complaint. I did not understand all of that, then. I remember praying that he would fall ill and then change his ways appreciating his wife’s care and attention. I think I borrowed that from some movie. Well, Jojo’s father did fall ill. His wife took good care of him. But as soon as he was fit and well, he went off again. I was quite fond of Jojo’s mother. She was a nurse and she seemed to be the only adult who understood my fear of injections. When I was six or so, I had to take these really painful injections every fortnight, for God knows what, and I used to allow only Jojo’s mother anywhere near my bottoms with that big fat needle. Well, all I am trying to say is that I was kind of sorry when Jojo’s mother found us kissing. I too must have looked like a low-life rake.

Maybe, that’s why I distanced myself from Jojo. Or maybe, I could not understand why she refused to distance herself. Instead, she confided to me stuff she should have kept to herself. And that information definitely made me move away from her even further.

A few months after the kiss, I asked her about her father. It must have been hurtful and I can’t believe that that was my intention. She was silent for a long while. I asked her, ‘how can your mother put up with your father sleeping around?’ She replied, ‘what can she do?’ I prodded more deeply, ‘and you?’ She remained silent. I was silly and brutal. I repeated, ‘how can you put up with it?’ She looked at me and said – ‘he is not my father.’

I did not say anything to her. I did not have much to say to her. I really understood the situation only then.

Anyway, after school, I left that place to go to college in the city. Jojo came to the bus stand the day I left. My family was crowding around me and she stood behind them. I said bye to her, I think. Another time, she came with sweets or savory. I gave that to my new friends in college.

Life was like a race, a constant heady high – on one hand, studies, drama and volleyball; booze, friends and girls on the other. It was easy to build a reputation of being wild. Campus rumors bloated that and my over-sized ego. Well, I survived the hazy trip and even got a decent job through campus placement. I sobered a little and progressed well. After ten years of near-zero communication, I looked for Jojo.

My folks had shifted by then. My father got transferred to another small town when I was in college. But they still kept in touch with Jojo’s mother. I learned from them that Jojo was a teacher in our old school, her mother a head nurse and that her father had finally flown the coop for good.

I went there and took a room in the dilapidated hotel near the market. It seemed to survive only because there was nothing to take its place. It used to have a bad reputation in my younger days. The clientele, and the sounds percolating through the thin walls, confirmed that it liked to be a B-grade gangster with a rep to protect.

I contacted Jojo at school. It would have been easier to reach her at home but I was not ready for her mother. I asked Jojo if she would come to my hotel room after school. She agreed. I had expected her to refuse or put up some resistance.

She came to my room that afternoon. I had been taking a nap, in shorts and under-vest. I opened the door without putting on a shirt. I said, ‘come in’. We should have felt like strangers. We made small chat. She sat on the bed. I sat next to her. I told her that she looked like a teacher, in formal blouse and pants. She told me that I looked like before, in shorts and under-vest. I wanted to pull her hair or slap her back. I kissed her. This time, it was a long proper adult kiss. We stood up. I helped her out of the blouse and pants. She did not seem shy to stand in front of me in just her underclothes. I removed that too. She pulled at my under-vest and I took that off. We stood without touching for a while. She sat on the bed. I looked at her. She did not seem worried. Not even tense.

I felt rage then. I wanted to be cruel. Was she on the pill, ready for such occasions, I wondered. I thought of asking her, how many times have you sat like this? Or even more cruel, don’t you even want to know if I have had whores like this? And even crueler, was your mother like this?

I think she sensed my anger. She looked at me the way she did long back, uncertain and alarmed. I found that more normal. But I could not control myself. I reached down and held her upper arms. I could feel my fingers digging into her soft flesh. I asked her, ‘what if I walked away… after…?’ She did not struggle. I must have been hurting her. I wanted to hurt her. She remained silent. I shouted at her, not giving a damn whether the whole hotel heard me, ‘will you just accept it… like your mother?’ Thankfully, she defended her mother… she said, ‘her time was not like ours’. I was still boiling within, and I said, ‘but… you will accept it meekly, right?’ My grip tightened, she winced. I continued, ‘if I walk away, you will just accept it… and if I come back, you will still accept me… won’t you?’ I sounded incoherent even to myself. I shouted, ‘well, say something…’ She mumbled, ‘you can go… but you can’t return…’ I let go of her arms. She rubbed her upper arms. I could see the marks, contrasted against her unblemished naked body. I was not through with her. I moved away from her, and asked harshly, ‘well… is that how it will be… your saintly silent acceptance?’ She looked at me, and asked, ‘what will you do if I walked away… after…?’ I laughed like a crazy guy and burst out, ‘what will I do…? I will at least shout… I am sure I will give you a kick…’ She asked again, ‘what will you do?’

I told her, ‘put on your clothes’. I dressed too. We left the hotel together. I held her arm tightly, as if she was a hostage. She did not resist. We took a taxi to her house. Her mother was glad to see me. She rushed inside to get tea and eatables. I joked, ‘aunty, no injection… please’ I could hear her laugh in the kitchen. I pulled Jojo’s hair. I asked her, ‘your arms ok?’ She said, ‘well…it was better than the kiss… Brrr… Byuk! Byuk! Byuk!’ I slapped her back. I said, ‘are you ok with my wild reputation?’ She replied, ‘oh yes… I believe all the bad stuff’. I pulled her hair again. She held my hand. Her mother found us like that. She did not clear her throat.