Pithasthana Venkataraman glanced across the receptionist’s desk at the lone woman in the waiting room, wondering what her problem was. This was a Friday, the end of her second week on the job at Lilavati Hospital, and the overwhelming question she had, every day, with everyone who came in the office, was ‘What’s your problem?’
Pithasthana had just turned 21. She was a pretty girl, of mixed Tamil-Mallu background, who lived with her boyfriend in an apartment just outside of Malad. She had graduated from the local BA college a year ago, the modern version of secretarial school, and had ended up with a temp service as a secretary. This job looked to be her longest gig yet, and even had the possibility of turning into a full time job, but she generally wondered about the people coming in -‘What’s your problem?’
Dr. Vijendra Chaudhuri was a psychologist specializing in couples therapy and family counselling. It was a small office, with just himself and a secretary/receptionist. His regular receptionist had left on a maternity leave three weeks ago and was now due any day. The first secretary the temp agency had sent over had proved a rude and stupid disaster and had been sent packing at the end of the first week. Pithasthana was determined to do much better. If the regular secretary decided that motherhood was a better deal than working, which was a real possibility since her husband had a decent job, then Dr. Chaudhuri had told her he would probably keep her on. Her contract with the temp agency allowed her to go to work for him after twelve weeks, and the money he paid to the temp agency would go to her instead. It was a twelve-week contract; she had worked two and next week the office was closed because the doctor was going on vacation. Then it would be another ten weeks and she might be able to work full time directly for him. Read more »
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At 10:15 Namrata Wadia, a bookkeeper for Singhania & Associates, got up from her desk and took off her skirt. After considering things, she took off her nylons and panties too. That felt better. Smoothing down her sweater, she sat back at her desk and went back to the spreadsheet she’d been working on.
“What are you doing?” Chandrima, her co-worker hissed, looking at her in shock. “You’re naked!”
Namrata looked at her, a confused look on her face. “What do you mean ‘what am I doing?’ I’m getting comfortable. You should try it.”
“But you… your skirt…” Chandrima’s voice trailed off as the tall, lithesome hottie ignored her.
A few minutes later, though, Chandrima took off her slacks and panties. She wasn’t sure why, it just felt… right. Read more »
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“Today’s “Sexy Times” Lunch topic is one I know many people will find helpful.” Ms. Sharma gestured to a woman standing to one side of the room. “Last week’s topic was a primer on cunnilingus. We continue that theme this week with Breasts 101. And presenting this topic is Suchandana from HR.”
Suchandana was an enthusiastic North Eastern girl who was the HR Manager. She smiled out at the crowd, and Naireeta Sharma, sitting in the second row, straightened up. Suchandana usually had good advice, especially when it came to sex.
“I’m sure all you guys have noticed that we women have breasts. The trouble is, when you get us into the sack you sort of play with them, or manhandle them briefly, but that’s it. Today’s workshop is ‘Breasts 101′, to teach you guys what to do. Read more »
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Pumeet was a very unhappy young man. He had been suffering from untreated clinical depression for more than a year before his parents finally forced him to see a renowned psychiatrist. She gave the unconventional suggestion that it might help if he took on a “teaching role” for young people. And Pumeet was on his way to the Mumbai University Dean’s office where he was going to have to spend those six months in “therapy”.
The clerk was a dried up older woman. She wasn’t impressed with Pumeet and made no attempt to convince him otherwise.
“Mumbai University – Dept. of Modern History” she pronounced, smiling at him in a way that didn’t seem friendly at all. “They have a new junior professor and she needs an assistant.” She shoved a piece of paper toward him. “Give that to the Dean. Maybe working with teenren will teach you something. They’ll train you, and I wouldn’t advise missing any of that training.” She turned around. She’d already forgotten him by the time he closed the door. Read more »
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Hi, I am Latika. I am 31 years of age. Most men consider me very attractive. I have a lovely face with a great and easy smile, shoulder length black hair and brown eyes. I am still 34B – 26 – 35, carrying 61 kgs on a five four frame. But, women… all women… are afraid of losing their looks, particularly single women like me who are fighting a war with a lot of younger competitors for the available men out there. So, I spend a lot on clothes and makeup. Really, I should spend more time in the gym, but, who has time. As a lawyer struggling to make partner in a major firm, I barely have time to date.
The last guy I really dated was Amil Srivastava, a lawyer who left my firm to go into litigation. Amil and I were a hot, hot item a year ago. I did things with him I thought I would never do with a man. Worse than that, I let him take some photos of me. Well, I did not let him take the first ones. They were of me bound. After those, which he took without my permission, I let him take the ones of us together, using a delay timer on his DSLR.
I got them all back when we spilt up. I thought. Read more »
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It’s all here. All the evidence I need, right here in Meena Banik’s own computer. My God. All the allegations are true. Every last one.
Misconduct. Unreported resistance. Forged waivers. Fabricated permissions. Everyone a gross violation of the Mind Control Regulatory Act of 2014.
Quickly I pop the pen drive into the port and let it extract the data. I lean back outside the soft glow of the screen, the only light save for the twinkling of the lights of Mumbai outside the huge windows behind me.
My initial sense of indignation gives way to euphoria. I have it.My exclusive. I, Bhagirathi Parmer, will win the Pulitzer for this! An expose that will topple the multi-crore empire that is Banik Anbami Enterprises! Read more »
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The business trip to Pune brought them together.
They brought overnight bags with them. Their meeting would last into the second day. As he drove across a bridge they watched a flock of pigeons standing on the small dry riverbank, watching the small water stream flowing by.
He said, “Pigeons.”
“Mmmm, Will you be seeing her?”
“Gauri. Will you be stopping by to see her while we’re here?” Read more »
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After breakfast, when they were back in the car, the talk slowed and Sushmita moved her seat to a reclined position. Her eyes fell shut.
“A nap?” Harish asked.
“Naw, just relaxing, you know?”
He put the car in gear, they had some seventy kms to go before their destination and he heard her breathing grow steady as he turned onto the highway. Sushmita dozed but didn’t sleep, opening her eyes and sitting forward at turns and stops. After a while she found the steady soft vibration of the car arousing her. She opened her eyes just a crack. Harish had put on sunglasses and was driving with a steady, relaxed watchfulness. Now and then turning his head to look at passing attractions that she couldn’t see from her low position. Read more »
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The mobile rang and I picked it up. “Hello Manoj saab. This is Sabita,” I heard come across the line.
“Oh, hi Sabita didi. How are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine, but I just got a new house to clean. Would it be OK if I switched to Friday mornings instead?” she asked.
Sabita didi was my house cleaner. She came in once a week for 4 or 5 hours and straightened the place up. I used to be in charge of cleaning the house, or rather, I took on the job when I was disgusted with my wife and kids making huge messes and making no effort to clean up. I eventually got fed up, so I got recommendations from the neighbourhood wives and I hired Sabita didi. Read more »
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Bandana’s Master has given her a task. She wasn’t going to do it. She got dressed, a black V-neck tee shirt and black pants. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, taking that all important first sip of the day.
“I really can’t do it, ” she thought. “It would be too embarrassing.”
She put down her cup and headed back to the bedroom. She looked through her closets selecting five skirts which she lined up on the bed from shortest to longest.
The first was a miniskirt, black and tiny, appropriate for a night out on the town with a really pretty pair of panties underneath, panties intended to be seen. The second was a plaid pleated skirt, more of a schoolgirl costume than a work skirt. It reached about a third of the way down her thighs. The third was another dressy skirt, black again, coming down slightly longer than the schoolgirl skirt. The fourth was a burgundy skirt, a little short for work, but she could probably get away with it. The fifth was black again, and reached a couple of inches above her knees. Read more »
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I am a businessman and I was running late. I had an interview the next day and I wanted to look presentable, so I ducked into my regular salon in Malad. The woman that usually cut my hair was not available, but Anushka was there, and she agreed to stay late and give me the trim that I needed.
I had noticed Anushka the last few times that I was in because she had long, curly black hair and blue-green eyes, and I had a particular weakness for Aishwarya Rai-like eyes. I never saw her in anything other than a skirt and blouse, and the skirt was never more than halfway down her thighs while the shirt always exposed some nice cleavage.
I took off my tie and leaned back in the seat to get my hair washed. For me, at least up until that night, the hair washing was my favourite part of the haircut. It was so sensual, the feel of a pretty woman’s fingers working through my hair. One time I had to wait twenty minutes for my stylist to free up, and I paid one of the girls to wash my hair the entire time. Read more »
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Vicky was concerned and very self-conscious. He had entered what he felt was the beginning of becoming a man. His body was developing, his voice was cracking and, down below, he was growing an erection whether he wanted to or not. He was also a little confused. His emotions were in turmoil. One minute he was happy and cheerful and the next he was suddenly angry and sullen. The problem was he had no idea why the wild emotional swings. Frankly, he was confused. Thoroughly and completely confused. Therefore, he did what he had always done when he didn’t understand something. He went to see his dad.
“Dad, got a question.”
“Sure. What can I do for you? His father asked.
“Well…” Suddenly, Vicky was worried and uncertain. He began to stutter. Read more »
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Burned out. That’s what I was on the occasion of my boss’s Diwali party last year. I was 26 years old, just three years out of IIM Bangalore, a junior accountant at one of the most prestigious firms in the greater Mumbai area, and I was just as burned out as a man could be and still drag himself into work each day.
I had been at this company since my graduation and I had been working a minimum of eighty hours every week since. My wife – who had been my high school girlfriend and had put me through college by working as a nurse – had put up with my extended absences for 16 months before packing her bags and boogying on down the road to greener pastures. Our divorce had been finalized just weeks before the party. I think the lack of any social life in the wake of our separation contributed to what happened that night.
Varun Mathur was one of the senior partners of the firm and was the direct boss of my division. He was a chubby, balding man in his fifties and a stern, unforgiving taskmaster to his underlings. He was also a very rich man, as were all of the partners, and he owned a winery in one of the lush valleys of nearby Nashik Valley. It seemed that in order to reward the efforts of the sixty-one accountants that had spent the past year slaving under his command, he decided to throw us a Diwali party at his spread, complete with barbeque, drinks, dancing, and fireworks. Attendance at the event, as was the case with any company function, was pretty much mandatory. Read more »
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I’m sure I’ve been MORE nervous in my life, I just couldn’t recall WHEN at the moment the countdown reached eight. I heard the ratcheting clank of the hoses separating from the external fuel tank of the shuttle, hoses which had just finished pumping in liquid oxygen to supply the oxidizer for the main engine burn. The main engines themselves were ignited a moment later, shuddering our compartment. The main engines would not actually be fired until launch of course but the shudder was the final sign of imminent blast-off. Only one previous shuttle had been aborted after this point. We were REALLY going up this time.
Two previous delays had scrubbed the launch of Soyeuz V. One, due to weather, had kept us from even entering the crew compartment. We’d never even donned our bulky spacesuits. The second had occurred fifty-three minutes before launch when a two-dollar fuse (for which the government had probably paid more than a thousand bucks) that regulated power to the crew escape hatch burned out, scrubbing us. This launch signified our last chance to hit our window this month. It looked like it we were finally going to leave the pad this time.
I braced myself in my chair as the countdown reached zero. I braced myself even though I was as strapped in as a man could possibly be. My shoulder and waist restraints were cinched tight enough to break a clavicle or a pelvis had I not been adorned with the eighty-pound space suit. A space suit which, I might add, the ill-fated crew of a previous mission had found pretty much useless. I had no illusions. If something went wrong, it was my ass. I only hoped it would be quick; so quick I wouldn’t even notice it. Read more »
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