The dance

True to Mohini's style, her sari pallu slipped off her shoulder. "Oops," was all Mohini said.

While Mohini took her time to cover her humongous assets, a voice announced, “My wife has a way of getting attention, no darling?” It was Mohini’s husband and assistant sports editor, the bright, brilliant, boisterous Sanjoy Singh: half Bengali, half Sikh and a complete bastard. And even as Mohini preened, he added, “She manages it even when there are such pretty girls half her age standing with her,” Sanjoy added, giving TLC and me a thorough top-to-toe look. Mohini controlled her facial expressions well and put all her effort into pulling up her sari pallu. “So what was the topic being discussed here? I saw our TLC in fits of laughter…” Sanjoy added, at which, TLC giggled some more. “Oh we were just asking Suparna if she could dance,” chimed in Mohini, still smarting over the age comment and trying desperately to show how cool she was.

But when it comes to picking on people, I am always the wrong victim to choose. Apparently Sanjoy Singh felt the same. “I am sure Suparna can dance, her body seems the type that can move well… on the floor. And then I have seen her make the boys dance to her tunes,” he said and added, “Why don’t we see for ourselves, eh?” he probably meant to ask me to dance, but someone else preempted him… “Suparna! Suparna, here’s your drink,” announced Kutty, approaching the group, nearly spilling over the orange juice in his excitement. “Who’s dancing?” Kutty asked in the same breath and before anyone could respond – and much to everyone’s surprise – he said, “Come Suparna, let’s dance,” and perhaps he would have pulled me but both his hands were full.

“Why don’t we all finish our drinks and then you all can hit the floor?” suggested Runu, who had so far just been watching everything unfold with a straight face. “And while we are at it, let’s give the young lady a chance to decide for yourself, am sure the other boys here would like to dance with her as well,” added Runu and looked at me slyly. He had clearly called the other men ‘boys’ and had even called me a ‘young lady’. I knew the reverse psychology that older men often tried. “I will dance with everyone, the old for the moves of yesterday and the young for their energy, which am sure the old cannot match,” I said and looked pointedly at Mohini.
To be continued…

This is party dynamics

Two minutes of watching the Good Girls of the office – Diya, Liya and Celia, TLC they were called – doing their giggly-act and I really wanted to slap them.
But before I could do anything of the sort, Confused Kutty asked me if I wanted a drink. I asked for a pineapple juice and he was surprised. "You don't drink?" Kutty asked, "Or you are not drinking tonight?" I told him about my not-drinking-in public stance and he didn't push further. Meanwhile, TLC were on their second drink already. Kutty looked at me as if expecting me to accompany him to the bar, I was very clear that I was not going to be his 'date' for that evening. So I pretended to not understand his look and walked away from Kutty… right into Runu's path.
Runu and me stopped short of bumping into each other and as we stood face to face, Runu seemed as flabbergasted as me and blurted out, "Do you want a drink?" Before I could say anything, Kutty responded from behind me, "She is not drinking and I am getting her pineapple juice." Both Runu and I were surprised by this declaration, Kutty's voice had slightly risen and he looked agitated. Runu shrugged and said casually, "So while you go and get her the drink, I shall keep her company," and saying that, held my hand and led me away from Kutty.
Other heads were turning as Runu led me to one of the corner couches. As we sat, TLC – who had been fluttering their eyelashes at some of the boys from the design team – came over as well. "Runu sir," they said in chorus, between more giggles, more fluttering and a lot of heavy breathing, "Will you dance with us?" they asked, again in chorus. Runu laughed and answered that they would dance a little later. All three girls giggled some more at that and still stood there. Suddenly Tia addressed me, "Suparna, you can also come and dance with us when we dance with Runu," and giggled conspiratorially. Before I could respond, Mohini Ghosh also joined our little, but rapidly increasing group. "Can she dance though?" she asked TLC in general, smiled rather toothily at Runu and looked at me as if she would eat me up. And as she asked that, true to Mohini's style, her sari pallu slipped off her shoulder and suddenly we were all looking at two mammoth breasts in a very low cut, too tight to fit blouse. "Oops," was all Mohini said.
To be continued…

Shabab and kebab, on the house!

As both parties crossed each other on the gravel path to enter the club, I felt Runu's hand brush my butt…

I turned around to see if he had actually touched me…and realized he was looking at me, to see if I had noticed. He had touched me. And as fleetingly as his hand had rested on my behind, Runu diverted his eyes and walked away with Assima, who had been glaring at me. Something told me she too had noticed what had just happened. But I wondered why it bothered Her, she had a husband?

On reaching inside, it was the usual scene at a party with free booze. In the earlier part of the evening, you will find most people standing at the bar, towards the middle of the evening, there are people at the bar, on the bar and on the dance floor; and towards the end of the evening, there's the bar, the dance floor and down there, the people. If you ever want to see the real side of people, don't just give them alcohol, tell them it's FREE and watch them drink themselves beyond self respect or sanity. And it's worse with the Good Girls. Now Good Girls usually don't drink, smoke, flirt with men or wear push-up bras. Good Girls are also the ones who blush at the mention of the word 'sex' though I can bet my a**e, if you could peep into their (wet) dreams, you'd come back three shades of scarlet. They would be that HOT. And these Good Girls, usually get REALLY drunk on free booze and after that… It's a free show. They will rub themselves over the men while dancing 'innocently', announce "oh I am so drunk" and then drape themselves over some more guys, say the corniest things and then giggle and keep announcing sporadically that they are very drunk. I don't like getting drunk in public – it smudges your makeup. But I can definitely pretend to be drunk when the occasion demands it. Like when there is a really dishy guy and I want to feel him up.

So like any other party, everyone was at the bar and the designated Good Girls of the office – Diya, Liya and Celia, TLC they were called, they found it cute, it made me cringe – were being their giggly best and gingerly sniffing each alcoholic drink, taking gigantic sips from each and then scowling as well. Two minutes of watching them do this and I really wanted to slap them.
To be continued…

Older men are bolder men?

Confused Kutty was positively blushing as I linked my arm into his. Since he is very dark, on blushing he looked almost purple and for a minute I thought he was having a heart attack or something. He was wearing a regular bush-shirt with huge red and black checks and he had paired the shirt with hideously brown, shiny-looking trousers. Thankfully though, Kutty did not have oil in his hair for the party. However, I had noticed that Kutty had a preference for boxers; his boxer band was peeping out earlier in the evening. As I had been getting into Kutty's car, my handbag had fallen on the ground and my lipstick had rolled out of the bag and under the car. Kutty had stood there looking at me when I had asked him if he expected a lady to bend over in public and that had been enough to send him scurrying under the car…

I was wearing my tightest pair of skinny jeans that was also low waisted and had stuck to a white shirt. It would have been almost like office dressing except for the fact that the shirt was very transparent and I was wearing it with a scarlet necktie. It matched with the red bra I was wearing that was clearly visible from under the shirt. On my feet, I was wearing the sleekest pair of black stilettos… red would have looked good, but then it's so obviously tarty, ya? I was wearing Hugo Boss for women, one of my exes had bought it for me and had put up my hair in a high ponytail. As we walked in, the door to the club where we were having the party opened and Runu stepped out… with special correspondent Ashima, who was called Ass-ima because of her really huge posterior, but of course she did not know that.

As Runu and Assima came out, they both stopped, she scowling at me and Runu, well, I thought his eyes lit up but was not too sure. He wore specs. Assima seemed to be telling Runu something rather earnestly and stopped mid-sentence when she saw Kutty and me. While she was all smiles for Kutty, she did not even smile at me. What a bitch! And it was good for her that her husband was not in our office… I had enough women to teach a lesson to. As both parties crossed each other on the gravel path to enter the club, I felt Runu's hand brush my butt…
to be continued

Better safe than sorry?

"There is an office party tomorrow. Why don't you come along as well?"
Runu had asked me and now, along with the rest of the girls in office,the question was: what was one to wear? The whole day, all girls werediscussing their outfits of choice in various corners around theoffice. Then of course there were the girls who had not been invited –usually the variety who were known as 'prudes' or who had stringentdeadlines to follow. There was the gang of girls who decided to dressalike – jeans and a top in certain colour. I failed to understand whywomen insisted on wearing the same clothes as others. I thought thepoint of dressing up was to stand out from the crowd, ya?

I was very sure about what I was going to wear. My dilemma was moreabout 'who' I would go with. While Runu had asked me to join in forthe party, it was not as if it were a personal invite. He hadapparently asked eight other girls in office… the grapevine insistedthat he had picked out the best-looking women in office. I was happybeing part of one of them on Runu's list for now, very soon, thepriority list would change. As soon as office had learnt that even Ihad been invited, there were four different offers to hitch a ride tothe party.

As I debated on the one to choose, I was clear that I would not gowith Runu. Staring back into his eyes was fine, but a girl should notgive away too many hints, ya? I chose the safest option – ConfusedKutty, the senior sub editor – out of all four. I had been a bitsurprised when Kutty had offered to drive me to the party. He wasknown by all and general as the office bore and was known to frowndown upon girls who wore "revealing" clothes. And well, as far as Iwas concerned, if it wasn't revealing, it wasn't clothes! And yet, itwas Kutty who had asked me and it was Kutty I was going with. I justthought that unlike the other young boys in office, Kutty wouldn'tmind me flitting about in the party.

I entered the party on Kutty's arm, much to his surprise since he hadnot offered me his arm. But since he had sat absolutely quietly in thecar the entire way to the party, I decided to make him an 'open'person, soon.
To be continued…

Older men are so sexy ...

So I was going to screw Mohini Ghosh's husband and ensure she learnt of it.

The next three days at work proved that Mohini Ghosh was not the only bitch around. Not just that, I also realized that you did not have to be married or frustrated to be a bitch. Most women, I have decided, have the capacity to be a bitch. And since there were many bitches around in office – most of them dating someone or the other or definitely eyeing men – there were many more men to sleep with. Now if you force a girl to prove a point, what'a girl to do, ya?

But if you ask me about my priority list and if there was anyone who I wanted to screw – and not just for point proving mind you – there was one. Or two. Sexy Butt, who's name I still don't know and who had somehow managed to evade me after that one time… And now there was Runu Malik. Older, wiser, one of the department heads at work and he has the most amazing salt and pepper hair I had ever seen. To top it all, it was said that Runu had quite the glad eye for pretty girls. And I have said before, that I am pretty. In fact I think I am growing prettier by the day. Earlier there was this very small-town-girl prettiness to me, but now it's becoming sort of a chic-prettiness. Like earlier I was just smart, now I am beginning to be street smart.

I had seen Runu notice me. Not in any obvious way – he was much senior and I was much junior – but each time he passed my desk, he always checked me out. The other day he was coming down the stairs with the CEO of the company and I happened to look up from the chat I was having online… and our eyes met. Despite the fact that it looked as if Runu was having some sort of an important discussion, he stopped long enough to look at me. This time, he pretended to answer his phone. All the while he was ostensibly trying to connect to whoever he was calling, Runu kept looking at me. He never looks at the cleavage or the legs or anywhere else. Even when I wear my belly-button showing tops, Runu always looks at my eyes.

As I looked back at him and he approached my desk, Runu suddenly stopped. He looked at me and said, "There is an office party tomorrow. Why don't you come along as well?"
To be continued...

(Suparna's story appears every Tuesday in Metro Now, New Delhi, Page 33)

Married men are trouble

As a rule, I do not involve myself with men who have girlfriends or wives. Both types – with girlfriend, with wife – always have a sob story to tell. They always cry that their wife or girlfriend was making life miserable for them, but they never leave her. That bothers me, I am not used to sharing my men, even if I the man is there for just two weeks. However, all rules, are meant to be broken. Particularly if it involves putting a bitchy woman in her place. And from the look Tall Boy’s girlfriend had given me – the “So you who the hell are you” look – she was a bitch. Only bitches are hostile to people they don’t even know, ya? I had decided, Tall Boy and me were going to have an affair, if it was only just to show Miss Uptight that you should not be rude to strangers.

But as is the case with breaking rules, you break a rule once – even though you say you will never-ever do it – there are always more reasons.. And walking up to me, first thing in the morning at work, was another reason to break my I Don’t Sleep With Attached Men rule. It was Mohini Ghosh, the senior sports correspondent, one of the few women in her times to write on sports. “In her times” is a phrase Mohini Ghosh hates. It constantly reminds her of her close to menopause age and the fact that despite her well-worked-out body, the wrinkles showed and that she was married to one of the hottest men in Indian journalism, who could fly any day. The bright, brilliant, boisterous Sanjoy Singh. He was half Bengali, half Sikh and a complete bastard. The way he could look down the table – and even though you would be wearing a sack for a kurta and a have a nine metre dupatta – his eyes would tell you what his mind (and perhaps his mouth?) were doing to your body. And it does not help your case if you have an expressive face. I have a very expressive face. My teachers called me Drama Queen all my life. And Sanjoy could see on my face what my mind (and perhaps my mouth?) would do in retaliation. So far it had only been that.

Till Mohini Ghosh decided to tell me off for sending her package to the wrong floor. What package? It was a junket she was taking money for, clandestinely. So I was going to screw her husband and ensure she learnt of it.
To be continued…