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Shame

Her name is Madhavi. It's a common enough name and I don't suppose there's any harm using it, since I'm not about to divulge anything more specific about her. She was 32 or so at the time, divorced and living alone in a one-bedroom apartment in one of Bombay's northern suburbs. Her marriage ended, she later told me, the very first night. She wouldn't talk about it, but I got the sense the guy was not just totally twisted, but incapable, too. Perhaps one had something to do with the other, I didn't know and it didn't matter; I didn't ask further. They separated in two days and divorced as soon as the law allowed. She left the city for a few months till the mess sorted itself out and then returned, joined an accountancy firm, got herself a small apartment in the suburbs with the money from the divorce settlement. A little later she got a computer, discovered the Internet and, soon enough, its darker side.

That's how we met. I found her personal ad on one of the groups or clubs, I forget which. It said she was a single lady interested in a one-on-one relationship with a man, starting with an exploration of mutual likes and dislikes over the Net. I don't know what drew me to that post. Perhaps it was just her name, which I like very much. Anyway, I wrote to her and we started an email correspondence, hesitantly at first on both sides, and then with increasing candour. Her ad had generated a flood of mail and she was fighting off some really aggressive men.

I took a different line, perhaps that's why it worked out for us. I didn't ask her for her real name, address, telephone number, didn't doubt her sincerity, didn't ask to meet, and always asked if I could unburden myself before doing so. I told her about myself without hesitation.

I'm 37, unmarried, Bombay-based with my own consulting firm. We're small but well-regarded and business has been good for some time now so I'm financially quite secure. I live alone in a spacious apartment I inherited from my parents, in an upmarket neighbourhood in south Bombay, at least a couple of hours' drive from her place. I'm quite conservative in my lifestyle, nothing flashy, no wild times with women. There are a couple of ladies I see regularly but these are casual, no-strings affairs. I enjoy my solitude.

I told her all this. It seemed to draw her out. We got into the chat rooms and on the instant messengers a couple of hours a week. She told me about her teenage in a small town outside Bombay, her family-- that she has a younger brother in college, that her father runs a small business--and hinted, briefly, at her ended marriage. I told her I was sorry she'd been through such a bad time and left it at that. A few days later she asked if she could talk more freely. I asked if she wanted to do this by email or on an instant messenger. She surprised me by saying she couldn't do it except in person, not even over the telephone.

I surprised myself by baulking. That seemed to frighten her and I hastened to assure her that I was just surprised, that this was unexpected. I felt her starting to retreat hastily and I knew I didn't want to lose the chance. I hurried to make amends and agreed to meet with her. I could sense her nervousness and suggested we meet in a public place at first, perhaps for lunch or dinner. She suggested dinner the following week at a place sort of midway between our houses, and then gave me her phone number, and asked for mine.

For a couple of days after that there was a silence, no email, chat, phones. Finally, I put aside my trepidation and called the number she'd given me.

She had a lovely voice, low and soft with a hint of full-throated laughter in it, and a gentle, calm quality. The conversation was awkward and stilted till I took the plunge. I told her how much I was looking forward to the meeting and I heard her suck in her breath, then heard the smile in her voice when she said she was excited, too.

We spoke daily after that, our excitement mounting. The day we were to meet, I left work early, got home, showered, shaved again, dressed carefully. I keep myself in pretty good shape, work out at the gym three times a week, run six kilometres every other day, regularly swim and play squash at the club. My body's fit and hard and I like to keep it that way. I hate putting on weight.

I set out through the mind-numbing traffic. It took me a good two hours to get there. I'd called ahead to make a reservation and, luckily, got there before her. I gave the steward my name and he led me to a decent table by a window in a sort of alcove. I was glad for that little privacy.

Madhavi came in five minutes later and was led to the table. I rose to greet her and I remember that my heart skipped a pulsate and I felt a stab of nervousness again.

She was--is--very pretty. She wasn't very tall, about five foot five, with a smooth, dusky complexion. Her hair was dark, silky, drawn back in a ponytail that hung to the middle of her back and held by a simple cotton band. Her face was sweetly rounded, with a firm chin and a lovely soft- lipped mouth. There were a few small dark beauty spots on one cheek and at her throat, something I found instantly enticing. Her eyes were large and dark, lined with eye-black and alive and dancing.

She smiled and it was a lovely, genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. I noticed that one of her side teeth was slightly crooked, another thing I found attractive. Her body looked trim, nicely curved without being voluptuous. She seemed to have nice, full, high breasts and a decent figure.

She wore a simple churidar and kurta in off-white, the kurta with a high mandarin collar. I saw a glint of a gold necklace under it. Her fingers were soft and slim in mine and I noticed she wore a gold bangle on one wrist, a gold and diamond ring that matched her earrings. Her left nostril was pierced with a small gold stud.

Our table had one of those banquettes, a semi-circular sofa instead of chairs and we sat by each other. We ordered our drinks, a beer for me, a fruity non-alcoholic cocktail for her. When the steward came around for our orders, she told me she was a vegetarian and left the ordering to me. I kept it a simple vegetarian meal and she nodded approval.

The conversation was innocuous and totally forgettable, idle chitchat, both of us skirting around the real purpose of our meeting. Slowly, we relaxed, getting more comfortable with each other. When I asked her if she was nervous she grinned and said yes, wasn't I? I had to laugh and I found myself drowning in those warm eyes.

We had a second round of drinks, then the food came. We ate slowly, taking our time. The coffee came and with it a little silence.

"I really need to talk to you." Her voice was very soft.

"Sure," I said. "Anytime."

"Not here. It's too public. Somewhere private."

I looked at her and asked her if she was sure. She looked down at her cup, nodded slowly.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure. I don't know why, but I feel I can trust you."

"Thank you," I said quietly and wondered why my pulse was skittering like an infatuated college boy's.

The steward came and asked if there would be anything else. I looked at Madhavi and she shook her head. I asked for the bill and paid it. She thanked me politely as I did so, I said she was welcome and we stepped out. The night was cool and pleasant, Bombay's so-called winter already in the air. I knew she didn't have a car and, without asking, led her to where I'd parked.

Her house was not ten minutes away, in a huge, terrifically ugly complex of tall concrete matchboxes, about ten of them clustered around a large open space with a lawn, kiddie's playground and parking space. Her tower was set back from the road. I pulled into the visitor's lot. She didn't open her door immediately.

"Would you like a coffee? Can you come in?" She wasn't looking at me.

I said I'd be happy to and we got out and rode up to her eleventh floor apartment. There were many apartments to each floor and we walked down a long corridor to her door. She let us in.

Her apartment surprised me. It was just one bedroom with an attached bath, a small kitchen, an open space that served as a foyer, living room and dining room all in one. But it was superbly done, with an impeccable eye for space and light and colour. She'd kept the furniture low and the colours light so it looked a lot larger than it really was. There was a small glass-topped dining table with four chairs, a pair of light cane armchairs with plump cushions and a wide low divan in the living area.

Opposite the front door, the living room opened out through folding doors into a long balcony that gave an unparalleled view across the surviving mangroves to the sea beyond. The lighting was subdued and subtle with great warmth. Her upholstery was in subtle pastels with splashes of colour from cushions and a throw rug. The bedroom held a large, low bed, two closets and a compact dressing table.

"Milk and sugar?" she asked.

"Black, if it's not a problem."

"No problem," Madhavi said, going into the kitchen. "I'm afraid it's instant."

"That's fine."

I heard her in the kitchen as I wandered out to the balcony, trying to get the night to cool the flush in my body. There was a small wrought iron table and chair on the deck.

"This is a lovely place," I said.

"Yes, I got lucky," she answered from the kitchen. "My father got it for me."

"Yes, you mentioned that."

"See, the builder owed him some money, so he just adjusted the loan against the place and gave us first choice. I saw many of the places and liked this the best. It's small, but it does for me."

"It's perfect, and you've done it very well."

"Thanks. She came out with a small wooden tray and two mugs of coffee, handed me mine. "Okay?"

"Fine," I said, sipping it.

She smiled and again I felt bewitched by those eyes, by that smile.

"It's probably the size of your bathroom," she giggled.
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