A man starts giving maths tuitions to keep his family afl oat. But with the students come their mothers. Voluptuous. Willing. Moneyed. I watched with delight as a line of confusion marked her brow. I had brought her to orgasm and I had left her dazed. Th e delight expanded to include superiority, and I slipped out of the house. Th e next day was a maths session with her son. He handed me an envelope. Inside it were ten one-hundred-rupee notes. I had been paid. I had been paid for sex. I had been paid well for sex. I had never used a prostitute-sex worker, I should say-but I remember crossing the Oval Maidan late one night and being accosted by one. She was well past her prime and had painted her face as if she were a clown: red daubs on her cheeks, blue eyeshadow and black streaks near her eyes. I was now her brother under the skin. I should have felt bad about this, but I didn't. I felt. . .magnifi cent.
Vikram Mathur
Rupa Publications