I,Sharmi, Diamond Ep-16

1. 16- Myself

I laughed at Senthil when he said, “I’m in love.” A blush crept up his neck. “You mean the English kind of love, right? The kind we do every day?”

“No… I mean real love,” he insisted, surprising me. I had always believed love was merely a euphemism for lust.

“Who is she? Some extraordinary beauty?” I asked.

“You know her. Supraja. From the software company. Remember?” Her face flashed into my memory. I recalled Supraja’s insistence on having two men and her almost desperate edge. The pimp had warned us, “This one’s high-strung. Be careful.” We knew that each woman who came to us was a volatile cocktail of emotions, so we went to the upscale resort on the outskirts of Chennai without much concern. It was a place frequented by the city’s elite, each room a private haven designed for maximum discretion. From the moment we arrived, everything unfolded with an almost preordained precision.

Supraja resembled a modern-day Madhavi. The way she greeted us with a hesitant “Come in” and gestured towards the inner room betrayed her inexperience. She remained silent for a moment, then took out her phone and spoke rapidly in Hindi, glancing at us from the corner of her eye. I understood Hindi well. She seemed to be asking, “They’ve arrived. How should I start? Should I give them the money now?” After the call, she placed a bottle of foreign liquor on the table. “Help yourselves,” she offered. It was a cardinal rule of our profession never to overindulge. Intoxication could lead to complications we wouldn’t be able to handle. “Join us,” Senthil said, gesturing for her to sit. She hesitated before finally joining us. Remy Martin—smooth and potent. She sipped it cautiously, her slight grimaces revealing her unfamiliarity with hard liquor. After one drink, she downed the next with increasing speed, then abruptly burst into tears.

We exchanged a quick glance. In such situations, it was best to remain detached. Any attempt at comfort could be met with hostility. Often, their tears were a torrent of self-loathing. We waited. Her crying intensified. Suddenly, she grabbed a glass from the table and smashed it on the floor. Senthil, anticipating this, gently placed a hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she threw her arms around him, her sobs growing louder. Senthil held her close and kissed her softly on the lips. Her face was streaked with tears, but his embrace and kiss had a profound effect. Her crying subsided, and she abruptly stripped off her shorts and t-shirt, standing before us in her bra and panties. She pulled me towards her, embracing me tightly. “Come… come on, both of you… I can do this,” she said, her voice strained. “Slowly… slowly,” Senthil murmured, holding her even closer. He then effortlessly lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, emerging an hour later. I had been silently watching television.

When he came out, I went in. Supraja lay on the bed, naked. As soon as she saw me, she quickly pulled the blanket over herself. “Could you wait outside for a bit… please?” she asked. I waited. After a long time, she came out wearing a housecoat. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have called both of you,” she apologized.

“It’s up to you,” I replied. She remained silent for a moment and then looked at Senthil. “Was I… satisfactory?” It was a question we often heard as we were leaving, a subtle hook for a future appointment. “Yeah… it never felt like just another routine,” Senthil replied. English was always better than Tamil for such blunt conversations.

“My ex-husband divorced me, claiming I couldn’t satisfy him sexually,” she explained, her voice bitter. “The bastard even bought fake certificates to hide his own impotence and humiliate me. He kept repeating it so often that I began to doubt myself, wondering if I truly was incapable of pleasing a man. I just got the divorce yesterday. I’m so depressed. I needed to prove I could. He said I was like a log in bed. A log! Was I a log? You tell me!” she exclaimed. “I even spat in his face at the courthouse for saying I was sleeping with two men.” She paused, her voice softening. “In my anger, I called both of you, but I don’t think I can do this.” She apologized repeatedly and gave us a larger sum of money than usual. Senthil, for reasons I couldn't fathom, took only half and left the rest on the table. He didn’t speak at all on the way home.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him repeatedly. He didn’t answer. As we neared home, he finally spoke. “What a woman,” he murmured. I didn’t say anything. I had often been affected by the stories of our clients. We never spoke of her again. But I learned that Senthil continued to see her. Sometimes, clients would develop a preference for one of us and contact us directly, bypassing the agency. This meant more money for us since there was no commission to pay. That’s what I had assumed was happening. It was only when he mentioned Supraja’s name today that I understood the true nature of their connection.

“So… you really are in love?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “For four months now. She knows everything about me. She’s been through so much. Our connection is more emotional than sexual. I believe I can be a good husband to her. I’m not going to do this work anymore. We’re going to the US. We’re going to settle there. She asked me not to tell anyone, but I couldn’t keep it from you. I didn’t think it was right. That’s why I’m telling you. You should try to settle down too.” His last words struck me as slightly comical. Was “settling down” going to mean cleaning her toilet in America? The thought was cynical, but who was I to judge? I was growing increasingly weary of this life myself.

For many nights, I was plagued by nightmares—of snakes, of rats, of my own head, trapped in some dark hole, suffocating, then finally emerging, gasping for air. This life was becoming unbearable. I wished him all the best as he left, feeling a pang of sadness. Senthil received a call. “I’m almost there, dear,” he said, making me smile.

Later, he asked for my help in getting a US visa, using a client of mine who worked there. I helped him. He called to thank me before leaving the country. I wished him well in my heart and tried to forget about it.

I never believed I would find love. However, a sudden incident made me realize I couldn’t continue in this profession.