Amma Lakshmi 3

Amma Lakshmi - 3

The rainy season had settled in. The rooftop garden was bursting with green, the smell of wet earth filled the air, and inside that cozy second-floor flat, life continued in its strange but soothing rhythm: one of soft meals, shared silences, and a small man of forty years who had grown used to being lifted and rocked by a woman fifteen years older and nearly twice his size.

But something was about to change.

It was a quiet afternoon when Lakshmi opened the front door and found herself face-to-face with a large, neatly dressed man holding a box of sweets.

“Namaste, Lakshmi ji! Pehchana mujhe? Shivnath — hamare village ka!”

“Lakshmi madam, Remember me ? Shivnath from our village !”

She blinked in surprise. Shivnath was around 60, retired railway man, tall and sturdy — and apparently still had that gleam in his eyes.

Sumit peeked from behind the curtain. He was instantly alert.

The man spoke with booming cheer, “Maine suna aap yahan kaam karti hain... aur akeli hain. Socha mil loon. Aur sach kahun toh — soch raha tha shaadi ka rishta le aaoon!”

“I heard that you are working here..and still alone. Thought of meeting you. And to tell you the truth, I was thinking that let me bring you the marriage proposal!”

Sumit’s eyes widened.

“Shaadi? Amma?” he whispered to himself.

That evening, Lakshmi sat on the edge of the bed, folding laundry. Sumit stood near the window, silent for once.

Finally, she asked, “Aap itne chup kyun hain?”

“Why are you so quiet?”

He hesitated, then blurted, “Are you... going to say yes?”

Lakshmi blinked, then chuckled. “Usne sirf poocha hai. Maine toh haan nahi bola.”

“He has just asked only. I haven't yet said yes.”

“But... you might?” Sumit asked, his voice low. “I mean... why wouldn’t you? He’s strong. Tall. Retired. Your age.”

Lakshmi looked up at him. “Aur aap?”

 “And you ?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he quietly walked toward her and sat on the bed beside her, looking down.

“You carry me, feed me, tease me, take care of me, tuck me in... Amma, if you leave, what will I do?”

She said nothing for a while. Then, as always, she reached out towards him — hands warm and wide — and scooped him up into her lap, pulling his entire 5’3” frame into a tight cradle. His head rested under her chin, his arms curled into her chest.

Lakshmi adjusted herself against the bed head and began rocking him gently. One strong arm cupped under his knees, the other wrapped fully around his back. Sumit, fully curled into her arms, could feel her heartbeat through her sari blouse. Her thick forearms supported him without strain, her large thighs like a soft bench beneath his hips.

“I’m forty,” he whispered. “And still I want this. You. Your arms.”

“Main toh hamesha se thi, chhote saab,” she said softly. “Aapko samajhne mein waqt laga.”

“I was all along here, my little boss. You took time to realize.”

Sumit turned his face up, his cheeks flushed. “Amma… you’ve lifted me a hundred times. But today it feels different.”

She smiled, brushing his forehead. “Kyoon?”

“Because I finally know what I want... and it’s not just to be held. I want to keep being yours. Forever.”

Lakshmi looked at him — really looked — her big eyes softening. She didn’t speak. Instead, she shifted him slightly, bringing him higher on her chest. His small form snuggled against her large bosom, and she rested her chin on his head.

“Mere bacche,” she whispered. “Aap toh kabke mere ho chuke the.” 

“You were mine for a long time, my baby.”

The next day, Shivnath came again. This time, with serious intent.

“I brought the papers,” he said eagerly. “We can go to the temple tonight. Your job here—”

Lakshmi raised a hand. “Nahi Shivnath ji. Mera kaam yahan khatam nahi hua.”

“No Shivnathji, my work over here is not finished yet.”

She stepped aside.

Sumit was standing behind her in a kurta. Timid, but upright. Before anyone could react, Lakshmi turned, and in full view of the visitor, she bent low, wrapped both arms under Sumit’s knees and back, and lifted him in a deep, slow cradle.

Sumit clung to her collar. He didn’t need to say a word.

Shivnath watched in stunned silence.

“Mujhe meri zindagi ka bojh nahi, tohfa chahiye,” Lakshmi said. “Aur yeh ladka — meri godh ka tohfa hai.”

“My life needs a gift. And this boy in my lap is my gift of life.”

Sumit blinked up at her, overwhelmed. She smiled down at him.

“Chaliye chhote saab. Time ho gaya aapki chai ka.” “Come, let's go, my little boss. Time for your tea.”

And she carried him inside — slowly, gently, and completely at peace — as the door closed behind them.

The days after Shivnath’s proposal passed like soft thunderclouds — heavy, silent, and stirring something deep inside Sumit.

Though Lakshmi had refused the offer and continued her life as usual, something in her was quieter, more thoughtful. And something inside Sumit had become clearer than ever.

It was dusk. A light drizzle tapped against the windows. The electricity had gone out, and the flat was lit only by the golden flicker of a single oil lamp. The faint scent of turmeric and warm roti lingered in the air.

Sumit sat alone on the sofa, holding a lukewarm cup of tea, untouched.

He kept glancing toward the kitchen, where Lakshmi moved slowly — her broad frame wrapped in a slightly damp cotton saree, her silver-streaked hair tied up high, her bangles clinking gently as she stirred something in a steel vessel.

She looked strong. She was strong.

And he — a grown man, small-bodied and softer, dependent on her strength not just for physical care, but for something deeper — knew he was ready to admit what he’d kept buried.

“I love her,” he whispered to himself. “Not like a son. Not like a child. I love her.”

Later that night, as the storm rolled in and the wind howled softly through the windows, Lakshmi came out with a blanket in one hand.

“Aandhi lag rahi hai. Aap so jaaiye, darwaza band kar diya maine.”

“Seems like a storm is brewing, I have closed the door. Go to sleep.”

Sumit didn’t respond. He stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched by his side.

“Amma…”

She turned. “Haan chhote saab?”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not a child. Not right now.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Sumit stepped forward. “I need to tell you something.”

He looked up at her — barely reaching her shoulders — her big tall figure silhouetted against the dim hallway light. She was wearing a faded green blouse, tight across her arms, and her thick waistline stretched the saree pleats across her wide hips.

“You’ve carried me like a baby,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “And every time, I told myself it was just convenient... care... nothing more. But it’s not. I love it, Amma. I love being in your arms. I love feeling small — helpless — and knowing I’m safe only when you hold me close to your chest, like I belong there.”

Her lips parted slightly.

“I try to imagine a life where I grow out of this, where I live like a regular man—” he smiled bitterly “—but I can’t. I can’t live without being in your cradle, on your lap, in your arms. And I don’t want to.”

Lakshmi’s expression was unreadable.

She stepped closer.

Then, with slow grace, she bent slightly and placed her hands firmly under his knees and back. Sumit didn’t resist. He yielded instantly, curling into her as she lifted him smoothly into her classic cradle hold.

Her arms enfolded him naturally — her wide chest becoming his pillow, her thick sari blouse warm against his cheek. She swayed, slowly, gently, as if she were rocking her own thoughts.

Sumit wrapped his arms lightly around her neck. Her breasts cushioned his upper body as she adjusted him upward, settling him higher. His legs lay relaxed, hanging slightly beyond her forearm.

His heart was pounding. He could feel hers too — slow, steady, grounding him.

“I want to marry you, Lakshmi,” he said, eyes shut. “Not because I need to be taken care of... but because I can’t imagine feeling safe anywhere else but here. In your godh. On your chest. With your arms around me.”

There was silence. Only the storm outside spoke.

Lakshmi didn’t reply for a long time. She kept rocking.

Finally, she whispered, her lips grazing his temple.

“Main pachpan ki hoon, Sumit, aur tum chalis. I am 55 years old and you are 40.”

“I know.”

“Mere baal safed hain, jism bhaari hai, haath kathor hain.” “My hair has gone white, my body is heavy, my hands are hard.”

“And I love every inch of you.”

She blinked rapidly. Her arms tightened a little. “Tum sach mein mujhse shaadi karna chahte ho?” “Do you really want to marry me?”

He looked up. “Not just want. I need it. Because if I ever have to wake up and not be in your arms, Amma… I’ll feel like I’m floating without ground. Your arms... they’re my place in the world.”

Lakshmi looked down at the small man in her arms — delicate, trusting, full of emotion. He wasn’t clinging like a baby now. He was choosing to rest in her hold.

She felt a warmth rise in her throat.

“Toh theek hai,” she whispered, brushing his cheek. “Main aapko chhodne wali thi hi kab?”

“It's fine then. I wasn’t going to leave you anyway.”

She leaned down and kissed his forehead — firm and lingering.

“Kal mandir chalte hain. Main aapka jism toh pehle se uthaa rahi hoon. Ab zindagi bhar utha loongi.”

“Let's go to the temple tomorrow. I was physically carrying you all these days. Now I'll carry you all my life.”

Sumit smiled, burying his face back into her chest.

“Yes, Lakshmi... please carry me through… all my life.”

And she did. In her strong, cradling arms — a man no longer ashamed to feel like a boy in the arms of the woman he loved.

That night, the rain had slowed to a soft drizzle, tapping gently on the windows like hesitant thoughts. After dinner, the flat was quiet. A single dim bulb cast a golden hue over the small bedroom, where Lakshmi lay on her back across the full length and breadth of the bed — her tall, big frame taking up most of it.

She looked thoughtful, almost solemn.

Sumit stood by the door, hesitating.

“Aaiye,” she said gently, patting the bed beside her, “Come.”

When he approached, she didn’t just ask him to lie down beside her. Instead, with the same calm strength he had grown addicted to, she turned to her side, reached out, cupped his waist and back, and gently guided him down to lie facing her, their bodies aligned.

She adjusted him so his head rested on her upper arm bent a little to support his head, near her collarbone. His eyes were barely reaching the level of her breasts. Her large arm wrapped around his shoulders, while her wide hip curved under his thigh. He felt completely enveloped in her presence — his whole world reduced to her body, her warmth, and her voice.

Lakshmi looked down at him, running a hand slowly over his hair.

“Before we decide anything... we need to speak openly.”

Sumit nodded, eyes wide. His cheek was pressed gently against the soft slope of her chest.

“I’m fifty-five, Sumit. You’re forty. That’s fifteen years.”

He shifted slightly, resting his palm against her ribcage. “I know that.”

“And look at you,” she added softly, running her palm from his shoulder down to his waist. “You’re reaching only till my breasts when you lie full-length next to me. I’m 5’10”. You’re 5’3”. You are seven inches shorter than me. And I’m 24 kilos heavier.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was practical; but gentle, firm, and protective.

“Yeh duniya mazaak banayegi humara, the society will laugh at us,” she said quietly. “They’ll say I look like your mother or your aunty.” 

Sumit nuzzled into her a little, voice low. “Let them. I don’t care.”

He shifted up a little, until his lips were at her collarbone, still dwarfed by the swell of her shoulder.

“Amma… Lakshmi… I don’t want someone who matches me in age, height and weight. I want someone who is physically taller and stronger than me, who can hold me in her big arms, on her big lap, inside her big tall body.”

He looked up. “I feel safe only when you surround me — like this. Not in words. Physically. Emotionally.”

“When you carry me, I feel small and helpless ... But I feel safe and protected, I feel loved. I feel like you own me and I belong to you.”

She tightened her arms slightly, tucking him closer.

“And all those things you listed? Your age? Your size? Your height? That’s exactly what makes me love you all the more.”

Lakshmi sighed, long and deep.

“Main toh taiyaar hoon, I am ready.” she said. “Mere maa-baap iss duniya mein nahi. Mere bhai-behen ko main samjha loongi. My parents are no longer alive. My brother and sister, I'll convince them. They always saw me as a strong, stubborn woman. They’ll accept what I say.”

She paused, fingers stroking the back of his head.

“But your parents, Sumit... Will they accept this? Their 40 year old son marrying a 55-year-old big, tall housemaid who lifts him around the house like a child in her cradle?”

Her voice trembled slightly on the last line. “Will they accept that their short middle aged son sleeps on a tall old woman’s lap... not metaphorically, but literally — rocked to sleep each night like a baby?”

Sumit looked into her eyes and reached up, his small hand resting on her strong cheek.

“I’ve lived forty years pleasing everyone, Amma. Remaining quiet, behaving... shrinking myself.”

“But the first time you lifted me — without asking — something in me woke up.”

“You didn’t ridicule me as weird for loving it being lifted and carried by a woman and being helpless against your strength. You just... held me in your arms, protecting me, loving me.”

And with that, she shifted her body — rolling slowly onto her back taking him along with her, still in her arms, to now lie on top of her— and cradled him with both arms wrapped firmly around him, his head resting securely on her bosom, his whole frame enveloped in her soft, heavy body.

He shifted closer, now lying fully atop her, his head resting between her breasts. She wrapped her arms around him instinctively, cupping his bottom and shoulders. “That’s not your weirdness, Sumit. That’s what you love.”

Sumit kissed her inside her neck. “And if my parents can’t see it, I’ll live without their blessing. But not without you.”

Lakshmi didn’t speak for several moments. She held him tighter, pulling him flush against her large body, like a shell drawing in the soft pearl it protects.

Then she said softly:

“Agar tum tay ho... toh main bhi. If you are ready, then I also am. Lekin ek shart hai. But I have a condition.”

“What is it?” he whispered.

She looked into his eyes, playful now. “Tum shaadi ke baad bhi roz meri godh mein aaoge? Main sabji tab tak nahi pakaungi jab tak meri seene pe tumhara sar nahi rahega.”

“Even after marriage you will come into my lap and my cradle every day. I'll not serve you food unless you lie on my breasts.”

He laughed, heart full. “Pakka. I’ll be your husband and your godh-wala baby both.”

“Husband toh tum ho,” she smiled, tightening her hold. “Lekin godh mein aane waale pati duniya mein kam hi milte hain.”

“Mere chhote dulha,” she whispered.

“Meri badi patni,” he murmured back.

Outside, the rain finally stopped. But inside that flat, Sumit remained where he truly belonged — not just in her arms, but in her heart too.

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