Anjali Aunty 1

I first saw her at a Mall. She was just casually browsing through women's clothes at a Garments store outlet. 

It was Sunday and I was just spending time doing nothing. I am a bachelor and basically an introvert, so I did not have any real friends as such. And besides, I had just come to this city about 6 months back and hardly knew anybody apart from my office colleagues. 

I was working in a good marketing company, after my graduation and my MBA in Finance. I was the Deputy Accounts Manager of our Company’s Branch office and was posted away from my home city. But with my small frame of 5'3" and 63 kilos and my clean shaven face, I looked like a college student even at my 28 years of age.

I always had a strange something for tall girls. Don't know why, but whenever I saw a tall woman in the streets, kuchh kuchh ho jata. I had something itching to go after her. No, I didn't have the guts to meet her and talk to her. There I had my inferiority complex of getting turned down because of my shortness. But just the feeling of standing or walking beside the tall girl or woman would give me goosebumps. This started during my senior classes in school days. That is possibly at the age of 15 years. This passion grew as I grew older. 

And for me, the age of the woman was not a factor. If she was somewhat taller than me, I wouldn't mind her age or social status. And since I am only 5 feet 3, any girl or woman 5’7” or over, I would go weak-kneed in front of her.

This lady was tall, real tall and weight was moderately proportionate with her height, or possibly a little on the heavier side. As I said, I was 5'3" in height. I made it a point to somehow stand close to the lady casually; and mentally compare our heights.The top of my head just crossed her shoulder level. I guessed by my inherent knack at these matters, that she would definitely be a minimum of 5 feet 11 inches. So standing beside her, looking furtively towards her head level, I felt quite small, which made me very ecstatic. Imagine that I was just 28 years old, whereas that lady was definitely around 53-54. So she was about 25 years older than me. But I just loved comparing our heights mentally and feeling good about her being so much taller than me. 

Then I lost her. I had to go to the washroom. When I returned, she was gone. I searched the nearby stores, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

It started raining very badly. My small rented flat was just walking distance from the Mall. I stood near the Mall's gate waiting for the rain to ease off. 

And then I saw her again. The lady was also stuck in the rain and was waiting at the stairs of the Mall. I just stood a little behind her and was admiring her impressive height; her upright posture even at this age. Heavy, but not flabby at all, but an overall well toned feminine figure. Her weight possibly had a contribution from her thick bone structure. Her face was oddly attractive; not very fair; not strictly beautiful, but with her high cheekbones and magnificent height, to me she looked sensual even at her age of fifty plus.

She wasn't able to go as the rain was heavy. She had an umbrella; she was just waiting for the rain to ease off. I seized the opportunity. I went and stood beside her. When the rain eased down a little, the lady started to unfurl her umbrella. I mustered up courage and asked her, "Madam, which way will you be going ?" When she replied, I said, "Madam, I'm also going the same way. If you please don't mind, can I come under your umbrella ?"

The lady was very courteous, "Yes sure sure, come with me." She held the umbrella over her head and beckoned me to join her. I moved under her umbrella and we started walking. She had a bag in one arm. She held the umbrella with her other hand. 

I said, "Aunty, let me hold the umbrella. Both your hands are occupied.”

She looked down at me—literally—and smiled, the kind of kind, amused smile an elder woman might give a well-meaning child.

"Oh beta, don't worry about me. You’re so short, poor thing—if you hold it, your head will stay dry, but I’ll be soaked!"

I flushed with embarrassment. But her tone was so affectionate that I couldn’t even feel offended. She adjusted the umbrella, pulling me closer—so close that my shoulder was brushing her side. The top of my head barely reached her shoulder.

Then came the puddle.

The road was uneven, and a huge puddle blocked our way. I paused, unsure how to navigate it without drenching my shoes. She turned to me casually, raised one eyebrow, and said, "Hold this." She handed me her bag.

Before I could even ask why, she bent down slightly and scooped me up—her left arm under my knees, her left shoulder supporting my back.

I gasped. “Aunty!”

“Oh hush. I’ve carried gas cylinders heavier than you. At least you smell nicer.” She chuckled as she walked confidently through the puddle, with me cradled in her arm like a little prince. Her hips swayed gently, and I instinctively clung to her shoulder. She was warm and soft, yet powerfully firm underneath.

After crossing the puddle, she put me down gently on a dry patch, brushing imaginary dust off my shoulder.

“You’re still light, beta. How old are you now? Twenty?”

“I’m... twenty-eight.”

“Arrey baap re! Still such a chhotu!”

She insisted I have some tea with her. Her house was close by, and before I could argue, she’d half-dragged, half-guided me to her apartment. The building had no lift, and her flat was on the second floor.

When she saw me panting slightly halfway up, she turned around.

“Beta, I can’t bear to see you suffer like this.”

Before I could respond, she crouched slightly, turned her back, and said, “Come on. Piggyback.”

“Aunty, no no! This is too embarrassing!”

“Beta, either you hop on, or I carry you in my arms again. Choose your shame.”

Blushing furiously, I obeyed.

I clung onto her back, and she hoisted me up effortlessly. Her broad back and strong arms were shockingly secure. As she climbed the stairs, I could feel her muscles working beneath me, firm and confident.

At her door, she bounced me a little to shift my weight and chuckled, "Still lighter than my grocery bags."

We entered her flat. It was tidy, spacious, and had a large wooden rocking chair in one corner.

While tea boiled in the kitchen, she settled into the rocking chair.

“Come here, sit,” she said, patting her lap.

“Aunty, please...” I began, flustered.

She pulled me gently forward and guided me onto her lap, my legs dangling awkwardly off one side. She began rocking me slowly, one arm around my back, another stroking my hair.

“You were standing beside me at the Mall store, weren't you?” she said suddenly.

I froze. She smiled knowingly. “You thought I didn’t notice, hmm? I found it adorable how you hovered nearby like a little shadow.”

“You knew?” I asked, mortified.

“Of course. I may have aged, but I am not blind. I was wondering—what is this cute little boy doing hanging around me, a 53 year old woman?”

She looked down at me, still on her lap, and said softly, “Now look at you. A grown man. But still so small... so gentle.”

After tea, the rain returned in full force.

She stepped out on the balcony to bring in the drying clothes and looked back at me. I was fiddling with my soaked socks.

She came back in and said, “You're not going out in this again. You’ll stay here today.”

I nodded sheepishly.

She smiled, walked over to me, and without a word, lifted me up again, this time carrying me bridal-style straight into the bedroom. I didn’t even protest anymore. It felt too safe, too natural.

She gently placed me on the bed and said, “Now rest. And if you don’t behave, I’ll tuck you in like a baby.”

I looked up at her, heart racing. “I don’t think I’d mind that…”

She burst into laughter, and with surprising agility, climbed onto the bed beside me. I found myself once again, curled in her lap, looking up at her towering frame as her hand stroked my hair.

I had spent the night at her place.

Morning light streamed in through the curtains, and I woke up in her soft bed, a warm arm wrapped around me. Still half-asleep, I stirred—and realized I was already in her lap again.

She was sitting upright in the bed, one leg folded, the other dangling, cradling me gently like a sleepy child, stroking my hair.

“Good morning, beta,” she whispered. “Sleep well?”

I nodded groggily, still nestled in her lap like a bundle.

Then the reality hit me again, and I murmured, “I still can’t believe this. You’re 53. I’m 28. You’re more than two decades older. How can an old woman like you carry me so easily?”

She smirked and tugged me even closer, her hand firm on my back.

“Old woman?” she teased. “Sweetheart, I may be 25 years older than you, but I’m also 5'11" and 85 kilos. You’re just 5'3", 63 kilos. You’re lighter than my 13 year old niece. And on my lap, you're no man. You're like a little girl, soft and small and squishy."

I flushed deeply.

She giggled and stood up with me still in her arms, cradling me sideways like a sleeping child. She walked straight to the kitchen.

“You’re not going to help me with anything today,” she declared. “You’ll just sit in my arms while I make your breakfast.”

And that’s exactly what happened. I dangled in her embrace as she stirred tea with one hand, holding me on her hip with the other. She even shifted me occasionally into a cradle-carry so she could open shelves more easily.

At one point, I whispered shyly, “Aunty, seriously… I look like your baby.”

She looked down at me and smiled. “No beta, you don’t look like my baby. You look like my doll.”

(To be continued..)

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