Chandigarh L&C 1

The Knock at the Door

It was a quiet Sunday morning in Sector 33, Chandigarh. Arjun, 40 years old, a bachelor, sat in his modest first-floor rented apartment. At 5’3” and 64 kilograms, he looked quite boyish, especially with his soft, bespectacled face and a mild manner that rarely raised his voice. He worked from home as a software engineer for an American firm and led a mostly uneventful life — until that knock at the door.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The knock was firm. Heavy. Almost... authoritative.

Arjun adjusted his T-shirt and opened the door. He had to tilt his head up—a towering woman in possibly her early fifties stood in front of him. Dressed in a vibrant blue salwar kameez with a big dupatta hanging over one shoulder, she had a powerful frame — at least 5’9” tall and 90 kilos of full Punjabi confidence. Her face was strong yet kind, her wrists adorned with glass bangles that jingled softly.

“Hello ji,” she said with a warm but booming voice. “I am Harmeet Kaur, your landlord’s wife. I live downstairs. We were out of town when you moved in recently. We just returned last night. So we have come to meet you and get introduced.”

Arjun blinked. “Yes, yes... namaste. Please come in.”

Behind her peeked her daughter — a striking 22-year-old, clearly an athlete. She stood even taller than her mother, with a lean, athletic frame yet exuding a feminine charm. “I’m Babita,” the girl said casually. “I throw javelin and play basketball at college.”

Arjun nodded nervously. “That’s... very impressive.”

Harmeet stepped in without hesitation and sat down on the wooden sofa, which creaked slightly under her. Babita remained standing, hands on her hips, examining Arjun like a curious specimen.

“We wanted to ask you for a favour,” Harmeet said. “My husband lives in the States. And now he’s calling us over too. But... our English is very poor.”

Arjun smiled, unsure where this was going. “Oh. That’s... too bad.”

“You are a bachelor, working from home,” Harmeet declared. “So, you can give us English tuition. In return... we’ll keep an eye on you. Look after your food. And make sure you don’t get too lonely up here, haan?”

Before Arjun could protest, Babita sat down beside him and clapped a strong palm on his back. “We’ll be good students, sir. But also... strict with you if you don’t teach properly, okay?” She winked mischievously.

Arjun gave a shaky smile. “I-I’ll try to see if I can make time.”

Harmeet looked amused. “Try? You will have to teach us. And if you don’t... Babita will pick you up and carry you to our apartment downstairs !”

Babita laughed. “Like this?”

Before he could react, the tall 22-year-old slipped an arm behind his back and the other under his knees.

“Wait, what—!?” Arjun squealed.

With surprising ease, Babita scooped him up into a bridal carry, rising to her full height. Arjun’s legs dangled helplessly, his face turning red.

“See mummy!” Babita laughed, “He’s light like a school bag!”

Harmeet chuckled heartily. “Poor man! He’s 40, and still looks like a little boy being taken to nursery!”

“M-madam, please—put me down!” Arjun protested, flailing a bit.

Harmeet got up. “Babita, bring him to our kitchen downstairs. Let’s give him tea before we start our English class.”

Babita walked off with Arjun in her arms, swaying him gently as he blushed furiously. His protests were no match for her strength.

“I’m an adult man!” he grumbled.

“Toh kya? And I'm almost an old woman and my daughter is a college girl,” Harmeet teased from behind. “Yet we can carry you like a baby. What kind of man are you, ji?”

The very first class was set in the drawing room on the ground floor. Harmeet had pulled out a big, cushy armchair for herself, and Babita had dragged in a plastic chair, which looked comically small under her tall frame.

Arjun, still red-faced from being carried downstairs like a bride earlier, sat uncomfortably on a single seater sofa between the two of them. A cup of masala tea trembled in his hands.

Harmeet adjusted her dupatta. “Okay, sir-ji. Let’s start with introductions. Teach us how to say it... in Angrezi.”

“Sure,” Arjun began, clearing his throat. “You say, ‘My name is Harmeet. I live in Chandigarh.’”

Harmeet repeated proudly, “My name is Harmeet. I live in Chandigarh.”

Babita grinned. “And I say — My name is Babita. I throw javelin... and I throw teacher also!”

Before Arjun could process that, Babita grabbed him under the arms and lifted him straight up into her lap, settling him sideways as if he were a child.

“Babita-ji!” Arjun gasped, squirming in her strong arms. “I’m not a toy!”

“You are our English teaching toy now,” Babita giggled. “Relax, you’re warm and soft. Like my teddy bear from childhood.”

Harmeet burst out laughing. “Babita, don't spoil him too fast ! He’ll start asking for bedtime stories next.”

Arjun tried to get up, but Babita wrapped one strong arm across his middle and effortlessly kept him in place, patting his back.

“I am a grown man of 40!” he exclaimed.

“Beta,” Harmeet teased, sipping tea. “I am 50. And I can still lift you in my sleep. Don’t make noise, haan.”

“B-but you are... you’re almost like an aunty—”

Harmeet rose and walked over slowly, her chunni swaying. “What did you say? Aunty?”

She bent down and — to Arjun’s utter disbelief — scooped him off Babita’s lap in a cradle carry, holding him snug against her ample frame.

Arjun squeaked. “Madam! This is too much! I'm your tutor!”

“You are like a baby bird that fell from its nest,” Harmeet cooed with mock pity. “We will keep you safe in our laps, till you grow wings. Which may never happen, haan?”

Babita laughed so hard she almost fell off her chair. “He’s like a bonus English doll we got with tuition!”

Harmeet sat down again, placing Arjun across her lap, bouncing him gently like a baby.

“Now tell me... how to say this in English: Main apne chhote English teacher ko godh mein le kar baithi hoon.”

Arjun groaned. “I am sitting with my small English teacher in my lap...”

“Very good!” both women clapped.

From that day on, the English class became more of a lap lesson — Arjun never sat on a chair again. It was either Harmeet’s wide lap or Babita’s strong thighs. When he tried to object, one of them would simply lift him up and place him gently where he “belonged.”

Dinner Delivery and Double Trouble:

It was past 9 p.m. when Arjun finally shut his laptop. The tiny one-bedroom apartment on the first floor was quiet, the fan whirring steadily. He’d just thought of ordering some food when a familiar booming voice called from downstairs.

“Arjun beta, open the door! We are bringing dinner!”

Before he could reply, heavy footsteps came thudding up the staircase. A moment later, Harmeet aunty appeared at his door with a steel tiffin carrier and a wide grin, Babita right behind her with a blanket and a packet of sweets.

“Aunty, y-you didn’t have to—” Arjun stammered.

“Shush, baby,” Harmeet waved him off. “You are alone. We are downstairs. Feeding you is sewa.”

Babita grinned. “Besides, mummy made paneer makhani and paratha. You’d cry alone upstairs with your boring daal.”

They barged in like they owned the place, which actually they did.

Before Arjun could even move to make space, Harmeet handed Babita the tiffin and bent down — then suddenly swept Arjun right off the floor in a smooth cradle carry.

“Aunty!” he gasped.

“You still don’t learn, do you?” she chuckled, carrying him with ease into the living room. “Every time I lift you, you make that same shocked face.”

Babita burst out laughing as she spread the blanket on the floor. “Like he just saw a ghost. A soft ghost.”

Harmeet lowered him gently onto the blanket, giving his cheeks a playful pat. “Now sit here. Cross-legged. Don’t move.”

Arjun flushed red. “This is not how 40-year-old men are treated.”

“You live alone. You forget how people pamper loved ones,” Harmeet winked. “We are correcting that.”

Babita sat beside him and opened the tiffin. The aroma filled the room.

As Harmeet broke a paratha into pieces, Babita scooted closer and scooped him up on her lap. She rested his head on her shoulder. “If you fall asleep, I’ll feed you in your dreams.”

Arjun groaned. “I’m not a baby.”

“You are a man,” Harmeet nodded, “who weighs less than my suitcase and gets breathless climbing stairs. So hush.”

Arjun tried to protest, but Babita just grabbed his chin gently and popped a piece of paneer into his mouth. “Good boy,” she teased.

They continued feeding him turn by turn, teasing him about his size and age. Every time he tried to get up, one of them would either pull him back into their lap or scoop him up again, with mock-serious warnings like:

“Sit still or I’ll burp you like a baby!”

“Next time, I’ll bring your milk in a bottle.”

“You keep making noise, I’ll carry you back downstairs in my arms.”

After dinner, Harmeet insisted on checking if he had blankets. “It’s getting cold,” she said. “Babita, fold him in like a stuffed roti.”

Babita giggled and wrapped him tightly in the blanket, then planted a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep well, Amreeka ke jijaji.”

Arjun blinked. “W-what?”

“Nothing,” Harmeet winked. “Dream of English grammar. We’ll dream of lifting you.”

They left after making him promise he wouldn’t order junk food again. Arjun lay still, blushing under the blanket — his world forever changed by two towering Punjabi women who treated him like their adorable, reluctant, adult teddy bear.


It was Sunday morning, and Arjun had just come out of the shower, towel-drying his hair when his phone buzzed.

Babita:
“Be ready in 20 mins. We’re going to Sector 35 market. Mummy wants to shop, and you need new clothes too. Don’t argue.”

Before he could even reply, a second message came:
“We’re not taking no for an answer. Brush your hair properly.”

Twenty minutes later, he was squeezed between Harmeet aunty and Babita in the backseat of a small yellow cab.

Well, not really sitting, more like perched awkwardly across Harmeet aunty’s broad lap, her thick arms around his waist like seatbelts.

“There’s no space in the cab!” Arjun protested, as Babita laughed, practically lounging beside her mother with the window down. “I could’ve waited for the next one!”

“No no,” Harmeet said sweetly, “Why waste another fare? You’re so tiny—you hardly take space.”

Babita grinned. “You’re literally sitting on mummy like a ten year old school boy. Adorable!”

Arjun, a full-grown 40-year-old man, blushed as the cab hit a bump and he bounced slightly on Harmeet’s lap. She gave a little giggle and held him tighter, patting his chest.

“See? Fits just right. God made your size for this exact purpose.”

He sighed dramatically, drawing smiles from the cab driver, who kept peeking in the rearview mirror with raised eyebrows.

The cab finally pulled up to the crowded Sector 35 bazaar. People swarmed the area—families, college kids, shoppers, and tourists. The sight of a tall Punjabi lady getting down from the cab and carrying a grown man in her arms drew immediate attention.

“Auntyyyy! I can walk!” Arjun whispered urgently.

But Harmeet smiled and lifted him bridal-style with practiced ease, balancing her purse in one hand and Arjun in the other. “You were sitting on me all this time—what’s a few more steps?” she said sweetly.

“Unbelievable…” he muttered, trying to curl into himself as heads turned.

Babita strolled beside them casually, as if this were perfectly normal. “You’re creating a local sensation, jijaji,” she smirked. “People are literally stopping to stare.”

Two shopkeepers burst out laughing.

“Wah ji, kya baat hai! Bahu mil gayi kya?” one of them called.

Harmeet, without missing a beat, said loudly, “Nahi, yeh hamara beta hai. Bohot hi naazuk hai.”
(No, this is our son. Very delicate.)

A group of older Punjabi aunties passing by clucked approvingly.

“Poori maa wali feeling aati hai dekh ke,” one said to another. “Kitna chhota lagta hai inke haathon mein.”

Arjun groaned again. “I’m a full-grown adult man… I have a job…”

“Yes,” Harmeet replied, setting him down on a plastic stool inside a kurta shop, “and you're doing your job of looking sweet very well.”

Inside the market, things didn’t get any better.

At every stall, Babita kept jokingly pointing at kurtas saying, “This looks like it’ll fit chhotu here.”

Harmeet, meanwhile, kept her arm around Arjun like a protective wall, as if he were in danger of being snatched by a gust of wind.

At the end of the shopping spree, they had bought nothing for Arjun except two bright coloured tee shirts and a bright printed lungi that Babita insisted he try "for the fun of it."

As they exited the market, the next problem arose.

“There’s no cab available now,” Babita said, checking her phone.

Harmeet smiled. “No problem.” She looked at Arjun. “Lap seat's still available.”

“No no no,” Arjun said, backing away.

But Babita just stepped behind him and pushed him forward, and Harmeet once again scooped him up—this time seating him sideways across her thighs on a bench outside the mithai shop, like an overgrown toddler.

“Let’s wait here. We’ll get you some jalebi,” she said, stroking his back like a child.

Arjun didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hide under the bench.

Just then, a group of young girls passed by and giggled.
“Kitna cute hai! Mummy ke godi mein!”

He buried his face in Aunty's shoulder.

That evening, Harmeet Aunty was in a particularly affectionate mood.

After the market adventure, they’d all come back home. Babita carried Arjun back to their apartment. Arjun was quietly sipping tea on the couch when Harmeet called out from her room, “Beta, come here! Quick!”

He hesitated but stepped in. “Yes, Aunty?”

She was sitting cross-legged on her large bed with a tablet in her hand. “Your uncle’s calling from Houston! It’s a video call. I told him about you—come, come, come!”

Before he could retreat, she caught his hand and pulled him firmly onto her lap, cradling him sideways like he was a beloved nephew—not a 40-year-old man. He tried to sit up, but her strong arms locked him in place with ease.

“Harmeet, kya kar rahi ho?” the voice came from the tablet.
An older, jovial Sardar uncle appeared on screen, his white beard trimmed neatly. He blinked at the sight before him.

Harmeet beamed. “Ji, yeh hai Arjun! Woh first floor waale… IT engineer. Bahut hi helpful aur sweet hai. Dekh rahe ho na, kitna chhota hai?”

Uncle laughed heartily. “Hain! Arey yaar, tu toh bilkul usse godi mein le kar baithi hai!”

Arjun gave a mortified smile. “Hello Uncle, nice to meet you…”

“He’s like a little boy, ji,” Harmeet continued. “Bilkul halke feather jaise. Mera godi toh uske liye sofa hai.”

Arjun looked at the tablet helplessly, cheeks flushed. “Actually I can sit on the chair, Aunty…”

“Shhh,” she whispered in his ear, grinning, “Don't spoil my moment.”

Just then, Babita walked in. “Haww! You didn’t wait for me? I wanted to introduce jijaji!”

“Jijaji?” Arjun looked horrified.

Babita giggled and waved at the tablet. “Papa, dekho, mummy ka godh mein baitha hai mera future husband!”

Uncle burst out laughing again. “Poor Arjun beta… looks like you’re stuck with these two.”


( To be continued…)