Haldi - 3

The knock at the door faded into silence as Puja Bhabhi waited a moment, eyes locked on mine, then gave a small nod. “Whoever it was, they’ve gone. We’re alone, Sumit. Just us.” Her voice was low, almost possessive, but filled with a calm warmth.

I was sitting on her bed, legs folded, still in the towel she had wrapped me in after bathing me. The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh haldi. Bhabhi walked over, dried her hands, and came back with a soft cotton kurta-salwar set — cream with subtle floral patterns.

I stared at it.

“Bhabhi… this looks like…”

“Yes,” she said before I could finish. “It’s a salwar kameez. Your size. I had bought this for a friend's school going daughter’s birthday gift, but couldn't go to the party. So this has remained with me. Come to think of it, that you being an adult man of 32 years is the same size as a school girl just 14 years old. Ha ha you are so small and cute.”
 
My face turned pink. “I… I can’t wear this.”

“You can,” she said simply. “And you will. It’s just us here. No one will see. And don’t you dare call it shameful. It’s soft, comfortable cotton. And frankly, you’ll look adorable in it.”

Seeing my hesitation, she leaned in close, her voice turning firm.

“Or should I go downstairs right now and shout to the entire apartment building that you were lying in my arms like a helpless little baby today? Should I pick you up in front of your cousins again and rock you on my chest in the middle of the compound?”

My eyes widened in panic. “No! No, Bhabhi, please…”

She laughed gently and stroked my cheek. “Then behave, meri jaan. No more ego, okay? Just wear it. For me.”

With my cheeks burning, I let her help me slip into the soft salwar kameez. It fit perfectly. The material felt oddly comforting against my skin.

“See?” she said, adjusting the sleeves and straightening the hem. “So cute. So soft. My young man turned into a schoolgirl — just for his Bhabhi.”

I blushed furiously and looked away. But she wasn’t done.

She sat behind me on the bed, took out a comb and some hair ties from her drawer, and began parting my hair.

“Bhabhi… what are you—”

“Hush,” she whispered. “I’m braiding your hair. You’ve got enough to manage two sweet little plaits. You’ll look like a schoolgirl who just got back home.”

I closed my eyes in surrender as her fingers gently worked through my hair, braiding it with skilled movements, her strong arms occasionally brushing my shoulders.

After a few minutes, she turned me around and beamed. “There. Look at you.”

I glanced into the mirror and gasped. My hair in two tight plaits, salwar kameez neatly draped over my smaller frame… I didn’t recognize myself. I looked... delicate. Almost feminine.

“Now,” she said, cupping my face. “Come have lunch.”

She led me to a floor mat near her window, where she’d already laid out a small thali with roti, sabzi, and rice. But instead of letting me sit on the mat, she sat cross-legged and gently pulled me down into her lap — one arm snugly wrapped around my back.

“Bhabhi, I can eat by myself…”

“You could,” she said, scooping a bit of rice into her hand, “but you won’t. Not today. Today you’ll sit in my lap like the little one you are… and let Bhabhi feed you with love.”

I blushed but didn’t resist. The way she cradled me as she fed me bite after bite — gently blowing on the hot sabzi before offering it to my mouth — it felt like something between a dream and a strange memory from childhood. Her fingers brushed my lips with every bite. In between, she also took bites from the same plate.

At one point, I looked up at her. She was gazing down at me with a fondness I’d never seen before.

“Why are you doing all this to me?” I asked softly.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she gently wiped a grain of rice from my chin and whispered, “Because I never had a child of my own. Because I never had a lover who needed me. And now I have you. You’re both.”

I lowered my gaze, unsure how to respond.

After feeding me completely, she held me in her lap, softly stroking my braided hair.

“Sumit,” she said after a pause, “this… whatever is happening between us… is just for us. No one else needs to know. Not your family. Not the neighbours. Not anyone.”

I nodded slowly, feeling her grip tighten around my waist.

“But listen to me carefully,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “Whenever I call you — day or night — you will come. Quietly. Without excuse. And if I ever see you ignoring me, or acting smart in front of others, then…”

She paused, leaned in close to my ear, and whispered with a teasing menace, “…I will simply walk up to you in front of everyone, bend down, pick you up in my arms like today, and carry you all the way through the compound, past your family, your uncles, your cousins… straight to my flat. Just like I did during Haldi. Do you understand, my little prize?”

I was frozen. My throat went dry. I could only whisper back, “Yes, Bhabhi…”

She smiled and planted a kiss on my braided head. “Good boy. That’s better.”

She rocked me gently in her lap for a while longer, until I slowly drifted off — dressed in salwar kameez, hair in two neat plaits, head resting against her chest, and heart thudding softly in confused, quiet surrender.
I had just finished eating, and was still resting in Puja Bhabhi’s lap, when she shifted slightly and looked down at me with a mischievous gleam in her eye. Her fingers slid under my chin and lifted my face toward hers.
“I’m not done playing with you, Sumit,” she said softly. “Come with me.”
Before I could respond, she hooked one strong arm around my back and slipped the other beneath my knees — and in a swift, practiced motion, scooped me up once again into her arms. I sighed, embarrassed and helpless, as she carried me effortlessly across the bedroom. My arms instinctively went around her neck again, my cheek brushing against her shoulder.
But instead of setting me down, she turned and stopped in front of her full-length mirror.
She adjusted me suddenly — and now I found myself straddling her stomach. Her left hand cupped firmly under my bottom, holding all of my weight with ease. My legs wrapped awkwardly around her thick waist, and my arms clung around her shoulders. I was flushed in an instant. The mirror showed everything.
“Look at you,” she said, her voice thick with playful teasing. “Just look at yourself, Sumit. Dressed in a soft salwar kameez, hair in two girly braids, clinging to me like a little girl in her mummy’s arms.”
She gave a little bounce. My body jerked up slightly and fell right back into her supportive grip. She grinned, her left hand adjusting my position under my thighs.
“What kind of young man lets an older woman pick him up like this? You’re supposed to be running around doing wedding work, but here you are — wrapped around me like a baby girl.”
I tried to bury my face in her neck, but she wouldn’t let me hide.
“Uh-uh,” she said. “No hiding. Face the mirror, sweetheart. Let Bhabhi show you what you really look like.”
She took her right hand, lifted it to my cheeks, and playfully squeezed both sides.
“Aww, such soft cheeks,” she giggled. “Like laddoos. Tell me, do grown men have cheeks like this? Hmm? Or do little girls sit like this, hugging their mama around the neck while being rocked?”
And then she did it — she rocked me.
Back and forth, gently, rhythmically, her large hand still firmly cupping under my bottom as she swayed side to side.
My legs tightened around her waist. I didn’t even realise I was clinging tighter. My arms looped behind her neck, hands fisting in her kurti.
“This,” she whispered, “is how mamas carry their little girls. You’ve completely disappeared into my arms, Sumit. My baby girl. Or should I call you Sumita now.” She giggled.
I groaned softly, humiliated but unable to move. My face was crimson.
She leaned closer to the mirror. “You know,” she said teasingly, “if I ever dress you in a frock and anklets, and take you to the market like this — no one will know. They’ll just assume I’m carrying my shy daughter.”
“Bhabhiiiii…” I whimpered, half-laughing, half-pleading.
She laughed heartily and bounced me gently in her arms again. “You love this, don’t you? Being carried… rocked… teased… feeling safe in my arms.”
She switched positions suddenly — cradling me in her arms again like earlier, one hand behind my shoulders and one under my knees. She walked to the mirror once more.
“Now look at this little sleeping doll,” she cooed. “So light, so soft… I could carry you like this the whole day. You belong in my arms, Sumit. You know that, right?”
I nodded slightly, dazed, my heart fluttering.
She kissed my forehead again and slowly walked toward her sofa. She sat down, still holding me.
“You should go,” she said gently, brushing my braid over my shoulder. “You have your sister’s wedding to take care of. I’ve kidnapped you long enough.”
I blinked and slowly began to sit up. “Really?”
She smiled and let me slide off her lap onto the sofa cushion.
“But,” she said, holding up one finger, “you have to promise me something before I let you go.”
I looked at her, wary.
“You’ll come back. Whenever I call you. No excuses. No running away. And no hiding behind your ego.”
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“No,” she said, leaning forward and taking my hands in hers. “Promise me. Say it.”
I swallowed. “I promise, Bhabhi.”
She smiled. “Good. And remember… if you don’t…”
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, “I’ll come find you, pick you up right in front of the neighbours — like a naughty child caught bunking school — and carry you all the way back here, no matter who’s watching.”
I shuddered at the image. She laughed.
Then she stood up, straightened my salwar kameez, patted my bottom gently, and said, “Now go, meri jaan. Be a good boy. And come back to me once your work is done. You still have haldi stains on your heart that only I can wash away.”
I blushed and walked toward the door, legs still slightly unsteady, braid bouncing behind me. As I opened the door to leave, I turned back for one last glance.
She was standing with her arms crossed, smiling warmly, like a woman watching her beloved child walk off to school.
Only, we both knew… I wasn’t her child.
I was her secret.
 Her softness.
 Her prize.
 Her baby.
And I’d be back.
As I turned to leave, hand on the doorknob, Puja Bhabhi’s voice stopped me again.
“Wait,” she said softly but firmly. “Not like this.”
I looked back, puzzled.
She took a few steps toward me, eyes scanning my form — from the neatly braided hair, to the soft cream salwar kameez still draped around me.
“You’re not going back like this, Sumit,” she said with a smirk. “If anyone sees you dressed like my little girl, it won’t be a secret anymore.”
Before I could react, she came close and gently took my hand, guiding me back into her bedroom.
“Come,” she whispered. “Let Bhabhi change her baby back into his clothes.”
She made me sit on the edge of the bed and stood in front of me, her tall, broad frame towering over mine. She reached for the bottom of the kameez, lifted it up slowly, and helped me out of it with soft, practiced ease.
I sat shyly in my undershirt and pyjama, trying to hide my face, but she cupped my chin with a knowing smile.
“Still blushing?” she teased. “Even after I’ve carried you around like my prize for the whole day?”
She stepped away and came back with my old haldi-stained t-shirt.
“I found this near the bathroom,” she said, holding it up. “Still smells like you. Still soaked in memories of that sweet defeat.”
I groaned and reached for it, but she pulled it away.
“Not so fast. First…”
She stepped behind me, gently undid the braids she had made, her fingers moving slowly, affectionately through my hair. Once the ties were off, she began combing it carefully.
“You know,” she said as she combed, “your hair is so soft. I could play with it forever. I might just oil it and plait it every time you visit me. Make you sit on the floor like a proper girl.”
I squirmed. “Bhabhi…”
She grinned and leaned in. “What? You don’t like being pampered like this?”
I was silent. She gently smoothed down the last strand, kissed the back of my head, and said, “There. All neat. All mine.”
Then she came around to face me again and slowly helped me into my haldi-stained t-shirt. It clung loosely to my body, smelling faintly of turmeric and the madness of the morning.
“This suits you better for now,” she said, brushing the wrinkles flat. “Makes you look like the same boy who lost to me today. But don’t think I’ll forget how you looked in that salwar. You’ll wear it again.”
I looked up at her with soft, hesitant eyes.
She smiled.
“Go now,” she said gently, “before I decide to carry you down the stairs again just for fun.”
I stood up, feeling strangely empty without the warmth of her arms around me. She walked with me to the door.
As I turned to go, she held my arm and leaned down close to my ear.
“Don’t forget, Sumit,” she whispered. “This… whatever this is between us… is ours. Our secret. But you belong to me now. And I expect you back here tonight.”
I nodded slowly. “I’ll come.”
She kissed my forehead, opened the door, and watched me leave. I could feel her gaze on me until I disappeared down the stairs.

( To be continued...)