My First L&C Experience 4

The next weekend, after breakfast, I sat at my study table with my laptop. Mala came and placed a glass of juice in front of me. 

“Today is Saturday. You work throughout the week and return tired every evening. You cannot sit with your laptop today also. You have to give time to me too.”

“Mala, just 10 minutes... I have to send an important email. Let me finish that first. Please don't disturb me now,” I was a little stern.

She didn't go. “Then you have to be my laptop.” 

“What…? What do you mean by that?” I was still concentrating on my email. 

She didn't reply, just bent forward, placed her hands around my waist and stood up straight. Up I went in her arms, chest to chest. My arms instinctively went around her neck…my legs wrapped around her firm waist. 

It was so easy for her. Who would say that an eighteen year old girl was toying with a full grown adult young man of twenty two, as if he is just a small child in her arms. 

“Put me down, Mala !! What are you doing ? I told you this email is important !!” I was visibly upset. Why doesn't she understand ..??

She was just like a naughty teenager, which obviously she was. She sat down herself on my chair still holding me on her chest. I was practically sitting on her lap, but facing her, my hands still around her neck. My legs going around her waist protruding on the two sides of the chair. 

“See Bhaiya, now you have become my laptop.” Mala was giggling.

“Now what the hell is this Mala ? Har time mazak achha nahi lagta. I have some responsibilities at work. I told you already, let me complete my email, then I'll give you time.” By now, I was really angry. 

Mala grunted. Stood up from the chair, still holding me on her chests. She put me down unceremoniously on the floor. And stormed out of the room into the kitchen.

I just shrugged and started on my unfinished email. It took me less than 10 minutes to complete my work. An urgent report had to be sent. And that was that. I could not entertain an over-sized teenager's tantrums, just because it's a Saturday.

I called out, “Mala I'm done…come over.” No reply. 

I called again. A little louder this time. “Mala, don't cook anything today. We'll go out and have lunch at a good restaurant.”

Still no reply. I smiled to myself. I knew her…she'll come back soon, stomping her feet. 

I went and laid down on the sofa. Suddenly I remembered that day, possibly two - two and a half years back. It was a similar situation. Funny, how these scenes come back in life. Not actually Deja vu, but almost.

A Flashback :

I was 20 then and Mala 16, a short stocky girl in her frock. One day during my final college year I was preparing for my exams in my room on the terrace. My father had gone to his office, my sister to her school.

Mala came and told me that my mother is calling me urgently. 

I said I'm finishing a difficult maths sum... Will be going soon.. She left. But I did not go.

So after some time, she came again. I said I'm coming soon. But got so engrossed in studies, that I did not go. 

Mala came after 10 minutes. She said,"What happened ? Ma told me that if you do not come immediately, toh pakad ke le ana".

I said, “You go , I'm coming in 5 mins.”

She just came to me and scooped me up from my chair in her cradle. 

I started squirming in her hands. But couldn't get down, she held me very tight.

I yelled at her, “Leave me, let me down.”

She said, “You always say na ki you are an adult, 20 years old and I'm a teenager of 16 years. So my adult bhaiya, now this teenager sister has captured her adult bhaiya in her arms. Ma has told me to take you with me. So abhi chalo , mey tumko utha ke le jati hoon.”

I started flailing my legs and arms. But she was too strong for me. She was almost 10 kgs heavier than me, although 2 inches shorter and 4 years younger. 

She carried me to the full-length mirror, “Dekho how helpless you look while flailing your legs and arms on your 16 year old sister's chest?”

It was so embarrassing for me. 

She started walking out of my room , out on the open terrace and then down the stairs.

I panicked, “What are you doing Mala? How can you carry me in your arms in front of Ma ?”

She says, “Ma only told me ‘tu usey pakad ke le ana’.”

I said, “But she did not mean that literally. What will she think if she sees her 20 year old adult college going son captured helplessly by a 16 year old teenage girl? She will scold you. Now put me down.”

Mala smiled challengingly, “So if you are man enough, then why don't you free yourself from this teenage girl's captivity?” 

She started laughing. As if I didn't try…

She carried me down to my mother's room cradled in her arms. I was in such a shame that I hid my face in Mala's neck only. Nowhere else to hide.

Imagine the scene - There I was, 20 years old, a college student, the "man" of the house upstairs—

…now reduced to a squirming little bundle in a 16-year-old girl's thick, powerful arms. My arms waving like a trapped puppy, legs flailing, but she had me tight—her cradle grip unbreakable.

And her laughter! That naughty, playful giggle she always had whenever she knew I was helpless in her grasp.

Mala pushed open the door to my mother’s room with her elbow, stepping inside still cradling me securely in her strong arms. I felt her chest rise with each breath as she held me against her body, my arms looped helplessly around her neck. I kept my face buried in the crook of her shoulder, too ashamed to meet Ma’s eyes.

But Ma—my own mother—was not shocked.

She was sitting calmly on her cot, knitting something in her lap, and the moment she looked up and saw me carried like that by a girl several years younger, she didn’t cry out or scold. In fact, a warm smile slowly spread across her face.

“Mala, what is this now?” she asked, though her tone was far from reprimanding. There was mischief in it.

“Ma,” Mala said cheerfully, “I told him twice. He kept saying ‘five minutes, five minutes,’ and you yourself told me…pakad ke le ana… So I did.”

She shifted me slightly in her arms for comfort, as if I were nothing more than a feather-weight bundle. My legs dangled awkwardly, brushing her sturdy thighs as she held me effortlessly. I remained silent, hiding my face.

Ma gave a small chuckle. “Good. Sometimes this stubborn son of mine needs to be shown who’s in charge. Good, Mala. If he doesn’t listen, carry him down like this every time. You handle him better than I ever could."

I whimpered, still in Mala’s arms, "Ma, how can you say that? I’m twenty!"

Ma shook her head. "You may be twenty, but you’re careless. You skip meals, don’t bathe properly, eat junk food, and ignore instructions. Mala is responsible. From now on, she’ll look after you."

Mala beamed proudly and rocked me slightly in her arms, whispering with mischief, "Shona babu toh ab se mere zimmedaari hai.”

I peeped out just a little, shocked. “Ma!” I protested in a muffled voice.

“Oh hush, shona,” she said. “She didn’t drop you, did she? She didn’t scold you. She just brought you gently, like I used to carry you when you were little.” Then, in an almost fond tone, she added, “And she’s even stronger than I ever was.”

Mala laughed heartily. “That’s what I keep saying! He keeps calling me a little girl, but every time I pick him up, he forgets all his big man pride.”

Ma nodded, clearly enjoying this display of affectionate dominance. “Let him sit on your lap for a bit, Mala. Let him calm down. He gets all flustered when he's embarrassed.”

Without waiting for my reply, Mala sat down carefully in the low armchair by the window, still cradling me. She shifted me gently across her lap, my head resting on the firm support of her upper arm and chest. My limbs curled up involuntarily in my quiet shame. She began to rock me gently, side to side, adding on to my embarrassment.

I couldn’t speak. There was a strange mix of humiliation, comfort, and security. Being held like this, while my mother looked on—not with ridicule, but with indulgent fondness—felt like surrendering to something long buried. A longing for comfort, for protection, for the simplicity of not needing to prove my masculinity every moment.

Ma stood up and walked over to us. She gently brushed my hair aside from my forehead and gave a little smile.

“You were always small for your age,” she said softly, “but full of ego. Maybe this girl’s strength came to teach you a little gentleness.”

Mala grinned and hugged me closer, as if to seal that lesson. I closed my eyes, my breathing slowing as I gave up the last of my resistance. For that moment, I wasn’t a grown-up college student anymore. I was just a boy, held firmly and fondly between two women—one who gave birth to me, and one who had claimed me in her own strong, playful way.

Ma sat down on her cot again and adjusted her shawl around her thin shoulders. Her voice had changed from playful to serious now, though it still held affection. She looked straight at Mala and then at me—still curled up silently on her lap, face warm with shame and confusion.

“Mala,” Ma said softly, but with firmness, “you’ve been with us almost a year now. I’ve seen how responsible you are. You run the house like a proper grown-up woman.”

Mala looked up, surprised and proud, her arms tightening around me unconsciously. I felt the shift—her body straightened just slightly, the way someone does when handed authority.

Ma continued, “You know na, my health isn’t what it used to be. The doctor has told me not to get up and run behind him every hour.”

She nodded toward me, still sitting like a bundle in Mala’s lap.

“This boy—he’s twenty, but in many ways still a child. If I say something once, it doesn't register. Even twice—he won’t listen. You had to literally pick him up today and bring him here. And you did, without hurting him, without scolding. You did what even I couldn’t manage.”

I peeked up at Ma from Mala’s lap, half-hoping she would break into laughter and say she was joking. But no—she was serious. Her eyes were warm but full of resolve.

“So from today, Mala,” Ma declared, “I am giving you charge. He’s home now for a full month to study for his exams. You’ll take care of his food. Make sure he eats properly. No more half plates and junk from the market.”

Mala nodded, still rocking me gently. “I’ll make sure, Ma. I’ll feed him properly.”

“And also,” Ma added with a raised eyebrow, “this fellow doesn’t bathe properly. He rushes through it, leaves soap sticking under his knees and elbows. Sometimes I think he washes only his face and runs out.”

I squirmed in Mala’s lap, hiding my face again. “Ma, please…”

But Ma raised a hand. “No interruptions. Mala, from now on, you’ll monitor his bath also. If needed, check him after he’s done. He’ll grumble, but ignore him. This boy needs supervision. And since he listens to you, I trust you.”

Mala, trying not to burst into laughter, gently cupped my face and said, “Dekha Bhaiya? Now I’m officially your Ma's assistant. From now on, you’re my responsibility.”

Ma added, more softly now, “You’re older, beta. But sometimes love needs to come from whoever can give it. Even if it’s from someone younger. And Mala has strength—not just of the body, but of heart. Let her take care of you, the way I would.”

I felt a strange sensation then. As if I had been passed gently from one guardian to another. From Ma’s thin, tired hands to Mala’s strong, youthful arms. My protest melted into a sigh. Somewhere, deep inside, a part of me didn’t feel insulted. It felt... safe.

Mala rocked me once again, and smiled. “So, Bhaiya, from tomorrow—full plate meals. And no cheating during bath time. Understood?”

I muttered something incoherent, but she caught it.

“What was that?” she teased. “Speak louder, my baby brother.”

I finally looked up at her and said softly, “Yes, Mala.”

Ma nodded. “Good. Now let him rest. He must be tired from all this drama.”

And like that, it was settled. I, a college-going adult, had officially been placed under the care of a teenage maid who was stronger than me, more responsible than me, and—now—my full-time caretaker.

It had been a few days since Ma had handed over my "charge" to Mala.

The mornings started the same—but now there was a new rhythm. At 8:30 sharp, while I was still lazing in bed with my books sprawled beside me, I would hear the thud-thud of strong bare feet on the terrace stairs. Mala.

“Mere raja babu uth gaye?” Her voice was full of amusement as she stepped into the room.

“No... I was just… revising,” I would say, sitting up groggily.

She’d place the steel tiffin on the table, hands on her hips. “Revising? Kal raat tak toh padhaai ho gayi thi na? Don’t act too clever with me.”

She’d march over, grab my hand and pull me right out of the bed. “Come now. You’ll eat first. Ma said you haven’t been finishing your breakfast properly.”

I’d grumble, resisting a little. “Can’t I just lie for some time more and eat later?”

“No. But,” she’d smirk, “since you like being my baby babu so much…”

Before I could react, she would suddenly squat and sweep me into her cradle carry—arms firm under my back and knees, her body smelling of mustard oil and soap. I’d squeal, more from surprise than protest.

“Oof Mala! Put me down! I’ll come myself!”

“Too late. My arms have caught you, Shona Babu,” she’d coo in a mock-motherly tone, rocking me slightly while walking to the red armchair. “You think Ma made me in-charge just for decoration?”

She’d sit down and settle me across her lap, tilting me gently like a child. With one hand holding me, the other would spoon-feed me soft poha or mashed paratha, sometimes blowing on it dramatically before feeding.

“Open your mouth. I said, open! Don’t act smart or I’ll pinch your cheeks till they go red.”

Sometimes I’d pretend to keep my lips closed.

Mala’s solution?

She’d gently tilt me backward so my head rested on the crook of her elbow, making me look up at her towering form. My arms instinctively grabbed her wrist for balance. “Now look up and eat, like a good boy.”

Ma passed by once and just smiled at the scene.

“He listens to you more than he ever listened to me,” she said fondly. “He’s your responsibility now, Mala.”

One afternoon, I came out of the bathroom wiping my face, thinking I had escaped her attention.

But no—she was waiting outside with a towel in hand.

“Show me your legs.”

“What?? Mala, are you mad! I just bathed.”

“Yes, and you always leave soap behind your knees like a naughty schoolboy.”

I tried to dodge, but she grabbed me by the wrist and made me stand under the fan like a child being checked by a strict matron. She knelt and scrubbed the back of my calves with a cloth, muttering, “Next time I’ll come inside with you if you don’t learn to clean properly.”

I gasped. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“I’m warning you, Chhotu. Ma told me to monitor you. If you disobey again, you’ll be bathed like a proper baby. Sitting on my lap with a mug in my hand.”

One evening, Ma called us both to her room. I was hesitant to go—half sleepy, half annoyed.

Mala didn’t waste time. She marched into my room, caught me by the waist, and carried me right up in front of Ma, lifting me cradle-style.

“Ab kya karein, Ma? Aapka babu doesn’t want to walk even ten steps to meet his own mother,” she teased.

I struggled, murmuring, “Mala! Ma is watching!”

Ma only laughed. “Good Mala. Carry him. He listens only when he’s in your godi.”

Mala took the opportunity to sit cross-legged beside Ma and laid me gently across her lap, my face burning. She fed me some fruit slices Ma had kept ready.

Ma patted my head and said, “He looks so peaceful in your lap. My careless son needed someone like you, Mala.”

One afternoon, I had secretly ordered samosas from the nearby shop and was munching them when Mala entered.

“What’s that smell?” she sniffed.

I froze. “Nothing.”

She snatched the newspaper and glared at the oily samosas. “You think I don’t know? You promised Ma you’d stop eating junk food!”

She suddenly grabbed me by the wrist, pulled me close, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Now I’ll show you what punishment means,” she declared.

Before I could react, she pulled me over her lap, face down and gave me a few firm thwacks on my bottom and thigh—not painful, but enough to make me yell out in shock.

“Badmash! Naughty boy! You’ll spoil your stomach and fail your exams too!”

She held me on her lap, arms wrapped tightly around my middle, and said, “Now you’ll sit like this for half an hour. My prisoner.”

I protested, “Mala, I'm 20 and you are just a 16 year old girl. You cannot spank me and punish me like I'm a school boy.”

She just smiled, “Tell your mother that if you have the guts, she gave me the authority to even scold and punish you, if you don't listen to me.”

And she didn’t let me go. I sat there, red-faced, on her lap, while she rocked me slowly with a grin. 

What a shame! A College final year student being spanked, lying face down on her lap by a 16 year old teenage maid girl. Then held captive from behind, sitting helplessly on her lap for half an hour, as punishment.

( To be continued…)