Saali - 2

Just for a statistical reference:

Mousumi 5’10” / 90 kg / 39 years
Aman          5’3” / 63 kg / 40 years

Saali - 2 

The van rumbled over a pothole, jolting me slightly in her arms. I instinctively clutched at her pallu for balance. Mousumi Didi tightened her hold under my knees and around my back.

“Sorry sorry,” she whispered, cradling me a little more securely. “Aman, tum toh bilkul hil jaate ho jaise koi bachha ho. Arey, aur thoda bhari hotey toh lagta main kisi aadmi ko utha rahi hoon.”
“Aman, you get rattled like a small child. Arey, if you were a little heavier, I would at least feel like I am carrying a man.”

I stayed silent. What could I say? I was already burning with embarrassment, yet strangely I didn’t want her to put me down either. I could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath me, the sturdy rhythm of her breath brushing my cheek each time she leaned to speak. She was warm, soft in places, firm in others, and solid like a protective wall around my little frame.

She tilted her head slightly and murmured, “Tum so jao na, Aman. Abhi 20-25 km baaki hai. Waise bhi tum toh lagte hi ho jaise kisi mummy ka baby—thak jaate ho zyada chalne se.”
“You try to sleep, Aman. There are still 20-25 km left. Anyway, you look like a mummy's baby- you get tired of walking too much.”

Then she let out a mischievous chuckle and bent her head down toward mine. Her heavy earring touched my forehead as she kissed my temple lightly, softly.

“Tum jaise aadmiyon ke liye na, main hi thik hoon. For men like you, I am the right person,” she added in a half-whisper, her voice deepening a bit, “Main utha bhi sakti hoon, sambhal bhi sakti hoon, aur chhupa bhi sakti hoon apni godi mein. I can pick you up, I can control you, and I can also hide you in my lap.”

I shifted slightly on her lap, unsure whether it was discomfort or something else stirring deep in me. My pyjama was starting to tighten in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge. I tried adjusting myself subtly, but she noticed.

Her lips curved in amusement. “Arrey arrey... kya hua baby Aman ko? Godi mein aake thoda zyada hi relaxed ho gaye lagta hai. What happened to baby Aman? Looks like you have become a little more relaxed after coming into my lap.” She gave a soft, knowing laugh, not cruel - just amused, almost affectionate.

I looked up at her quickly, protesting, “Mousumi didi ! Don’t tease me like this—log sun lenge, people might listen!”

“Kaun sunega, who will listen?” she whispered back, lowering her voice even further. “Yeh toh goods van hai. Driver toh aage apne hi mood mein hoga, aur hum yahaan peeche apni hi duniya mein.This is a goods van. The driver will be in his own mood up front, and we here at the back are in our own world.”

She suddenly shifted me just a little, adjusting my back more snugly into her sari-covered torso. My head now rested more deeply in the soft curve of her shoulder and neck. She bent her head over mine protectively and began humming an old Hindi lullaby.

I froze. For a second, I forgot everything. Forgot I was a grown man. I forgot I was 40 years old. I even forgot that I was married.

She kept rocking me, gently, her palm slowly stroking my arm now. “Aman,” she said softly, “Aaj toh main tumhein apne bachpan ke din yaad dila dungi. You’re so small and warm… bilkul meri hi godi mein fit ho jaate ho. Today I will remind you of your childhood days. You are so small and warm… you fit perfectly in my lap.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t fight my emotions anymore. Her arms were big, enveloping. Her breath on my hair was like waves washing against a rock. Her perfume, her body, her soft teasing voice—everything was blurring into one strange, overwhelming warmth.

At some point, I must have dozed off.

I woke up with a jolt as the van came to a halt. My cheek was stuck to the damp silk of her blouse, and her hand was still cupping under my knees. The van’s interior was dim, only the faint streetlights from outside filtering in.

“We’ve reached,” she said softly, brushing my hair back with surprising tenderness. “Utth jao… lekin dheere se. Driver dekh lega toh tumko sharam aa jayega, mujhe nahi. Get up… but slowly. If the driver sees, you would feel ashamed, not me.”

I sat up slowly, suddenly conscious of how I must have looked—curled in her lap, cheek wet from her neck, kurta rumpled from being cradled.

As I straightened myself, she smiled. That same sly smile with which she had winked at me during the wedding photograph.

She leaned in one last time before stepping out of the van and whispered, “Agli baar agar kabhi aise situation aaye, toh yaad rakhna Aman… Mousumi didi ki godi hamesha ready hai. Aur tum toh waise bhi mere godi ke permanent member ho gaye ho. Next time if such a situation arises, then remember Aman… Mousumi Didi's lap is always ready. And anyway you have become a permanent member of my lap”

And just like that, she stepped out, adjusted her saree like nothing had happened, and turned to help me out of the van—as if I was the one needing support, which frankly speaking I did.

That long walk home from the main road… I don’t remember much of it. Only that she held my hand all the way like I was a child crossing traffic.

Inside, no one knew what had happened.

It was quite late when we arrived. I went into our room. My wife was fast asleep. 

But I couldn't sleep. I just couldn’t stop thinking of the way I had fit into her lap. Not awkwardly. Not forcefully. But naturally. As if… I belonged there.


The morning sun filtered into the living room as I rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed. I was still groggy from the journey the night before. The van ride, Mousumi Didi’s lap, her lullaby-like humming, her soft perfume—everything came rushing back like a dream. Only, it wasn’t.

Just then, the door opened quietly and in came Mousumi Didi, in a soft cotton house saree, her wet hair combed and tied back. She was holding a tray with two cups of tea and some Marie biscuits. Her eyes lit up when she saw me awake.

“Uth gaye chhota babu? Got up little babu?” she teased softly, placing the tray on the table. “Kal toh meri godi mein bilkul bachcha ban gaye the. Abhi bhi uthte hi kuchh baby baby lag rahe ho. Yesterday you had become a baby in my lap. Even now you look like a baby after waking up.”

“Didi…” I said, a little flushed, “Please… don’t…”

But she came closer, sat beside me cross-legged on the bed, and offered me a cup. “Acha baba, nahi bolungi. Par sach batao, tumne enjoy kiya na? Mujhe toh laga, tum meri godi mein aram sey so gaye the—bilkul relaxed. Ok baba, I won't say anything. But tell me the truth, didn't you enjoy it? I thought you fell asleep in my lap - totally relaxed.”

I avoided eye contact and took the cup.


That weekend, to my surprise, Mousumi Didi decided to visit our house. She called ahead and told my wife that she had some shopping to do nearby and would drop in for lunch.

When she arrived, she wore a light blue kurti over leggings, her broad shoulders and towering height filling our entrance. My wife was in the kitchen, and I was alone in the drawing room just scrolling on my mobile.

“Hello again, baby boy,” she said as she stepped in, closing the door behind her. I looked up, startled.

“Didi, behave…” I said, glancing nervously toward the kitchen.

But she didn’t care. She walked up to me, bent down, and placed both hands on my shoulders—just like she always did. Her hands were huge and warm.

“You thought that van ride was a one-time thing? Naah… that was just a trailer.”

I stood up to face her, standing awkwardly, unsure what to do. I always felt something stirring inside me when standing face to face with her. I had to tilt my face high up just to look at her eyes, she was so much taller than me. She smirked, narrowed her eyes, and suddenly said, “Test time.”

And before I could ask what, she bent down, hooked one arm behind my back, another under my knees, and lifted me smoothly into a full cradle—right there in my living room.

I let out a shocked gasp. “Didi! My wife is in the kitchen!”

“Good,” she said, holding me firmly and walking toward the sofa. “Let her come and see. She should know how well her husband fits in her sister’s arms.”

She sat down on the sofa with me still in her lap. I tried to get up, but she pulled me tighter. “Bas ab chup. Aaram kar. Mujhe waise bhi lagta hai tumhe lap therapy chahiye. Just be quiet. Relax. I think you need lap therapy anyway.”

I buried my face in her shoulder.

“Arrey, sharmao mat,” she giggled. “Tumhe godh mein uthane ka maza hi kuch alag hai. Aur tum toh meri godi mein bilkul memory foam jaise adjust ho jaate ho. Hey, don't feel shy. The fun is just different in picking you up in my lap. And you adjust in my lap just like memory foam.”

Right then, my wife came out from inside.

She paused at the entrance, stared at us for a moment—me full stretch in Mousumi’s lap, blushing like a boy caught in mischief. Then she rolled her eyes, grinned, and said, “Again? Didi, tum toh sach mein usko apna lap baby bana logi. You will really make him your lap baby.”

“I already have,” Mousumi replied, stroking my arm. “Dekho na, kitna sweet lagta hai meri godi mein. Mera chhota sa engineer. Look, how sweet he looks in my lap. My little engineer.”

“Fine,” my wife said, laughing, “Bas usse lunch se pehle chhod dena. Warna godh mein hi sulaa dogi. Just leave him before lunch. Otherwise you will make him sleep in your lap.”

Mousumi winked and tightened her grip. “Ab toh iske liye ek permanent lap-cushion banaungi. Now I will make a permanent lap-cushion for him.”

My wife went inside, laughing.

Hey, what just happened ?? My wife - why did she behave or should I say react like that ? Does she know?

I was totally shocked. I looked up at Mousumi didi, lying helplessly trapped on her lap. 

She was smiling mischievously down at me. She ruffled my hair and whispered, “That night when you were sleeping on my lap in the van, I took a selfie of us and sent it to your wife. Then I texted her what all had happened.”

I was mortified !!

It was after lunch. Mousumi Didi was sitting comfortably on the sofa in our drawing room, wearing a loose house cotton saree now, her long legs stretched slightly, the pallu casually tucked under her broad arm. My wife and mother-in-law were sitting on the other side, sipping tea. I was pretending to be busy on my phone, trying to stay out of the limelight.

But Mousumi had that glint in her eye. The same one she had last night in the van.

“Aunty,” she said suddenly to my mother-in-law, sipping her tea, “Kal raat ko toh main Aman ko pura 25 kilometres godi mein uthaake le aayi. Last night I carried Aman in my lap for the full 25 kilometres ride back home.”

My mother-in-law’s eyes widened with amusement. “SACH?! Tumhare godi mein le aaye?! Really?! You brought him in your lap?!”

My wife broke into laughter. “Didi! Aapne mujhe bataya tha, but mummy ko detail nahi diya tha! You told me, but didn't give the details to mummy.”

Mousumi grinned. “Toh suno—humko toh koi taxi nahi mila. Sirf ek maruti van mila, jismein bas ek jagah thi. Main kya karti? Toh main isse uthaake goud mein bitha liya. Bilkul yeh mere godi mein baitha, pehle seedha, phir baad mein horizontal. Kandhe pe sir, pair seat pe… pura mummy-baby pose mein.
So listen—we couldn't find any taxi. We only found a Maruti van which had just one vacant space. What could I do? So I picked him up and made him sit on my lap. He fit perfectly in my lap, first upright, then horizontal. His head on my shoulder, feet stretched on the seat… in full mummy-baby pose.”

My mother-in-law burst into laughter, clutching her chest. “Ohoho! Aur tu maan gaya Aman? And you agreed Aman?”

I tried to protest, “Mummy, aur kya karta? Aur koi option bhi toh nahi tha…What else could I do? There was no other option…”

Mousumi Didi leaned in, playful and deliberate. “Option tha, Aunty. Yeh mujhe utha ke bitha dete. Par yeh toh bas 63 kilo hai… main hoon 90 kilo ka full solid package. Isse toh meri godi hi sambhal sakti thi.
There was an option, Aunty. He could have lifted me and made me sit on his lap. But he weighs just 63 kgs… I am a full solid package of 90 kgs. So only I could hold him on my lap.”

My wife was enjoying it thoroughly. “Aur Didi ne mujhe bola tha phone pe, ki humare engineer babu ne meri godi mein so bhi gaya…And Didi told me on the phone that our engineer Babu is even sleeping in my lap…”

“Bilkul,” Mousumi nodded, “mujhe lag raha tha ki koi 10 saal ki ladki so rahi ho. Uska gaal mere galey mein ghusa hua tha, poora gala bhiga hua thha, mere perfume aur thode pasine se. Bas wohi toh mummy wala feeling aa gaya tha mujhe.
Exactly, I felt like a 10-year-old girl was sleeping on my lap. His cheek was buried in my neck, my whole neck was wet with my perfume and sweat. That is how I got the mummy-like feeling.”

My ears were burning. I could feel all three pairs of eyes on me.

My mother-in-law smiled. “Mousumi, sach bolu toh mujhe ab darr lag raha hai. Tu kahi Aman ko permanently godh na le le…
To tell you the truth, I am scared now. You might adopt Aman permanently now…”

Mousumi didn’t even blink. “Lungi, aunty. Agar tum aur Sumi (my wife) permission do, toh main isse roz shaam ko school ke baad aakey, uthaa ke godi mein bitha lungi. Office ke stress ke baad relax bhi ho jaayega.
I will, aunty. If you and Sumi (my wife) allow me, I will come here after school every evening, pick him up and take him on my lap. He will also feel relaxed after his office stress.”

My wife chuckled. “Arre le jao. Jab bhi tumhara mann ho, godh le lo. Tum dono ka toh chemistry hi kuch alag hai.
Arre, take him. Whenever you feel like it, adopt him. The chemistry between you two is something different.”


That evening, around 5 pm: the fan was running, and the afternoon lull had set in. My wife was taking a shower. Mousumi Didi was sitting again on the sofa, now scrolling something on her phone, glasses low on her nose.

I was reading a book quietly, sitting on the carpet.

She suddenly patted her lap twice.

“Kitab padho baad mein. Aao, thoda rest lo meri godi mein. Kal toh tumhe achha laga tha, yaad hai?
Read the book later. Come, take some rest in my lap. You liked it yesterday, remember?”

I looked at her, unsure.

She gave me that motherly teasing expression and gently reached down, pulling my arm. I resisted mildly, but she was already shifting.

One arm went behind my back.

The other came under my knees.

SWOOP.

She lifted me in one smooth motion and cradled me again into her lap like a practiced move.

“Bas, aa gaye mummy ke godi mein,” she murmured. “Bas, now you are back in mummy's lap.”

She adjusted me just the way she liked—head tucked into her shoulder and neck, one broad arm firmly behind my back, the other beneath my knees. My face again brushed her neck, and the scent of talcum, fresh saree, and the faint trace of her perfume enveloped me.

She rocked me gently side to side on her thighs.

“Tired boy,” she whispered. “Yeh godi ab tumhari permanent seat hai, samjhe Aman? This lap is now your permanent seat, understood?”

I didn’t resist anymore. Her thighs were wide and solid under me. My back was snug against her arm. I let my body relax.

She hummed a tune softly …
“Chhota sa engineer… 
Meri godi ka passenger…”