It was in this stormy climate that as a small gaggle
of gawking first years we reached a cyber-café one
day, firm resolve in one hand and a sweaty thirty
rupees in other; to view all that cyberspace had to
offer its voyeuristic patrons. Greenhorns as we
were, the only course of action was to log on to
search engine and type in the taboo three letter
word….
The picture downloaded, but by bit, on our 128-bit
computer screen…Until after what seemed an
interminable wait, we set our eyes on the picture on
show. In a collective expulsion of anticipatory
breath, we gasped. Despite our stiff lips; despite
our boyish resolve; despite our manly bravado; I
confess- we gasped
A middle-aged, beer belly in the cabin next to us leaned
over perceiving our boyish enthusiasm. Caught in
flagrante delecto with a young lady we’d not even been
properly introduced to, we started balefully back at
him, with an in-your-face –so-you–gotta-problem-mister?
look. He curled his lips in highly un-avuncular disdain
– levator labii oh-so-superioris and all Alec nasii be
dammed. We cowered, whimpering; closed down the page and
returned to the aseptic canopy offered by hotmail.
Some while later, suspicious sounds began to emanate
from beer belly’s corner. I shot a sly sideways glance
at him and there he was - transfixed, mouth agape,
staring, with rapt attention at the screen. His arm
muscles were corded; neck veins prominent; and small
beads of sweat on his (not-unextensive) brow were
coalescing in imminent anticipation of an apocrine
deluge. I inched upwards in my seat and shot a
surreptious look at bb’s screen. And there he was ,
viewing a fantasy of equine proportions; as a rather
personable young lady of petite proportions cavorted
with a young horse of not insignificant proportions.
Beer belly leaned forward in his chair, his bulbous eyes
scanning the screen with rapt attention, hungrily
devouring the lurid prose that accompanied the wanton
bestiality on show. His pink tongue peeped out shyly
from in between his nicotine stained lips, and then, in
an open show of depraved exhibitionism, ran herself all
over his muddy, pink labiae. Then realizing there was no
one about, she retired, like a Toulouse Lautrec harlot,
into the Moulin Rouge of beer belly’s mouth; resigning
herself to a lonely evening, with at least the blessing
of a roof over her head.
I watched, transfixed in repugnant horror, until
realization dawned and a slow smile creased my features.
Turning back, I informed my friends of the delightful
turn of events; and rather than righteous indignation,
it was a conspirational leer with which we now regarded
our erstwhile critic, as we hastily recalled our
disappeared young lady, resplendent now, in lingeried
glory.
Casually I flicked my eyes over the remaining denizens
of the café. An inebriated young man was lasciviously
eying the pretty numidian girl sitting demurely in the
corner. Softly humming the lyrics of a bawdy hindi
number, he approached her in cyberspace, now fortified
by his virtual anonymity and the paper machie mask of
his chat pseudonym - HOTSTUD2000. (I witnessed them,
barely minutes later, locked in a passionate cyber
embrace; whispering sweet nothings and hot some things
over their corresponding chat applets.)
This was too much. The wanton licentiousness of this
place was getting out of hand! Every man here was a sex
fiend! I was surrounded by a vast orgy! Priapic Martians
were invading the Earth! Aaaaaaargh!
And a part of me leapt up from the chair and bolted
through the window into the dark unfriendly night –
never to return again-an Aravind shaped hole in the
universe.
And the remaining
part of me turned back to the computer terminal with a
killer smile and dance in my digits…
Aravind R Menon
