Story no. 1

We all are made of our experiences and people around us always have deep impression on our lives. Apart from people whom we live with and frequently interact like our spouse, parents, kids and friends, some times we meet people for a very short time. These short visits leave long lasting impact. It has happened to me a few times and I am sure this would have happened to you as well.

Two strangers meet and spend very short time together. This meeting might leave a long lasting impact on both of them perhaps life long. In this meeting there are only these two people, there is no third person involved and same things happen to them or same things they do together. Yet it would be interesting to see how differently they view this meeting, how dissimilar their perceptions are and how different the impact is on them.

One of the possible reasons may be the diversity of their backgrounds. These two people belong to different countries, professions, educational backgrounds and even gender.

Yet this is not a simple “Boy meet girl” story but, will they live happily ever after (together or not together), well lets watch out.

My night out

I am a techie or at least, that’s how people call us in Bangalore. I am a project manager working for large software company. I am happily married and have two kids. My job takes me to various countries for short and some times long periods.

I was in Philippines on one such visit and was working against tough deadlines, demanding client requirements and with only 24 hours available in the day.

It was a Monday, as usual, beginning of a new week with plans ahead for the week, open action items from last week and key milestones to be achieved for that week. There was just one small difference that it was a holiday in United Kingdom.

It was actually a working holiday for me.

If you are a government employee excited about sixth pay commission, working in a bank, a shop owner, a home maker, retired person or an unemployed , who have managed to escape the earlier dot com boom (and burst) or even have not been impacted by the latest BPO boom, let me tell you that you are part of the 99.5 million Indians for whom life has not changed much in last 30 years apart from Color TVs being cheaper, each week launch of a new 100 / 125 / 150 CC bike, scooters changing face from Bajaj Chetak to Honta Activa, “Saas Bahu” serials now guiding the code of conduct in your families.

However, if you are part of half a million Indians accustomed to working on global projects or part of multi national companies who are in the upper bracket of tax payers contributing every third rupee earned for building roads, bridges that never get built or would be built in your life time, would already know, what I am talking about.

For the benefit of the larger Indian population, who may or may never read this, let me explain that my client is in UK and no matter where I am borne or where I am working, my holidays are governed by my client country (Customer is the King. Hurrah.)

I was still working till 9.00 PM in office, as I had no family in Manila with whom otherwise, I am expected to spend the “Quality Time” on such important days.

At that time, Clio called me and asked, if I wanted to join him for a drink. Clio is my counterpart in Philippines and also a local lad borne and brought up in Manila. We all weigh the importance of person by the quantum of impact one can make in our projects and finally careers. At this equation, Clio was an important person to me and ideally I should be “very glad” to join him and that’s what I told him.

“See you in 10 minutes in the basement parking, Man” Clio replied and hung up.

He was at the drivers seat with both his hands on the steering wheel and a bright shine in his eyes as I was equally important to him on the other side of equation and he too was “Very pleased” at the moment.

“Where do you wanna go ?” Clio asked me as I sat in his car parked in the basement.

“I do not know, this is my first time in this country. I would leave that to you Clio” I said in while keeping my laptop in the back seat of his car.

He was expecting this answer and said, “Okay, I have place in mind, where they play live music and serve good food.”

“Are you a vegetarian or …….” He asked me.

“I eat anything that moves on this earth” I told him.

He was surprised. This is unlikely reply, he would get from an Indian, who would generally be a strict vegetarian or at least fussy about eating cow’s meat.

“Do you eat beef and ham ?” I nodded my head up and down indicating affirmative answer.

It must have been the umpteenth time, I was having this conversation with any one, I was going out with on any such occasion and all of this would be done with absolute precision by the subconscious mind, without any need for the conscious brain for thinking.

Interesting part starts from here and I must pay attention to this now.

“Good, you might like the pork legs. Its their specialty.” It took him 10 minutes of driving to take us to the place.

Dark lane with few cars parked on both sides of road, a stray dog, a motor cycle with side car and the only sound of faint crackling generated by neon sign board of the pub shining in red color reading “Red Light”

It didn’t take me long to realize where we were. We entered through thick wooden door like the ones they use in every bar to avoid loud music coming out on the street. Both the muscular men standing at the gate in their black T shirts and black trousers, nodded and slightly bowed as we crossed them.

It was filled with dim light falling only on the tables and the chairs remaining in the dark to provide anonymity to the occupant. The place only had 4 – 5 customers as this was a usual Monday for rest of Philippines, who do not get a holiday, when United Kingdom is observing a holiday.

There was a small stage set up at one end of the hall and there were 8 girls dressed in black hot pants and black tank tops dancing in synchronization on some local music being belched out by huge speakers.

10 – 12 girls in similar dress but in red color were pretending to be busy serving those 4 – 5 tables. However it clearly showed that we were there on off peak time or the “happy hours” as they call it.

We had a San Miguel beer each and spent some time enjoying the music and the deep fried pork legs. I must admit that Manila has an atmosphere of its own, when it comes to hospitality and warmth. The girls tried best to entertain us, tease us without crossing their limit, coaxed us, joked with us and pretended to enjoy our company to help us make feel better.

All my professional colleagues can take a cue from these girls upon customer delight and we must learn to smile from them, whenever we are fed up with “demanding customers” in our respective professions like software, BPO etc.

After spending around one h our in that place, Clio asked me, if I would like to do pub hopping and I nodded my head to express my concurrence.

We came out and started driving again on the well it roads of Manila. “how did you like it ?”, Clio asked.

I have already explained to you above that Clio was “important person” for my project and had potentially significant impact on its outcome.

You guessed it right.

“Great Place”, pat came my reply.

“Did you like any one of those” he asked me referring to 8 girls dressed in black, dancing on the floor and to the 10 girls dressed in red, serving the beer.

Not to let my guard off and not show my “animal instinct” , I just pretended to think for a while and then replied, “Well……. Not really”

“Hmmmm……What kind of place you would like to go now?” Clio asked.

My answer seemed to have challenged Clio’s confidence in hosting his foreigner friends in Manila.

Knowing very well, where he is coming from, I replied, “I have seen your choice and my confidence in you has now increased. We will go to any place you recommend. Hotter the better”

“Hotter the better” he repeated to confirm, that he picked up the clue.

“They have almost three hundred girls, I am sure, you would like at least one of them” He winked at me.

I winked back at him and said, “Alright, lets go”

We were there within 5 minutes of drive and this was a place not so different from outside than the previous place.

The only difference was in parking space. Couple of paces away from our destination, the place which was oddly named as “Miss Universal”, there was an empty plot area. This open space was used by garbage vendors and Jeepney * drivers to park their vehicles.

* Jeepneys are specially designed vehicles using old American Jeeps from world war 2. Take the chasis of jeep, put two long benches in the back and fix the metal walls and roof either in chrome or with as many colors as possible and stuff 15 people on those benches, a few hanging on sides and a few sitting on top of the vehicle, that is Jeepney from Manila for you, the “public transport” of common people.

He parked his bright shining car alongside those Jeepneys and we walked out. He did not need to explain to me that he can not park his car on the main road outside this place. He obviously can’t afford the risk of being identified by his car number parked in that area. It was clear to me.

There were around 8 – 10 children begging from passers by and there were two shops on the pavement selling cigarettes of local brand. We were frisked and enquired for not carrying any camera or camera phone before entering a big hall through a small, narrow and brightly lit corridor.

The hall was dark with a big stage surrounded by tables and chairs arranged in a restaurant manner. There were tables with 6 chairs for large groups, tables with 4 chairs for small groups and very small table with 2 chairs for singles.

Immediately on the left hand side of the entrance to the hall, there were few matured women sat in parrot green color coats and pants. These were the “managers” and asked, if this was our first time in the place.

My experience friend asked for Mr. Pol, the chief of the managers and Mr. Pol appeared from dark and greeted while slightly bowing in very typical philippino style.

He was a main in his late fiftes, approx 5 ft 2 inches tall with his hair oiled and neatly combed back straight. It was clear that he had not been to a salon in last one year. His face bore as many wrinkles as the number of chairs in the big hall. He was wearing black worn out two piece suite with black bow on the white shirt. His whole appearance bore the signature of the place, not affluent, not filthy, but a perfect “Strip Bar”.

True to the place, a young, petite philipino girl was on the stage grooving to the loud music with not a single piece of cloth on her body.

Mr. Pol guided us thru the maze of tables filled with all kind of people drinking and smoking. He placed us right next to the stage, where few chairs were lying around a table.

“The trick is to know the manager to find the right place.” Clio spoke with a shine in his eyes and a sense of achievement by occupying a seat very next to the stage, while people already sitting there were few feet far from the stage.

I had no choice, but to nod my head in appreciation upon his big accomplishment. My expressions showed that I was impressed.

Mr. Pol sat next to us, as we settled into the chairs and he took out small note pad and a pen and scribbled the table number, cover charge and the time on a thin paper with carbon beneath it. He tore the original and gave it to Clio for signature. Mr. Pol smiled and bowed before leaving.

“You are Charles and I am Jun” Clio whispered in my left ear suggesting that we should not be disclosing our original identities here.

A steward in white dress came and sat next to Clio as he took orders from Clio and nodded. Within no time, two beers appeared from dark and were served before us.

The song was changed on the stage and now there were 5 girls dancing with few clothes, that these girls will be removing while dancing in next few minutes.

“They got all sizes and shapes. Man” Clio crooned.

“Déjà vu, if you have seen one, you have seen them all” I was telling myself while still smiling at Clio to express my agreement with his enthusiasm.

It was time for my education around the “system” in Philippines. Each Girl was wearing a bikini with a circular plate hung on the left side of her waist. Different numbers were written on those circular plates. One out of five girls did not bear the circular plate.
“You just need to remember the number, if you like the girl. You can call that girl to sit besides you and drink. You can talk to the girl, touch her and if you like, ask her mobile number, if she would like to meet you in private.” Clio guided me while keenly looking at the numbers and the girls.

This worked in very simple manner. On the rear side of the hall, was a “Show Room” with two rooms. Both rooms had very bright light inside and were covered with wall from three sides and the side, which opened towards hall was covered with a black glass with a strip in the middle for customers to peep inside and select the girl, they want. Since the “Show Room was brightly lit and the hall was very dark, it is easy for customer to see the girls but the girls can not see the customers.

Of the two rooms, the right hand side room had 20 - 25 girls sitting and waiting for their turn for going on stage and performing their strip tease dance. On the left hand side there was another room, where 5 – 6 girls were sitting. If you did not like any one from the number shown on the stage, you can go to the show room and select any girl like you would go to the grocery store with different variety of food items neatly stacked and you pick whatever you like.

Perfect commoditization of women, wow what a progress, mankind has made in 21st Century.

After spending some time watching the girls on stage coming, removing their clothes and then performing their dance we saw many girls being called down by their number to go and sit besides the customer and “entertain” him. Customer was allowed to touch, squeeze, kiss and make any type of conversation he or she wants.

Each table was supervised by a manager, like Mr. Pol managed our table. Whenever a customer wanted a girl, he needs to inform the manager. The Manager would come with torch in his hand and will indicate the required girl to come behind the stage. Both customer and manager would go to the stage and manager would handover the girl to the customer. Every time, the customer held hand of the girl and walked, the girl walked a step behind holding customer’s hand. This scene reminded me of farmers in rural India holding the rope tied to their cows with farmer walking at his leisurely pace and cow silently following him.

“Did you like any one ?” Clio was determined to play a perfect host in Manila.

I replied, “I already have two numbers in mind, but I will call a girl, if you also call one.”

If your conscious does not allow you to do something, the easiest way out is to find a partner in crime. “Why can’t I do it, if my partner can do it.” This is the best way, I have found so far to cheat on my own conscious.

“Offcourse, I will !!!”, Clio beamed after seeing my progress. “Lets go and get girls”, he said.

Mr. Pol silently appeared from dark, as soon as we got up. He smiled and led us to “Show Room”.

People don’t need to be taught to read body language in the primitive professions. Especially in the world’s oldest profession, like the one Mr. Pol had. It had been only 20 minutes, since we arrived. Our beer glasses were more than half filled and our cigarettes were lit and kept on the ash tray. These were enough signs for Mr. Pol to understand that we were not going back home. If we got up, it simply means that we would like to go to the “show room” and like to pick the girls of our choice, the way we all pick vegetables from vegetable vendors in our daily lives.

Clio made an instant choice as he had the numbers in mind and just took few seconds to figure out, who he wanted to call.

I was confused as much as any first timer and a foreigner in Philippines would be. All the girls looked same to me. They all wore similar skimpy clothes and wore similar make up. All of them had prominent features, that girls of this country would have with high cheek bones, almost missing jaw line, thick lips, sharp and pointed chins with very small eyes and black, shining straight hair.

We all have animal instinct and human conscience in us. The animal and the human in me were constantly arguing as I took long time before I made my decision.

Animal was looking for big boobs and kinky looking girl. Animal had quickly calculated that he could not get “full service”, but only touch, speak, squeeze and perhaps kiss the girl at the most. Animal wanted to make most of given opportunity and definitely a “not so hot” girl would spoil the fun.

Human was surprised, curious to know why these girls agreed to do this kind of job, compassionate and perhaps instantly angst against the existing social structure, which commoditized the women.

I glanced thru the right hand side room with 20 – 25 girls and was now looking into the left hand side room, which housed six girls.

Mr. Pol was an experienced “Manager” and was not surprised at me taking long time deciding. He smiled and offered suggestions, “This one, that one, the tall one, the small one”

Clio was long gone back to his chair, holding hand of the girl and the girl walking one step behind him.




I met her


I finally reached the end of second room with my eyes now on the sixth (and the last available) girl. Unlike other girls, who were chit chatting, laughing, and some of them making obscene gestures at the customers looking from the glass wall, this one was sitting in the corner, silently gazing at a wall in front of her. She looked to be only physically present in the room with her thoughts drawn to some far place.

We all form an opinion about every body, we meet for the first time. Generally this process works like a digital camera, and can be divided into two parts eg. Capturing the image and then processing it. Both parts have their respective significance. Similarly in our first meetings, first part is capturing the visual and audio image with other senses like smell, temperature etc sending the combined data to brain for processing the image. The second part of process is performed by sub conscious brain, largely driven by our frame of mind, thought process, our education, upbringing, family values and our view towards every thing in life.

Without being aware of the impact of second part of the process, we all develop tremendous confidence in our ability to form the opinion and perception in our first meeting and strongly believe our opinions and perceptions to be correct.

Following the same rule, I also formed the first opinion about her. I could sense strange sadness in her empty eyes. She certainly did not belong there.

Mr. Pol winked at me and smiled, “You like them big, don’t you?” He said to convey his appreciation of my choice.

Its always the same. Whether we like it or not, but we all must appreciate the choice of customer in today’s global economy. Mr. Pol did it to me. The waiter / steward at any restaurant would do it to you, when you order food. I do it all the time to my customers.

In one of the most disliked manner, I held hand of “Sugar” and walked to my chair, as she walked one step behind me stretching her arm with her hand in my hand.

The steward appeared again asking “Sugar” for what drink would she like to have. Orange juice was her choice.

By that time, the drink was served, the song had changed and the girl on stage too. The DJ was playing “You are beautiful in my eyes” by Joshua, as I wondered the new definition of beauty, I was experiencing sitting here in a strip bar in Manila. “Is this beauty ?” I wondered. I just learnt a new meaning to this song.

Sugar sat on the chair besides me on my right hand side in a way that her whole body leaning over mine and I had no choice but to keep my right arm around her shoulders. She started caressing my right thigh which was crossed over the my left one and began the conversation, “What’s your name ?”

“Is this her call opening script ?” I thought.

If you have worked in a call center or have either made call to check your credit card balance, you must have experienced a Call Opening Script like, “Thanks you for calling xyz bank, This is abc, how can I help you sir ?”

“What’s your name ?” I would have answered to this question very honestly almost a million times. But the moment I was asked this time, I faked without any trouble.

“Charles” I replied.

Human body is an amazingly programmable device.

How tough is to design a computer that can itself navigate a car thru traffic, even if you put a camera, robotic arm, leg and program to drive the car in such a way that it avoids all the traffic and other obstacles while obeying all the traffic rules fed into its memory.

Now imagine designing such a device with ability to adapt to driving culture of US (where people stop their cars for pedestrians) and India (where only rule on the road is to follow no rule) at the same instance. It is very tough, if not impossible. But that is the magic of human body and brain, which gets programmed to any condition within no time.

“Where are you from ?” another scripted question.

“Why don’t you guess ?” I asked. Clio had not taught me an answer to this one and I wanted to play safe.

“Saudi ?” she guessed and I nodded my head up and down indicating affirmative answer.

It is funny, but true that many Indians with reasonably fair skin, good built and facial hair (moustache, beard etc.) are assumed to be Arabs.

There is a large Indian community in manila but mostly involved in money lending business if they are Sindhi or Gujarati. Then there are Sikhs who dominate the business of repairing motor cycles. The community is so strong that they have their own temples, gurudwaras and numerous Indian restaurants. Still they are not known to be professionals, educated and foremost frequenting the night clubs or strip bars. Hence I was mistaken to be an Arab.

I have lived in Gulf for few years and know both the resemblance and differences in appearance, accent, body structure, thought process of Arabs and Indians and I do not want to open another chapter, but want to share this with you, because you must understand what was going on in my mind, when sitting with “Sugar” I said that I am an Arab.

I grew in Rajasthan studying in a all boys school and all boys college with no siblings of my age and no girl friends. The only girl I met thru my parents is now my wife and I really had no idea to continue the conversation with a stranger of opposite gender, with very few clothes, cheap perfume, leaning all over me, so much that I could almost feel her breath on my neck.

“This is my first time to a place like this.” I opened up sounding foolish, cursing myself that Clio should have prepared me about all this.

She looked straight in my eyes and smiled in an expert manner. She found it really innovative way to open up a conversation because I am sure, no one would have started like this in the thousands of other customers, she would have entertained in past years.

Her eyes conveyed that you are lying and her smile conveyed a fake appreciation of my innocence. A perfect professional way of communicating non verbally, “I know you are lying, but I liked it.”

She thought, I am a Pro in this field and instantly felt challenged to test her prowess in this field.

Well, we all love innovations in our respective fields. I appreciate any of my colleagues finding out a newer and smarter way of doing things that we do every day. Our spouses find the change in our sexual routine very interesting.

While I was thinking that I was sheepish and sounded like novice, but the dart had instead hit the bull’s eye.

“Really ?” she exclaimed in an animated manner. “Ah ! yes.” I replied.

Her right hand had started moving over my very hairy left arm, with her left elbow firmly resting on my right thigh, which was crossed over my left leg. I was partly relieved that she had stopped caressing my right thigh. Although I was wearing a thick denim jeans, but her hand really had a sensation, which many might find desirable but was very uncomforting for me.

“So how do you like here ?” she asked. The game had started.

She found this conversation away from her routine, where people will try to behave like vultures trying to touch her private parts, squeeze her big boobs or kiss her cheeks or her lips painted with thick quote of colored wax called lipstick.

“Good !!!” I said, as any boss would reply after reviewing your presentation. It sounded out of place here.

“Do you like me ?” she asked in husky voice. “Uh, Oh, yes sure !!!” I replied.

“Will you take me to your place tonight ?” was the question that almost stumped me.

I looked like Sachin Tendulkar badly beaten and almost clean bowled on the very first delivery of match by Glen McGrath.

“Let me think about it ?” as I would reply to any question in office, that I do not want to answer.

This seems to have further challenged her because most of her previous customers would have either answered yes or no clearly.

Things are getting worse, I thought. With my natural competitive spirit, I realized that I can not lose this match. I have traveled across globe and have dealt with tough negotiations, board meetings, project plans and even encountered competition on the table tennis game. I can not lose to the person sitting next to me, with no education, no experience and obviously no repute.

I am going to take this head on, I decided. And naturally the body resonates your thinking in its own way called “Body Language”. I turned towards her, straightened by legs a little bit and crossed my left thigh over my right thigh now to point my left knee towards her and I looked straight in her eyes.

“You are beautiful ?” I said and I actually meant it. “Thank you” she said in her philipino accent.

This challenge had stopped the constant argument between the animal and human within me. The Human had taken over but in the sporting avatar, having decided to win the duo.

“How old are you ?” I had now started thinking and behaving like a bastard and a frequent club visitor. Human brain is the best programmable device, I told you.

“Twenty” she replied.

For how many years, would she be repeating the same answer, I wondered and quick came another question from me. “How long have you been working here ?”

“This is my first time too.” She mockingly said taking the conversation to my opening remark, where I said, it was my first time.

We both laughed and the hawk eye of manager sitting some where in the dark relaxed as he saw us behaving “naturally”. He might have sensed my discomfort earlier and was relieved to see me behaving the same way, his regular clients would behave.

He appeared and asked, if I needed any thing. I took out a cigarette from my pocket and indicated that I needed the lighter. He nodded, bowed and took out lighter from his pocket to light my cigarette.

“Sugar” took the lighter from manager and lit my cigarette. Manager was pleased with his employee putting all the training into action.

“Enjoy yourself sir.” He said and disappeared again in the dark.

“There are five girls on the stage, which of them you find most beautiful ?” I asked Sugar.

“Hmmm, the second from left. She replied after a brief mock thinking guesture.

This helps me understand her standards and base line of beauty, as they all looked same to me otherwise.

She had clearly understood that she was interacting with a really “different” customer this time, as no body would have asked this question also to her in her previous thousands of customers.

Human in me had taken full control and I had decided some objectives for this meeting and had determined that I will achieve them.

“Tell me something about yourself.” I asked

“What ?” She was genuinely surprised and smiled. First time, I saw her real expressions. She did not look like a whore, as she did with her artificial smile.

“Tell me about your family, friends, childhood etc. etc.” I Said.

“But Why ?” She almost protested in surprise

“Because I want to know you as a human being and not as a bar girl.” I said

“Well, my name is Sugar and ….” I interrupted, “That is your nick name. What is your real name ?” I asked

Ella she said and told me that she is from a province called General Santos. Her father died when she was 12 and her mother was a fish vendor and was ailing with heart disease and could not work any more. She had two elder brothers, but did not support her or her mother. They had no regular jobs and had their families to support too.

Philippines follows more or less a US mirrored education system with nursery, kindergarten, 7 years of elementary school and then 4 years of high school followed by 4 years of college.

She had dropped out after completing first year of college, as she could not afford education any more and had to work.

No one would give her any job without college education and hence had come from her province to work in Manila Metro to support herself and her mother.

Here the only job she would find was this one and worked here for last few months.

“How much do you earn in a month ?” I asked.

She smiled and tried laughing it away. She had a smart way of escaping this question by pretending not to understand it.

I kept insisting as I was smarter than her and have interacted across diverse cultures and languages in many countries. This was not new to me, I have seen people pretending not to understand the question, when they don’t want to answer.

I told her that I will call her manager and will ask the manager to translate the question to her in her native language, Tagalog.

“Some times 2000, some times 3000 a month.” She surrendered to my first degree interrogation and replied.

There was a shame on her face, a sense of helplessness for not being able to save her grace and vanity while answering this.

It was evident, that she had programmed herself to strip all her clothes on the stage, but still do not feel insulted. This question really made her look more vulnerable, hurt and exposed.

Don’t we all have different degrees of exposures ? Some make us uncomfortable and some really don’t. She was out of her comfort zone now.

“Why ?” I was equally shocked and almost thought this to be a lie. “She must be earning this in a night.” I thought.

“Look, I am not a dancer.” She replied. “ I do not go out on the stage and dance. Dancers have a budget. They get 650 pesos every night. I do not have a budget. I am only a model. If a customer selects me, I go sit besides him, talk, tease him, allow him to touch my body. The customer has to buy a drink for me. That allows him to have me for an hour besides him. You pay 400 pesos per drink for me and I get only 100 pesos out of that. If customer likes, he buys more drinks for me within an hour and if not, then I go back to the room after an hour. Some nights, I get 2 – 5 drinks and some nights I get none.”

“What if, some one takes you to his place ?” I asked in disbelief.

“I don’t go out. I am a shy girl.” She answered.

I found it really amusing a shy girl working in strip bar. It did not fit in my logical mind and I thought, this is another of the “Script” taught to her by her manager.

At the end of the day, its all in our minds. Any thing easily available will lose its value and will not command price. I was sure that managers must have taught them to behave instantly shy, when some one asked them out, because a customer asking a girl out would mean that he has already made his choice and now its time to negotiate the price.

Where was the shyness, when she started leaning all over me and caressing my thighs going very near to the “golden triangle” between my thighs but never really reaching there to keep the tease on. I thought it was perfect training to them.

I was determined to find out the truth and reminded her, that she asked me in the beginning of conversation that if I wanted to take her to my place.

“Its expensive. You will have to pay 5000 pesos.” Thinking that high price would deter me from doing that and will help her avoid that situation.

“How much do you get out of the 5000 pesos, that I will give to the manager ?” I asked

“2000 Pesos only.” She said, “But I don’t go out.” Her voice was firm and clear.

“What if I call you directly without involving your manager ? Would you go out to my place ? How much will you charge ?” I asked

“Its up to you.” She replied

I was now confused. I was expecting a denial, a negotiation, false excuses etc. “You will come, if I give you 2000 Pesos ?” I asked

“Its up to you.” Her reply was same.

“But I do not want “Full Service”, you understand ? I just want to talk to you.” I had started setting right expectation.

“Its up to you.” Looked like these were the only words, she knew.

“Okay !!!” I didn’t know how else to respond. I really was not serious about calling her to my room. I am not the kind of guy, who will even dream of buying a one night sex, forget about having any relationship outside marriage.

“But how do I meet you ?” She asked.

I responded with counter question, “What time your shift ends ?”

“At 4.00 in the morning.”
“Okay, come to my room after your shift.” I couldn’t believe myself, that I was telling this to her.

“Where do you stay ?” she asked. “Hotel Shangri-La” I replied to her.

Here we are two people, stranger to each other, one a first time visitor and other a non regular employee, sitting in a strip bar under cautious eyes of managers, striking a deal against the rules of bar. I have never done this kind of adventure in my life before.

I wanted to check validity of her proposal while retaining the one way communication path through which I could reach her, if I wanted to. But she could not until I allowed it. Smart, huh !!

I needed a way to contact her without sharing my contact details. I needed her mobile number, if she had one. My quick mind calculated the options. She can not write her mobile number on a paper, because the only paper we had was tissues lying on the table in a dingy tissue holder and I didn’t have a pen either. Besides, it would be too risky for her to write. This would be an obvious enough gesture to get her fired from the only job she had.

One of us usually gives a missed call to other one, when we have to exchange mobile numbers in a normal condition. But this wasn’t normal one. Her mobile must be in some locker or in her purse lying in the show room, where she would usually wait for a customer to pick her up. I did not want to risk myself by taking out my mobile to dial / feed her number.

“Just tell me your phone number” I said in low tone. “I will memorize it.”

“917-765-0765” she said with a clear disbelief in her eyes.

“917-765-0765” I repeated and her eyes widened in surprise. She hit my right biceps with her soft fist, the way girls do it to their men to express their appreciation.

I thanked Clio on my way back to hotel for showing me around Night out at Manila, but did not share any of the details about my conversation with Sugar apart from just “She was hot ! Man.”

I sent a Text Message thru my mobile to her mobile number stating my room number and hotel name. This was my way of giving her confidence about me by sharing my mobile number with her. She responded that she will be there by 4.30 AM and she indeed arrived.

Soon followed another message, “I don’t have money for taxi, will you pay the taxi driver, when I arrive ?”

“Yes” I replied.


In my room


I was not sure, if hotel would allow me to invite a guest, that too a female in her twenties to my room at 4.30 AM. I was waiting in the valet area of the hotel smoking nervously, when she indeed arrived in a yellow and green cab.

I paid 100 pesos to the taxi driver escaping his eyes, knowing that it was his daily routine to deliver bar girls to such hotels and he knew every thing. I still preferred to behave like a pigeon, which closes its eyes upon seeing the cat, as if cat is also not seeing him any more.

I turned my head to the other side, and saw the valet employee of hotel looking at me. I felt like a girl standing on the stage with my clothes stripped down.

I knew that every one knew, what I was doing. What I did not know, was that it was daily routine for them to see this almost 20 times in a night and it really didn’t matter to them at all.

Ella walked two paces behind me with her head bent down right from the valet point to the lobby, from the lobby to the lift. The same manner in which the cow walks behind the farmer in rural India.

Once in lift, I mad eye contact with her and she smiled. It took few seconds for lift to travel from Lobby to 24th floor.

Alone in lift with a girl at my disposal, I thought of physical advance and touching her or putting my arm around her waist. I thought of giving her a beer hug and kissing on her lips. I thought of gently holding her hand and asking her to come near me.

All the while, she was smiling and her fingers constantly playing with her hand bag.

My chain of thoughts was broken with the cling sound, that the lift makes upon its arrival at destination floor.

I have worked in high rise buildings and have been in an elevator with a stranger of opposite gender. Never in past, have been stormed by such thoughts earlier. This short journey against the gravity was different for sure.

The doors of lift softly opened and the female voice of lift announced the twenty fourth floor.

I slipped out of the lift and gestured with my left hand for the lady to come out, like a gentleman would do to any known lady.

This was too much for her and she was enjoying every moment of her company with a gentleman all the while fully convinced that this gentleman will soon turn into an animal hungry for sex. She must have been through this few times in her professional career earlier.

I escorted her into my room. Room was clean. Dim lights appeared on the wall from concealed lamps, as soon as I slid the card key into the socket. The room was a standard five star hotel room with small corridor with cupboard on left and bathroom on the right side, There was a bed with Navy Blue bed cover, a peacock blue sofa with a coffee table on the right hand side and a TV, a reading table, small refrigerator on the left hand side. In front, there was a wall of complete glass from floor to ceiling covered with white linen lining and indigo blue curtains in contrast to the deep blue carpet with floral design.

Ella went and stood near the curtains. I pulled the curtains apart and there was magnificent view of Makati city of Manila with bright lights. It was dark at 4.30 AM and as she later told me, she felt like starry sky at her foot steps. She had been to such a place for the first time.

I asked, “Would you like to have a coffee”

“I am hungry. Do you have something to eat”, she replied.

The only thing, I had were few apples and bananas in the complementary fruit basket from hotel and I offered an apple to her.

“Let’s have coffee”, she announced. Apple or Banana after a night long shift at strip bar was not her idea of filling the stomach.

I switched on the electric cattle and poured coffee, sugar and dairy whitener into two mugs while waiting for water to boil. True to its name, Nestle instant coffee was ready in a minute


“Can I use our bathroom”, she asked and entered into bathroom without waiting for my answer.

The light spread from the translucent glass door of bathroom, as she switched on the light after closing the door. I could hear tap running in bathroom, followed by some jingling sound. I was thinking of next steps.

Suddenly the realization of being with a stranger in a room all alone struck me.

“How much, do I know her. What experience do I have in such situations ? What if, she is a cheat and tries to extort money from me ? Is she carrying a gun or a weapon to handle stupid people like me?”

It’s a natural exercise for a project manager to perform “Risk and Mitigation” before starting any new project.

“Something has to be done quickly”, I thought and suddenly glanced upon her hand bag lying near the coffee mugs.

Without wasting a second, I sprung from sofa and opened her handbag to check the belongings. There was a hair brush, a perfume, a moisturizer, a lip balm, a small hand towel, a lipstick, some cotton and her mobile.

I was relieved to find no weapon or any objectionable material in her hand bag.

She certainly is not a regular for private visits to customers, as the regular ones must be carrying condoms with them for their own safety, Animal suggests.

She was telling truth an hour ago, that she had no money to pay to the taxi driver, as I found no money in her bag. In fact, she had no money to go back to her home too and she still smiles more than me. Human reminds me.

The room was filled with darkness again, as Ella switched off the bathroom light and opened the door and stepped out. Inspired from Bollywood movies, my imagination suggested that she would step out with some tempting clothes on her or perhaps with no clothes.

Unlike my silly imagination, she was in her full clothes, washed and clean face without makeup and not even a hint of a fake expression on her face or invitation / temptation in her eyes, that she bore at her work place, or the mask of lusty smile, any such girl would wear for her customer.

She smiled at me and picked up her coffee and courteously said thanks to me. We both started sipping our coffee. I was still in my thoughts

I certainly was not keen on having sex with her or for that matter with any one outside my marriage. Why, the hell have I invited her to my room.

“To talk to her and know her. To understand, why would some one indulge into sex for money”, the human in me reminded me.

“Come on, you liar. You are enjoying the thrill of your manhood by inviting a young woman into your room.” The animal taunted back at the human in me.

“In your whole life, you have never dated a woman. You always thought of yourself too incompetent of flattering, coaxing or seducing a woman. With your kind of plain looks, dull personality and no knowledge of how women think, you have been reasonably confident of your incapability in this game.

This whole episode is turning out to be a mind game, an adventure, giving a false imagination to you of achieving all those successes with women. “

The human in me was playing the role of devil’s advocate.

“So what, don’t we all play the video games driving cars at crazy speeds, banging into each other, doing those crazy stunts. What is wrong in a little bit of thrill ?”

Animal in me is in no mood to give up.

“So, You wanted to talk to me”, She said and chain of my thoughts broke again.

“Yes”, I replied.

“So talk”, she said with subtle professional reminder in her voice, conveying that she was ready and it was time for me to do what I want to do.

Those two words, were enough to tell me that she would play it by the ear. She would immediately fake the arousal, if I made any physical move and will happily wait and perform philosophical discussion, if that is what I wanted to do.

I wondered, how she can be so calm and emotionless with some one about to have sex with her. But that is professionalism for you.

The difference lies between a surgeon using a knife to cut stomach of patient and an enraged killer using a knife to cut stomach of his enemy. The difference lies between a five star chef using well researched, award winning recipe to dish out a great looking but tasteless creation and a loving mother cooking simple meal for her kids.

The surgeon and the chef are professionals whereas the killer or the mother have power of emotion.

The very thought of detaching sex from love had put me off. This is the feeling, that has kept me loyal to my wife not only after marriage, but much before, I married to her, or even knew her.

That’s correct. Right from child hood, Indian society stresses on abstinence before marriage and celebrates loyalty after marriage.

“Is this, how you talk” she asked animating my silence with her finger on her lips, as she snuggled in sofa with me, allowing her body to contact me. This might be her way to remind, that she is there in her entirety, ready to bare, ready to get laid and later paid.

Perhaps it was not her first encounter with customers like me, whose intellectual juices will start overflowing in such situations and who will not mind paying her for listening to her scripted stories romanticizing the struggle, sorrow and pains of being a prostitute. Such customers will tell her that they understood her grief, they will express sympathy to her and move on with a promise to see each other again.

A promise, both the customer and the girl would know upfront to be false, both will not believe for sure and will still make that promise to each other.

That is the precise definition of “Business Protocol”.

“Have you ever come across a person like me, who will call you into his room for a private visit and sit like a log without doing any thing or even talking”, I asked her.

“I don’t know. I do not go out. I am a shy girl. I only do it for money. You see, I am not a dancer, I only entertain the visitors at club.”

“So, how come you are here with me” I asked.

“You seemed a nice guy, you were different from others who behave like vultures in the club. They are clearly hungry and they hurt. You did not even touch me. After I gave you my number and I went inside, I told this to my friend Angela.”

“Angela is an expert dancer and she frequently goes for private visits to customers. She immediately told me that its perfectly ok for me to meet you and go to your room. She knew that its unlikely that you will ask me for sexual favor. She laughed at you and told me that she and all her friends will die with hunger if all men were like you.”

“Hmmm” I couldn’t respond, so I just hummed.

She continued, “But you know, I think, Angela and all her friends would be loved, cared and respected as wives and mothers, if all the men were like you”

This was straight from the heart of two girls into prostitution. Angela was blunt, plain and as candid as experience would make her whereas Ella was touched, optimistic, and still believed in life.

It was 6.00 AM and now she was sure that Angela was right and she would get paid by spending rest of morning, talking to me rather than faking an orgasm for a few currency notes.

“Okay, tell me something about yourself.” She said.

“Both of my parents were small kids, when they moved from Karachi to India during partition. They would have lived in different refugee camps and would have received different facilities by the very generous Indian government. It was their destiny that after 12 years of settling down in India, they met and married thru their respective families. It was my destiny that after 10 years of their marriage, I was borne in that family.

My father was a government servant, who in 1970 was a proud owner of a Hercules Bicycle and owned a small house in a small town in western India named Jaipur.

Yes, that is when and where I was born. Next 20 years of my life were very uneventful and I do not remember any thing special apart from my summer holidays at my maternal grand father’s place.

I studied in a school ran under a tree and learnt writing alphabets using wet charcoal on a wooden plate.

The temperatures ranged from minimum 2 degrees Celsius to maximum 15 degrees in winters. In summers it would be between 16 to 46 degrees. My mother would encourage me to take bath early morning every day in all seasons. Along with an old shirt, my mother would give me only shorts to wear in all seasons. She always told me that braving the weather would make my muscles strong and resilient to adversities and will develop strength in me to face any difficulty in life.

The reality was that my parents could never afford to buy me trousers, because due to increasing height at that age, would mean that trousers will need to be replaced sooner than shorts. Generally new shorts were knee long and would last for two years before they stop fitting me. Trousers could not be worn for so long. Besides, trousers would require more cloth for stitching than shorts and where would that extra money come from.

“And what about early morning bath” Ella spoke for the first time, since I started my story.

“Oh, its because the water supply was only available for 30 minutes of early morning every day and we could not afford to buy too many buckets for storing water, forget about thinking of having an electric geyser for heating the water during winters. The only option, we had was to take bath with running tap instead of stored water”

“Your mother was right. You are a strong person” Ella said. I was comforted to see that unlike her friend Angela, she did not ridicule my inability to indulge into mindless sex, She rather saw this as strength of my character.

I continued, “Twenty years back, when I was in my college, my father retired. My Father continued to work after his retirement from Government job as he supported the family. I started working as an accountant at a cloth merchant’s shop during my college days and started earning my pocket money as my pay at the cloth shop was not decent enough for me to support my family.”

My father was a very content man, who derived happiness from smaller things in life like first rain of the season, smell of fresh bread and playing flute in free time rather than chasing money. He believed in spending less and saving more for better life. This always ensured that we lived with limited means and wore shorts instead of trousers.

My mother always wanted me to study sincerely and become a doctor or engineer or at least do some higher studies to be able to earn decent living. She never expected this to improve her own lifestyle, but it was rather a struggle of freedom from the content nature of my father.

This whole situation somehow created a desire in me to study, earn respectable living and more than any thing, inculcated value for quality of life in me.”

In the course of reaching my desired position, I did conduct trials and errors, learned from my mistakes and moved on.

After my college, instead of pursuing advanced studies, I decided to pursue money and left for United Arab Emirates.

That was around 18 years ago and it took me an year to realize that I had selected a wrong direction.

“Why, what happened in that one year” Ella asked

I continued, “Upon my landing on airport, I was received by the chief accountant of the company that was owned by an individual. I was deployed in the warehouse as a porter. In humid and hot conditions, I used to work under tin shade at two shifts. Morning shift from 8 – 12 was for emptying the containers from port. There was incoming goods in form of cartons of readymade garments and shoes.

Evening shift of 4 – 8 was for taking orders from wholesale department, sort the garments according to size, color, pattern and price as per sales order, pack them in cartons, mark the cartons for delivery address and load them onto the outgoing trucks.

“What happened between 12 and 4 in the afternoon” Ella asked

It was so hot, that no body worked in those times. Every body used to come back home, have dinner and sleep for three hours.

After working for few months, I was shifted to assist the marketing team where I used to carry two suitcases full of samples with the chief salesmen. While they showed the samples and booked orders with prospective customers, I learnt the skills of selling. During those times, I realized that I did not belong there.

As soon as my contract for one year was over, I came back started working in a local company at India and resumed my studies. I completed my MBA and started my professional career.

I got married to my beautiful wife, blessed with two healthy sons and progressed my career with various multinational companies. Now I have reached a stage where cost of one day of room rent at this hotel is more than what you earn in one whole month.”

“Really”, Ella’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How much room rent you pay for this room” she asked

“Ten Thousand Pesos per night” I replied.

“Wow” she exclaimed without a slightest hint of anguish or despair.

However, it forced me to think about the magic of mankind. Where some one spends more money in a night than another can earn in whole month.

“Don’t you ever feel anguished at this fact that people like me lead such a good life and spend so much money while you are forced to do a job like this” I asked Ella

The plain and pure smile was still on her lips.

“You are a strong man. The way you have come up in your life is incredible and you must get to lead good life. I think it is okay. You struggled a lot, studied hard, worked hard, so you must get good money.” She replied

“So, why you called me here, Charles” She asked.

“My name is not Charles” I replied. Now that some trust was built, I decided to be honest rather than playing dirty tricks of flesh trade.

“I know that” She quipped.

“I am not asking your real name. I am asking you, why did you call me here” She was as plain and sober as she could be.
“I was feeling lonely and my friend took me to that place, where I met you” I replied.

“Yes, but why did you call me to your room” She repeated her question without any frustration, impatience or aroused curiosity.

“I don’t know” I let my guard off and told her the truth and finally smiled for the first time in the whole evening, since I met her for the first time

“You look so sad. Why are you so sad” She asked

“I am not sad, may be my face is like this” I told her.

“In our corporate world, every one wears an artificial smile. So do I, while in office or in business meetings. But we really struggle to find a reason to smile in our lives”.

She smiled back without a single word spoken. She yawned and said, “I am feeling sleepy. Its 9.00 AM. Can I sleep here, would you mind, if I sleep here”

I was not comfortable at the thought of hotel room service guy coming to clean the room normally at 10.00 AM on Sunday and find a girl sleeping in my bed.

I told her that I was expecting a friend at 10.00 AM and would not want to be seen with her to avoid any confusion.

“How much should I pay you” I asked.

“Its upto you” the reply came in almost instant.

I handed her a 500 pesos note and a hundred pesos note.

“This hundred is for your taxi back to home and this five hundred is for spending few hours with me. Thanks for coming here. I think, I made a good friend. Thanks for listening to me with so much patience. I really feel light and this has given me a new perspective to the life.”

She kept the money in her back and started getting ready to leave.

This is not what I expected. I was expecting a little negotiation, as by now she was aware of my financial status and she knew that I could afford to shell out a few more hundred pesos, if she argued. It was logical for me to expect a little more argument to squeeze a little extra juice out of me.

But, there was no such glimpse from her response.

“Bye” she said, while opening the door of the room.

“One more thing” My project manager’s brain was still at work, after loss of sleep and after so much happened during the night.

She stopped at the door and looked back at me.

“Please do not recognize me, if you find me anywhere in future, in a mall, in a restaurant or at any other place.”

I felt extremely guilty at my own hypocritical statement. All along my life, I have enjoyed reputation of being Mr. clean. Never involved in any scandals, any relationship, any controversy and I certainly did not want to invite any trouble.

I Imagined myself having dinner in a restaurant with a crucial client and suddenly a lady walking up to me and asking me how am I or where have I been.

People around me can immediately differentiate a prostitute from a potential colleague of mine. So different is the way we carry ourselves in our public lives.

“Sure, I can understand it. Don’t worry……Charles” Ella replied with a smile, before I could explain my above thoughts to her.

“By the way, I generally give parting gift to all my customers, but I don’t think you need it so I will not give it to you. I hope you don’t mind it” She said with a meaningful smile on her lips.

I re-assured her. “That’s fine Ella. You have anyway been very nice to come here and spend time with me. You have given me fresh perspective. That it the best gift you could give me. Thank you for this.”

“Okay”, She chirped and left.

Perspective - His

Within few minutes of Ella’s departure, the room bell rang and I looked thru the key hole. I was the room service guy waiting for me to open the door, so that he could clean the room.

I had stayed for 10 days in the same room by then and had seen the same guy atleast 3 – 4 times in those 10 days.

But never was scared to meet his eyes. He looked at me and smiled to say good morning. It was the same smile as any other day, but I was feeling like a thief caught red handed.

“Had a good time sir” seemed the hidden message in his smile to me. May be the smile was the same as any of the past meetings. It was my own guilty conscience, that was reading too much in between the lines.

“I am sorry, I am tired and need to catch some sleep” I told him escaping from responding to his smile and he courteously left.
I hung the paper sign reading “Do Not Disturb” outside the door knob and closed the door from inside.

I had been up whole night and even almost half of the day. I was empty stomach and feeling tired. I hopped onto my clean, serene and soft bed. I could feel the smell of fresh and crisp bed sheet. I tucked two soft pillows under my neck and closed my eyes. The room was little bit cooler than I wanted so I adjusted the temperature on the Air conditioning panel and slid myself into the heavenly warmth of blanket.

All this time, I could not stop wondering that how a person, who is forced to sell her body can remain so content and satisfied with her life. How can a person not have any complaints to her parents for not supporting her, to her brothers who estranged here, to government for not doing any thing for unemployed youth of Manila and finally to god for giving her a prostitute’s life that meant making her earning her bread by forcing her to have sex with strangers.

How could she have power of trust on me, that she did not have a single penny in her handbag, when she hired a taxi to take her from strip bar to my hotel at 4.00 AM and why did she not ensure immediately upon entering the room to ask for her charges. How did she believe that after spending time with me, she will get enough money from me to not only go home but also to manage her meals for next day.

At the time, when insurance companies work tirelessly to sell unit linked insurance policies to us to ensure that after 35 years, when we will get old and when we will retire, we will be able to maintain the same standard of living, that we do today. Financial wizards have devised endowment plans to ensure that I would be able to pay for my sons college education after 15 years from now without burning a hole in my pocket then.

Here I met a girl, who did not know if she would have enough money to buy her next meal and she still was smiling, content, happy and ready to trust a stranger like me, who calls her to his hotel room for “Private meeting”

I have a good wife, nice family, big house and an expensive car apart from a cushy job. But I immediately lose temper, when some one acts funny on road in traffic. My rage hits the roof, the moment I do not get service for few minutes at the hotel reception. I express anger because of delayed promotion or a salary rise below our expectation. I bitch and whine about non co operative colleagues and demanding customers all the time. I often blame my family members for not understanding me. I bang my fist when my laptop takes few more seconds to boot up. A small well drafted arrogant email can leave me infuriated and spoil my day very easily.

Here she was, with not enough money to go back to her home after having worked for whole night in an ugly place like MU (Miss Universal). How could she smile so much. I never even felt faintest hint of despair, anger or complaint in her about her work, money or any aspect of her life.


After a little bit of tossing between the sheets, I finally surrendered to fatigue.


Perspective - Her


This was just another day at office for her. She was not unfamiliar to the feeling of hunger and fatigue in morning hours.

She thought, “All men are bastards”.

Whenever I go to such visit, I always go to bathroom to wash my face, I always leave my handbag outside with its tiny steel chain tucked inside the zipper.

I pretend to spend a little more time in bathroom and most of the customers check my handbag and I find out because my bag is never found the same way, as I kept it with its tiny chain tucked inside the zipper.

They always fail to find out my secret weapons. My perfume spray bottle is indeed condensed chloroform in disguise. My money and my NBI* is always tucked in the secret cavity in the sole of my shoes.

* NBI is photo ID issued by National Bureau of Investigation. It’s a police clearance certificate applicable in Philippines, mandatory for all prostitutes

There are Bad Bastards who attack at the moment I enter their room. Like hungry wolves trying to dig their teeth into dead animal, these people are desperate to offload their manhood into me. Such bastards are matter of 15 minutes. They fall asleep after their hunger is satisfied and I clean up their wallets without any hesitation

Then there are bastards, who play it nice and slow. They are the difficult ones and take their time in opening up and are the ones, I hate most. They would behave like connoisseurs, who insist on having three course meal ie. Foreplay, intercourse and then
afterplay. Some of them would even insist, that I sleep in their arms, as if I am their wife. These are the people, who need my magic perfume spray. In addition to wallet, such men lose their watches, bracelets and most importantly their wedding rings.

Then there are bastards, who insist on me telling my story to them and they expect me to sob and express my wish to seek their help in pulling me out of this flesh trade. These people will shed crocodile tears, and will touch my shoulders or arms to express sympathy. They will cajole me, caress me and finally get down to the same business. These are people, who can not have sex without emotion. So, if they do not get intimacy and arousal as emotion, they can manage with my faked sorrow also. Its like eating the bread with salt and pepper, when you don’t get butter and Jam to apply on your sandwich. Such bastards anyway pay high value.

But, this one was a different bastard. For once, somebody thought of me as human being. Instead of giving me false sympathy, he instead seemed more engrossed in correcting his own perspective towards life.

He was a good bastard. He was at least loyal to his wife and valued his family.

I decided not to use any of my tricks with him. I could have sent him to sleep, applied my perfume or used my knife, anything on him. His wallet was thick and inviting. But he did not even touch me.

So I pardoned him. I did not touch his wallet. I did not even look at his expensive watch or ring.

Most importantly, I did not give him my parting gift, which I, Ella Lopez, give to all my other beloved bastard customers.

AIDS !!!

Story no. 2

The Parting Gift


Gifting has been a human nature ever since mankind evolved. Kings gifted their beautiful queens expensive gifts much before even Jesus Christ was born after when we started modern method of calculating date.

It has been 20 centuries of known and documented history. While most of the gifts have been around jewelry, land, clothes or money. There have been other gifts that show how much thinking has gone behind the selection of gift and that sentimental value is sometimes higher than the monetary value of the gift.

Gift brings pleasure and smile to both the giver and receiver.
A parting gift is generally given by some one to ensure that receiver remembers him or her after departing.

Here we will talk about a special parting gift.


Two Friends


Upon returning back from Manila, I sat with Arvind, my best friend and told her about my encounter with Ella Lopez.

He heard and did not say any thing. Very Unlike him.

Let me tell you little more about my friend Arvind.

Arvind and I used to live in adjacent houses. We attended same schools and same class. For some reason, I secretly lived in a perpetual state of competition with him. My mother often spoke about him while teaching me. After every exam, when I came home, there was usual question. “How was your exam” followed by usual answer “Fine”. But on the day of results, the question slightly changed. Upon arrival at home, my mother used to see my report card and the question shot at me, “How much did Arvind get”

40 years back, India was not blessed with so many fast cars, zooming scooties and 100 cc bikes. Arvind and I used to walk to school in our khaki half pants irrespective of weather. The school bags were much lighter then and there were hardly 15 – 17 boys in each section. Yes, I grew up in all boys school and there was hardly any co education school in Jaipur, then a small town of Rajasthan.

In today’s world, A Teacher working in a private school can even be fired trying to discuss the child’s area of development in Parent Teacher Meeting, if the teacher is not diplomatic enough.

During those days, Guru Ji, as we called our teachers knew each one of us by first name and even knew our parents by their respective first names. Those days PTM (Parent Teacher Meeting) meant when Guru Ji visited homes of all students and were offered Tea / sherbet and snacks. Discussion happened about each kid at their residence with whole family around. Grand Pa, Grand Ma, Uncle, Aunt, Father and mother used to gather, whenever Guru ji visited. There was no need for Guru ji to be diplomatic. More Candid the better.

The only difference was that in my case the audience also meant Arvind’s family and vice versa.

I was always reminded that I am being compared with him. There never was a day, when he was compared to me. This never caused any hard feeling against him, but this instilled a perpetual hunger in me to prove myself. This imbibed a spirit of competing with my friends, my peers and more than any thing else myself. In some way, I am thankful to my circumstances otherwise, I might have not come thus far in my career, personal life without that hunger.

Current Indian school education system follows a pattern of 10 + 2 + 3. Ten grades of general education, two grades of main stream education like Science, Arts, Commerce followed by three years of college education. A person then officially can call himself or herself as Bachelor of Arts, Bachelor of Science or commerce. In those days, we had to chose our stream of education in 9th grade and had to study those subjects for three years before entering the college.

Arvind had chosen Science stream with physics, chemistry and Maths as his majors.

I was left with three days to chose my subjects and was not able to make up my mind, as something was missing somewhere in my thought process. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I knew I could not compete with him in those subjects of science and would remain at constant disadvantage. I had to make the decision, that would chart the course of my life.

It was a lazy evening at around 7.00 PM when the sun stopped shining over the desert town of Jaipur and the sand cooled faster than solid earth allowing cool breeze to blow in our courtyard. We had a mango tree in our house beneath which, my grand pa used to relax every evening on his cot (charpoy).

I went and sat by side of my grand pa, my best friend, guide, coach, mentor whatsoever I may call. I explained him my dilemma and he thought for moment and gazed in my eyes. Whenever he gazed in my eyes, I felt like being x-rayed or CT Scanned. I still believe that he had ability to scan thru my mind, like virus scanning software scans the hard disk of your advanced computers. This scanning never made me uncomfortable and even when I look back and assess, my belief is always re confirmed that he always got me right.
After a long gaze, his trade mark smile appeared on his lips revealing his one missing teeth on upper side. I always compared this smile with the green light that turns on at the panel of current days CT Scanners, indicating that scanning is over and results are being printed.

His advise always came in form of short stories. And that’s how he started. “Let my tell you a story my son” I moved closer to him.

“Once upon a time, in a jungle, there was a rabbit and a tortoise.” He paused

I protested , “I know this story grandpa”.

He again smiled and raised his hand indicating me not to interrupt.

“The rabbit was very proud of his ability to run fast and used to challenge every other animal. Challenge, that no one dared accept. During an annual festival, Tortoise announced that he wants to take the challenge.

Rabbit reminded him of the old story and said that this time tortoise should not expect the rabbit to fall asleep. Rabbit told that he intended to finish the race in one stretch leaving no chance for tortoise to catch up.

Tortoise was very calm as all the animals gathered around the two Contestants. Tortoise however put one condition before agreeing to race. His condition was that he would choose the route of the race. Seeing no harm in it, Rabbit agreed to the condition.

The whistle blew and rabbit ran like fire in his feet constantly reminding himself that he will not stop, not rest and for sure will not fall asleep. He followed the path decided by tortoise and was wondering why tortoise agreed to race.

After running for some time thru the winding path taking twists and turns, rabbit came across a steep turn. Immediately after the turn, rabbit found himself 100 meters away from the finish line. The only thing that separated him and the finish line was a deep river flowing from his left to right.

Rabbit had no choice but sit and think, how to cross the river, as neither he could swim, nor was there any other way to cross the river eg. Bridge, boat or any other help. For almost an hour, he impatiently looked around, scratched his head and thought through this over and again. There was no solution in his mind.

That is when, he saw dwindling tortoise slowly coming the same path. Tortoise looked at the rabbit and smiled but said nothing and slipped into the river. Tortoise crossed the river and at his own leisurely pace crossed the finish line while rabbit watched in frustration on the other side of river.

The moral of the story, my son, is if you can’t beat your opponent at his game, re write the rules of the game. Choose the path, that is to your advantage.”

The answer was very clear. I had chosen commerce stream. There was no point trying to beat Arvind at his own game.

We both passed our schools with good marks and for a change the comparison got complicated. It never was eliminated, just that only some one, who knew both science and commerce well could indulge into comparison. My mom and my grand ma were now dependent on my father’s opinion to pass their judgment about comparing me with Arvind.

We both went to different colleges and chose different courses for higher education but the comparison went on. He went on to become a mechanical engineer and I ended up being a software engineer.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arvind also was aware of this competition but never did a single thing, that would hurt me. That is what you call a true friend.

We started our careers and working life after completing our higher education in different cities and agreed that we would meet every year on Diwali. A tradition, that we followed for first 5 years of our careers. Each year, Arvind’s mother will make my favorite sweets and my mother would do the same for Arvind.

Diwali had gained different significance in our families, as this provided my parents to compare me against Arvind. This also provided me and Arvind an opportunity to catch up on developments in each other’s lives as those days there were hardly any internet, emails or social networking sites. Even long distance calling over phone was considered expensive and waste of money.

The comparison was not restricted to study and career. Arvind was certainly a good sportsman and excelled in many sports. He had stronger physique than me and was a bit taller and fairer in complexion.

Over last few Diwali meetings, I experienced a change. While both of us were going through the transition from being boys to men, we both were not yet married and most of times, his topic of discussion would go towards his relationship with his co workers of opposite gender.

As it would naturally happen, this was the trigger for me to raise my interest in other gender, which by far did not exist inside me. Although, I never was as smart as Arvind and was reasonably confident, that I am not cameo, who can be tall, dark and handsome prince charming on white horse for any beautiful girl. This meant that I had to look for virtues, values and skills in my partner instead of wealth, beauty and physical attraction.

I married to my life partner from a family whose grand ma was friend of my grand ma and the first meeting between me and my wife was set up by these two wise ladies.

After another year of short relationships with very interesting descriptions from Arvind in his letters to me, he also decided to hang up his boots of bachelorhood and decided to marry one of his co workers in his office.

Following Grand Pa’s advise of sticking to the rules of the game in my favor, I continued to avoid sharing path with Arvind for another 5 years. This does not mean, I was not being compared with Arvind any more. The comparison still went on in my family. The only difference was that my wife joined the band wagon with my ma and grand ma.

In this duration, both Arvind and I expanded our respective families. I got blessed with two beautiful kids and Arvind too had a son.

As every thing changes, this situation also changed. Both of us ended up in the same company after having worked for 10 years in different fields and different organizations in different cities.

Both of us ended up working on same project in a multi national company in UK, which was setting up plant in Philippines. While Arvind’s role was to gather the business requirements for setting up plant and machinery, I led the team of integrated circuit designers, who designed and implemented factory automation software embedded into the chips. These chips would run the factory one day.

Arvind and I took adjacent houses on rent and were very happy to be together. While our evenings were spent bitching about our bosses and shaking our heads over in efficient procedures of our company, our wives cooked dinner together and our kids played together.

Two years passed by happily and that is when one day, we were sitting in my balcony on rocking chairs with crystal glasses in our hands filled with Chivas Regal rare scotch, water and lots of ice. Suddenly Arvind got a fit of coughing. The coughing was very hard and didn’t stop for almost 3 – 4 minutes, that is when my eyes went wide open in astonishment, as I saw Arvind spitting blood in the wash basin.

There was sudden silence for few moments as Arvind’s coughing stopped after spitting blood and every one in the room was shell shocked to respond.

Regaining my conscience, I held Arvind with his shoulders and helped him sit down on couch in the room and offered him to take to hospital for a check up. It was third Friday of August month and I took him to one of the biggest hospital of the city.

“There is nothing I can see wrong” Dr. Khurana said while removing his thick glasses and wiping sweat from his forehead, which stretched upto back of his neck, courtesey his male baldness.

“I would suggest you go for an X-Ray of your chest and CT scan of your neck and upper abdomen.” He said while putting back his torch, with which, he was examining the three organs Ear, Nose and Throat.

Dr. Khurana was ENT specialist in the hospital and was the final word in the city on any ailment related to the three parts of our body (Ear, Nose and Throat).

The results were out next day and CT Scan and X-Ray confused Dr. Khurana more than ever. While the coughing persisted, some strange scars started appearing on Arvind’s face.

Dr. Khurana referred us to dermatologist Dr. Dhir, who suggested LFT (Lever Function Test).

Dr. Dhir was around 35 years of age and had a very dull complexion and unhealthy skin as if it was tanned and sun burnt over the years.

We used the Saturday to deposit blood sample and urine sample in the hospital.

By Sunday evening, we could see swelling in Arvind’s legs.

For last 15 years, I have spent my Sunday afternoons enjoying afternoon siesta after sumptuous meal and a strong dose of butter milk. All those years, my wife has ensured that kids do not disturb, the mobile phone is switched off, normal telephone put off the hook and we have even installed a disconnection switch in our door bell to ensure that no one irritates me in this heavenly pleasure.

And it was there, some one knocked the door. My wife opened the door and found Dr. Khurana and Dr. Dhir standing outside our house along with a stranger of their same age and it was obvious that he also was a doctor, perhaps very respected in his field.

While Dr. Khurana has been close enough a friend to know my Sunday afternoon ritual.

My wife, knew that he had valid reason to choose this time and definitely have some thing serious, that could not wait for next few hours.

It took me few minutes of washing the face with cold water to know, which part of universe I belonged to. I came out of my bed room with eyes still red and swollen to greet two gentlemen sitting in our drawing room with as serious faces as they god could have given them.

“What’s the matter doctor” I said without indicating which of the three I was addressing to.

They exchanged glances and nodded their heads to suggest that they had reached the unsaid agreement within themselves.

“We need to share some very serious news with you” Dr. Dhir said as Dr Khurana and another gentleman kept nodding his head silently.

“Is there any thing wrong with Arvind?” I asked.

“Can we talk to you in private” Looking at my wife Dr Dhir asked.

“Dr. you know her, she is my wife?” I quipped back.

The look I received back from Dr. Dhir was enough for me to signal my wife to leave the room, which she did like any other sensible person would do in such situation.

I looked back at Dr. Dhir and cocked my head expressing him to tell me news now that my wife was gone.

“Arvind has Aids !!!” Dr. Khurana spoke for the first time, as Dr. Dhir was still searching for the right words to break the news.

Dr. Khurana is known for his plain mouthing ability.

I sat motionless for a long minute, before I realized need for breathing and gasped for air.

“This can’t be true” I mumbled.

“We have confirmed reports from his blood sample.” Dr. Dhir said.

The responsible head of family in me prompted me to wake up and take charge of situation. So I asked “Have you shared this with Arvind?”

Both doctors shook their heads in negative.

I realized my stupidity, when I remembered that they had requested my wife not to be present before breaking the news. How on earth, could they tell Arvind upfront.

Every profession has some ethics and protocols. These take a very significant roles in delicate professions like of a doctor. Both doctors were being really good in trying to figure out the best way to share the news.

My friends in medical profession may disagree with me upon not protecting Arvind’s privacy and may argue that a patient’s personal and medical history can not and should not be shared with any one without prior written consent of patient himself.

I still think humanity, family and friends can not be measured by yard stick and should not be governed by code of conduct written by cold blooded lawyers.

Following that spirit, both doctors decided to break my 15 year long ritual and came to my house to see, how the situation needs to be handled.

“We need to immediately admit Arvind to hospital” Dr. Khurana said.

“What is the point doctor?” was my instant response.

This is not a usual response, Dr. Khurana would get, had it been any other case or ailment. He also was not prepared for such response. I also felt bad upon such response.

“I am sorry doctor.” I said.

“I do not intend to insult you, but is there any thing you can do in this disease?” I tried justifying my knee jerk reaction upon Dr. Khurana’s suggestion of admitting Arvind to hospital.

Dr. Khurana is a very senior man in his profession and must have seen crazier people than me during his practice. He remained calm and did not respond.

“We can not avoid his death and we can not cure him completely, but we can extend his life to some extent and can subdue his physical pain a little bit.”

For the first time, the third gentleman sitting besides Dr. Khurana and Dr. Dhir spoke.

I am Dr. Gupta and I specialize in HIV related cases.

Why do doctors not have their first names ? for an instant I thought, but the thought evaporated immediately realizing that my childhood friend was staring at death from a very close distance.

It is very difficult to describe the feeling that I was going through at that time. My mind was racing and thinking multiple things at the same time.

“Now a days there are medicines available, that can extend your life and comfort your physical pain.” Dr. Gupta said in his much practiced professional voice.

I could not hide my anger against destiny or god or whatever supreme force you believe in.

“Its like being in a five star hotel called hotel earth. Its easy to say that we will make your stay on this planet as comfortable as we can, and we can extend your stay for few more days than you thought. But ultimately you will have to check out of this hotel earth.”

I continued, “You can reduce the physical pain, but what will happen to the emotional pain, he and his family will go through. The stigma, that his son will carry for rest of his life. Do you have any medicine, that can bring comfort to this pain and stigma?”

Three wise men were silent and sat without responding. Thus giving me time to digest the news.

“I am really sorry doctor.” I realized the futility of my anger knowing that these gentlemen were only messengers and had no contribution to the current situation of Arvind.

“We understand it. Its Okay” Dr. Khurana put his right hand on my left shoulder in consoling way.

Dr. Gupta continued “We know you and Arvind are good friends, and we can understand your agony and pain but we have a duty to perform. We need blood samples of his wife and his son to assess, if any of the two have been infected or not. An early detection can improve chances of longer living if not cure.”

“How on earth, would he have contracted this disease?” I still was not listening to what Dr. Gupta was saying and my mind continued to race in its own direction.

“This is the worst thing you can do, is to add to his emotional stigma and mental pain.” Dr. Gupta warned me.

“What is the point in finding out the source of disease. We all know that this disease does not happen unless your blood or semen comes in contact with virus. We also know that what are possible ways of this contact happening. We know that he is not a drug addict and is wise enough to not have used an infected syringe to inject a drug in his body. We also know that he never got any blood transplant recently. We hope that he has not recently got his body pierced or tattooed, which is another possible innocent cause of infection. This all leaves us with one chance that needs no explanation.” Dr. Gupta helped me think logically.

“But !!!” I cupped my face with both hands with both elbows on my knees like a loser.

“We need blood samples of his wife and his son.” Dr. Gupta reminded me.

“Which means, I need to break this news to his family” I said.

“You have to. Sooner or later, you will have to. Better think about it, and remember that this will be too big a shock for them to handle. Most of people end up hurting and insulting their families and friends thinking they are helping, because they do not know that in shape of sympathy they would utter a few things, which would hurt already wounded patient and his family.” Dr. Gupta said.

“You must attend a counseling session on how to handle these situations. I conduct this session every week on Sunday evening at my residence. Can you please join me today evening?” Dr. Gupta asked.

“Is that the reason, you decided to come to my house on Sunday afternoon, Dr. Khurana?”

Dr. Khurana cleared his throat and said, “Well, we tried calling your mobile and land line, but they were switched off and we did not want to waste any more time on this case. We want you to attend the session with Dr. Gupta at his residence today evening, so that you can take care of Arvind and his family in the right way.”

For the first time, I saw an angel in Dr. Khurana and thanked him for assuming so much authority on me, that he did not mind invading my personal life to save a patient and his family from wrong handling of such sensitive case.

Come Sunday evening, I found myself with two other strangers in Dr. Gupta’s residence, who out of his human concern had decided to sacrifice his Sunday evening every week for the benefit of caretakers of HIV patients.

“You all have a big responsibility.” Dr. Gupta started.

“Understand that patient is facing a dead end of his life’s road, where death stares at him. In most cases, doctors can predict the remaining life expectancy and usage of medicines can make some change in their predictions. But more than that, Patient is burdened with guilt of having committed a mistake, that is going to cost him or her his life.

This situation worsens when the patient has inadvertently infected his spouse also. The burden of guild is immense.

The patient can mistake the sympathy of his friends and family into sarcasm.

The patient can see his whole world collapsing around him.”

Dr. Gupta looked at me “In Arvind’s case, think, he studied for many years to become an engineer, worked for 15 years to buy a house, a car, a loving wife and son. Now all he has is small bank balance, some insurance policy, which might have a clause of rejecting claim in case of Aids and a huge home loan, which he knows he will not repay before he dies.”

“What do we do doctor. How do we handle this situation?”

“ I hope, you are educated enough to know that you will not contract this disease by touching the patient or sharing the food with him.” Dr. Gupta looked at me quizzing to assess my level of awareness.

“I nodded my head in affirmative”

He continued, “Be honest, be positive. Do not assure the patient, that every thing will be okay, he knows it never will be. Do not over express the sympathy.. Remind him that you and his family still love him. Without saying it, express that you are not ashamed of him. Do not ask, how did he contract the disease. Chances are he himself will share this, when he is in right state of mind.

Encourage patient in planning to secure his family’s future, if possible. This will give him less painful departure from his life.

Do not leave the patient alone for long times. Encourage him to take medicine, even if patient argues if there would be any benefit, suggest that relief from pain is the only benefit, which he should not forego, even if his life is short, he deserves it to be comfortable.”

“Hmmm” It started making sense to me.

“would your company bear the medical expenses of Arvind?” Dr. Gupta asked me.

“I haven’t thought about it” I honestly replied.

“Most good companies do, most of medicare insurance policies continue the coverage of expenses in this disease. In case, you face any difficulty, please be aware that a hospital can not deny you treatment, an insurer can not deny settling claim on the pretext of contracting Aids by insured. The financial burden at this time multiplies the agony and you as a care taker need to be aware of your responsibility in such case”

“I do understand sir and thank you for sharing the wonderful knowledge with me” I would have touched his feet in gratitude, if it was another day.

“How much time he has?” I asked Dr. Gupta.

This reminded me of famous dialogue of Rajesh Khanna in “Anand” Movie, in which cancer was portrayed as a killer disease. Thankfully science has found conquered this disease to great extent and we hope that researchers spending their lives in laboratory will leave some good thing for mankind in form of finding cure of Aids too. Till then Prevention is the best cure.

“Not much, If only we had detected it earlier, the chances were he could have lived for many years.” Dr. Gupta said.

“This virus can lay inactive for years together and suddenly multiply itself at unimaginable speed leaving no chance for us to contain its growth or extending the life of patient. It seems that Arvind contacted this a while back and might have not known it himself.” Dr. Gupta said.

I replied “We do not have habit of regular health check up in India. People even do not get their blood pressure, cholesterol and blood sugar checked regularly, how on earth, you think, he would have known it himself and why would he get himself checked for HIV without a reason.”

Dr. Gupta smiled and said, “He would know, when did he went out of his marriage and established physical contact with a stranger. No matter, even if one uses enough protection, one must get oneself checked after such contact.”

“Well at first place, never establish physical contact with a stranger” I said.

Dr. Gupta smiled and said nothing.

The session went on for another half an hour and I reached home enlightened to handle this situation in more competent manner.

I had to do this. I broke the news, collected the blood samples of his wife and son, received the response in few days. This was the worst week of my life.

I had to manage the initial shock in both his and my immediate family. The news sent tremors in our extended families, where his mom, dad, in laws, my parents and grand parents, our near relatives and our whole local acquaintance had different ways to receive the news and respond to it in their own unique ways.

Every time a difficult situation arose, I handled it with help from the knowledge I gained from one session with Dr. Gupta.

The most difficult situation was to handle his five years old son. We thought, all he knew that papa was not well and in hospital. Every one (including Arvind) assured the five year old child that every thing will be okay in few days. There was no answer to his innocent question, “What has happened to papa and in how many days, will he be back home”

I was relieved to know that his wife was not infected as they relied on condoms for birth control rather than a contraceptive pill or any other method. Chances of his son getting infected were very remote and so were results. His son was clean.

I used to sit alone in the toilet for long time crying alone, so that no one would see me in weak state of mind. Rest of the time, I spent sporting a sober smile on my face managing the affairs.

During those two months, there was a time, when we celebrate “Rakhi” festival in India and I made sure that this time, Arvind’s wife ties the sacred thread on my right hand pronouncing me her brother, who will make best efforts to protect his sister in difficult times.

Arvind had held my hand on that day and cried for two hours with his head in my lap.

After that it was easier to work with him.

I had long chats with Arvind alone sitting aside his bed in hospital. I encouraged him to talk his heart out and finally managed to get him to discuss financial plans after his departure. This was long and painful period.

All the while, he kept mentioning to me, “I want to talk about parting gift”

Every time, he mentioned the parting gift, I held his hand and assured him. “Sure, whenever you want”

“When the right time comes, I will talk about it.” He always replied.

I never pushed, probed and quizzed him following Dr. Gupta’s counseling advise.

This phase went on for two months and not once I or any one asked him on how did he contract this disease.

I must thank the company, I work for, as it never showed any resistance in offering all reasonable financial support, which was committed at the time of employment and covered under employment terms and conditions.

All the while his health deteriorated on daily basis.

One day, he asked me that he wanted to meet all his family members at 5.00 PM. I gathered every one outside his room at 4.30 PM and went in his room and told him that every one has arrived.

“I want to talk about the parting gift” He said.

I waited for him to respond. By now, I had known that never respond to a person in distress unless you are fully sure, of what is going on in his mind.

I sat besides him.

Dr. Gupta entered the room at that time and Arvind gestured him to sit down by side.

“Do you remember, Last year, I went to Manila on the project to gather the requirements.” He started.

I nodded my head in affirmative.

“I was sitting in a pub and that is where I saw this lady, who was very beautiful, young and with a very sad look in her eyes. We exchanged glances and smile in next one hour and departed.

Some how, I could not forget that lady and next evening again went to the same pub and found the lady sitting there again.

I started conversation and soon we became friends.
We met every evening for next four days in different pubs. Fourth day the pub was in same hotel, where I was staying.

I invited her to my room which she agreed to.” Arvind stopped to gather his breath

I held my self back from asking any question or interrupting him in any way.

Arvind continued, “Soon I got closer to her and made my first move to embrace her. She was too smart and too good to know my instincts and did not resist, but started participating.”

My mind was racing, I knew that he was confessing and telling me, how did he contract the disease.

But, this was little difficult for me to hold back. All the two months worth of patience in me was coming to an end and I was about to blast at him.

“How could you cheat on your wife. Even if you did so, why the hell, did you have unprotected sex with a stranger.” I almost shouted only to realize later that whole family was sitting outside the room and might overhear the conversation.

In whispering voice, I repeated my question, as Dr. Gupta kept his one hand on my shoulder using his other hand to gesture me reminding of family members sitting outside.

“Do you think, I am stupid?” he said with a very sad smile on his face.

“The moment, I took out condom from my pocket, she suggested, it is not required. I insisted that I will not have unprotected sex with her.

She laughed and said, she would like give me pleasure of oral sex, what you call is blow job and that is something, she can not do with condom.”

Arvind continued with his eyes lost as if imagining the scene and seeing the same visual again far away on horizon.

“I thought for a moment and realized that in this way, I will not be exposed to HIV, even if I am with stranger, as there is no possibility of contacting HIV thru saliva. It only happens with blood or semen coming in contact of infection.” Arvind said.

“Then how did this all happen, and where from you contracted the disease” I asked

“From same lady.” Arvind replied.

Dr. Gupta now intervened. “The only reason, I think it happened to me, is that she possibly had mouth ulcers. Which allowed her blood to contact Arvind’s semen.”

I was sitting there again with my face covered with my both hands and elbows resting on my knees like a loser. Exactly the same way, when I had heard the news from three gentlemen at my house on Sunday afternoon.

“What about the parting gift” I asked

“When the whole thing was over, she slept at my room and next day morning she got up, got dressed and ready to leave. I thanked her for previous night and she gave me the same trademark sad smile and said nothing.” Arvind recalled.

“I went upto the door of my room to see her off.

She took couple of steps in hotel’s gallery and then stopped before I could close the door behind her.

She turned back and smiled at me and thanked me for previous night and said that she is leaving a parting gift as a surprise for me.

I closed the door and searched the room but did not find any and forgot it later.

Now I realize that what parting gift she left for me” Arvind stopped

“What” I asked.

“AIDS !!!” Arvind said

I asked in trembling voice. “What was the name of the lady?”

Arvind replied in his last breath of his life, while the whole family waited outside.

“Ella Lopez”

I shuddered, as Dr. Gupta silently cried.