Lady Lolita's Lover by R. Raj Rao

Author:R. Raj Rao
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

Mr Escort

I

nitially, victory in court did not bring about appreciable changes in Sandesh’s life. He held on to his job at Pigeon Couriers and continued to lodge with his former colleagues, Darshan and Aniket. Sandesh was still upset with JR for failing to bring him the windfall he had promised, by way of damages, from the Senguptas. Yet he was grateful to his benefactor for helping him avenge Aroop’s insult. He was also aware that had it not been for the flamboyant lawyer whose age, he guessed, was no more than forty, although JR was fifty-one, he would have gone about with a disfigured face for the rest of his life. Even if he knew plastic surgeons like Dr Hosi Billimoria existed, he would not have been able to afford their services in even seven generations. Sandesh shuddered as he recalled the mutilated image of himself that he saw in the bathroom mirror soon after Aroop’s goons attacked him. How he had sobbed that day, the sobs leading to convulsions that caused his whole body to shake, as if struck by lightning. He wept in utter anguish. His wounds were excruciatingly painful, but more tormenting was the thought that henceforth, he would look no different from a leper, whose body parts were eaten by disease, leaving only stumps in place of what were once fingers and toes, ears and a nose.

However, thanks to JR, Sandesh’s body had been restored to more or less its original shape, making it impossible for anyone to speculate that he had been attacked, as if by wild animals in the jungles of the Sunderbans.

Sandesh continued to pop in at JR’s apartment every evening, no matter how late or tired he was. He enjoyed his drink and takeaway meal at JR’s flat, as also their discussions in Hindi and English. Sandesh was reluctant to trade these for evenings spent otherwise, ringing JR’s doorbell only after freshening up at his digs and daubing himself with deodorant. His sartorial elegance reached new heights, for he had stopped sending money to his mother and spent most of it on his wardrobe, adding F-Street jeans, T-shirts, cargo pants and formals to his collection of clothes every fortnight. The apparel was worn not just by Sandesh, but by Darshan and Aniket as well, who freely helped themselves to whatever they fancied when he was away at work, fights often breaking out among them as a consequence.

‘What’s written on your T-shirt?’ JR asked Sandesh as he entered the apartment one evening, a few days after the judgement.

Sandesh stood before JR and put his chest out so that the latter could read for himself.

‘You’re massive, I’m passive,’ the lawyer read aloud, contemplating its meaning.

‘That is a gay T-shirt,’ he said at last, smiling.

‘Means what?’ asked Sandesh.

‘Don’t you know what ‘‘gay’’ means?’

‘No.’

‘It means a man who loves another man.’

‘Like you?’

‘Exactly.’

JR then proceeded to lecture Sandesh on the need to pay careful attention to what was written on his T-shirts before buying them.

‘This T-shirt is

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