Read Online Delhi by Khushwant Singh - Free Book Online Page A

Diplomatic Corps was my cornucopia. I got all the canned food and liquor I needed from diplomats. Scotch which cost a hundred-and-fifty rupees per bottle in Connaught Circus was made available to me by the crate at thirty rupees each or for free. The Corps also catered to my basic needs. Delhi had over a hundred embassies, High Commissions and Legations. Diplomats in Delhi did not have much work to do. Most of their energies were directed to wining and dining officials of the External Affairs and other ministries of the Government of India, cultivating non-official locals and celebrating their independence days. It was not difficult to find a bored wife or a spinster eager to know Indians and thus ensure a regular supply of imported victual and exotic sex.
    At the time I found Bhagmati on the road I had been courting a stenographer working in the West German Embassy. I had met her at a consular reception, discovered that she was a new arrival and like many newly arrived foreigners anxious to get to know Indians. She was not particularly attractive—thirtyish, grey-eyed, thin-lipped, tall and bony. She tied her hair in a bun which made her look severe.
    *
    Fraulein Irma Weskermann was an easy conquest. One Sunday I took her round the monuments of Delhi and had Bavarian beer in her apartment. The following weekend I took her to the
son-et-lumiere
at the Red Fort and gave her dinner at Moti Mahal. Since restaurants were not permitted to serve alcohol I carried a hip-flask and when the waiter was not looking poured a slug of Indian whisky in her Coke. I explained that this was all an Indian citizen could afford as the cost of Scotch was prohibitive. She took the hint. (This gambit always worked with the diplomats). Thereafter whenever I invited her home or took her out she brought a bottle of Scotch or wine with her.
    Fraulein Weskermann did not seem very interested in sex. Being somewhat sexless in appearance she had cultivated a kind of brashness as a defence mechanism. When I first put my arm round her waist she said ‘Must you?’ I answered in the affirmative and added, ‘Because I like you.’ Thereafter, she began to put her face forward to receive a kiss on her bony cheeks. One evening I said to her, ‘Irma I am beginning to like you more than I should.’ ‘Zat’s nice,’ she replied and responded with a kiss. On another occasion I told her ‘Irma, it’s terrible but I think I am beginning to fall in love with you.’ No woman can resist that. ‘How many vomen have you said zat to before?’ she asked. And let me kiss her on her lips. The relationship progressed in the conventional way with a little more intimacy each time. Soon I was fondling her breasts. How long can any woman have her breasts fondled and resist giving herself completely? My hands began to explore further. If they got too close to her middle she would open her grey eyes and firmly say ‘No.’ But it was only a matter of time. One evening as I was feeling her between her thighs I said ‘You are ready for it.’ A shudder passed through her frame. ‘It must neffer, neffer happen,’ she said pushing my hand out of her knickers. I apologized and pretended to be hurt. ‘It’s also my fault, yah?’ she replied and made up with a kiss that made my ears burn. I had little doubt that the decks had been finally cleared and at the next encounter the Indo-Germanic affair would be consummated.
    I had not reckoned with Bhagmati.
    It must have been almost two months after the meeting with Bhagmati that Fraulein Weskermann was dining with me in my apartment. A certain strangeness, loud conversation and forced laughter indicated that she had made up her mind to say ‘Yah.’ Half-way through the meal we had emptied her bottle of Moselle. She agreed to try a ‘tear-drop’ of cognac with her coffee. As soon as my cook-bearer left we went to the sofa and proceeded to fondle each other. I whispered into her ear, ‘Shall we?’ She murmured, ‘If you