The Novel: That was unwritten

Disclaimer: Please be warned this story ( as it bassets just some excerpts of never fully written novel) bears intimate contents bit in a gulf of significance from varying culture, from the Orient to the West, nonetheless, in somewhat graphic textual details, that may offend, sensitize norms, foment social devalues or incite emotional repercussions to the ideals and morals of some community or individuals therein, even though many texts are removed, redacted in part or whole to suit the projected readership.    

Nota bene: This story is a part of a scrap of writing that was then (2011) thought would be a novel entitled 'Aslesha.' But due to time unavailability and lack of passion, that novel was never completed. 

-Adhikary Rabindra/ @ravinems 

                          

                              Chapter VI: "Europe, Eros and New Market"

Event Horizon: 8^th February/ 2011
Line of Action: at Gentlemen’s Canal in Herengracht

It was living a dream. I was feeling myself as dry as cotton and as light as air. I was half-awoken by a muffled noise and later few cold drops on the left cheek. When I opened my eyes, I saw brightly smiling face of Miss Ashlesa leaning over me with dripping hair tufts, inches high from my face. The wet hairs were oozing the dewy droplets of water slowly to touch my skin. I threw a returning smirk in response.

“Hey sleep-head, the sun is already high, get up now!” She shouted.

“You restless sparrow, don’t frighten me like this in my dream.” I blurted.

“Wake up; dream has come true, then why dreaming? Look outside what an awesome canal view!”

I sluggishly raised my upper body up saying, “Got any plan fixed?”

“I just talked to Steve, err…Steven Cras, the owner of this hotel. You know he seems so helpful. He says it is one of five concentric canals that surround old center next to Singel. Like Herengracht, there are other three Grachts, I forgot the names; those form the Canal Ring. And my dear I wouldn’t tell you my tentative plans unless you dress up and get ready.”

It was Sunday and the wrist-watch just hit 10:45 AM.  We rolled up to the streets and talking with few vendors got a place for hiring bicycles. It was chilling cold outside, as February was supposed to be the coldest of the months for Amsterdam. We had worn heavy woolen costumes and gloves and scarf and hat. She had got maps, I had got her. She followed the instructions of the travel guide booklets; I followed her. We stopped in the front of grandiose hotel, the Eden Amsterdam American Hotel somewhere in Leidsekade. Oops, I remembered, it was 8^th, the opening of SDA Bocconi Rolex MBA conference. I did not know how many hours would I have to pass away deaf and mute.  I saw a scene elapsed away live in front of my eyes. Just as the reel rolling in sequence, events filled with the people reeled one after other. As a silent spectator I kept on seeing what came around. Ashlesa was absorbed in the scene, so who I was to get away. I let that happen the way it happened. I was, I thought the luckiest man in the world to have moments passed aside that astounding angel.  

Eleven thirty, the brunch time. We set out for the brunch, she led me. We just had it for the sake of having. Seated face-to-face, we enjoyed every wetted piece of food particles in the backdrop of slow Jazz. Still one more hour to stay to the conference. I decided to loiter over on the table with the Jazz, rather than going inside to listen jargons from strangers. Later in the sometimes, I made a jaunty walk around the place outside along art monument to have a fresh air. I was acquainted with Mr. Antoly walking piecemeal much like me. He was from Russia and was the compatriot associate of Professor Vladislav. He, Antoly was a man of passion; he was after the professor for more than 10 years. He carried professor’s bags, documents and luggage, but as per accounting profession he was as alien as me. He walked with his man of tutelage and he did give a shit to any Jungle Summer Associate Event.

It was time for buffet meal in the Café Americain, as always happens shortly with the conferences. 

***

Later that evening we, I and Ashlesa just cruised through the streets of Rembrandt square. The canal ring, as was recurrently heard a UNESCO World Heritage site, was a pleasant place replete with clean streets and variety of shops alongside. In the evening the crowd was gradually getting thick. There were many young couples walking sideways, so were we. Some were blacks, some were reds, some were albinos, we were mixed. Ashlesa always carped for gadgets and trivia. Whenever we were past an imitation jeweler’s, she had to return back as to see what was their special. It seemed to everybody that we were there for a romantic getaway weekend. Friday as it was, was really a weird night to celebrate just walking along the canal streets talking most of the time and hugging intermittently. I sure was flabbergasted to have repeated glance over me of people around when they drooled over the beauty of Ashlesa. Onlookers sometime did a double take when Ashlesa hopped abruptly in front with an unexpected sound of surprise. She yelled loud out of joy. The evening was a perfect symphony of peace and love as we strode along the canal roads when the streets were adequately illuminated by the lights of the concrete rises when the waters showed images in reflection.

Back in room after the door was latched from inside, bestial attack could have been a scene in a reel when a hunger-stricken wild boar jumps onto a tamed goat masquerading as a female Homo Sapiens. She resisted as she had not even put down her clutch bag and scarf. We kissed standing with tremors, unbalanced. I thumped her on the wall alongside catching her body above the waist in firmness, in the interval not giving her a chance to speak back. It was a pain of Freudian libido expressed as an excitement. I started lapping all over her soft and delicious face with my clapper. The more I lapped, the greater the tongue was energized and expedited. My taste buds savored every drip of salty flavor out of her skin, the smooth texture of her skin furnished the greatest tactile sensation a man could ever imbibe out of a human. I nibbled the pinna of her ears one after the other; she let a soft moan of neutrality. I fondled the bottom of the back of her neck forwarding gently to the top; she let a typical moan of surprise. She whooshed a beautiful moan of pleasure until finally I bestirred my lusty fingers towards the bosoms. 

In a wink and there were gone her anorak and my trench-coat, whilst in the floor. We both were in an uncontrolled movement dashing and booming everywhere before fortunately collapsing in the foamy bed in unison.  The wide comfy bed offered a stadium for a playful couple. We moved as one, squirming and twisting against each other like two copulating snakes, milking every last drop of pleasure we could extract from each other's trembling bodies. She threw her left hand around my neck and pulled me to her, plastering her hot mouth firmly over mine. I felt her tongue enter my mouth and I returned her open-mouthed kiss, frenching her with equal fury. The heat of her soft, naked body against my skin was intoxicating, and I could feel every contour, every curve, and every delicious bump as she pressed herself suggestively against me. It should be a nice and most romantic game to play in one’s youth. We played many minutes with each other as if there were no world outside and as if the time had come to an end like there were no tomorrows. 

We had oysters served raw in its glutinous fluid and lemon pieces as special Sunday offer. We drank a toast of tasty pegs after pegs of pina colada, endlessly mixed rum to coconut juice and pineapple, to the love month. Beluga Caviar layered on baguette was our last choice before making love the second time first and in serial later. The creaking bed woods noted a pace how we endured, and a proof that made us aware that we were alive and thirstier. We shared intense feelings of nearness and love and affection the very night. Going so far away city from home, we grew even closer.

***

Mr. Antoly was waiting at a coffee shop in Prinsengracht. 

“Drastvooyte, dobriy vyecher!”Said he, getting up the seat, out at the shop.

What was I to say? I was dumbfounded. He said in his Russian accent of speaking, “That means hello, good evening!”  I responded saying same to him. He had come there some few days back, unlike us. He said he would take me to a wonderful place. We just walked causally along the cobbled road, viewing the just lit lights both sides. Most of the people were walking on foot and more others were on bike; motorbike and fuel-engine vehicles were a rarity in the evening ambience of the city. We briefly visited Royal Palace and the New Church in Dam Square. Although the temperature was getting down, we neared a sparkly and seemingly hot place downtown. It was a Chinatown imitation, and some remnants of fever of Chinese New Year celebration were redolent. 

Piping out a hot coffee from the plastic-ware we strolled on errands around watching every happening. Antoly vomited the humors of his stomach. He did not forget to say goededag and goedeavond and most often doei. He had already acclimatized the say-hello-Dutch environment. We headed forward to see what was the major attraction of Nieuwmarkt, the suspense market where astonishingly memorable things transpired.  

To Be Continued.....