Free The Homing Pigeons... by Sid Bahri

a tool to get rid of this nasal drawl that makes me nauseous. It is like kissing a sponge, so I withdraw. Maybe, the drawl is better.
    “And what else did she tell you?” I ask.
    “That you are quite charming both in bed and outside,” she wants another kiss, so she moves her face at an angle. I ignore her. I am not going to do this again. Even gigolos have preferences.
    “And you’ve come here to verify that she isn’t wrong?” I carry on.
    “Yes, so should we get started?” she says.
    In paying for sex, time is money. She again cocks her face wanting me to kiss her. NO, I am not doing it.
    “Sure,” I say. I stand here and wait for her to make the next move.
    She still has her face at that awkward angle that can give her a crick in the neck. To distract her, I reach out for her sari and let the pallu drop to the ground. I am a little more comfortable in being with a strange woman. I’ll be honest – there is pleasure in it for me too, but every gyration, every move is meant to give the client more pleasure than it gives me. I finally come and roll over, exhausted.
    She looks up at the watch; it is only four. She sits up in bed and asks me, “How long have you been doing this?”
    “Just about starting out,” I say
    “I think you have a bright career ahead of you,” she says. For the first time in the past hour, I don’t smell pretence.
    Even then, the enormity of the situation hits me. This is now my career. I am a professional.
    “Thanks,” I say with great humility. “Are you from Delhi?” she asks. “No, from Chandigarh,” I reply.
    “Do you have family there?” she probes on.
    “Yes.”
    I reply in monosyllables hoping this conversation ends.
    “Your wife?” she asks.
    She isn’t very bright. She doesn’t take the hint
    “Yes,” I reply.
    I feel like I am being interrogated
    “Children?” she asks.
    “No, don’t have any. What about you?” I ask her.
    “Yes, they are both studying abroad,” she replies.
    “Why are you here?” I ask.
    “Don’t ask personal questions,” she says. She is offended. This is lesson number two in my short career. Do not ask personal questions, just answer them.
    Ratna takes great offence to my last question and starts getting dressed. I apologize to her and she softens a little.
    “Please walk me down to my car,” she says.
    Her pretentious nasal drawl is back with a vengeance.
    “It was a pleasure having you over,” I say in my closing speech
    “You are a darling, I’ll recommend you,” she says.
    I am happy to see her drive out in her white Audi. I know the answer to my question: Loads of money, no family and utter boredom. I can’t care less if it is any other reason because before she left, she handed me some cash that makes her feel tolerable.
    My sojourn in Delhi ends two days later.
    I am no accountant but I know that net of expenses and commissions, I have made a good amount of money.
    When Divya offers to drop me to the train station, I accept. I still have to pay my broker and pimp her commission. She counts the currency that I give her. She beams and says, “You’ll have to move to Delhi, Adi.”

Radhika
    Shipra and I would take turns trying to get Aditya to understand the basic concepts of accounting but he refused to learn. I wondered if he was a little slow or dyslexic when it came to accounts; he had such a huge mental block. He didn’t seem dumb when you saw the scores on the other subjects.
    “Debit what comes in, credit what goes out,” I tried one last time
    “Comes in where?” Aditya said
    “As an asset,” I replied
    “Isn’t the bank account an asset?” he asked
    “Yes, it appears on the asset side of the balance sheet.”
    “Then don’t you credit an account?” he asked.
    “Yes, in a non-accounting sense. In accounts, you will debit the bank account.” I said
    “This is fuck-all. I don’t want to understand this dumb shit,” he said faced with his familiar mental block.
    “How will you pass?” I