The Windfall Short Story

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The Windfall
- Debashish Deb
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Mr Pedro had bought me from Neo Arc Lights of Free School Street forty years ago when he shifted to this new flat at Robinson Street. He wanted to surprise his wife. Before that, though my memory is not so reliable anymore, I was possibly manufactured somewhere at Moradabad, in a stuffy factory. Sadiq Mohammad, the artisan who crafted me out of glass shards, lived in the quarters nearby with his family, at the end of a narrow dingy lane littered by cow dung. Mrs Pedro – Veronica to Mr. Eugene Pedro, loved me at first sight, (who wouldn’t love a sparkling new chandelier?) but months later, when she decided to clean me up, she found me terrible. I was too delicate and fragile and required careful handling. I remembered her irritated
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Lata didn’t protest against his advances, allowing her to be drawn into his arms. She sat on his lap snuggling, smelling his deodorant from his hairy chest titillating him with her bewitching smile. I saw them fondling each other for some time, and soon they turned horny enough and the man peeled Lata of her saree while she giggled like a moron resembling a sliced watermelon with juice overflowing. Finally they made love on the sofa, their ecstatic shouts drowning under the hyperbole of saas-bahu drama of the TV. I watched their unabashed sex in awe under the fluorescent light, wondering had Veronica`s eyes been normal what she would have done. When they were done and put on their clothes, I held my antennae up to listen to their conversation carefully.
“How long will this continue?” Lata asked biting her lower lip.
“What will continue?” The man still had the leering look in his eyes.
“You are such a shameless person! I can`t get those dirty words in my mouth! You know what I am talking about.” Lata said.
“As long as you want them.” The bastard said.
“I want you to marry me as soon as possible.” Lata

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