The Ambitious Girl

by Rudy Ravindra


part 1

Satish Kaul didn’t have a firm idea of what he might do when he grew up. He simply went through high school and then enrolled at St. Joseph’s College. In his junior year he got a brilliant brainwave to study engineering and follow in his father’s footsteps.

Mr. Kaul had never even hinted that his son should pursue engineering, but he was happy with Satish’s decision. Mr. Kaul felt that his son should move away for a few years to study at a different town so that he might learn to be independent.

Although Mrs. Kaul was a little hesitant at first to send Satish to Vizag, some six hundred miles north of Bangalore, she understood her husband’s logic and reluctantly agreed. But she insisted that Satish should not lack the comforts he was used to at home.

Mr. Kaul, much against his better judgment, purchased a small house on top of a hill overlooking the bay in the Uplands area, and he let Satish have a brand new automobile, a cook and a maid.

* * *

On a hot afternoon when he was driving back home, Satish saw a tall girl walking up the hill, sweating profusely. She walked sensuously, swinging her hips to and fro.

He braked. “Do you want to ride with me? I’m going up there.” Besides his house there were few houses and an ugly-looking apartment complex. The girl was sexy, although very dark, dark as a moonless night, and well-built with generous hips and an ample bosom. She wore a white cotton sari with a blue border and a matching blouse.

She said, “Thank you, Master. I walk this every day. No worry.”

He got out of the car and opened the passenger door. When she bent down to get in, Satish couldn’t help but notice her cleavage, and his glance didn’t go unnoticed either.

He engaged the car in first gear. “So, do you live up there?”

“I be the nanny to the kids at Professor Habbell house. Same road your house.” There were some foreign faculty members at the university, mostly on sabbatical for one or two years.

“Oh, you know where I live?”

“Yes, Master, you come from Bangalore. Your father make fertilizer all over the country.”

While not fluent, her English was adequate. But, he felt, if only he could speak Telugu — the local language — they might communicate better.

“You know English. I don’t know any Telugu.”

“My English no good. Just some words to tell kids to behave.”

He asked, “Do you live in the professor’s house to take care of his children?”

“No. I go home evening when Madam Habbell come from work.”

“So, you are free in the evenings?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I have an idea. Can you teach me Telugu?”

She laughed. “You rich, you get a good teacher. I no study college. High school only.”

“But I want to learn the language that simple people speak, not some highbrowed stuff. And I’ll pay you for your time. Come home at six today. What’s your name?”

“Stella Thomas.”

* * *

Stella came to his house in the evening. When she was trying to take off her slippers — a custom when visiting peoples’ homes — Satish said. “You don’t have to do that.”

She kept her head down and smiled. “Yes, Master.” But she removed her slippers at the doorstep and walked into the living room, and stood.

“Thank you for coming, have a seat. Shall I get you some coffee?”

“I drink tea and biscuits in Professor Habbell house. No want coffee.” She continued to stand with her head bowed, looking at the floor.

“Don’t be shy. You can look at me. And please sit down.” He indicated the sofa. “How can I talk to you if you continue to stand and admire the floor?”

She giggled, “Me servant, no sofas.” And sat cross-legged on the floor.

Satish didn’t like the way this meeting was going, but he decided to be patient with this simple girl. “Stella, first of all you are not a servant. Second, you’ll be my teacher. So, you must sit here.”

He gently pulled her up and urged her into the sofa. “Good. Now that we have cleared things up, none of that Master stuff. Just call me by my name, it’s Satish.”

She looked at him mischievously. “Yes, Master.”

“Stella, I am not your Master. Call me Satish,” he said in a soft voice.

“Yes, Master.”

He smiled, sensing that it wouldn’t do any good, it was futile trying to change the feudal ways of the working class.

* * *

Stella was from a poor Christian family. To avoid the stigma of being born in a backward caste, Stella’s forefathers had converted to Christianity. In spite of embracing a new religion, those simple people were never allowed to forget their antecedents in a society based solely on intrinsic birth.

Even though Stella’s relatives had become Christians, they had to follow the caste system scrupulously and marry in their respective castes. Even in the churches, the higher-caste Christians sat separately and did not mingle with the lower-caste members of the congregation.

Stella’s daddy was a store clerk and made just enough money to make ends meet. Stella was the youngest; her elder sister lived with her husband in a nearby village. And her elder brother had joined the Merchant Marine and sailed around the world.

Stella completed her high school education. She was a bright girl; she did very well in most of the subjects, and her teachers thought she would do well in college. But her daddy didn’t feel that she needed a college degree and had married her off to an older man who worked at the shipyard.

Unfortunately, he was a drunkard and a womanizer, and he abused her. She put up with his violent behavior with fortitude for a few months. But when he broke her left arm in a fit of rage, she moved back to her parents’ house. Their pastor took it upon himself to help Stella and recommended her to Professor Habbell.

* * *

In due course, Satish and Stella hit it off, and she taught him Telugu, the kind she spoke, which was interspersed with some rather colorful colloquialisms, unheard-of in the upper echelons of the society.

In the beginning, he didn’t understand the Telugu words she whispered when he used to take her to the peaks of ecstasy. But eventually he came to know the meaning of those words and used them himself, as they were a turn-on.

Stella was scrupulously clean and well groomed; she applied talcum powder liberally to all strategic areas of her curvaceous body. When they were together, her body smelled of talcum powder mingled with a strong, pungent body odor, from the sweat in her armpits and between and under her breasts. Satish found the mixture of these odors along with her uninhibited behavior intoxicating and erotic.

What started as a simple affair turned into a more serious relationship in the fullness of time. He never thought it would come to this, that he would be desperate to see her at the end of the day. As soon as she came in, he hurriedly took her, like a thirsty nomad who stumbled upon an oasis, sometimes right in the living room.

Many times Satish wondered if he was falling in love with Stella. But the gulf in their social status was too wide, and her birth in a lower caste relegated her to be his inferior forever. He would not only be the laughingstock of everyone, he would also embarrass his parents if he were seen with her in public places such as restaurants or movies.

* * *

One evening, when Stella saw Satish with a woman, she stopped at the threshold.

Satish said, “Oh. Stella, come on in. We are almost done. Stella, meet my friend Vanita, she’s my classmate.” He explained to Vanita. “Stella works at my neighbor’s house. I practice Telugu with her.”

Stella acknowledged her with a radiant smile, showing her lovely white teeth.

Vanita ignored her and told Satish, “You’ll never learn proper Telugu from that one. I better be going. I got a lot of work.”

Satish looked at Stella, “I’ll be back after dropping off Vanita.”

When he returned, Stella asked, “You having that woman? Me no good no more?” She started to sob. “She very beautiful, very fair. You do with the woman?” She made a crude gesture with her hands.

He laughed at her suggestion. “No, no. She’s just a friend.”

Suddenly she kneeled down and took him into her mouth and released him only after he was completely spent.

“Master, that woman can no do this.”

* * *


Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2013 by Rudy Ravindra

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