Barsaat, Brownies, Cookies and Coffee

Coffee. Hot, rich, frothy - with just the right amount of chocolate and caramel. Served in a thick mug that let you wrap your hands around it to keep warm. The kind that would slide down your throat releasing an ecstasy that is seldom replicated by sex.

Cookies. The Chewy kind. With raisins. And nuts. Delectable. Delicious. Take a nibble. Take a sip of coffee and let the sensations trip over your tongue. Enjoy the tantalising taste to transport you into a place close to heaven.

Brownies. Warm, fragrant, dripping with chocolate and moistness. Icecream on the side. Vanilla. Real Vanilla. Sweet. cool.

Barsaat. Rain doesn't cover either the emotion or the intensity. Barsaat. Water gone wild with joy. Water drumming against everything that it comes in contact with. Wetness in the air. Coolth pervading the atmosphere. Slowly the chill comes in contact with your exposed skin. Goosebumps erupt.

Another paradox comes alive. Warmth is slowly moving through your body. The coolness is running its thin icy fingers along your skin. You're caught between the two. Both sensations are enough by themself to make you lose your senses, together their melody suspends your state of self.

I looked at Loyana across the steam rising from my cup. The rain had come down unexpectedly, but by then we were already safely ensconced in the warm environs of her favorite coffee shop.

"You look tired," She said,"Coffee?"
"What kind?" I said
"Would you like to pick your own or should I order for you?"
"Whatever you say, I'll go with your choice."

And an hour later we were still there looking at each other, surveying each other like opponents before a fight. I was panicking. Understanding exactly what getting hot under the collar really meant.

She broke the silence. Cut through it cleanly. A warm knife moving smoothly through cold butter.

"You've been enjoying yourself."
"Yes, I have. Is it that obvious?"
"I'll assume that to be a rhetorical question."
"It wasn't but then since you've put it that way I'll take your word for it."
"So about our little arrangment........"

Panther - like seamless shift in movement. A toss of her elegant hair. An adjustment to her chiffon sleeve. Freedom granted to her lovely earrings to sway in the breeze.

"What about it? You want delivery?"
"No darling. I couldn't care less. Your benefactor does?"
"My benefactor? What's the difference between you and 'my benefactor'?"
"Me? Your benefactor? I'm just the messenger darling. Or the procurer. Or if you prefer it, the Pimp. With a capital P."

And with that, she tossed her head back and began to laugh.