Mallika: That tongueless story
August 1980
Carrying that tongueless story and my lies, I knocked on Arnav’s door. As I knocked for the third time, I heard a sound from downstairs. I pulled down the handle and pushed. It wasn’t locked. I rushed in and shut the door.
Arnav was asleep. He was n***d. I grabbed the door handle again to run out of his room, then saw that the sheet covered him up to the waist. Maybe he wasn’t? Indians didn’t sleep n***d, did they? That was what people did in Hollywood films, even if they were sleeping alone, even if it was snowing outside. My friends and I had discussed it – none of our parents slept n***d even when the electricity went off. I sat on the chair next to his desk and gazed at him as I never could when he was awake, at that beautiful brown body,
