'Blackmail' -- a short story

By Shevlin Sebastian

It is noon. Roop Parmar, in a bright red ghagra choli, sits in front of the TV, watching a Hindi serial on Star Plus. She is also cutting up onions on a wooden board placed on a low table in front of her. Occasionally, she wipes away tears, because of the onions, using a pink handkerchief.

Roop stays in a first-floor apartment in a grey building at a railway colony in Ranchi.

A postman, in his khaki uniform, enters the colony in his Honda Activa. He walks up the stairs and rings the bell. Roop heads to the door, the trinkets around her ankles making a ‘ching ching’ sound.

It is a registered parcel in the name of her husband, Amit Singh.

She signs it, as the postman looks her up and down, his mouth partly open. Roop is used to the male gaze. She does not flinch. Roop knows that at 32, she is in full sexual bloom. She also knows that her nose ring gives her face a sensual look.

Roop closes the door, and thinking that it is an official document, places it on the dining table.

She is alone at home. Her husband Amit works as the station master of Ranchi station. Roop’s two sons, Anup and Rakesh, who are studying in Class six and four, are at the Don Bosco School.

In the evening, when Amit arrives home, he sees the children are playing on the lawn in front of the building. He can see Roop sitting on the ground with the other women. On day shifts, this was the pattern. So, he strode up the stairs, headed to the kitchen, lit the gas stove, and made a cup of tea.

He took it to the dining table along with a plastic container that contained Marie biscuits. As he dipped the biscuits in the tea and ate them, he noticed the letter. His eyes widened in surprise, since Roop had not informed him by WhatsApp about it. ‘Maybe she forgot,’ he thought.

He tore open the large envelope and pulled out the contents. There were a few photos. He looked at them first. They contained black and white photos of him in bed with a woman called Anita Dusadh.

He stared at the images. In one, he could see his arched back as he lay over Anita. In another, he is sitting next to her on the bed, her breasts exposed, and they are kissing. He can see part of his tongue. One hand of his is clutching Anita’s breast. In the third photo, Anita is sitting over him, her back to the camera, her hair in a top knot. ‘Oh God,’ he thought. ‘Who got these shots?’

Amit realised it was only in one shot he could see his face as well as Anita’s.

She had been a passenger who arrived at Ranchi station at 9 pm. She had returned from Delhi where she attended an All-India meeting of employees of an advertising company. Holding the designation of Vice President (Client Servicing), Anita represented the Ranchi branch.

As stationmaster, Amit had been standing on the platform, watching the passengers disembark. Anita approached him and asked whether he would help her get an auto or a taxi.

He liked what he saw. A deep cleavage. This exposed the top of her breasts nicely. Kohl-rimmed eyes. The chiffon saree clung to her body. Black heels. ‘Nice figure,’ he thought. So, instead of asking a porter to do so, he helped her get a cab.

They exchanged numbers. Soon, they chatted on the phone. He was in no hurry. Neither was she. They met after two months. They sipped coffee at a restaurant and bit into pastry cakes. This time, she wore a maroon salwar kameez. Amit noticed she did not wear any ring. He also realised that despite her chocolate skin, she had white teeth.

Anita smiled often. ‘She seemed to be an optimistic person,’ Amit thought.

They came from different backgrounds. Amit was a Rajput who grew up in Jaipur, the son of an entrepreneur. His father dealt in floor tiles. It did well, but after several years, it failed. So, Amit opted for formal employment. He had an arranged marriage with Roop, who belonged to his community. Roop had only studied up to Class 12 before her parents gave her away in marriage.

Anita grew up in Ranchi, an only child. Her father, a government school teacher, passed away a few years ago.

After two months, Anita invited Amit home. The 32-year-old, who was the same age as Roop, lived with her aged mother. She had not married. After chatting a bit, she took him into her bedroom, locked the door, and they made love. It was as easy as that.

Amit realised Anita was proactive, liked to be on top, and knew how to ride hard.

When Anita was on top, Amit followed the advice given by Rajesh Kumar. A self-proclaimed Lothario, Rajesh said he had bedded over 100 women. Amit had met him through a mutual friend.

One day, Amit asked him, “So, what is the secret of your success?”

“Simple,” said Rajesh. “Most women like to be on top during sex. So you have to ensure you don’t come, so that they get proper satisfaction. My method is to think about something else when they are on top. It could be politics, a film scene or a drama. This enables me to remain erect for a long time. Try it.”

Amit tried it. To his astonishment, it worked. And it worked with Anita, too.

Amit enjoyed Anita’s sensuality and her free-spirited ways in bed. His wife was low key in bed and happy with the missionary position. Anita did not have any mental blocks like his wife and the other women he had bedded.

Amit caressed her dark skin. It felt smooth and supple to him. She liked his muscular body and fair skin. What a contrast they looked in bed. ‘Ebony and Ivory,’ he thought. This was a hit song by singers Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder.

Both were happy after the encounter.

So, this blackmail came as a shock. Amit finished his tea, took the cup to the kitchen, and washed it under the tap. There seemed to be a lingering, oily smell in the kitchen. He placed the biscuit container back in the cupboard. Amit returned to the dining room.

He took the contents, placed them back inside the envelope, and put it in his official briefcase.

Amit turned to the window. He could now see his sons on the swings. Both boys were smiling. They were taller than most boys of their age, thanks to their genes. Amit was 5’ 11”, while Roop was 5’ 8”. His wife remained sitting on the grass. It was the other women who were using animated gestures and talking loudly while Roop listened silently. ‘My introvert wife,’ Amit thought.

He called Anita. She picked it up on the second ring.

“Where are you?” he said.

“In the office,” she said. “Why?”

“Did you send me a registered post?” he said.

“A registered post,” she repeated. “No. Why?”

“I got one,” he said. “I have to show it to you.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Can we meet tomorrow?” he said.

“Sure,” she said.

After he cut the phone, Amit reflected on the tone of Anita. He had a feeling she knew nothing about it. If she did not know, then who took the photos and how? Who sent it to him and why?

When they met the next evening, Amit showed her the photos, and the typed blackmail letter asking for Rs 3 lakh. Anita’s eyes became like saucers.

“I swear,” she said, placing the tip of her fingers at the base of her neck. “I know nothing about this. It’s frightening. How did they take a shot from inside my bedroom? How could it be done? Is there a hidden camera there? If yes, who put it there and when?”

“How did they get in?” Amit asked.

“Exactly,” said Anita.

“There is no way I am paying any blackmail,” said Amit. “It must be a digital image. So, we cannot destroy it. I mean, how can we trust that person to trash it? He or she will keep a copy.”

Anita nodded.

“Do you have any idea who this could be?” said Amit. “Could it be someone who knows you? Maybe he or she is angry with you. A former boyfriend?”

Anita stared into the distance.

Amit sipped his tea. He remained calm. From childhood, he had this calmness. He rarely lost his temper.

“There is only one former boyfriend, Akshar Patel, but I doubt it is him,” Anita said, looking at Amit once again.

She paused and said, “We met in Gossner College where we were both doing B.Com. Akshar was staying in a hostel. He was from Ahmedabad. It was a casual friendship. We met for snacks in the canteen and for the occasional movie. There were no physical relations.”

“Where is he?” asked Amit.

In the US. IT,” she said. “Boston, I think. Akshar is married. Two kids. Doing well.”

Amit knew he could remove Akshar from the list of suspects.

“Anybody else?” he said.

Anita stared inside the teacup. Then she puckered up her lips, and said, “I don’t think anybody is obsessed with me. Unless it is a secret obsession and the man has not stepped forward.”

“I am supposed to meet the man at 2 pm, at Tagore Hill, three days later,” said Amit. “I will be there, but without the money. What will he do then?”

“I don’t know, Amit,” said Anita.

“Seems like a pervert who is angry because we had sex. Could it be somebody who is obsessed with me? Or could it be anybody who has a problem with you?”

Amit shook his head as his mind began going back, trawling through memories and images. “No, I can’t recall anybody,” he said, as he made a steeple with his fingers. “We have to locate and neutralise him before he damages both of us.”

“How do we do that?” said Anita.

“I have a friend who is a senior police officer,” said Amit. “I will ask him to do an informal investigation. The blackmailer will have to get in touch with me to tell me the location to drop off the money. I am sure he has my number. Easy to get since I work in the railways.”

“Yes, he might have my number too,” said Anita. “All he has to do is call my office.”

Anita frowned as an idea struck her.

“Listen, can you ask your police contact to come to my house and look for the lens?” she said. “I don’t want to be watched when I change my clothes and go to sleep. Pervert!”

Amit nodded and said, “I’ll tell him.”

And then his eyes widened as he seemed to recollect something.

“Anita, these are black and white prints. So, he has got it developed in a studio. Somebody else must have seen these photos. We could be in danger of another blackmail threat.”

They both pondered over this revelation. Anita exhaled and said, “It might become a mess.”

“Yes, I know,” said Amit. “Some people have nothing else to do but poke their noses in other people’s lives.”

Anita reached out and placed a placating hand on Amit’s arm.

“Relax,” she said. “We will find a way out.”

Amit’s eyes widened again, as an idea struck him.

“Are there CCTV cameras in your building?” he asked.

“No, the residents’ association wanted to install them, but there are no funds at present,” said Anita.

Amit pressed his lips together.

He paid the bill by placing currency notes in a saucer. They got up and left the restaurant.

The next day, Amit headed towards a mall. But he did not leave the station in the normal way. He jumped a fence and exited through the opposite lane from the main platform. Amit took an autorickshaw and reached the mall. There, he met the police officer, Dilip Kumar, who was in plainclothes, in the food court.

Amit told him the details.

Dilip nodded, as he twirled one end of his handlebar moustache with his fingers.

“We will have to track all your calls,” Dilip said. “When the blackmailer calls, we will pinpoint his location.”

Then Amit spoke about the camera in Anita’s room.

Dilip said, “Ask her to download a ‘hidden camera detector’ app. It’s free in the Play Store. She can scan the walls. If there is a lens, a beep sound will come.”

Amit told Anita about this.

That evening, when she switched on the app, the beep sound came. It was halfway up the wall. She called Amit who told Dilip. He sent a tech-savvy officer to the house. And he used gloves to take out the lens. They could check it for fingerprints.

The officer used the app all over the house, including in the bathrooms. But there was no beep. Anita wondered how the man had installed the lens. How did he gain entry? It seemed impossible. Unless he knew how to pick the lock. But Anita and her mother lived in a multi-storey building. So, people always moved up and down the stairs, especially the servants. The housing society had discouraged them from using the lift.

That night, as Amit lay down on the bed, his head on the pillow, he stared at the ceiling. Roop changed into her nightie before switching off the light.

‘This casual interaction with Anita has become so complicated,’ he thought.

Amit wished he had not had that session with Anita.

If the images appeared on social media, the authorities might force him to resign. The government and the bureaucracy were conservative about sexual matters and scandals. If the railways sacked him, what job could he do?

He had had casual flings earlier. He attracted women because of his height and muscular body. But none of them had created any problems for him. Now this man: Who was he? What was his aim? Was it only money? Or was he trying to exact revenge?

Roop switched off the light.

Amit closed his eyes. Like she did every night, Roop put her arm across Amit’s chest and pressed herself against her husband’s body. After a while, she put her hand on his penis. That was her sign she wanted it.

Amit sighed, but he felt a session would relax his mind. So, he leaned sideways and kissed her on the mouth. One thing led to another.

Roop had a particular habit. After she spread her legs, and Amit entered her, she pressed her heels against his lower back. This became even more intense as her excitement grew. As Amit tried to increase the speed of his piston-like movements, he had to push harder to counter the pressure Roop put on his lower back.

Once, when they were watching TV during the day, following his night shift, he told her about this. Roop’s face turned crimson. She always felt embarrassed when the topic turned to sex. She said, “Okay, I will not do that.”

But nothing changed. She continued to do it. Amit realised it was an unconscious habit.

One thing he was grateful about Roop was that she never, ever, said no to sex. She was always eager. His friends had told him many times about how their wives would often say no. They would cite tiredness, the children or their periods. But not Roop. Even during her periods, she was willing. All she advised him was to wear a condom.

Another significant difference with Roop, as compared to other women, was that she did not need foreplay. Amit would start kissing her, and within moments, she was ready to take him inside. With most women, including Anita, it was a slow burn. He had to do a lot of foreplay before they got into the mood. But not Roop. She got hot instantly. ‘Faster than two-minute Maggie noodles,’ he thought, grinning to himself.

He received a call at 10.30 am, on the morning of the day he was supposed to meet the blackmailer.

It was a landline call as he saw the STD code for Ranchi: 0651.

Amit said, “Hello.”

“Is the money ready?” the caller asked, in a muffled voice. It was clear he had stuffed some cloth or cotton into the mouthpiece.

“Yes,” said Amit.

“Very well,” the voice said. “No informing the police.”

“Understood,” said Amit. “Instead of coming to Tagore Hill, take a room in the Raso hotel in your name and leave the packet on the bed by 5 pm. When you leave, don’t lock the door.”

The caller switched off.

The police identified the location.

It was from inside the railway station.

Within minutes, Dilip got the precise location of the call. It was a public phone facility. In effect, it was a single phone placed on a table near the entrance. A physically challenged man in his late twenties named Hari manned it.

“Do you have closed circuit cameras?” Dilip asked Amit on the phone.

“Yes, of course,” said Amit.

“Are you at the station?” said the police officer.

“Yes,” said Amit.

“Check it,” said Dilip.

Amit stepped into the room where the camera screens were located. There was a baffled look on the faces of the two staffers.

All the screens showed snowy images.

“What happened?” said Amit.

“Sir, the screen became blank,” said one man.

“Check and find out what happened,” shouted Amit. “Repair it soon.”

‘What cursed bad luck,’ he thought.

At 11.30 am, a policeman appeared next to Hari. He asked Hari whether he remembers any person making a call at 10.30 am.

“No Sir,” he said. “Several people have used the phone till now. I cannot remember.”

Hari’s lips quivered and his hands shook. The police frightened him. Feigning ignorance was the method he used whenever the police interrogated him. After a while, the police leave. Which is what happened to the policeman who had just come up. He walked away frustrated. He could not threaten Hari because of his physical problems. The young man had only one leg.

Amit realised he would have to shell out Rs 2500 to book a room at the Raso.

He took a briefcase stacked with newspapers and took it to the hotel. As instructed, he placed the bag on the bed. He did not lock the door.

Dilip informed one of his informers, Prasad, to watch the entrance for the next two days.

Amit waited.

And waited.

The hours passed. Soon, one day passed. There was no call.

Prasad informed Dilip that no single man had come in or left quickly. There were groups of men and families.

Amit immediately went back. The briefcase remained in the same position on the bed. It seemed nobody had entered the room. Not even a member of housekeeping. Amit checked out, paid the day’s rent, and returned home.

It puzzled Anita, Dilip and him.

What happened?

Two days. Three days. A week had passed. There was no call.

The trio concluded that something had happened to the blackmailer. He might have suffered an injury or died.

One day Dilip called Amit and told him that there were no fingerprints on the lens. It seemed the man had used gloves.

Soon, a month passed.

Again, there was no news.

The couple relaxed. They began their trysts at two-month intervals. But each time Amit planned to come home, Anita would use the app to see whether there were any hidden cameras.

Once, while they were relaxing in bed, Anita turned to Amit and said, “Do you think the man was from the railway?”

“Why do you say that?” asked Amit.

“The call came from the station. And the cameras turned blank,” said Anita.

Amit nodded his head in slow motion.

He pressed his lips together and said, “There is a possibility.”

“Anybody from your staff with whom you had a fight?” said Anita.

Amit narrowed his eyes and said, “I don’t think so.”

But a few days after he had got the registered letter, Amit’s deputy, Mukul Kumar, died of typhoid. A bachelor, the 30-year-old, had been an introvert. ‘Could it be him?’ Amit wondered. ‘Unlikely. Mukul was lying seriously ill in a government hospital in the days before he passed away.’

There was still no contact from the blackmailer.

Aware that tongues would wag if Amit came to Anita’s building too often, they arranged trysts in hotels outside the city of Ranchi. Here, they behaved like a married couple. Amit started lying to Roop about his travels, blaming his senior officers. But after each session, Amit had a long bath, using perfumed soap, and splashed perfume all over his body.

He maintained his sexual relations with Roop. So she was happy.

Another month went by.

One day, when Amit arrived at work, the authorities told him he had transferred to Dumka station. This was 286 kms from Ranchi. He enquired about the reasons for this sudden transfer. A colleague informed him that the superiors knew about his affair. They felt it was advisable to transfer him. They were not happy about his behaviour.

“How did they know?” he said.

“No idea,” his colleague said.

“A staff member might have taken a mobile shot.”

Amit realised he lived in an era of endless surveillance. People could capture your image on a mobile phone anytime and anywhere. Civic authorities had mounted cameras on street lamp posts on most of the roads. When you entered a hotel, there were cameras inside reception areas, elevators, restaurants and the corridors. Nothing remained hidden.

He felt a sour taste in his mouth, as if he had bitten into a piece of bitter gourd.

Amit did not want to disturb the studies of his sons. So, he decided that his family would remain in Ranchi. He vacated the flat for the next stationmaster. Then he moved his family to another flat outside the colony. On his weekly off, he came home. Sometimes, Anita and he spoke on the phone.

Once, Anita called Amit and said that her maid could spend one night to keep her mother company. She could come across. But Amit dissuaded her by saying that too many people were keeping tabs on him. He would have to remain under the radar for the next few months. Anita felt disappointed, but she understood his compulsions.

She was also surprised that people knew about their relationship. Anita realised that an affair with a married man would reach nowhere. ‘What was the point?’ she thought. But she could not deny the sexual satisfaction that she got out of her relationship with Amit.

She would have to decide. Should she stay in it for the sex or walk away, because she wanted something permanent? Anita was not sure whether she wanted anything long-lasting. She was at that stage of her life where she was loath to lose her freedom. Because she had an income, Anita could run her own show. Why should she enter a prison?

All her married friends complained of stress and unhappiness in their marriages. One told her, “‘Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus.’ It will never work. Man and woman are too different to understand each other.”

Much later, when Anita was browsing in a book store did she realise that ‘Men are from Mars’ was the title of a book about human relationships which had become a bestseller.

There was also a risk that people in her office might come to know about her affair. That could prove damaging. Unlike in America, where people did not care what you did in your personal life, as long as you delivered in office, in India it was the opposite. They were extremely curious about each other’s sexual lives. ‘Frustrated assholes,’ she thought.

Anita decided she would not hurry into a decision. ‘There is time,’ she thought. But Anita could not deny that whenever she thought of Amit, her heartbeat quickened. As she told a friend who asked her to describe Amit, “Delicious body. Good lover.”

But Anita did not forget the danger she was in regarding the bedroom images. She prayed often at the temple and begged the goddess that the photos never surfaced on social media. That would mark the end of her career. Anita would have to leave Ranchi in shame.

Most nights, Amit slept alone. He knew he would have to be an ascetic regarding sexual matters until all the talk about his affair died down. Amit realised that with each woman, he would have one or two sessions, nothing more. Otherwise, there was a possibility of somebody exposing the relationship. ‘Damned mobile phones, cameras and drones,’ he thought. ‘You can’t have an affair in peace.’

He was keen to go up the ladder, so that he could get a fatter pension when he retired.

On some days, when he reached his home, it would be on a weekday morning. The children would be in school. He noticed Roop was keener to have sex first before chatting with him.

‘Women,’ he thought. ‘They can send you into a tailspin.’