"How could you," she flung the words at me - (which were enough to rouse me out of my afternoon siesta...I mean, the wet towel that she simultaneously hit me with, square in the chest of my new linen office-shirt, (how would I explain this wet blurb at work with nary a change of dress with me?) in a superfluous display of temper I had already understood I must have unintentionally ingnited in her, was not needed to emphasize her displeasure.

"Darling, I..." was lost in the haze of her slow, menacing (hard to imagine a woman looking thataway, isn't it - but then, perhaps you are yet to meet my one true love, Oindrulla - she sure lives up to her namesake: Durga) and very deliberate steps towards me.

She looked bewitching with her hair down her narrow, curving back; stepping out the bathroom door, her eyes black as coal, cryptic as the night and chameleon- like in their ability to shine forth devotion and destruction in one long look. Oindrulla, in the wine-red Turkish towel held up by her considerable assets, held my obvious stare a prisoner for more than a moment.

I swear to you, in blind faith and devouring love, I could have ravished her then.

It was just that her look this time wasn't teasing, seductive or encouraging even a whit to even the blind - and I have already admitted being doggedly (loyalty-wise and in my pursuit of her affections-wise) so, in love with her, earlier.

Have I said what having Oindrulla in my life meant to me?... If not, let me correct that oversight, quickly - and succintly: my mother gave me life and Oindrulla gave it meaning - simply, by being there.

" I loved you...I trusted you...You lying, cheating..." her eyes - they held me captive. They flashed murder.

("loved, trusted..." past tense...why?..what did I do, I wondered)

"Oin, *aamar pran, ki.." Oin, *my Life, what (did I do?) ...was what I tried to say.

For some reason, I couldn't look away - mesmerizing was too pale a word before her dark, unforgiving and accusing - and it seemed to me (and a tad distastefully, I'll admit, it was true for the one second the thought swept my mental agony - even delighting in my fear, for that is what I felt and expressed on my face, having seen the way Her royal Bengal Highness could go beyond the dish-smashing and nerve-slitting profanities of hot-blooded love's anguish), triumphant-at-my-distress eyes.

"Who is she? Tell me her name...I'll scratch her eye-balls out...let's see how she looks at with with no eyes to see you with...did you touch her...the way you feel me....?..Answer me, dammit!!"

How could I? I knew nothing of what Oindrulla was referring to - or even why!

I sat dumb. In emotion and in mind and body.

Should I fear my own true love?

Should I try to pacify her or simply hear her out?

The dual thoughts plagued me in the interim that Oindrulla took to make her rage physically evident, as she was naturally inclined to when overwrought with emotion.

Past experience and pouring over contemporary women's magazines and surplus chick-lit novellas (the latter speed-read during my innumerable flights to Bombay and back to Kolkata as my job as an Event Manager with a youth TV channel demanded I undertake every few weeks) strongly indicated that I do Oindrulla the honor of listening to her vent her concerns.

A human and divinely supple in form yet inflexible in spirit version of Durga stood her ground before me - in the wine-red towel I longed to rip off and toss aside before enveloping her in my arms to soothe her fears, mercurial temper and siren-like graces in one savvy stroke of late afternoon lovemaking.

But, this was not to be - or so, implied her battle-posture. Hands on her hips, head titled to one side with water-droplets kissing her face when I should have that privilege!! Life's not fair, I thought for the second time that day.

This, my very own homespun Durga-avataar: Oindrulla appeared before me taking the stance of the ultimate unified symbol of all divine forces; Strength, Morality, Power, Protector.

Except all of these meant nothing to me - the qualities were directed inwards to Oin and she looked determined to get to the bottom of the issue, something I was completely, honestly and totally clueless about!

Did she actually feel I had cheated her? Or that I could ever - have the audacity to? Or anyone for that matter, who had this glorious creature as a significant other? (We weren't married, you see - our parents were against it and so we were left with no choice but to move to another place - preferably a big city that would swallow us whole in its rich, demanding and lively grasp and take away the small fears of being found out and judged against had we stayed on in Akamakhya in Assam).

The Universal Mother - yet another name for Oindrulla, my Durga and Kali rolled in one (or so it seemed in that moment of absolute terror when Oin locked gazes with me and I scarce could will myself move to a sitting position on the lush, silken and soft folds of her Rajasthani cotton razai - I didn't feel all that cold, but the split A/C on full blast made it necessary for me to cozy up for those quick 40 winks, which, it belatedly seemed, were not to be...if Oin and her accusations were not instantly - and intelligently calmed down).

Was I the one who could do it? After all, I was a mere mortal - and she, Oin, the very personification of her namesake at the moment. The very air shook with the force of her feline grace. 

That she changed tracks - and tone - so miraculously (or suspiciously, if you will) and welcomingly (for me), came as a surprise, for she all but cooed, drawing near to mingle her fresh breath with my own rather lazy one. "Did you let her do the things I do to you ...and did you enjoy it too?"

"Who are we talking about, again?" I managed to joke. Or rather, dared.

In as much time it would have taken me to blink (or die of a heart-attack, for she looked an avenging angel with a leg on my thigh, pinning me to the bed with one swoop as she leaned over: quietly, deceptively) Oin brought her face over mine.

Her hair dripped the fragrance of that new Dove shampoo (yes, the blue, slickly packaged one) and her body burst with circular whiffs of Jasmine soap as Oin whispered low, almost seducing me (but I knew better by now - she was only testing me).

"Are you mocking me, Joyo?" My name felt rolled in chocolate and Irish cream when she said it with barely concealed desire - or ill-will even. For there was no bigger fool than one in love, like me, I figured late in the day.

"N..No, my love...I just...I.." reads as inadequately as I'd sounded, doesn't it?

She gripped my head on both sides.

"Explain this lipstick on your collar! Explain it!" She shrieked! "You can't, can you? Because you are all just the same!! You talk of being faithful and how you do not even look at another woman and how you don't understand how some people can have these sordid, back-alley affairs and yet you Pretend Pious goddammned creature - given half a chance, you join the ranks of these same nedi-kukoors?"

*Nedi-kukoor is native talk for street dogs. Oin only switches to her mother tongue when she's hopping mad and someone (in this instance, me) is due for a tongue-lashing that makes it crystal clear how beyond redemption the person is! I, on the other hand, frequently use our common mother tongue to placate, cajole and romanticize events and people, including Oin.

"Oin, *aamar jeebonair ekti aasha...why do you speak like this to me..." (*Sole Hope of my Life).

...

"Oin, ...Oin..." I tried reaching out to her, but my fingers froze in mid-air as she rebuked me with a swift shove of her petite hands - and then, she drew nearer to me.

You wouldn't envy me at these moments - with my 6 figure salary, access to the funkiest parties in India, a 3 bedroom apartment scraped up with a 55 lakh rupee loan (and some string pulling from Debu Da, the local strong-arm man with a hold over all major real estate developers in our Para (neighborhood) in South Kolkata, with the dazzling pillow-partner that Oindrulla was - even given the short time span my success had taken to be granted me. (Just 3.5 years).

"Oin..I.."

"...am not your love...or your anything...and you better explain that lipstick on your collar now." She spoke dangerously low.

Words failed me. So did memory. Oin's cleavage parried with my perception and powers to think straight - (just a tug and her womanly attributes would spill over for my sheer pleasure...)

"I'd stopped by the new Maybelline counter opened on the 3rd floor on my way down from Office - y'know...before I came home to lunch with you...” I began, and then moistened my lips, trying to concentrate on the events of the day that led to my Oin getting displeased with me and the subsequent lipstick on my collar.

"So???" Only Oin could put a wealth of meaning into one syllable.

"So...I'd imagined what it would look like on you...taken a trial...such a gorgeous shade...perhaps I didn't quite wipe it off...and it smudged on my collar, luv...that's all.."

And I handed the neat little blue hand-made paper and silver net package to her from the bedside table where it had been awaiting Oin's arrival since I'd come to our apartment 20 minutes ago and found her singing in the bathroom during her afternoon shower.

She giggled like a little girl as she spread the contents over the bed and looked a little guilty herself, "Sorry - and ...thank you, Joyo..."

Life's not fair - I have it all: beautiful and passionate partner, brains and a great job! Though, it's tough figuring out women, I'll admit - being one myself does give me an extra edge in managing our relationship.

Take it from me  - Joyonthi Biswas, Head Creative and Strategic Sales at EventsRus - and Oin's significant other.