Category Archives: Tina Das

How do you spell love?

by Tina Das



I ask that the lights be switched off,
So that I can look at you in darkness,
And not be dazzled by the love
That you don’t feel for me.
I sigh and get back to where we started.


There is an unfamiliar smell
In clothes worn out of sheer necessity,
An abrasive touch to the bare skin
Securing a sensation unique,
To the one who owned them first.
At moments when you seem to clutch at shores,
Clinging to every scrap of hope thrown at you,
Someone asks if you would rather drown together,
And you let go-
Lose yourself in the unfamiliar smell,
Its more welcome than well coordinated attires.


How do you spell love?
How do you speak love?
Do you roll the word in your mouth
Like alcohol, savour like a connossieur
And whisper it out in your beloved’s ear?
Or, you fling it out like a ball of spit,
Not caring where it rests?
Or hold till passionate outburst is quietened,
And confess, you do.
We will probably get there, slowly,
Not like celebrated paintings,
Of messy hair and beautifully entangled limbs
But mild snoring, slightly open mouths
And eyes half rolled upwards,
Or we won’t.
How do you spell love, my love?
Maybe like this.


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Flavoured cream

by Tina Das


She had spent hours looking for the right pair of panties in the open shops at Lajpat Nagar. The bras, mounted one on top of the other, with all sorts of laces and cup sizes and shapes, were an erotic dream in themselves. She just couldn’t figure out which colour to buy- the baby pink one with laces and tiny bows on each strap or the red one which would clearly only cover halves of her breasts. Just the thought of them on her made her feel horny. It had always been so- this absolute love of beautiful lingerie. She hated the cotton bras thrust on her as a young teenager-cotton, white, no-nonsense and ugly.

“Ouch”, she screamed in bewildered anger as someone stepped on her foot. She turned around to find herself face to face with a guy looking extremely apologetic. She looked at him, and well, frankly, he was quite good looking. Well, at least good looking guys stomp on my foot if nothing else, she thought .And just as she thought nothing was worse, a drop of his ice cream fell on her hurt toe. She was furious now. OK, even handsome guys can get irritating. She opened her mouth to scream but, to her utter surprise, he bent down and started wiping off the cream with a tissue.

She stood and stared as he slowly wiped it with a slight pressure of his thumb, sending dangerous spirals to her brain. OK, she thought, shit! Foot fetish.

He looked up with a smile that said it all- he knew just what he was doing and enjoying it too. It was utterly unreal- feeling like this in the middle of a crowded Delhi market. A rotund aunty ji nudged her and she returned to her senses with a jolt.

He had stood up and was still holding the napkin. “Do you want an ice cream?” he asked. “Anyway, I am going to get another one”. She agreed and they started towards the ice cream parlor. She watched him carefully- he was tall, almost as tall as she was and that was saying something. There weren’t many men who, surprisingly enough, were tall, near her. He turned back and caught her staring at him. She turned red and looked away. A smile and “what do you want to eat?” is all he asked. “Banana split “, she said.

He got one and they sat down. The tables were tiny and, since both of them were tall, their legs touched one another, as did their elbows. She began eating and noticed he hadn’t got any for himself, “Aren’t you eating anything?”

“Oh, I will. Something much tastier than ice cream. A bit later”

She froze, spoon suspended in mid air. Was it just her or were the words insanely suggestive? He looked back steadily and said, “Yes, I want you. I know this might sound creepy, but well, honestly, I do.”

She swallowed with difficulty. She should be angry with this stranger saying things like this. But she wasn’t. In fact, she felt her body responding, the slight wetness in the region between her legs making it pretty obvious.  She, however, said quite the opposite, “Who exactly do you think I am?” “A very attractive woman who is making my pants uncomfortable”, he said.

Well, that was it, she thought. She decided she should get up, but in trying to do so, he put out an arm to restrain her, and in that constrained space, his hand accidentally brushed against her left breast. She stopped, and made a decision. “OK. Fine. You want me, right? Let’s go”.

He stood up immediately and held her hand whispering, “Oh, you just made my day”.

They took an auto to his place. All she could really think of was, how crazy is this? But well, I am not a virgin nor with qualms about pre-marital sex. So, why not?

They reached soon enough. He opened the door to his flat and held the door open for her. As he locked them in, he took her by the wrist and pulled her close, kissing her. She stood still, unresponsive for about a second and then kissed him back with that primal instinct that tells you that you like someone, almost instinctively. Her vagina began throbbing, and let out its response in almost torrential bouts, soaking her fancy panties, as she felt him harden against her. He then stopped abruptly and started pulling her top over her head while she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Her lacy bra peeped out, holding her breasts in almost a flower encased offering. He stood back to look at them, whispering “delicious” and with a decisive snap opened it to reveal her breasts, nipples hardened like the tiny berries sold at roadside. He plunged his mouth onto them while she held his head. He bit a nipple slowly while his hand rubbed the other. He constantly squeezed her breasts, eliciting moans of pleasure. He was good- her mind dimly registered the thought as she realised that he was unbuttoning her jeans. He slipped it down and put his mouth at the centre of her wetness. This was just too much for her. He played around with his tongue expertly as she let out guttural sounds of pleasure. He looked up at her and, with his mouth full of her cum, said, “Didn’t I tell you I am going to have something much better than ice cream?”

She could only look on as he went back to putting his expert tongue and devastate her. Soon enough, she exploded in psychedelic colours and in streams, which he promptly lapped up. She was now desperate to touch him, to make him crazy. And she kneeled down, unzipped his jeans and tore his underwear in an attempt to put her mouth around six inches of pulsating flesh. She immediately took his entire length in her mouth, leading him to gasp in surprise. But that only jostled her to action as she worked at like her favourite flavour of lollipop, saliva streaming down the sides of her mouth. As she deep throated him, he held her head and pushed his penis in, deep, almost and yet not gagging her. She, who had never ventured to ever give a blow job, was thrilled and wanted more. He stopped her and made her stand up saying, “I need to save myself to go inside you too.” So saying he lifted one of her leg, wrapped it around him and put his penis inside her. She accommodated it inside her and held on to him as he banged away, in a tempo, thrusting deep inside. It went on for sometime before he turned her around and held her butt, entering her pussy from the back, causing her to scratch the wall in pleasure. He soon increased his rhythm, indicating that he was close to ejaculation and he did, as he pulled it out of her at the last moment.

She turned around, as he held her and kissed her again, whispering, “You are the one flavour I would not get tired of, if you let me”.

She nodded yes, yes, yes, as she again led his head to her breasts.


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Very Short Stories


by Rahul Sen
Loy won’t let his model preview his portrait until it’s finished. The model would come each day and bare herself on the sofa to strike a pose. The same pose was being struck days after days.

The gentle locks falling on her forehead, the soft bend of her neck, the rotundity of her well shaped breasts, were being intently gazed at by him. Part by part, within and without, observed with an impeccable vision and an instinctive intellect. But his hands seldom moved; it was only his pupils that rolled all over her body and seemed to swim within the reservoirs of her exceeding beauty.

Yet, one day, when out of sheer curiosity she went to the other side of the canvas in his absence, she found the canvas devoid of her figure, devoid of any human outline… It contained iridescent shades of hues – red, yellow, green, violent, orange – strokes that crisscrossed the white canvas to carve out a space of wonder that captures love and art in abstraction….


by Tina Das
We never hugged- we are scared of it. It never happened that success was celebrated with physical contact of any sort. We liked to be “dignified”. Funny, we were anyway a strange family- uh no, not strange, quaint sounds better.

It was the second year of my hostel- dad had decided to visit. He sat in the visitors room, stoic, or “dignified”. He saw two giggly girls hug and kiss each other and asked me, “Is it a new trend? This hugging business?”

I smiled and waved it away with a shrug.

The day I walked back with a battered face, courtesy a protest against rape. My mom screamed at me. She said it was not required- this drama of protest. I kept quiet- of course, she didn’t know I was also raped once, by the old man who claimed to be my uncle. Dad didn’t know, of course. He didn’t know till the day when his granddaughter was pawed by the same man and she ran to me for a big hug. We all hugged then, quaint family, we hugged too late.


by Prateeksha Pandey
ऑफिस में बैठे बैठे लाल टी-शर्ट वाले लड़के ने एक उदास कविता लिखी. फिर लोगों की वाहवाही पर एक खिन्न मुस्कान के साथ लैपटॉप का फ्लैप गिरा दिया. ठहाकों में बाकी दिन गुज़र गया. घर आकर बैग खोला तो वाहवाह करने वालों की फेहरिस्त में 15 नाम और जुड़ गए थे पर ठहाके गायब थे. ये ठहाके रोज़ कहाँ छूट जाते हैं? पर खिन्न मुस्कान तो अपनी ही है. फिर वो खाना खा कर दाहिनी करवट सो गया. सुबह उठा तो पिछली रात के खाने का स्वाद मुंह में पुरानी स्मृतियों की तरह बसा हुआ पाया. हर सुबह खिड़कियों से नयी उदासी चली आती है. आज फिर कुछ झूठे जुमलों और सच्ची कविताओं के औजारों से दिन को ठोक-पीट के बराबर करना होगा.


image source: unknown

Of Coffee and Cigarettes

by Tina Das


I had seen her at the protest, and I was blown. Not because she wore incredibly good clothes but because she had the kind of flawed body that had always appealed to me. Through her sweater I could make out the shape of her bra; she had love handles and legs which were not long, in fact her thighs were fleshy, tapering most unflatteringly to slimness below her knees. I knew I wanted her and from her eyes, I was sure, my desire wasn’t unwelcome.

“Hi”, I breathed.

She took off her glasses and said, “Let’s go for chai”. Wow! She sure didn’t wait for me to babble the compulsory, empty niceties. I was only too willing and glad. I offered, ”My flat is nearby. If you don’t mind, we can sit there. It will be warmer and they say I make good tea”.

“Sure”, she said. “Lead me”. They felt like the most sensuous words I had heard in a long time. I was already wet as I started walking behind her. Her ass captivated me- I felt an uncontrollable urge to grab it and pull her towards me in the middle of the road, in the chilly winter dusk, to slap it till she cried out, not in pain but ecstasy. I would tenderly kiss it too, the soft mounds of flesh, which any day, attracted me most in a woman, for reasons quite unknown to me. “Where do I go now?”, she asked. Shit! I had been lost in my fantasy.  I took her hand and we crossed the road. I couldn’t help noticing her walk- it was not what poets wrote sonnets about- brisk and efficient, arms moving in perfect rhythm of utility to her legs. Soon, we were walking the narrow alley that lead to my small one roomed flat. I climbed the stairs and she followed, smoking a cigarette as she did so. I hated smoking- I was highly allergic to dust and smoke of any sort, especially cigarettes; but the sight of her shiny lips tugging at one, made the sweat run in rivulets between my breasts. I fumbled with my lock and finally we were inside. I took off my coat and threw it on the mattress which was my bed. She lowered herself on the bed, looked me directly in the eye and asked, “So, really, do you want to pretend that we are here for tea or we can begin what we both obviously want?”

I think I gaped like an idiot for two minutes and wasted precious time. But not more than that, as I immediately sat down and tasted her lips. She smelt of cigarette and coffee, an intoxicating combination. In the midst of all this, I was reminded of the movie ‘Perfume’, and the protagonist’s ardent desire for the thirteenth elixir, understanding that this smell, of coffee and cigarettes, definitely seemed like one. It was a rare taste, especially since I had never kissed a smoker before, allowing myself access to the warmth of her mouth, which was warming me up too.

I pulled her hair back so that I had better access to her mouth and neck. She made little noises in her throat, making me wetter and threatening an orgasm. I stopped and pulled off her sweater, to reveal breasts straining against her bra. I took it off without much ado, and put my mouth on the dark fleshy mounds, rounded and yet again, radiating that welcome warmth which I crave often on lonely nights- the sheer warmth of a living, breathing body. Her taut nipples tasted like the shot of vodka which travelled burning down the throat, at once heady and tasty. She pulled my head closer, inviting me and I started to bite them, while she let out moan after moan.

She pushed me aside and began taking off her jeans. I too followed suit and soon, we were devoid of clothes. I spread her legs and dug right in. She was incredibly wet and warm, boiling in fact. As I flicked my tongue over her clitoris, her velvety pubic hairs caressed my cheeks and I felt my nipples tighten unbearably. Her fluid was as heady as butter and burnt garlic, making me want to lick her dry. I was desperate for more and so, I pushed two fingers in slowly and repeated it till she was flowing- I could taste the remnants of her periods too, and it excited me more.

I put my hands under her butt and hoisted her slightly, bringing her close. I squeezed both her exquisite cheeks, as I continued my ministrations on her. She soon came, squirting me with her salty liquids. Turning her over I spread her legs, putting my fingers inside the river of her cum and I slapped her butt hard as I kissed her all over her back, nibbling wherever I could feel my lips encounter loose flesh. She kept urging me to slap more as her cheek slowly turned pink and I could feel myself turn wetter.

As soon as I knelt back, she grabbed me and pushed me down on the bed. She left a trail of kisses on my body; her lips cool against my burning body. She put three fingers inside me as she paid rapt attention to my breasts, making me go bonkers. She left a line of hickeys on me, which was deliciously painful. She looked at me in the eye, before lowering her face into my writhing, throbbing vagina. And god, was she good! She flicked her tongue expertly around me as I struggled to control my orgasm. I half hoisted myself to watch her, and watching her fuck me like that was the sexiest thing ever. I didn’t take much time to come apart and she raised her head, her lips dripping with my essence, and looking at me, she licked her fingers and then kissed me, both our tastes mingling, like some exotic cocktail.

We dressed slowly, each basking in the post-sex lethargy. She had lit up a cigarette again and I watched, hooked. I realised I didn’t even know her name. I glanced at her and she said, “Rea”, answering my thoughts.  I smiled, “Asmi”. She took my hand and shook it, “Pleasure to fuck you”, she said with a wicked grin. I laughed, musing that I didn’t do this kind of thing, but boy, was I glad I did. It was a novel, mind blowing, bed rocking experience which wasn’t likely to be pushed into oblivion soon. As she finished dressing, said, “So, will you now let me taste the cup of tea that they say you make so well?” “Sure”, I said and got down to making our first cup of tea.


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by Tina Das


লাইন হোটেলৰ ছুলাই মদ,বেশ্যা;

আন্ধাৰ জুপুৰীৰ পাকঘৰত খালী চৌকা আৰু নাঙঠ শিশু ;

প্ৰচন্দ লোকাক্ৰোশত ভষ্ম হোৱা বাগাণৰ মেনেজাৰ,

আৰু গোন্ধোৱা,পোৰা মঙহ ভক্ষন কৰা মানুহবোৰ-

সেঊজীয়া দলিছাৰ দৰে চাহ বাগানৰ কৰ্মী ।

হয়,ফেনৰ তলত বহী একাপ চাহত চুমুক দি

টি.ভি চাই “ইছ-আছ” কৰিছে ৰাইজে ।

“মানুহবোৰ পশু” বুলি মুখত ভৰাইছে গৰম ছিঙৰা,

একাপ চাহৰ পিছৰ কাহিনী ,

গৰম ধোৱাত বিলীন হৈ পৰিছে । 



The cheap alcohol and prostitutes of line hotels,

The cold kitchen hearth and naked children of dark huts,

The tea garden manager,

Who was a victim of intense public anger,

And the people who devoured His burnt flesh-

All are employees of the green carpet like tea garden.

Yes, people are sitting under the fan,

Tasting a cup of tea, and watching T.V.,

Murmuring in distaste.

“Men are animals” they declare with a mouth full

Of samosa, and the tale behind a cup of tea,

Is lost in its warm vapours.


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Rivers of Red

by Tina Das


It all begins with an omen,
Of incessant downpour,
Of transparent and translucent fluids.
The city floods with ‘faith’ and ‘belief’.
The hillock of Kamakhya poised in its dirt encased steps,
To welcome its somnambulistic believers.
The frenzy will set in,
Relegating countless girls to confinement.
Shunning their secretions,
And waiting,
Four days,
For the holy river of blood,
To anoint themselves with.


Image Source: River of Blood by Kipke on Deviantart (