“Yes, what is it, Wasim?” I asked.
“Saheb.” He said respectfully. “I wanted to inform you that we have to fix the road that goes in front of your house. It will be very noisy for the next few weeks.”
“Hmm.” I was nonplussed. I would be at work, and Vidya could just put on some earplugs and listen to her music. “Why so many days, Wasim? It’s just some potholes.”
“Well, it’s not just some potholes, Saheb.” Wasim nonchalantly glanced a look at my wife before focusing back on me. “The Board has decided to resurface the roads in this community. So your lane will be the first one. It could be three … or four … or even five weeks.”
“I see.”
“We will try to be quiet.” Wasim said. “But for next month or so, there will be work. But I will take care of memsaab so that she is not bothered too much by the noise.”
Did he misspeak? He would “take care” of my wife? Was it my imagination or was there a slight grin as he said this last statement — that memsaab wouldn’t be too “bothered” with the noise? Was it because it would be because she was “busy” with something else? Or someone? How would he “take care” of her?
“Alright, Wasim. If it has to be done, it has to be done.”
I didn’t give much more thought to it. After Wasim left, I finished getting ready, kissed Vidya goodbye and headed out to work. I almost didn’t want to leave. Vidya looked so good, standing in the doorway in her sari, her hair falling to her hips, her pallu tucked away to one side, her navel glowing in the sunlight. I wanted to take her there and then. But the office was beckoning.
It was a busy morning, as I got caught up, and then attended a series of meetings. I was now promoted to lead project manager, after all. Sometimes (though not often) I would report directly to the owner of the company Mr. Hemant Sarun himself.
Just after lunch hour, I had some time to myself. Alone in my office cabin, I switched on the camera app on my laptop. I was watching my house live. There was no recording stored of the morning, which meant no one had rung the bell and no door in my house had been opened to let anyone in or out. My cameras recorded only when there was movement from any of the entrances to our house. Vidya must have remained at home, sleeping or watching TV. I looked through the cameras to see where she was now.
Vidya was in the kitchen. The screen blurred for a moment and then cleared as the kitchen camera focused on my wife. She was loading the dishwasher.
For some time I watched my wife. God! She was so sexy! I felt lucky to be married to this vixen! She wore a simple sari, but so elegantly did it cover her full, athletic and buxom figure. I was glad Vidya was one of those women who always wore a sari, even if she was alone. Sari was what made an Indian woman so sexy. So desi. I loved her thin sari wrapped itself around her svelte figure, giving prominence to the blouse that hid her gigantic melons, showing her bare, narrow, slender waist and tummy, and then accentuating her big, bubble butt. That ass quivered every time she moved in the kitchen, and for some time I just sat and watched my wife move around, not knowing that there were prying eyes taking in her every move.