We owned a massive house and a section of it was completely unoccupied. As my sister and I started getting older and ready for college, my dad thought of renting out that section to get some extra income. After rejecting many candidates, we zeroed in on a certain Kartar Singh. A 50-something Sikh guy from Punjab who was going to stay in Lucknow for a few months. He ran a small business in Punjab and was looking to form contacts in Uttar Pradesh to expand his prospects. He wasn’t too well-off and came from a middle-class family like ours. He also had a very jolly and caring nature. So, accepting him as a tenant was a no brainer.
He was almost 5’10, borderline obese, had a salt and pepper beard that flowed till his collar bone and always wore an orange turban. He had thick, heavy hands which I felt whenever he used to pat my back, and he did that quite often. His friendly nature, joyous energy and friendliness made us gel well and we started treating him as part of the family. Even for my sister, things began changing as she could finally feel like a child with Kartar Singh around. But then things took such an unexpected turn.
As we became comfortable with Kartar Singh, my dad started spending more and more time outside. He started socialising, accepted a touring job and would be away most weekends. Kartar Singh’s room had a TV with cable so my sister and I would spend our evenings watching films in his room, on his bed. I would sit in the middle and they would sit on either side while we shared a blanket.
One cold December evening, we were watching a film as was the custom. My father had gone for a tour towards the Southern part of the country and we were alone with Kartar Singh. It had been more than a year since Kartar Singh started living with us. He was family now. My sister was now almost 20 and I had turned 18 merely days before. We treated Kartar Singh as an uncle and he would often talk about how we were exactly like his kids back home. He only visited them every 6 months, so it was no wonder that he was so emotionally attached to us.
So, that evening as we were completely engrossed in the film, Kartar Singh asked me to fetch hot water from the kitchen. I obeyed like a son and left. Since, the kitchen was almost a 5 minute walk and it took me a while to heat the water, I must’ve gone for a good 10 minutes. When I returned, I saw something that shocked me to the core! Kartar Singh ji had grabbed my sister’s beautiful hair and was kissing her soft, white throat. Her lips had broadened into a smile and her mouth was open in a sensual rage. Kartar Singh’s massive hand was reaching her breasts when suddenly they became aware that I was there.
“No, no it’s nothing. You’re fine.” Kartar Singh let go of my sister and pretended that he was checking something.
“Your sister thought there’s a lump in her throat. But she’s fine. Stupid kid!” He said laughing and staring at me.
“Yeah!” My sister replied. Her voice heavy with lust and her hair messed up. Then, she got up and left saying she’ll start preparing dinner. The gush of air that emerged as she left the room resonated with a long sigh.