S1E33: Khush Encounters a Shemale

Recap S1E32 Raima and Natasha Come Together :

Ten years after the dildo fiasco, Raima and Natasha are together again. Natasha has a new, extra-long, double-ended dildo to show Raima and before they know it, they are putting it to good use.

In the thick of action, they fail to hear Swapna’s call on the intercom or her knock on the door.

Disturbed by their intimacy, Swapna calls Harry at the factory for advice. He suggests that the two being adults, be left alone. However, he agrees to meet Swapna on his return to Bombay.

Raima also calls Harry, wanting to meet him. Taking a swig of whisky, Harry braces to meet the two women, neither of whom he can stop loving.

Year 2018:

Harry’s phone buzzed. It was Raima on the line. “Where have you reached?” she enquired.

“Just crossed Manor, Sweetie. I will be home by 11.30,” replied Harry.

“Khush is a speedy driver; why not let him drive?” remarked Raima.

“Raima, relax! I won’t be long. Ask Prakash to serve you dinner. Netflix and Amazon have something new today. Watch it on the new, giant-size screen. If you don’t like any of that, do some soul-searching and list out your issues. We will have a nightcap together and sort out everything, I promise.” 

“Okay, tell the driver to step on it.” The line went dead.

“Harry, you’re in a real problem, how can you take all this?” asked Khush.

“At my age I need this kind of excitement. I love to be of help, especially in the matters of love.”

“You are a love guru, a PhD in love.”


“And you have much more experience of the LBGT community, which is in the news nowadays. Natasha apart, do you know anyone else in this group?”

“Yes. Let me tell you.”

Year 2009:

Khushroo Screwwala was a compulsive stud. He looked like a rock star, a cross between Amitabh Bachchan and Robert De Niro. A six-footer, married to a comparatively shorter woman. The fact that Khush was a married man with a daughter and a son, and in his mid-forties, was a shocker to many. His marriage to a Punjabi girl Sangeeta Arora had been completely unplanned.

Sangeeta and Khush had met at Jai Hind College, where both were BSc students. Sangeeta was crazy about Khush and one day her father caught them in a compromising position in the back seat of his car. Surprising enough, Khush did the honourable thing and got married to her. He knew how difficult it could be for a girl who was caught in the act, in those days.

Sangeeta’s father was a rich and powerful industrialist and he ensured it was a big Indian wedding. Khush’s life seemed to be set. After they graduated the following year, Khush and Sangeeta moved in with her folks. Khush joined the family business and quickly learned the ropes. Never mind that he had to put up with being addressed as ghar jamai (a derogatory term for a husband living with his in laws).

Khush pushed on relentlessly, turning the business into a huge conglomerate. For him, it was the propeller that ensured his success and consolidated his own wealth – a swanky apartment in Cuffe Parade, a sinfully huge bank balance and of course, a family which had now grown to include two children.

Being a thoroughbred marketing man, he was aggressive and persistent. Added to which, he was a great charmer with a dynamic personality. He could sell fish to a fisherman!

Khush was rewarded with much more than he had ever imagined. Stuck with an incompetent son, Mr Arora put all his faith in his son-in-law. Mr Arora had a huge appetite for money which he satisfied, unconcerned about the means.  Khush did his best to please him, quickly learning the ways of greasing the palms of Delhi’s powerful men. He managed to get the right favours at the right time.

Delhi – one of the most corrupt cities in the world – became Khush’s domain. He had ministers eating out of his hand. On one occasion, he landed a huge contract despite having no track record to prove his credentials. Mr Arora was thrilled. Khush had achieved something close to impossible since this particular contract was beyond most people’s capabilities. It had taken the family business to the next level. Mr Arora was in such high spirits that he danced joyously all night.

In the process, Khush made a neat package for himself as well. However, deep inside, he wasn’t really proud of these achievements that lacked integrity. So he prematurely retired from the family business.

After his father-in-law died, Sangeeta, became the CEO of the business. Her brother Saamiq had never grown out of the hippy culture of the Woodstock era. He still lived with his hair down to his waist. An incredible disc jockey, with the best collection of music from jazz to pop, rock, acid rock, rap, hip-hop and reggae, he was a misfit for the family business. A master of sound engineering and acoustics, his passion was focused in a narrow range between strumming a guitar to scratching the turntables. All the dividends he earned from his substantial shareholdings in the business went into his state-of-the-art equipment and electronic gadgets. A hands-on guy and thorough in whatever he did, he installed an advanced smart home type security system.

Saamiq had been the sore point in Mr Arora’s life. It was not so much his popularity with the teenagers in town but his popularity with young men that upset the old patriarch. It was his habit of bringing home men to spend the night in his room that led to a cardiac arrest and hastened the old man’s demise.

“You’re nothing but a hijra! There’s no way you can be my son!” Mr Arora had yelled that night and reached out to slap his son.

“Maybe you’re right,” said Saamiq, grabbing his father’s hand just a second before it found his face. “My poor mother must have had to befriend my real father,” he added, putting the word ‘real’ in finger quotes, “who, I’m sure, must have been as good-looking as me. And I won’t blame her – let her soul rest in peace – she probably slept with him because you were no good in bed!”

Mr Arora was horror-struck by this dirty insult. He raised his walking stick to hit Saamiq when a searing pain inflamed his chest and he collapsed onto the floor. He was urgently rushed to the ICU but a few days later, he gave up the fight to live. Unfortunately, Khush hadn’t been at home when this happened. He and Sangeeta were horrified, because although Mr Arora was in his mid-eighties with a history of hypertension, he was in his element before this incident. Khush felt guilty that he hadn’t been around that day. Maybe, he thought, he could have controlled Saamiq and prevented the argument from taking place.

Ab honi ko kaun taal sakta hai?” (What is destined to happen, happens) Sangeeta wondered.

Poor Saamiq was in tears feeling responsible for his father’s death. He went to see Khush at his house for support. Khush was the only one who understood his plight. No one had the right to degrade him just because he was different. It wasn’t his doing – it happened to be an act of nature. Saamiq had been born an intersex and was raised predominantly as a boy. He was teased throughout his life for being effeminate. If only enough attention had been given to medical issues related to hormonal imbalances and reproductive organs, things may have turned out better and even acceptable to Mr Arora.

Sangeeta, on the other hand, was a strong woman who was more than willing and capable of handling the business. She was ambitious enough to keep it running and pass it on to her kids. This confidence stemmed from the complete support of Khush, who was a shareholder and an honorary advisor to the firm.

Khush was an adventurous guy. Now that he had more time to himself, he wanted to relish life, experiment with it. A wanderer and a gypsy at heart, he felt it was time to get closer to his basic nature.

Endowed with the qualities of a fine human being, he had a deep-rooted urge to satisfy the desires of the opposite sex, especially the carnal. However, he did not want to attach himself to anyone.

The appetite for sex was present right from his college days. A fitness freak and a sports lover, he played football and tennis for his university. During his days in college, he and his roommate had often planned to become gigolos.

“A gigolo’s life is tailor-made for us!” they would say.

His idea of a gigolo was, unlike most others, quite a noble one. He wanted his manhood to be put to use to service a woman in need. He had no intentions of receiving any favours in return. He wasn’t a gold digger and so couldn’t be referred to as a gigolo in the true sense of the word. There were plenty of times he had been offered money or other favours from women, but he’d politely decline them. Only when he encountered stinking rich housewives and could not refuse their money lest they feel hurt, would he accept it and add it to his charity fund kitty.

“What now?” had been the thought going through his mind after he had reached this pinnacle of success. Then the disaster of 26/11 struck. The uncertainty of life and the frivolity, in which he lived, shook him up. He signed up as a volunteer to protect and strengthen his beloved city from terrorist attacks. After training, he was promoted to part-time deputy to the chief of Mumbai’s Bomb Squad.

Year 2018:

Raima called to know where they had reached. They had crossed Hotel Golden Chariot in Vasai. Raima sounded low.

“I told you 11.30, it’s only 10.45 now. See you soon,” said Harry.

“That was quite an experience, Khush. Saamiq and the father-son relationship. I would like to meet him; how’s he doing?” asked Harry.

“I am glad to help someone who helps the world. Saamiq would love to meet you, he’s doing very well. I have experience even with a transgender. Would you want to know?” said Khush.

“I would love to.” 

Khush opened the coffee flask and after taking a big gulp or two, he started.

Year 2009:

Khush was concerned about Shom’s involvement with a mysterious girl and realised that his friend needed help. This was the first time Shom had been so preoccupied that he hadn’t answered any of Khush’s calls. Shom was in a new relationship but Khush did not want his friend to lose control of himself. Never in all these years had he been so desperate to get the Land Yacht. That too, in a jiffy. That was so unlike him. He had had to personally intervene to get the vehicle organised at such short notice.

Usually, Shom had to be coaxed into an adventure, but here the urgency in his voice had said it all. The time, effort and importance he was giving this woman made things amply clear for Khush. He had never known him to be so nervous, unless he had his conscience to deal with. This was only when there was a woman involved, otherwise he was calm and composed in all situations. Khush worried that the outcome of this kind of involvement could shatter Shom once again. Khush had pulled him out of his emotional rut in the past when his marriage became unfulfilling, and now he hoped his friend had not landed in the same turmoil.

He would have to distract Shom, like he did before. Shom and he were alike in some ways; voluntary victims for anything extraordinary. While Khush was naturally adventurous, it was a remedy for Shom to buffer his pain or heal his wounds. However, his tolerance levels were very high. He would often experiment with an adventurous task that called for immense perseverance. Khush knew that something really wild was needed to divert Shom’s attention from this woman. It was a challenge and Khush was game for it.

Khush had the ability to befriend women of all types, ages and from different walks of life. He would hit it off well, enjoy himself and move on to another adventure. There was never a question of getting involved with any of them.

That night Khush went to a friend’s birthday bash at Zenzi bar in Bandra. As the music grew louder, the crowd kept swelling inside the limited space. Khush, surrounded by his female friends, was dancing away and having fun when a stunning woman sitting by the bar caught his eye. He went for a refill and slid a look at her. She looked back. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Hello, how u doin?” he said, going up to her.

“Good,” she replied, “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“That’s true. I mostly go clubbing in SoBo.”

“SoBo’s quite happening and now, Worli and Lower Parel have awesome nightclubs too. However, I think Bandra is the most spirited place.”

“In my days, it was Colaba,” said Khush.

“What do you mean, your days? How are they different from my days? I’m thirty-five, almost your age, I guess,” she said, checking out every bit of Khush with a kind of look that shot his pulse rate up.

“I am forty-five and you look twenty-five,” he said. “What’s your drink?”

“Hennessy with Coke,” she said with a smile. Her name was Aneesha Puri, her mother was Spanish. She had studied Psychology at the University of California in Berkeley, which Khush knew to be one of the best in the world.

Noticing her swaying to the rhythm of track being played, Khush picked her up for a dance. They had a ball doing the salsa. Just before each spin, Aneesha would slowly gyrate against his body, her fingers caressing the back of his neck. Khush was in his element. He led like a practiced dancer, spinning her across the floor as his fingers found the right curves on her body. Her hip movements were tantalising and during the cross body leads, her body sizzled against his. When the dance got over, Khush applauded. She gave him a little peck on the lips and flicked the tip of her tongue over them. She did it so skilfully that the sensation was beyond description.

At the stroke of midnight, the lights went dim to give the couples some privacy. Frank Sinatra’s romantic track Autumn Leaves played. I see your lips, the summer kisses…

Aneesha’s lips went for his. She planted a steamy kiss that sent tingles down Khush’s spine. Her silky tongue intertwined with his, manoeuvred passionately. She was so aggressively desirous that his excitement made his knees go weak. A pro like him had never encountered such an intense experience before.

Later that night, she invited Khush to her studio apartment a few blocks away. It was trendy in monochromatic tones, functional, neat and clean. After shuffling in the liquor cabinet, she offered him a choice of nightcap – a variety of liqueurs. He selected Crème de Cacao while she joined him with Crème de Menthe. The best part was the shavings of ice she served along with the drinks which she got from a stylish ice-flaking gadget.

“You are a handsome guy, Khush,” she said coyly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. Khush smiled, this was what he was waiting for. He wanted to take Aneesha in his arms. Before he could make any advances, she asked him what he thought of her. He was all set to shower her with compliments when she spoke again.

“Haven’t you noticed I’m a woman trapped in a man’s body?”

Khush did not understand. “I’m a third gender. What you call a shemale or a trannie.” Khush’s jaw dropped.

“I’m Aneesh Puri,” she continued in a husky male voice, sticking her hand out to shake his. “A copywriter for an ad agency by day and bar girl Aneesha by night. I am very choosy and I don’t look for company that easily. But I liked you the moment I set my eyes on you. Being a transgender, I have learnt to accept myself the way I am. It wasn’t easy. I thought of ending my life several times but then came to terms with living with breasts and a penis. Nature has made me that way and it was best for me to accept it. Now I love the way I am; I can partner all three genders. I’m at peace with myself. I worship Ardhanari. And I truly respect Salman Rushdie.”

Khush was dumbstruck. He did not know what to say or where to look. Aneesha seemed to understand his plight and kissed him on his forehead to bid him goodnight. To her delight, they exchanged phone numbers. As Khush reached for his wallet to compensate her for her time, the look on her face clearly said, “Please don’t insult me.” Khush was quick to understand. He bowed gracefully and left.

Khush had a lot to think about in bed that night. He had met someone who was almost like his guru. She was similar to him in many ways and more than a match for him. He was waiting to share this experience with Shom first thing in the morning. He better pick up his call this time, he thought. In any case, Khush knew how to get to him when he had to.

Year 2018:

“That was quite an experience. But I am disappointed with you for leaving Aneesha in the lurch, completely heart-broken. Where is she now?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know; I have tried my best to find her. I have been punished for my behaviour that night – it was too sudden for me. I decided to meet her soon thereafter but I had to save Raima when we were housed together in Saif Ali’s case. Thereafter, when I went to Zenzi bar and up to her room, she was not there. Apparently something had happened and she was out of the country, as I came to know later,” explained Khush.

“So Shom was the last to meet her. How did he know about her? Did you introduce her to Shom?” asked Harry.

“No, I just told him about her and introduced him to transgenders. I will tell you all about that,” replied Khush.

“This will help me in my discussion with Raima,” replied Harry.

Khush poured another cup of coffee and continued.

Year 2009:

Next morning, Shom was eager to meet Khush after he had heard his story. He empathised with the desires of the third sex. In his opinion, some of them possessed the best mix of the two sexes. He told Khush he wanted to meet a shemale, but not get involvement.

Khush was thrilled at the prospect of distracting Shom from his involvement with the mysterious girl. Shemales were a common sight on the stretch between Bandra and Juhu after midnight. Men in fancy cars often picked up the good-looking ones. The especially attractive ones were escorts in nightclubs.

Curious to know, Shom went along with Khush. They were in the Land Yacht on the Bandra-Juhu stretch late in the night. As they neared Khar, they saw a group of shemales on the footpath in front of HDFC Bank. Khush noticed Shom looking at them attentively. He asked the driver to stop so that they could watch them. From the brightly-lit street outside, Shom and Khush were invisible in the pitch-dark interior.

“Okay, let’s go Khush,” Shom said after about ten minutes. “Ask the driver to move on.”

Khush did that but wanted to know why Shom was not interested. Shom smiled.

“Of course, I am interested,” he said, keying away on his BlackBerry, writing on the notepad as usual. As they went a bit further, they saw many more of them. Some were getting into cars and others getting out. The flesh trade was clearly active. Shom was keenly watching all this. It was such a low-profile trade that there would be no room for agents or pimps. It was a direct transaction. The clients were either rich perverts or others who couldn’t afford a female prostitute.

Khush looked at Shom. “This was really quick. I wanted to be there longer,” he said.

“Why didn’t you? I got what I wanted, it was brilliant! Great job, Khush.”

“Don’t give me that shit. I thought you would enjoy this.”

“Are you crazy? I enjoyed it thoroughly, just don’t use that New York slang on me,” Shom smirked and described the whole event as he saw it.

“In the first group of shemales, one was plump with a good-sized back and a jovial face. The second was a little on the masculine side and was trying to score over the first one. The third was of average height with big boobs and tight-fitting, stretch-pants revealing a bulge in the shape of a member. The fourth and fifth stood apart from the first three, as they were undoubtedly superior – both tall and stunning – one in maroon and the other in a short black dress, revealing slender and shapely legs. The one in maroon had a good-looking, cheerful face while the one in black was much slimmer and had a snobbish looking face, with ping-pong ball-sized bosoms and small but shapely butt.’

He noticed Khush listening intently, so continued. “You may have noticed that their looks and body language were different from one another. That is because the ratio of male and female hormones in them varies from one shemale to another. Their behaviour, talking style and their thinking would make interesting analysis.”

“You sure made a good study!” laughed Khush.

“I enjoyed it. It was good to see more shemales surfacing nowadays and hopefully soon, the third sex will be understood and well-accepted. The bold ones will fight for and eventually have equal privileges in society, giving confidence to the rest of them to come out in the open. India’s third gender population could be a million or more. Why do they need to hide? Why should they go for a sex change? Theirs is the purest form of mankind. There is no reason why all three genders cannot coexist in society. I will be happy when this happens.”

“That’s interesting. I have been thinking about ramming the first one with the well-rounded butt or maybe the last one, skinny with a well-shaped butt,” said Khush, knowing that he was capable of satisfying their sexual needs, though he wondered how their manly organs were going to be aroused and how he would react in the process.

Shom smiled, he could read Khush’s thoughts. They were quite normal under the circumstances, he felt. Then he said something that provided Khush with a lot of food for thought.

“What do you think of their emotional needs? These innocent, pure human beings are forced to become aggressive to deal with the harsh reality of the world and society which looks down upon them and takes advantage of their plight.”

Shom had stirred up a hornet’s nest and Khush thought of Aneesha. Had he played with her emotions, leaving her high and dry that night? He must have. And why did she say she respected Salman Rushdie – did she meet him when he was in Mumbai?

“Has Salman Rushdie written something about shemales in Mumbai?” he asked.

“I think so. Why do you ask?”

“I think he has a fascination for shemales. Why else do you see him with girls who are taller and stronger than him? Look at his ex-wives.”

“That’s only your reasoning, Khush!”

Shom handed Khush a glass of red Bordeaux and saluted. “Let’s drink to the first successful relationship between a male and a shemale!”

Khush got a start, as he had Aneesha on his mind. He spilled some wine before he raised his glass.


Year 2018:

“Thanks, Khush, this is very helpful; your experience has added to mine,” said Harry.

“I am happy to be of help. Soon you’ll be face to face with bisexual Raima,” replied Khush as they approached Harry’s residence.

“Bisexuals are the most common; sooner or later we find out the tendencies in ourselves. Men have no problem in our society but the poor women suffer. Something should be done immediately.”

Harry stepped out of the car and the driver drove Khush to his residence. Harry went up the elevator to his apartment where Raima awaited him.


To be continued…




  • Saroj Deepak 28th September 2018 (9:27 am)

    Nice story

  • Bratin Kumar Biswas 28th September 2018 (10:09 am)

    Nice story

  • Swetam Sinha 28th September 2018 (1:14 pm)

    I suppose, this work seeks to be converted into a novel, its more than just an online series!

  • Sheetal Sinha 28th September 2018 (1:15 pm)

    What a wonderful written piece it is!😍

  • bhavya 29th September 2018 (9:15 am)

    Salman Rushdie is surely one open minded man.. my respect towards, khush, Shom and harry has increased because of their open minded ness♥♥

  • Sanjiv CHAVAN 29th September 2018 (11:50 am)

    Very interesting and informative

  • Riya Sen 29th September 2018 (12:00 pm)

    Plots are changing.

  • Sanjiv 7th October 2018 (11:36 am)