6 Sreemoyee Piu Kundu Your Feelings This was the second time I was witnessing this, within the same week. Same age group. The man in his late twenties/early thirtees and the woman, younger, maybe, early twenties. The first instance was on Saturday when my mother and baby sister insisted I step out and we grabbed a latte at Starbucks, in a mall close to my home, in the city of my birth. The couple waited for their order, as me and Geru did. The man kept pulling the woman's slim waist and trying to run his fingers callously through her hair, as she blushed shyly, requesting him to leave her be. The man was insistent, patting her buttocks, as the woman gave him a slight nudge. 'Stop behaving like a bloody virgin, yaar...' the man smirked, running his right index finger over her chiselled arm, groping her near her right ear. 'Sabh log dekh rahein hain...' she giggled nervously, perhaps a tad scared of having enraged her beau, clasping her slender fingers, inside his. He shoved her away. your COUNT feelings 'Mera mood nahi hain...' he made a face, staring at the bill, instead. The woman leaned in closer, trying to appease him, as the man, after a few seconds of ignoring her royally, pulled her roughly, kissing her, on her lips. She looked stumped. He, victorious, vain. This evening, as I drank a cup of latte, alone, in a quaint neighbourhood cafe mostly infested with college goers - the new demographic fuelling, I suspect, the mushrooming of hip theme cafes all over my once slow moving and sedated childhood para, Jodhpurpark. Count On the next table, sat a young couple. The man, after he had taken his place, kept fiddling with the woman's bra strap, pulling it, trying to possibly touch her cleavage. The woman, squirmed, kept pushing the food menu towards him. Finally, after a good ten minute of this relentless attempt, she made a excuse, looking positively flushed, rising to go to the washroom. I moved my handbag, trying to make place. Trying to help.
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