CareerCup

By the end of December 2013, I had already been two years away from India, having (temporarily) relocated to Hanoi, Vietnam in 2011. As head of the Asia-Pacific region for a French international engineering conglomerate, I had set up regional headquarters in New Delhi. However, because of an unexpected resignation of my GM in Hanoi, I had moved there to ensure a seamless transition, especially because of a number of potential deals in the offing with Korean and Japanese businesses. Of course I had made frequent visits to India, as I did to all the other countries in the region where we had offices and GM's reporting to me. However, for reasons both official and personal, I had extended my stay in Vietnam and had placed the need to hire a GM on the back burner. In India, although I continued to maintain my residence and domestic staff, on most visits I would stay at the same hotel that also housed our regional HQ. Normally, every December I would go home to France where I'd catch up with my parents in Paris, spend a weekend at a ski resort somewhere in Les Trois Vallees, visit members of my Board of Directors, and get back to work after the first week of January. But in 2013 I didn't do that because of a major acquisition that we were working on out of our New Delhi and Mumbai offices in India. Instead, I stayed for about ten days in India bringing the deal to a successful conclusion before the end of the year. The decision to fly in to India, instead of to Europe, was a last minute one. And since this was likely to be an extended trip, I decided to stay at my residence instead of the hotel I usually stayed at. However, I normally let my domestic help Sunita, and my driver Bahadur, take their annual vacation in December and like every other year I had given them permission to do so now as well. But my landlady (or house agent, really) had been kind enough to arrange a temporary maid when I called to let her know that I would be coming in the week before Christmas. I flew in to Delhi on a Friday night, the 20th of December I think it was. There was a car and driver from my office waiting at the airport. Immigration and customs clearance happened swift and efficiently, baggage collection equally smooth, and we were out of the airport in less than 40 minutes from touchdown. I had the keys to my apartment but was unclear about whether the temporary help would be available 24/7 or just on a part time basis. As we approached home, close to the centre of New Delhi, the driver said "Sir, your driver Bahadur on leave. You want I come serve you while you stay India?" I smiled and replied appreciatively, "Thank you! Yes I will need your help. I will tell Christine at the office to organise your assignments. Thank you!" The truth was I didn't want a 'personal' driver during this stay and would be happy to let my assistant at office arrange for my transportation requirements. I got to my apartment close to midnight, thanked the driver, told him that the office would give him instructions for the next morning, and went up to the penthouse in the elevator with my suitcase and other hand luggage. As I opened the door and stepped in, dragging the Samsonite behind me, ambient lighting suffused the living room with a welcoming golden hue. The door shut and locked silently behind me. It was a nice feeling being back 'home' and I wondered why I had avoided it for so long. But I knew. I was uncomfortable with the idea of facing my dear maid, Sunita, after the lustful last night we had spent together. And our parting, fraught with raw emotion, when I left for Vietnam two years ago. Feeling a certain guilty pleasure now at being in my cosy abode, alone, I dragged the valise to my bedroom, took off my shoes and stripped off my clothes, throwing them into a corner behind the door. The apartment was warming up gradually as the heating system kicked in and I wound my way to the bar in the living room. I noticed that the drapes were partially drawn but the sheers were missing from the windows and the sliding glass doors that led to a lavish terrace garden. The bar was well stocked, just the way I had left it. I pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel and poured out a measure of bourbon. Opening the freezer section of my refrigerator, I scooped out a few cubes of ice and threw them into the tumbler. Then, naked, I walked to the music console and switched it on. Almost immediately the soft intimate strains of an Indian stringed instrument, a Santoor, filled the silence. Taking a gulp of the whiskey, I went to my favourite leather recliner and settled into it. Dinner had been served on the flight so I wasn't hungry, but I wondered what I would do in the morning since I assumed that the fridge was bereft of any consumables. A couple of hours later, I awoke, realising that I had dropped off to sleep on the recliner. The night was silent. The glass of bourbon, now empty, was still in my hand, resting on my lap. I placed it on the side table, got up off the lounger, and stumbled to my bedroom. I hurriedly brushed my teeth and then staggered to my bed. Throwing off the cover, I slipped in under the duvet, pulling it over me. I was out in less than ten seconds. I slept the sleep of the dead for the next six hours. Monday through Thursday had been extremely busy days, as had most of Friday, with very little sleep in between. I was in a series of meetings in Singapore, from where I had flown directly (without going back to my base in Hanoi) to New Delhi on a Singapore Airlines flight that had been uncharacteristically delayed. But when I awoke at 8:30 am on this Saturday morning, I felt fresh and alive. I threw off the covers and walked, naked as I had slept, to the bathroom. Half an hour later, I had completed my ablutions and donned a pair of jeans and a warm flannel shirt before walking out to the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to see that there was enough in and out of the refrigerator to offer some fairly healthy breakfast options. I started with a steaming hot mug of coffee which I carried out to my wonderfully green terrace and soaked in some of the early morning sunshine (although it was struggling to pierce through the winter fog). After a while I decided to get back inside because there was a bit of a chill this December morning. As I was sliding shut the glass panels, I heard the doorbell chime, but almost simultaneously heard someone keying open the door so I stood still. As it swung open, a young Indian girl stepped in, and then stopped dead in her tracks. Perhaps she wasn't expecting me to be there, but immediately and very deferentially, she folded her hands together and said "Namaste, Sahib!" I replied and greeted her back, knowing immediately that she was the temporary maidservant that Mrs. Vimla (the house agent) had promised. I put a smile on my face as I greeted her so that she lost her nervousness and began to feel a little more at ease. "Hame nahin maloom that ki aap ghar pe honge. Sorry sir," she said softly. I smiled again and said it was ok that she wasn't aware about my having arrived. Although my understanding of the Hindi language had improved considerably over the years that I had been stationed in India, my spoken fluency had suffered over the last couple of years while I had been in Vietnam. "Do you speak English", I asked. "Ji, thoda bahoot. A little," she said abashedly. I asked her to step in to the house as I turned around to go back into the living room. "Tumhara naam kya hai?", I asked. "They call me Suni", the girl said in response to my query asking what her name was. She turned back from the door towards the foyer, bent down to pick up what seemed like a considerable load, and then walked in to the apartment with a large pile of folded curtains, sheers, and placed it down on the floor. "Mrs. Vimla had sent these for dry cleaning so now I put back on curtain rod. Ok?" Suni said as she bent down with the drapes. I had been mentally referring to her as a girl but when she stood up straight and faced me, I realised that she was a full grown and extremely pretty woman. Her complexion was dark; more chocolate than coffee, but clear and seemingly smooth. She wore her hair tied back tightly and then braided into a plait that fell down to her hips. She had an oval-shaped face with large brown doe-eyes that were lined with a thin ring of kohl. Her nose had a small golden ring piercing one side, and her lips had a subtle shade of pink that went well with her complexion. Her chin and jawline were clearly discernible with no extra flesh to subdue the features. I realised I was staring at her, and possibly making her a little uncomfortable because she shuffled her slippered feet awkwardly. But I was wonderstruck at her beauty, continue to stare in a most ill-mannered fashion I'm sure. She turned to the door, took off her chappals and placed them inconspicuously against the wall. As she turned back to me, I figured she was a bit over five feet tall, maybe 5'1" or 5'2", almost ten inches shorter than me. I knew I had to say something to break the uneasy silence so I blurted out an apology, "I'm very sorry, Suni, for staring at you but I find you very beautiful." I could have hit myself on the head as soon the words left me because this caused her even more unease. She blushed, looked down at the floor, took the long braided plait of her hair in her hands, and entwined her fingers around it. I mumbled another "Sorry!" and finally managed to pull my eyes away from this beautiful and stunning vision. I found my coffee mug, still half full, and took it to the couch in one corner of the living room where I sat and opened up the iPad to read the news. Suni then went to the kitchen and busied herself with something; I suspected she was just taking some time to mentally adjust to the strange atmosphere I had idiotically created. After a while, she asked if I wanted her to make breakfast for me or if I'd like some more coffee. When I told her that I might have some more coffee in a while, she said she'd get on with fixing the drapes meanwhile. I smiled, nodded, and got back to reading off the tablet. But I wasn't reading actually; I kept ogling her from my relatively unlit corner and hoped she wouldn't catch me at it. She unwrapped the woollen shawl from around her torso, folded it neatly, and put it inside the maid's bedroom on the bed. She then took the pile of curtains and placed them at one end of the long four-panel glass sliding doors that gave access to the terrace. Then she went into the maid's bathroom and brought out a lightweight, but sturdy, plastic footstool from there and placed it next to the heap of folded drapes. Picking one of them up and unfolding it, she stepped up on the stool and began to hook them to the hasps that ran through a channel above each glass door. She was wearing a borderless pink coloured saree (or sari), which is essentially a length of fabric anywhere from five to nine metres long and about three to four feet wide. The dress looked to be made of a light crepe material, like georgette, and the upper edge of it was tucked in to the waistband of a petticoat underneath. In front were a number of pleats, each about four inches wide, the folds of which flowed down to her feet along the width of the saree. After the wraparound and the pleats, there was still about two and a half metres of the saree length to spare, and this was drawn from under her right arm and draped over her left shoulder, trailing at her back. This drape, known as a 'pallu', hugged her right hip and moulded over her breasts before being thrown over the shoulder. At any time, I find the traditional Indian saree to be the sexiest and elegant women's dresses anywhere in the world, but on Suni, the visual impact was stunningly intoxicating. In addition to the saree, she of course was also wearing a blouse; black in colour, sleeveless with two-inch wide shoulder straps that covered the straps of her brassiere I assumed. As she stood on the footstool and focused on her chore, I had an uninterrupted profile view of her. The blouse enveloped her breasts which bulged out about four inches from her chest, making her a D-cup size, and the bottom hem of the blouse was barely two inches below her breasts. She also wore her petticoat fairly low over her hips, and since the saree is folded and tucked in to the top of the petticoat, there is a huge swathe of bare skin from the bottom of her blouse to the top of the saree. The side view that I was gawking at showed her bulging blouse-encased breasts and at least 10 inches of exposed lightish brown waist and hip. Below the hem of her saree and underskirt, were dainty feet with a slim delicate gold chain around one ankle. The maid stepped down from her perch, picked up another drape from the floor, readjusted the stool and climbed back on to continue with her task. When she had alighted, I surreptitiously looked up to see her 5'2" frame turned towards me. Before she modestly drew the pallu across her abdomen and breasts, either consciously or instinctively, I saw the full lateral exposure of her belly and the wasp-like curvature of her slender waist. A deeply recessed belly button winked as she manoeuvred her way around. Now, as she stretched herself to fit the next curtain to the clasps, I was looking at how tightly wrapped her saree was because the contours of her buttocks were so clearly apparent; or maybe my imagination was running wild. The maid took about twenty minutes to complete her work with the drapes, during which time I was finding it extremely difficult to keep my eyes, or my mind, off her. When she went to wash her hands in the bathroom, and then to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, I had embellished my visual take on her with a vivid imagination that resulted in the beginnings of an erection in my groin. When Suni brought me a second mug of coffee, I hoped that she wouldn't notice or sense my state of arousal. I kept the tablet device strategically over the bulge in my jeans while thanking her for the coffee. "Sahib, I tell you now what I do on daily basis. I make coffee for Sahib in morning, then I make you breakfast, then I clean house and wash clothes and make bedding. Then if you tell I cook lunch and maybe if you not mind I rest little in afternoon. Then I also have to shopping maybe morning or afternoon. I also cook dinner you for. Is ok?" I couldn't help smile at the brave effort she had made in narrating all that in English; in fact I was quite impressed. However, I had used the moment not only to listen to her but to watch that beautiful face, and especially the lips as they moved, and the pearly gloss of her teeth. "You laugh at my English, no, Sahib?" she asked, a not unhappy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I replied, saying "No! Not at all. In fact I think your English is very good." "No. Not good but I try", Suni said. "Also one another thing I ask. Can I stay in housemaid room while you in India? Or also I can go home everyday and come again in morning." I know I should have hesitated, at least in some symbolic manner, before agreeing that she could use my permanent housekeeper's room as long as I was in town, and my regular help was on vacation. But I acquiesced immediately, saying she should move in at once. "Thank you Sahib, I left two bags with security guard downstairs because I not know what you wish. I get bags after lunch. Thank you Sahib!" I wasn't sure what would transpire between this temporary Indian housemaid and myself over the next ten days but the thought that she would be around whenever I was home was getting me excited. However, for now, I had to get my act together. It was approaching 11:00 am and I had a luncheon meeting with our investment bankers and my CFO in connection with the M&A activity that we were pursuing, and the reason I was in India instead of enjoying my Christmas break in France. I told the maid that I would not be home for lunch and that I would be back early evening. Strangely, I imagined a slightly sorrowful dark cloud wash over her face for a fraction of a second, but then she cheerfully said she would cook an Indian dinner for me. As she busied herself somewhere in the house, I went in to my bedroom and began to get ready. I called Christine, the office assistant, on her cell phone and told her to send the driver home at 12:00 noon. Then I took off the flannel shirt and jeans and dressed in a white shirt and dark blue suit, necktie and cufflinks, belt and socks, and slipped into a pair of black oxfords. After sitting on the bed and tying my shoe laces, I stepped out of the bedroom. Suni was wiping the coffee mugs and whiskey tumbler over the kitchen sink, presumably having washed them earlier. As she turned her head to look at me, she actually gawked open-mouthed, then smiled and said "You are so much very handsome, Sahib. Very smart good looking." I looked at her and said "Thank you! But not as good looking as you, Suni." Although she blushed, this time she didn't look uncomfortable, and in fact thanked me for the compliment. I was getting muddle headed again, just looking at her, and realised that I needed to get my mind off her. I smiled as I walked to the corner table and picked up a docket of papers. Just then the in-house phone buzzed and I gestured to Suni to pick it up. She took the handset out of its cradle and said "Hello?" After a few seconds, she replaced it and told me that the driver had arrived. I thanked her, gathered the papers, and headed to the door. I had this strange urge to kiss her on the cheek as I brushed past her at the exit, but just said "Bye! See you in the evening" instead. As soon as I got into the sedan, I switched to work mode, making a determined effort to drive the temporary house maid out of my mind. The lunch meeting was at the hotel where my office was set up on two floors, and it took less than 10 minutes to get there. The two gentlemen bankers looked very smart, one French and the other Indian, but the highlight of the company was an extremely elegant, graceful, lissome and busty Indian lady banker. These Paribas guys knew a thing or two about business! I was glad they were on my side. We worked our way through some of the modalities of our various meetings that would take place over the next week or so. We'd crunched the numbers well before and the analytics teams working with the CFO had come up with various strategic options. Lunch finished but we continued our huddle well into the afternoon while the wait staff and the maitre d' at the restaurant worked their closure, and prep for the evening meal, around us. Sometime around 5:00 pm, the F&B manager came up to me and requested us to please use one of the meeting rooms on the Club floor if we didn't mind. I apologised, and we went up to the 25th floor where we continued the discussions, including a brief video conference with my Chief of Staff and Business Development head at the Hanoi office. As the work session was drawing to a close, the bankers invited us for cocktails at the rooftop bar, with the lady banker - Raima - being fairly insistent. I agreed to have one drink with them, although I just had some tonic water on ice, and finally wished them all a good evening at 7:00 pm. We were scheduled to meet again on the following day, Sunday. I got back home at a quarter after 7:00, suddenly very anxious to be with my new, albeit temporary, maid again. She had the door open as soon as I got out of the elevator car; I assumed that the security guard had called up. She stood there, exquisite as ever, having changed out of her saree into a blouse and long skirt combination that wasn't as revealing as the saree had been. She smelled like fresh flowers, and I noticed as I walked in that she had removed the kohl from her eyes and the lipstick she wore in the morning.