I slowly drove the car out of the airport and followed Raza’s directions. We made our way through the crowded city streets once the airport area ended. Although it was a city with an airport, like most cow belt cities, its infrastructure was rickety and its streets crowded. I drove slowly, navigating my way through lots of cows, bicycles, auto-rickshaws and pedestrians. Hundreds of people stared at me as we passed through, not used to seeing a high class memsaab drive a car. A few minutes of driving like that, being gawked at, was enough to drive home the realization that I was not in Bombay anymore.

I was concentrating fully on the road and on my driving. In recent years, I had only driven an automatic car. I had learned driving on manual gear based cars, so it wasn’t like I was all at sea. But I did need to focus and keep reminding myself to change gears. The roads were very bumpy and full of potholes. And the car was an old one with practically no suspension. So every time we went over a bump, the car rattled, making us rattle, and my boobs swing up and down.

Initially, Raza was only stealing glances at my heaving tits. Half an hour or so into the drive and he was blatantly staring. Through the corner of my eye, I also noticed him stare at my legs when the bumps made the denim skirt slide up a little bit. As I drove I kept pushing my skirt down. But Raza still got enough of a look to probably arouse him.

Despite his blatant staring, he had stayed silent and on the other side of the car for a while. He probably knew that navigating those crowded city roads require all my attention and he didn’t want to bug me. Finally I reached the highway. The crowds melted away. The sun was beating down hard. And I stepped on the pedal in top gear, glad to be able to pick up some speed.

“You are a very good driver, memsaab.” Raza finally said, breaking the long silence.

“Thank you.” I said, focusing on a truck as I overtook it. “I have been driving since I was 17.”

“Do all women in Mumbai drive?” he asked.

“Not all. But many.” I said.

“Mumbai women are very different, no?” he asked after a few more seconds.

“What do you mean?” I said, finally having the luxury of looking at him. He wore a wry look.

“I mean…women from Mumbai are very different. Modern. Open. Bold.” he said and smiled.

I could read the implications in what he was saying. He had definitely at least heard rumors about me.

“I suppose.” I shrugged and focused on driving.

He didn’t say anything. But I noticed his change his posture a little bit. He had been leaning against the door facing straight, even while glancing at me. Now he moved a little, put his folded right knee on the seat, and turned to face me. It was like he was just staring without any pretense. Over the next few minutes, I could sense him edging closer and closer to me.