Here’s a confessional piece by Dr Amrinder, where she talks about her affair with Khushwant Singh. An exclusive for Different Truths.  

I once had an affair with an older man, way older, in fact, thirty-five years my senior; but the thing is, I did not think he was old and he did not think it was an affair. The melting of my heart and sharpening of my wit in his presence sufficed for me, but I suppose men have different needs. According to him, an affair entailed physical intimacy and at this age, he informed me ‘not even a ton of Viagra could get it up!’

Though I lost my virginity to my husband on my bridal bed, I lost my inhibitions to Khushwant Singh – yes, he is the man I am speaking about. I started out as a fawning fan and an aspiring writer to imbibe what I could from him and ended up shedding my feminine modesty to imbibe his audacious wickedness.

Though I lost my virginity to my husband on my bridal bed, I lost my inhibitions to Khushwant Singh – yes, he is the man I am speaking about. I started out as a fawning fan and an aspiring writer to imbibe what I could from him and ended up shedding my feminine modesty to imbibe his audacious wickedness. Brazen thoughts began to hatch into wanton words that flew from my mouth and pen without restrain. It was only when I lost the image of a ‘good girl’ did I   gain his interest. There would be sparring of words and verbal duels that defied decorum; sparks would fly and laughter would erupt in volcanic bursts. Who cared for physical intimacy after such delightful interactions? At least I did not.

It all began when he asked me ‘How many Indian women shave their pubic hair?’ Being a gynaecologist, he thought I was best qualified to answer such a query. Instead of baulking from such a request, I sent him an exhaustive letter, giving him the information he needed.  Soon I got a reply which began with ‘A million thanks for your dissertation.’ And went on to say that he spent the entire afternoon shaking with silent laughter but would have to destroy the letter lest it gets into the wrong hands (I, on the other hand, published this letter along with the others we exchanged, in my book, Afternoon Girl – my Khushwant Memoir published by HarperCollins).

It all began when he asked me ‘How many Indian women shave their pubic hair?’ Being a gynaecologist, he thought I was best qualified to answer such a query. Instead of baulking from such a request, I sent him an exhaustive letter, giving him the information he needed.  Soon I got a reply which began with ‘A million thanks for your dissertation.’ And went on to say that he spent the entire afternoon shaking with silent laughter but would have to destroy the letter lest it gets into the wrong hands

For days afterwards, I floated in a happy haze at obtaining such a response from such a mighty man, but he owed me one. So when the time was ripe, I wanted him to answer a query of mine that he was best qualified to satisfy. So I wrote asking him ‘how many women screamed while having an orgasm!’ as, I had read in books and seen in a dubbed French movie ‘Amelia’.  I would be mortified to do so with the children and their grandparents sleeping in rooms adjoining our bedroom; or maybe, chronic, legitimate sex was just not great enough to evoke a vocal response.

I do not know how and when I became his court jester, for now, it became mandatory that I end every letter of mine with a ‘non-veg’ joke, just as he ended his column in the Hindustan Times with a tame one.

Once I ended a letter with the following:

A grandson asked his grandfather if he still had sex with his grandmother.

‘Yes.’ said the old man.

‘And which method do you prefer?’ asked the grandson, impressed.

‘Oral sex.’

‘Oral?’

‘Yes, before going to sleep I tell her ‘I f…k you and she says the same to me.’

To this Khuswant Singh replied, ‘That is exactly what we have been doing all these years!’

And this ‘state of affairs’ sufficed for both of us till his dying day.

Photos sourced from the author