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Gandhi's mother was crying continuously, and I was left to take care of her.I took her the Guesthouse, asked her, to take bath, and brought some breakfast from the hostel mess and coffee in a flask." I said, "I don't know." Padma said, " He can't get it up. I wish you are my son." "Yes, I am your son, amma" Padma was 44 yr old, tall, very fair, with oily smooth unblemished skin, beautiful oval face, high cheekbones, full lips, her beautiful big 38DD breasts still firm, conical, extending out of her small frame, narrow waist and wide and big 43" bottom.

She was crying, I was at loss, not knowing how to console her, but involuntarily, put my hands on her shoulders, she instantly leaned on to my chest burying her face and hugging me, I put my hand on her head stroking, to console her and thought, let her cry out.It was the lunchtime, I went out brought lunch for both of us, had a light lunch, and while were talking, her husband came.They took Gandhi's body in a taxi, to their village. Tech, and to our shock and surprise one of our classmate and friend Gandhi, was found dead in his room, committed suicide taking arsenic poison.Gandhi was married six months earlier; his wife Madhusmita was studying M. We couldn't understand the reasons for his suicide.

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Secretly, I was the son Padma lost, I was the husband Madhu lost, fulfilling the vacuum left by Gandhi, and filling the void left, both physically and psychologically.

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