Masooma was Sanjay sahib's guide and so far proving herself a nice company. Somehow, this young Pakistani girl along with his daughter, Rekha, convinced him that he needed to get out of the house for some fresh air and sightseeing. His wife stayed home, saying that she was too "old" for the aimless, endless walks. Surprisingly, Rekha encouraged her mama to stay at home. So here he was, accompanied by his daughter's "best friend," heading to her apartment in a taxi.
It was her idea. "Let's first go to my place and then will go out to see Singapore," she said.
He did not ask her the rationale of why go home first instead of some tourist attraction. She was too charming and he did not want to disagree with her.
"It is strange how we Pakistanis and Indians get along so well when we meet in a third country," she quipped, while handing him over a glass of whisky as she made him comfortable in her nice, airy apartment. He took a small sip. It was Black Dog. He liked its taste and aroma.
"I agree," he said. "We are the same people."
She laughed. "My husband will not agree with this. He says we are different, but still we can be friends and good neighbours. Waseem says that the division of India was good. It increased opportunities for Muslims."
Sanjay sahib was too experienced to engage in a passionate discussion about the traumatic events, which led to the division of British India in to two in 1947. What's done was done. He can't altar it. So, why he should waste time arguing this with this pretty and silly girl, the banker thought.
"Politics bores me, uncle," Masooma said as she settled herself on the sofa next to him. She was holding a glass of red wine.
"I hate discussing politics and history," he lied eyeing Masooma, who in line with the South Asian tradition was bent upon making himself her relative by calling him "uncle." He did not like being called uncle -- especially by pretty ones like Masooma who were not related to him. But he could not help. Both in India and Pakistan there remain this silly tradition of calling even strangers aunties and uncles in the very first meeting.
"You are sweet. You are the first South Asian man I met who does not like discussing politics," Masooma said smiling.
Sanjay sahib found her smile too inviting and suggestive. He thought his mind was playing tricks. Why a young girl like her would flirt an uncle. Nevertheless, he had liked Masooma in the very first meeting. Masooma, which literally means an innocent one in Urdu, appeared in no way innocent. She was the opposite of what he ever thought of most Pakistani women -- conservative, religious and boring. But Masooma was bold, dashing and beautiful. She wore the western attire and gulped glass after glass of wine -- in the presence of her husband. So unlike what he thought about Pakistan and Pakistani woman.
Masooma's low-cut black top was showing a lot of her smooth, milky skin and a glimpse of the cleavage. She wore a pair of tight black jeans, which exposed rather than concealed the shape of her round, firm buttocks and thighs. Masooma appeared barely 25-year-old -- almost the same age as that of his daughter Rekha. If he had met Masooma in some different circumstances, he would have tried to take his chance with her -- nail her down. But he could not attempt this now as she was her daughter's best friend.
Sanjay sahib had celebrated his 50th birthday only a month ago. He was fit as a fiddle and despite being a family man, loving husband and a caring father -- he did not mind having fun, particularly when traveling alone.
"I have heard liquor is banned in your Islamic republic," he asked.
"Yes it is -- at least on the paper. But those who want, they get it. People party, have fun ..."
"You also used to drink in Lahore," Sanjay sahib shot another question.
"Yes, but not in front of my parents ... only among friends."
"What about your parents? Do they also drink?"
"My father drinks a lot, but mum is only a social drinker."
Sanjay sahib was really curious about this attractive woman who was sitting right beside him with her small white feet now resting on the center table. They appeared so soft and smooth. Red nail polish enhanced their fairness.
Sanjay curbed his urge to touch them.
"And your husband does not mind this," he asked shifting his gaze from her feet to her cleavage, her breasts.
"No. he loves me more when I am drunk," she said finishing her glass.
Interesting!!! A bold statement, He thought.
"Hey uncle you are slow. Your glass is still full."
"I have my pace... I drink slowly."
"No not at least the first shot. Come on... I need to fill my glass again."
He smiled and took a mouthful this time, but the glass wasn't finished yet.
"You seem unable to digest that a Pakistani woman, sitting alone in her house with you, and drinking freely."
"Yes, you are right."
"Aah we are not angles though maluvis (cleric) want us to be like them. Even many of these maulvis, themselves are demons."
"I read how they sexually abuse youngsters."
"Not all, but some. What they do is ugly. They are so frustrated. But one should not mind if it is between consenting adults. Life is short. One should have fun. I know couples in Lahore and Karachi who even swap partners."
"Vow. We also have the same problem," he said handing her the empty glass. Their fingers touched. He wanted to grab her hand, but resisted himself.
"You see it as problem. But if partners do not object, why it should bother us?"
"You don't mind swinging."
You ask too many questions, Masooma said laughing. "Why you are interested in me so much -- want to check whether your daughter has a nice friend?
"No, I don't doubt my daughter. I have faith in her. Rekha's brought up has been good."
"Your faith will be rewarded," Masooma said refilling their glasses.
"You were telling me about Pakistan," he said.
"No, only about its party scene."
"Then, tell me."
"What you want to know?"
"Everything, anything you want to tell."
