Ved Nagar: 16Posted: September 21, 2012
The train had come to a stop.
Doors glided open.
Porters stood helping passengers off the train.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd stood looking first to the left, then to the right.
A woman got off the train, stood looking around as though expecting to meet someone, started to walk toward the depot, paused, turned and walked toward Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd.
“Waħīdah!” the woman said.
“Why, Ammījān!” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd exclaimed with entirely unanticipated extremely pleasant surprise. “Allah! Good heavens, I didn’t recognize you. Even your own daughter couldn’t recognize you! What have you done to yourself? Måshā Allah! Subħān Allah!”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and I exchanged glances.
“Allah Allah! Good Lord, Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd? Al Nadīm Al Quddūs’s first wife? I’ll be damned.”*
Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd smiled at her daughter.
“Hey, don’t tell me my new Hindu husband, my new Hindu Kħasam, didn’t tell you how miraculously he has transformed me.”
“Well, he told me,” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd managed to control somewhat her still miraculously extremely pleasant surprise, “but I could never imagine… Ammījān, you look only my elder sister now. None can ever guess you are my real Ammī. It’s just a miracle, Ammī. You’ve really taken off weight.”
“Thirty five pounds.” Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd said, “I’m down to a hundred and twenty one and I’m going to stay that way. I’ve learned the hard way what happens to a woman when she lets her figure go.”
“Let Abbū see you and…”
Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd interrupted her daughter in the middle,
“Allah, Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd, don’t tell me you still care for that bastard. He divorced a Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān immensely faithful wife, for a hostess, for a shill who put on daringly cut evening gowns that were tight and clinging and circulated around the gambling tables here in Las Vegas, Nevada.”
Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd was immensely angry.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd could understand very well what her Ammī was suffering through mentally.
“That’s why I requested you to meet somewhere else. But you insisted.”
“I lost my husband here. I want to celebrate my new private life exactly here to wipe out my memories of nonstop mental torture. You perhaps don’t know the bastard is also coming here to request me not to allow you to live in relationship with Durgesh. Hahaha. A thoroughly immoral husband is impersonating a thoroughly moral father now.”
I entered the room Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and Al Safiyah Al Ghaus were waiting for me in.
It was mellow, rich, with subdued sunlight filtering through pearl gray drapes.
There was wall-to-wall oyster-shell-colored carpeting on the floor.
The chairs were deep and comfortable.
The whole room was esthetically decorated.
It gave the impression that it had been designed for living, rather than to conform, to imitate, to any particular style of interior decoration.
“Beautifully decorated.” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus said as I entered there.
“Thank you.” I smiled, “But the credit goes to your friend Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, not to me.”
“I don’t think Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and you are two different persons.” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus cooed.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan laughed.
“Thank you, Al Safiyah.”
“I’m sorry that you two, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim and you, have differences of opinions.”
“Don’t be so modest ever.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan said furiously, “Your ‘father in law’ has clearly accused Al Safiyah Al Ghaus that she has murdered her previous husband.”
“It was his opinion, darling, not mine. How can I answer for him?”
“I think I need to talk with Al Zakāt Al Qāsim about it.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan watched me significantly.
“The question is why did your friend break Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd’s home?”
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus watched me suggestively.
“Al Nadīm Al Quddūs went to me in Las Vegas, Nevada. I didn’t go to him.” she said somewhat acidly, “moreover, the life I was living wasn’t a dignified life. It was my compulsion, not my choice. Why the hell I shouldn’t grab an opportunity to lead a respectful life with a millionaire if I could?”
“Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd should herself blame for what happened.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan said curtly, “How the hell she thought Al Nadīm Al Quddūs woud not react to as a dazzling Musalmān Beauty as Al Safiyah Al Ghaus? How did Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd forget she was herself a dazzling Musalmān Beauty when Al Nadīm Al Quddūs married her? It’s a world of bitter competition. Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd should have maintained her beauty herself. Why the hell did she forget to watch her married life to be safe if she could?”*
I smiled at Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan ironically.
“You mean every Musalmān Beauty is justified in breaking the other Musalmān Beauty’s home, if she is leading the hard and degrading life as Al Safiyah Al Ghaus did?”
“Al Safiyah Al Ghaus could do it because Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd lost her interest in keeping her Musalmān husband properly.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan said curtly, “Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd took her husband for granted to be devoted to her only because he was married to her. Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd stopped watching her own figure despite knowing very well the polygamous nature of a man. It was her own mistake and she paid for it.”
“You haven’t any sympathy for Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd?”
“I have more sympathy for Al Safiyah Al Ghaus.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan said tersely.
“Because Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was suffering more in Las Vegas, Nevada?”
“Because Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was suffering more in Las Vegas, Nevada.” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan repeated despite my smirk, “Al Qur’an Al Tawħīd was already a honorable housewife. Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was not. It was natural for Al Safiyah Al Ghaus that she tried to improve her personal life.”
“And Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was the only man available to Al Safiyah Al Ghaus?” I kept smirking.*
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan smiled curtly.
“Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was the immediate man available. Al Safiyah Al Ghaus didn’t love him. He was the only immediate man available to her who could help her for getting rid off that rather undignified life she was compelled to lead.”
I watched Al Safiyah Al Ghaus.
Al Muħammad Al Qāsim suspected I was fucking her.
I didn’t contradict him.
It was useless.
The reputation Dr. Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ, Åāýéshah Siddīqah, Kħadījah Muħammad, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan and her now famous/infamous seven movements: Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club, Cuckold Your Musalmān husband, Ashvinātam Gangbang Club, Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh, Jet Musalmān Beauties Squad, Durgesh Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ Sex Therapy and Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service, had built up for me, never allowed anyone to believe ever that, a Musalmān Beauty was available to me and I never fucked her.*
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus awoke in her luxurious Ved Nagar mansion.
She pressed a button to open the electrically controlled drapes.
She was confronted by the side of a young man.
Vikram Bachhalyā was clad in a white T-shirt and exquisite jeans.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus struggled to sit up, buzzing for Musarrat Kħālid, her secretary.
At the same time Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was flinging on a marabou trimmed silk robe and pressing her feet into dusty pink mules.
Vikram Bachhalyā stretched himself and strolled casually out of view.
“Musarrat Kħālid,” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus called, “where the hell are you?”
Musarrat Kħālid appeared, inscrutable, calm and anxious to her mistress’s calls.
She appreciated Al Safiyah Al Ghaus.
Most of the Ved Nagar film industry wives screamed at their secretaries.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus never did it.
She was always sophisticated.
What a pleasant exception Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was to the other Ved Nagar film industry wives.
The same Hollywood wives were there.
The same Bollywood wives were there.
The same Lollywood wives were there.
The same Tollywood wives were there.
Yet, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was quite different with them.
“There was Vikram Bachhalyā out by the pool. I wonder what the Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim’s Hindu husband was doing there. A Bachhalyā rarely loves a Musalmān Beauty. All the Bachhalyās are crazily obsessed with the Brāhmañ Beauties. You know that, Musarrat Kħālid, don’t you?”
Musarrat Kħālid smiled patiently,
“Durgesh is also a Bachhalyā, ma’am.”
“There are exceptions too, to every general attitude we notice about others.” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled patiently too, “Don’t you think so?”
“That’s good. Make sure all the doors are locked.”
Musarrat Kħālid nodded,
She began to collect debris of clutter from Al Safiyah Al Ghaus’s bedside table. Dirty Kleenex, a half finished glass of wine, a rifled box of chocolates.
“Musarrat,” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus addressed her again.
“Don’t get excited, Señora.” Musarrat Kħālid said stoically, “Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim ma’am is not feeling good. She requested Vikram Bachhalyā, her husband…”
Musarrat Kħālid even couldn’t complete her sentence.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus scolded Musarrat Kħālid and flung herself into her bathroom.
She slammed the door so hard that a framed print sprang off the wall and crashed to the floor.
Dumb ass woman.
It was impossible to get good help anymore.
They came. They went.
They did not give a damn even if you were raped and ravaged in your own home.
And this would have to happen while Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was away on location.
Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim would never have dared to pretend to be sick if Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was here.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus flung off her robe, slipped out of her nightgown, and stepped under the invigorating sharpness of an ice cold shower.
She gritted her teeth.
Cold shower was best for the skin.
It tightened everything up.
Allah målūm, God knows, even with the gym and yoga and the modern dance class it still all needed tightening.
No, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus wasn’t fat even a bit.
She knew very well how incredibly beautiful she was.
People were either jealous or crazy of her incredible Panjvaqtah Namāzī Musalmān Beauty.
She was aware of it.
She knew it was her greatest weapon in this damn male dominated world.
Her brother in law, her dévar, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, hated the ground Al Safiyah Al Ghaus walked on, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus knew.
But what can the damn fool do?
He is claiming now Al Safiyah Al Ghaus has murdered her former husband.
But can the moron explain why the hell she worked as a hostess before marrying Al Nadīm Al Quddūs?
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled.
She wasn’t born yesterday.
Al Muħammad Al Qāsim still has a long way to understand what Al Safiyah Al Ghaus really was.
The life had taught her more than it taught Al Muħammad Al Qāsim.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled shrewdly.
She lived now in a six bedroomed, seven bathroomed, Ved Nagar Film Industry palace.
On the flats too.
Not stuck up in the hills.
On the flats.
Prime real Estate.
Her extraordinary devastating Musalmān beauty is perfectly being taken care of.
Her hair was a rich brown, cut short and tipped with golden streaks.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus’s Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān skin was alabaster white and smooth.
Thanks to regular facials.
Her teeth were white and even.
She was prudent enough never to stop reading and learning.
Most of the Ved Nagar film industry wives criticize Al Safiyah Al Ghaus that she reads so much.
They didn’t understand its benefits.
Moreover, the proud Musalmān Beauties neither wanted to read and keep on improving themselves as Al Safiyah Al Ghaus did without failure nonstop.
Most of the Ved Nagar film industry wives used to read Hollywood stuff only.
‘Vogue’, ‘People’, ‘Us’.
They skimmed the trades, ‘Variety’ and ‘Hollywood Reporter’.
Wasn’t Ronald Regan elected the President?
If they can do it, why the hell can’t Al Nadīm Al Quddūs even?
Yes, he isn’t a star as Ronald Regan.
But he is a first class screenplay writer.
He can dream wonderfully.
He was one of the best dreamers in Ved Nagar Film Industry, Hollywood, Bollywood, Lollywood and Tollywood.
His screenplays were always stupendous hits.
After Salim Javed Al Nadīm Al Quddūs has also made a writer a star.*
Despite frantic and desperate attempts from Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus knew how obsessed Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was with her.
He deliberately chose to marry a gambling house hostess, a shill, from Las Vegas, Nevada.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus knew it was the only place she could impress the then successful screenplay writer of Ved Nagar Film Industry.
He could be a stepladder for her to fulfill her dreams.
She could easily make it with a dreamer.
The realists were not for her.
They love money/ career/life more than they love anything else.
Durgesh is a realist.
Yes, he is a dreamer too.
But he is a realist dreamer.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs wasn’t a realist at all.
He was only a dreamer.
He could be a stepladder for her.
He has his own mission.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus has her own mission.
Durgesh could help her in her mission, but not as a stepladder.
Durgesh is too prudent, too realistic.
It was a big mansion, Al Lubnā Al Qāsim lived in with her Bachhalyā Hindu husband, Pratāp Bachhalyā.
The house was one of the show places of Ved Nagar.
It had side porches, spacious grounds, shade trees, lawns, summerhouses, terraces, winding walks and swimming pools.
It was a vast exquisite dwelling.
It showed, rather exhibited, the multi millions Pratāp Bachhalyā and his extremely beautiful wife, Al Lubnā Al Qāsim, possessed.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī turned my limousine in at the driveway.
Together with the big garage, the driveway was itself magnificent.
The hard surfaced driveway cut through in a businesslike straight line past the winding walks that followed the contours of the terraced grounds.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, the ambitious sister of Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, now a successful lawyer herself, stopped my limousine.
She rang the bell second time before we heard confident steps, knees, elbows and palms, and then the door was opened by extremely beautiful Al Lubnā Al Qāsim and Pratāp Bachhalyā themselves.
Al Lubnā Al Qāsim smiled at her elder sister.
She was their lawyer despite she was an integral part of HVS Law Internationals now.
The Al Qāsims still had their faith in their own blood?
I didn’t know.
Al Lubnā Al Qāsim was similarly on her knees and elbows as her elder sister, Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, was.
Pratāp Bachhalyā was fucking Al Lubnā Al Qāsim from her gorgeous behind as I was fucking Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī.
It was Ved Nagar.
Nonstop sophisticated fucking was entirely legal and normal here.
It was in India, but it was a largely privileged Global City, rather Inter Universal to be more correct and more specific.
“Welcome,” Pratāp Bachhalyā and Al Lubnā Al Qāsim smiled, “Come in, please.”
“Bhābhījān, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs Bhāījān, Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim and Vikram Bachhalyā…”
Al Lubnā Al Qāsim interrupted Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī in her mid sentence.
“They all have already come. You are rather late.”*
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī and I followed Al Lubnā Al Qāsim and Pratāp Bachhalyā.
The room we entered in, was thoroughly in keeping with the rest of the house.
It was a large spacious library.
Both Al Lubnā Al Qāsim and her husband, Pratāp Bachhalyā, were great believers in reading and keeping themselves update.
So were Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī and I.
Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī was not my live in relationship partner exactly.
She was my friend and sister in law, my Salhaj, actually.
Yet, we fucked now openly.
Even her husband appreciated our exquisite fucking.
The entire Al Qāsim sisters were thoroughly devastating Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān Beauties.
I smiled at Pratāp Bachhalyā.
“You are one of the luckiest men, Pratāp. Your wife is really a devastating Musalmān Beauty. Congratulations.”
Pratāp Bachhalyā smiled graciously.
“Thank you very much.”
In the center of the library, there was a massive mahogany table.
There were three huge table lamps on the table.
The shades were some four feet in diameter at the bottom.
They were composed of heavy leather.
The clustered lamps on the interior poured fourth illumination upon the huge table and sprayed light out through the openings in the tops of the shades.
Six chairs had been drawn up at the table.
Three of them were occupied.
The fourth was evidently occupied by Al Lubnā Al Qāsim and Pratāp Bachhalyā.
Evidently, they were fucking on the fourth chair, as Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim and Vikram Bachhalyā were still fucking on the third.
The fifth chair was occupied by Al Safiyah Al Ghaus.
The last sixth chair was occupied by Al Nadīm Al Quddūs.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus and Al Nadīm Al Quddūs were also husband and wife.
Yet they were sitting on separate chairs fully clothed.
“Hey,” Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī laughed at them, “aren’t you too husband and wife?”
“Sure we are.” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs said curtly, “But I am neither Vikram Bachhalyā nor Pratāp Bachhalyā. I am Al Nadīm Al Quddūs. Remember?”
Vikram Bachhalyā fucking Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim and Pratāp Bachhalyā fucking Al Lubnā Al Qāsim laughed.
Both the younger sisters of Al Hudā Al Qāsim Al Hāshmī, Al Zakiyah Al Qāsim and Al Lubnā Al Qāsim laughed too.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was shamelessly not embarrassed.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus looked shameful of herself.
“Sorry, Al Hudā , your cousin is a finicky. He doesn’t care ever even a bit how embarrassed and shameful I am feeling myself, as if my husband has died or divorced me already. His backward morals…”
“Backward morals hell,” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs said curtly, “I am not an ever sexy Hindu. And you knew it very well before you married me. Didn’t you?”
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