1: Of my Musalmān friends
Saturday night was the usual dinnertime affair, unless you count the fact that Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was constantly mouthing, “No sex for Durgesh recently” at me throughout the entire meal.
We ate in front of the TV, Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr having returned earlier in the evening.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī had supervised the preparation of the meal, as she always did when their Ammī came home late.
She still made a regular effort to supervise cooking, despite her busy schedule, which her children were extremely grateful for.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s cooking, though, was superb, which was a talent that had come to her naturally, luckily for the rest of the family.
We had developed a good relationship over the past few years, and it was one of the main times when we two bonded, which accounted for our close relationship.
Today we were enjoying watching Wheel of Fortune.
As usual, Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī and I were guessing most of the answers.
“Hamlet!” I said.
“Damn,” said Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī rolled her extremely beautiful ever impish ever naughty ardent Musalmān eyes.
“You two read too much.”
“We read just as much as you,” I said. “The difference is, we read books, whereas you,” I pitched my voice lower so my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife wouldn’t hear, “read the instructions on the back of home pregnancy tests.”
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī chuckled silently.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī sent a cushion sailing across the room, hitting me squarely in the face.
“Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, don’t throw things at Durgesh,” Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr admonished her.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī stuck her tongue out at me and mouthed, for the hundredth time, “no sex for Durgesh recently”.
I mouthed back:
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī poked her tongue out again.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī stood up, then kicked me lightly in the back.
“Come on, kiddo.”
I groaned as I stood up and followed Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī into the kitchen.
I called back over my shoulder,
“Damn,” I heard Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī say.
With a smug smile planted on my face, I turned back around and followed Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s bouncing Musalmān butt.
Followed Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī to the sink, I corrected myself.
Her butt doesn’t bounce; it just sort of…sways.
I dug my nails into my palms.
“You’re not letting Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s teasing get to you, are you? Because there’s nothing wrong with not having sex recently if you have it almost 24x7x365.”
I gave her a scathing look.
“Thanks, I needed that reassurance.”
“Just trying to help,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said, turning off the faucets and rolling up her sleeves.
“So, you, er…” I began, “you don’t think there’s anything unusual about it?”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī turned towards me with a sympathetic smile.
She thought it was cute the way I was so concerned about it.
She didn’t think she’d ever heard me to ask something like that.
I certainly wouldn’t have asked any of the others, which touched Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī deeply.
“Of course not,” she assured me. “I had my first time when I was nineteen, and I know other people my age who are still virgins. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just looking for the right girl recently, and that’s sweet.”
I thought of what Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī had said, about finding the right girl, and then about Al Sāliħah Al Waħīd.
I wondered, not for the first time, whether she was the right girl for me, or whether I had simply built her up in my mind to be something she wasn’t.
Thoughts like that had haunted me for years, and still I didn’t feel correct talking about it.
We lapsed into an easy silence for several minutes, punctuated sporadically by Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s voice answering more Wheel questions from the living room, and once, bizarrely, Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s voice, although the answer had been Calvin Klein.
Eventually, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī broke the silence.
“So, regarding the girlfriend thing,” she said, judging from my expression whether or not it was safe to continue – apparently it was – “is it just because you haven’t found the right girl or because you’re not ready for it? Or something else?”
“I really don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
“Well, is there a girl?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī felt somewhat awkward asking these questions, as though her questions were her duty as a surrogate parent.
She knew, however, that her curiosity was the driving force behind her inquiries.
“Yes,” I said, “there’s a girl.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī broke into a giddy smile. “Ooh, what’s her name? What’s she like?”
I glanced apprehensively at my friend’s daughter, and wondered, again, not for the first time, why girls became partially deranged when the subject of crushes was brought up.
Perhaps female hormones told their owners to become filled with glee whenever they heard about someone liking someone else.
The mysteries of extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies, I thought.
“Al Sāliħah Al Waħīd,” I said. “Her name Al Sāliħah Al Waħīd.”
“Ooh, sexy name.” I looked at my friend’s daughter incredulously.
“Well, it is,” she said. “Go on. What’s she like?”
“Well,” I said, “she’s…she’s nice.”
“Nice?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī inquired skeptically. “That’s all you have to say?”
“No. She’s beautiful, too. Really beautiful. And she has a great smile, and perfect teeth. Her skin is flawless. She looks great men anything; her hair is long and silky; and she likes movies, too, so we’ve got something in common.”*
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī left for work at around one o’clock.
I was fucking Nāznīn Aħmad in my room at the time.
I didn’t see her leave.
I came rather blandly, extracting immense enjoyment from the experience.
It did, get rid of some of those nasty hormones for a while – specifically the next few minutes, after which they would return in full force.
Still, it would stop me from staring at Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s breasts again, as I had been doing too often lately.
She didn’t exactly go around flaunting them, but they were large enough to be conspicuous to a partially blind eunuch, let alone an everyoung ever hyper sexual Hindu.
I always found the physical differences between my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s three extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters of interest, though only subconsciously so.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī definitely had the largest breasts, though Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī were certainly not flat, just average – in Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s case – and slightly larger than average – in Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s case.
They all had great legs, though only Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī really showed them off.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s hair was a dark brown colour, like mahogany mostly, even in the way it could appear a crimson colour when lit up by the sun.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī was honey blonde, lighter than the other two but also longer, by an inch or so.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s hair was identical in most regards to Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s hair, though she had chased it with a series of blonde streaks, which, I hated to admit, looked quite sexy.
All three girls, however, were similar in their build, being slim to average, and all three were highly appealing.
I often wondered whether the reason I was so constantly horny was because of the enormous volume of pheromones that must be floating around the air inside the house.
It was an intelligent theory, I thought, and one I clung to, to explain away the awkward moments like watching my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters’ calves and asses, or fucking my extremely beautiful Musalmān beloveds off after I brushed up against their breasts in the hallway.
Overall, it was a good system for me.
And it received a lot of use, like at the present moment, when I looked down to realise I had been stroking my Uncut Hindu Cock the whole time I had been thinking of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters, making it painfully hard again.
Almost impulsively, I justified the action, telling myself it was perfectly normal.
I refused to oblige my member though, and zipped instead it back inside my jeans before making my way back downstairs.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was in the lounge room, dusting.
I walked in and stretched myself out on one of the sofas, turning on the TV by the remote.
“No homework?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī inquired.
“It’s my birthday,” I replied.
“I suppose so. But you’re not just going to watch day-time TV all day, are you?”
I grunted lazily, my eyes fixed on the television.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī went about her dusting, working around the prone body of mine, asking me occasionally “lift your leg” or “move your head”.
When she’d finished, she stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the room.
Satisfied, she plopped down on the armrest of the sofa I was reclined on.
She thought for a moment, then turned to me.
“Mmm,” I muttered by way of reply.
“I want to ask you something.”
I was silent.
Sighing, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī picked up the remote and muted the TV.
“Hey, I was watching that,” I protested.
“Too bad, I need to ask you something.”
I sighed and pushed myself into a sitting position, my back leaning on the opposite armrest. “What?”
“Okay,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī began. “Say you were going out with this girl, Nāznīn Aħmad, who you really liked, but she’d married with your best friend behind your back. Then she decides she doesn’t want to keep doing that, and actually likes you more – would you want her to tell you about it or just keep it a secret?”
By the end of Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s question, My mouth was stern, my eyes were grave and my eyebrows were lost somewhere in my hair.
I not even tried to speak before I actually did.
“You’re married with your boyfriend’s best friend?” I asked her harshly.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī threw a cushion at me.
“Not me, you idiot. Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī!”
“Oh,” I said, settling back on the sofa and returning to the realm of credibility.
I then promptly started to laugh.
“What a sex goddess,” I said.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī threw another cushion at me.
“Don’t,” she warned, looking quite serious this time – serious enough to wipe My smile off my face.
“She has feelings too you know. She is a Musalmān after all and you are a Hindu.”
I goggled at her.
“This is Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī we’re talking about. The only feeling she knows is the orgasmic kind. You can’t honestly say she doesn’t deserve that dilemma.”
“Look, are you going to be helpful or not?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī demanded.
I blew air through my teeth.
It was Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, so I’d help her, but I made a mental note to laugh in Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s face when she walked through the door tonight.
“How the hell should I know?” I asked.
“Well, you’re a Hindu guy. What would you prefer?”
I was now feeling slightly awkward.
I wanted this conversation to conclude soon, which meant answering Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s stupid questions.
“I really have no experience in this area,” I said.
“Okay, so none of your girlfriends have ever cheated on you,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said, “but can’t you just imagine what you’d prefer.”
I shuffled comfortably in my seat, feeling my palms start to sweat.
I found I could still meet Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s gaze, which had nothing to do with my ever horniest, ever greediest, extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān beloveds.
“Ah,” I began, “you see,” I continued, “I…uh…I don’t really…that is to say, I haven’t…”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was now looking at me very peculiarly.
I felt her gaze weighing on me like a sack of stones, and felt as though I was crumbling under its pressure.
“Well, the truth is…I haven’t really ever had a…cheating girlfriend…sort of,” I finished ultimately.
“Sort of?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī inquired, already a bit unseated by the news.
“I mean ‘sort of’ as in…never.” I was plainly meeting Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful ever impish ever naughty ardent Musalmān eyes now.
“Never?!” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī asked, amazed.
Her tone sent sparks of fury charging through My body.
I leapt off the sofa.
“No, okay. Never! What’s the big deal? Just because I’m hyper sexual they never cheat me, even if they cheat their Musalmān husbands or boyfriends even.” I smiled, “male slut, it makes me what? A male slut? Well…I’d rather be a male slut than an…an…an impotent.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was wearing an expression of mixed amusement and utmost admiration, though the admiration, in this case, far outweighed the amusement.
“So…does that mean you haven’t had sex either now?” she asked.
I was too furious to listen to my brain, which was screaming “Dignity! Dignity! Don’t forget your dignity!” I replied,
“No, I haven’t.”
I stood there, fuming, waves of anger radiating from my body like heat from a furnace.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, though, didn’t quail under my glare, and spoke, apparently to herself.
“Huh,” she said. “I guess I owe Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī twenty bucks.”
I did a double take, my eyes bulging dangerously out of my sockets. “You bet on me!?” I cried in outrage, looking scandalised.
It was now Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s turn to fidget and avert her gaze.
“Well…we didn’t really take it seriously. It was just something we did for fun.”
“Fun?” I bellowed. “Fun? My sex life is not something to be used for your amusement!”
At this point, My brain gave up entirely and diverted blood flow back to my Uncut Hindu Penis, where it usually was.
“No,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī replied. “I’m sorry.”
My fists were still clenching and unclenching at my sides, but I registered the apology, and felt my heart rate begin to fall.
Apologies from Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī were usually genuine, apologies from Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī were always genuine, and apologies from Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī were never genuine.
The peak of energy had now left me feeling tired somewhat.
I waved away the apology with my hand.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Sorry I exploded.”
“That’s okay,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī replied. “It was just a shock, that’s all. I always assumed you would have. Even Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī assumed you’d had a Musalmān girlfriend always making love to. But,” she added, seeing My shoulders tense up again, “it doesn’t matter if you haven’t. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
I nodded absently.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī stood up, ready to run the hell out of the lounge room.
“Well,” she said, “at least now I know.”
My eyes flashed and my whole body stiffened. “You mean,” I said in measured tones, “this was just to find out if I’d had sex recently?”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī smiled her mischievous smile.
I got ready to erupt again.
“I’m just kidding,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī chimed in, not a moment too soon. “I’m kidding. Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī really is having a problem.”
I breathed normally again.
“You,” I said, “will get the biggest comeuppance one day, and it’ll be in the form of my Uncut Hindu Lund kicking into your fat Musalmān ass.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī squealed, looking affronted.
“I do not have a fat ass,” she screeched, chasing me out of the room.
Saturday afternoon dragged on as slowly as I was now dragging my foot.
After two hours, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī had finally stopped laughing and gone upstairs to do whatever it was girls did in the confines of their bedrooms – make hour-long and pointless phone calls to their friends, was My guess.
Finally at peace, I had settled sat down in the kitchen, on one of the chairs.
I had just thought something, when the front door opened and Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī walked inside.
“Hey,” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī said.
She was carrying three shopping bags with her, each scrawled with calligraphic words that were most likely the names of the stores she had bought whatever garments were in the bag in. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Your Ammī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī are at work, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s upstairs in her room, you’re standing in the meal’s area and I’m sitting at the kitchen table.”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī wrinkled her nose and brows into a sarcastic expression.
“Oh, you’re so funny.”
“Don’t start,” I cautioned her, “I have a great erection and I’m really not in the mood.”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī dropped her bags at the foot of the stairs and sidled over to mine side.
“Aw,” she intoned sarcastically, “does little Durgesh have a sore penis? Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī stood up straight and crossed the room to the refrigerator.
“Someone’s in a foul mood today,” her voice mumbled from within.
She pulled out the jug of water, flipped over a glass and poured herself a drink.
“I just told you I wasn’t in a good mood!” I exclaimed.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī finished her water and put the glass in the sink before walking over to the stairs and picking up her bags.
“Fine,” she said, “if you want to be that way, maybe I won’t give you your present.” As she said this, she dangled one of the bags on her index finger, looking at me with her head Cocked to the side.
It was a coy, alluring look; I guessed that she probably used it on a guy to show him what they were missing out on.
“Oh, great,” I said, “I always wanted a pair of those scarlet panties you wear.”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s mouth formed an ‘O’ of indignation.
“How do you know what colour panties I wear?”
I snorted contemptuously. “With the skirts you wear?”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī shot I a scornful glare, held her chin up high and walked upstairs with that gait only Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī seemed capable of, in which her ardent Musalmān butt swayed from side to side without looking as though she was doing it on purpose.
Again, I reflected on how well I had fit into this family, which I did on occasion.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī and I were so alike in our roguish playfulness, always cracking a joke when given the opportunity.
And yet I was also a lot like Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī – intelligent, sophisticated in public and with a tendency to keep my feelings to myself, rather than out in the open.
And despite our squabbling, I knew I was a very similar person to Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī – which, I thought, not for the first time, may in fact be the reason why we squabbled.
We were both complacent at times and independent and determined to get what we wanted, which for Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was the latest flavour of the month in sports stars at her University, and for me was extra chocolate chips on my ice cream.
I supposed the qualities I shared with Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī simply opposed each other, whilst those I shared with Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī made for a pleasant relationship.
When I snapped out of my reverie, I found that Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was back in the kitchen, wearing jeans now and a different top; her ‘around the house’ clothes, which were usually a lot more extravagant than most peoples ‘going out’ clothes.
The jeans were hipsters, revealing a fine section of her belly, which was, of course, impeccably toned from regular sessions at the gym.
Her top was a red, short-sleeved number with the words ‘Sex Machine’ printed on it in sparkling sequins.
How, very, very true, I wanted to say to her.
The words on the blouse triggered something in My memory.
I stopped for a Moment, trying to recall what it was.
And then I remembered.
“So,” I said casually, “how was your day today?”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī had her hands busy peeling and slicing a banana over the blender, which would undoubtedly be for one of her trademark smoothies.
The good thing about having a young Musalmān Beauty who is obsessed with her figure, I thought, is that you always know what is and isn’t healthy.
“It was fine, thank you,” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī replied without lifting her extremely beautiful ever impish ever naughty ardent Musalmān eyes from her handiwork.
“Yeah?” Durgesh inquired. “Find any cheap sales? See any good movies? Sleep with your boyfriend’s best friend, your Musalmān husband now?”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī spun around so fast her hair needed time to catch up.
It sailed through the air like the hair of those extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies in the shampoo commercials, shining just as bright and colourful, too.
I was looking back at my friend’s daughter with polite innocence, my eyebrows raised slightly.
“What did you say?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī demanded.
“Um…I asked if you’d seen any good movies,” I answered coyly. “I heard there’s this new R’tvik Roshan movie out; or maybe that new one with Ajay Devgan in it. No?”
“Don’t play dumb with me!” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī exploded. “Why did you say that?”
“Say what?” I asked naively.
I would get her to say it, even if it took me all day.
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said. “Can you refresh my memory for me?”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was shaking with suppressed anger, taking deep breaths and clenching and unclenching her fists.
It looked as though the words were being dragged out of Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s mouth with a fishing hook.
“What you said about sleeping with my boyfriend’s best friend, my Musalmān husband?” she said through tightly clenched teeth.
“Oooh, that,” I yielded. “Well, you see,” I began examining my fingernails, “I heard the strangest rumour today, and I was just wondering if it was true – which, obviously, it is.”
“Who told you that?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī demanded. “Was it Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī? I’ll kill that bitch.”
I couldn’t stop myself; I smiled.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s eyes would have burned holes through solid steel.
I didn’t move; I would stand there and face her like a man.
“What was that?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked.
Here it comes, I thought dejectedly. Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī would take all her anger out on me simply because I was the closest animated object.
Some small part of my brain told me I was being a hero, sacrificing myself so that Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī didn’t have to suffer Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s wrath.
Another part of my brain told me I was on my own and shut down completely.
“You want to see a cat fight?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked. “How ’bout I dip you in gravy and stuff you through the bars of the lion enclosure at the zoo, then you can see the cats fight over you.”
I realised I was leaning back slightly in my chair, and would have corrected my posture, if Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī hadn’t been leaning forward and occupying all of the space.
If Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī or Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī or my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife had been here, they would have told me to just keep my mouth shut and don’t annoy her any further.
My friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, perhaps, would have also told Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī to calm down and leave me alone.
But there was no one here to restrain me now, and I was never one to back down from Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī and her tirades.
“Well, I wouldn’t really mind the cats and all,” I said, “I do like lions a lot – but being dipped in gravy; that’s kind of disturbing.”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī leaned in closer and started poking me in the chest.
“That’d be the least of your worries, you little Hindu punk. When I get through with you you’ll wish you’d been misplaced at birth and given to a family of abusive drunks who whipped you every night before bed.”
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī then threw her hands up in frustration.
“Why am I even talking to you? Where the hell is Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī?”
She stormed out of the kitchen and began climbing the stairs.
I followed her, at a safe distance, and marvelled at how angry she was.
Her hair should have been crackling with static, I thought.
But no, it was still immaculately styled and full-bodied.
I briefly wondered how many animals had died in order to perfect the flawless brew Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī used to get her hair so shiny.
My thought was cut off, however, when I reached Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s bedroom door, which was now wide open and doing little to contain the heated shouting escaping through it.
“How could you tell Durgesh!?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was demanding of Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, not as adept at dealing with Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s outbursts as I was, looked at a loss for words.
She caught sight of me in the doorway and rounded on me, employing the same argument as Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
“How could you tell her!?” she demanded.
I didn’t finish my explanation, as Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī had already turned back to face Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
That was the difference between Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, I thought – Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī didn’t vent her anger on other people; she faced the situation head on.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī, who was different again, would be diplomatic and attempt to calm Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, which almost never worked for anyone else.
“Look,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was saying, “it doesn’t matter. Durgesh isn’t going to tell anyone and I won’t make fun of you for it.”
What kind of deluded world was Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī living in? I thought.
Did she even know me at all?
It was times like these, I observed, when I truly felt the gulf between myself and my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters.
They would engage in fiery arguments in their rooms over money and grown-up things like that, whereas I would normally chuckle on the sidelines whilst they argued.
“Do you know Durgesh at all?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, echoed my own thoughts.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī opened her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth to speak, then shut it and turned towards me.
I was hurt by the lack of faith she had in me.
“You won’t tease Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī about this will you, Durgesh?”
I looked at Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, then at Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, and then back at Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī.
“Durgesh!” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī warned.
“Okay,” I conceded, “I won’t. I promise!” I added, seeing Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s dubious expression.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī turned back to Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
“There, you see – I won’t mention it again.”
“Well, technically you just said I couldn’t tea—”
“Shut up, Durgesh,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī snapped.
I smiled, nodded and took a step back, leaning against the doorjamb.
“That’s not the point!” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī shrieked. “You don’t just go around talking about other people’s business!”
“I was just asking his advice,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī explained.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī laughed a mostly hollow laugh, though I was sure I could detect some genuine amusement in there.
“You asked him for advice? What would he know?”
I was getting unsatisfied at the way Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was saying ‘he’ – spitting it, actually.
I decided to remind them they were talking about me.
“Uh, standing right here, you know.”
“Shut up,” both my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters barked.
“Right then,” I said, taking another step back.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said. “I really am. If…if you forgive me…I’ll tell you who won that bet we had.”
I, who had been fiddling with a loose splinter on the doorframe, looked up instantly.
“What?” I said. “You’ll tell her what?”
I was annoyed now, and rightly so; if Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī ever got hold of that information, it would not be good for anyone.
“What bet?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked slowly, her gaze uncomprehending.
“The one about Durgesh,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī reminded her. “About whether I’d—”
She was unable to finish, due to me having crossed the room in two large bounds and thrown my hand over her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth.
“Oh, I know the one!” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī squealed, jumping up and down and looking as though she had found a massive sale on Louis Vuitton handbags. “Tell me, tell me,” she said.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī mumbled something incoherent, her voice muffled by My palm.
I was vigilant enough to see that Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī had raised a hand.
The other was clawing at my hand which covered her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth.
She was pointing behind her, at me.
I was even more cautious to see Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī leap across the bed and seize hold of my arms, attempting to pull me off Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī didn’t have the natural athletic ability that Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī and I possessed, but she had acquired the comfortable grace that Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī also had, which was bizarre, considering the way she was attacking me with reckless abandon.
I knew that it would take her a while to get me on the ground, or beat me into submission, which she could do using her feminine wiles.
I still had horrible – and fond – memories of one Eīdul Fitr when Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī had pinned me to the ground and prevented me from getting up because it would have resulted in smacking my face right into her breasts.
It wouldn’t take her as much time, or energy, however, to simply remove my hand from Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s mouth.
She squeezed actually my Uncut Hindu Penis to loose my hold on Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s mouth.
In the end, it wasn’t Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī that removed my hand, but Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī.
I felt her slimy tongue licking my open palm and pulled my hand away from her so fast I almost elbowed Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī in the jaw.
Both girls were giggling like mad now, which bought me some extra time, as Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was currently laughing much too hard to relate any kind of embarrassing information.
She did make an attempt however, opening her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth in mid-laugh to say something.
I seized the chance and made a grab for her ankles, which were dangling over the side of her bed.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, however, was quicker.
She pushed me down onto the floor, face up, squeezing my Uncut Hindu Penis once more, and knelt over my chest, one knee on either side of my torso.
I realized immediately, that she was using the same damn trick she had that Eīdul Fitr; her breasts were dangling invitingly above me, looking perfectly round and firm and oh-so-delicious.
I clamped my eyes shut, willing those thoughts away.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was sitting on my chest, and not on my waist, where she would have undoubtedly felt my raging Hindu hard-on, that she was after very much.
“So?” Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked, looking over her shoulder at Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī. “Who won?”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s peals of laughter subsided enough to let her answer.
“You did,” she said in a raw voice, watching my Uncut Hindu Penis still in Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s ever ravenous Musalmān fist.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī turned back to face me. “Aha!” she said. “I knew it! You always harden if some feminine Musalmān hand has grabbed your Uncut Hindu Penis. It’s the best way to defeat you for us extremely beautiful Musalmān houseladies.” She lowered her face until it was about an inch or two away from mine, her hair falling around them like a curtain. “No sex for little Durgesh recently, I’m afraid,” she teased.
I mustered all the ashvinātam lust I could and poured it into the look that I gave Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
She laughed harder than ever, so hard, in fact, that she didn’t notice me moving my hand behind her, until she felt the sharp pinch on her extremely beautiful gorgeous excellent exquisite Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass.
“Ow!” she cried out, scrambling off me in a second. “You little twerp!”
I grinned at my victory and stood up gracefully.
“I would’ve thought you’d be used to that by now,” I said. “Seems like the kind of thing you’d have done to you. Or wasn’t it kinky enough for you?”
“That’s not going to upset me, Durgesh, because you’ve never had sex recently.” There was a musical lilt to her voice.
“I constantly have too much sex,” I retorted. “I bet you’re just crawling with crabs.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī sat up on the bed and fixed me with a reproachful look. “Durgesh, don’t.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī usually knew when I had gone too far, so I heeded her advice and made my way towards the door.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī came next, followed by Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī who was chanting, “No sex for Durgesh recently, no sex for Durgesh recently.”
“I swear to Eīshān…” I said, making to turn around.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī put an arm around my shoulders and made sure I kept walking. “Don’t worry. Just let her have her fun.”
I turned my cold gaze on Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī. “You didn’t have to tell her you know.”
“Yes,” said Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, “I did. You know a secret about her and she knows one about you. That’s fair.”
“And what about you? Why do you get off freely?”
“Hey, if you didn’t want me to tell her, you should have kept your big mouth shut. It’s your own fault really.”
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
1: Of my Musalmān friends
I woke again at night, at around four o’clock in the morning, busting to go to the toilet.
After emptying my bladder, I found myself looking in the mirror, my face lit up only by the moonlight, making me look like an ivory replica of myself.
Not wanting to turn on the lights and blind myself, I leaned closer and explored my face.
My face looking a lot clearer.
I knew it was always better to get my hopes up.
I couldn’t prevent a small smile from gracing my lips.
I found that I could trace almost all of my problems in life back to my ever horniest, ever greediest, extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān beloveds that never prevented me from doing things I knew I could always do; talking to beautiful girls, going to parties, looking people in the eye as I spoke to them, flirting with beautiful Musalmān female shop assistants as I visited expensive clothing stores to buy the latest in haute couture.
I knew, of course, I was never a long way from the latter, financially speaking, but I was free to dream too.
And dream I did, of what my life would be like without my extremely beautiful Musalmān beloveds.
I had pictured, more times than I could remember, what I would say to Al Sāliħah Al Waħīd.
I had been intoxicated with since her early high school.
Now, in her final year, I had suspected it would be too late to ever reveal my feelings to her.
I wondered now, looking in the mirror again, whether things were finally set to change – whether I was finally free.
I returned to my bed, and dreamt not of Al Sāliħah Al Waħīd, as I usually did.
A melodious feminine voice called me,
“Yes!” I was all alert, sitting up in bed.
I was forced to pause for a moment, letting the blood flow back into my head.
Once it had, I blinked my eyes open and looked around my room, my vision sharpening.
I saw, to my right, my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s eldest daughter’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān face grinning at me with cruel delight.
She burst out laughing.
I scowled at her playfully, seizing my pillow and flinging it bodily at her.
“Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, you stupid bitch,” I exclaimed feigning heatedly.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful ever impish ever naughty ardent Musalmān eyes went wide, as did her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth, apparently shocked and no longer laughing.
She slapped my shoulder, hard.
“Watch your filthy Hindu mouth,” she warned, though the glee in her extremely beautiful ever impish ever naughty ardent Musalmān eyes belied her anger. “You don’t call a girl a bitch unless you really mean it.”
I stared blankly at her.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī slapped me again and stormed out of the room.
Sālī, thought I was thirty four only.
None of any horny young Musalmān houselady thought I was sixty four actually, even if I was their father’s friend.
They believed I claim to be sixty four only because I was interested in mature Musalmān Beauties more sexually than in comparatively younger ones.
Sighing, I fell back onto my bed and shut my eyes again, willing sleep to return.
I threw the covers off myself and stomped into the bathroom, stripping my clothes off and showering in record time.
I usually took half-hour showers, to the irritation of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife and my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters.
My friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī, was in jail under death sentence for his so called terrorist activities.
He wanted me to protect his extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān houseladies from ever craziest communal fanatics and terrorists.
Living in a house with four other extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies meant certain cosmetic comforts had to be kept to a minimum, which meant using the bathroom for a total of five minutes each morning, making absolutely, positively sure I hadn’t left a single hair in the sink after shaving, and always remembering not to confuse Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s sixty dollar facial cream with the shampoo.
It was a hard life somewhat.
The reason I lived with these four extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies was that my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī, had, assumed his responsibilities to his family were at an end, and consequently decided to move to Jail with death sentence pronounced to him.
I wasn’t sure if I believed that.
Whatever his fate, I had to protect his extremely beautiful ardent Musalmān houseladies anyway from his ever worst enemies whether communal Musalmīn or communal Hindus, whosoever the hell they were.
Still, I found it helped the healing process to let my imagination run wild, which I did frequently.
My friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī, though, wasn’t the only feature of my rampant imagination.
More often than not – indeed, once ever five seconds, according to a study I’d read – my mind would be overcome by sex, sex and just a little bit more sex.
I supposed it was normal to be obsessed with all things sex for a real man.
I never wished I could exhibit some control over my urges, which, I guessed, meant feeding them – something I was always ready to do.
Still, constantly fucking extremely beautiful Musalmān houseladies of my friends and enemies both, followed by frequent inaugural events for the same celebration sessions, really never did lose its novelty after even a few thousand times.
By now, I was dressed and heading downstairs with my towel and dirty clothes clutched in a bundle under my arm.
I deposited the bundle into the washing hamper and walked into the kitchen, where Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī, my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters – both eldest respectively – were eating at the table.
My friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr, was sipping a mug of steaming coffee, quite possibly her third already, and speaking on the phone.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s other daughter, was nowhere to be seen.
“No, no, Marcy,” Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr was saying, “the deadline is Thursday. Yeah. Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah.”
I phased out the rest of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife’s illuminating conversation.
Now several steps into the room, all three extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies turned and looked at me with amused expressions, my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife’s mingled with what appeared to be sympathy.
“What?” I asked, wishing Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī would shove her spoon in her extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān mouth to muffle her giggles.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī waved her own spoon in the air, looking mirthful.
“Saturday,” she said succinctly.
I looked down at my clothes, then up at my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters.
“Nonsense!” I spun on my heel and stomped back upstairs, my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters’ now unrestrained laughter following me up, along with the sound of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān wife saying:
“Leave Durgesh alone, girls. He is living here on your Abbū’s constant request. If you won’t behave properly with him, Durgesh can even leave our mansion leaving us behind absolutely unprotected. Would it be better, you damnfools?”
“Bosh and nonsense!” Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī said contemptuously, “Most of the ever renowned Musalmīn say that Durgesh himself has deliberately set Abbū for death sentence. He wants you for himself.”
Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr looked at her daughter furiously.
“Our enemies say that, and you believe it? Shame on you, Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī looked at each other and grimaced scornfully.
They never agreed with their still extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Ammī, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr.*
How the hell could they?
Were they blind?
Couldn’t they see how erotically their extremely beautiful Ammī, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr, looked at Durgesh?
Yes, Durgesh was never interested in her, sexually, ostensibly.
He always tried to maintain a highly virtuous platonic relationship of ‘Bhābhījān’ and ‘Devar’, Sister in law and Brother in law with their extraordinarily beautiful Ammī, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr.
But both Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī had noticed the platonic relationship of ‘Bhābhījān’ and ‘Devar’, Sister in law and Brother in law, was never approved by their Ammī herself.
“I think our Ammījān is herself ravenous to fuck Durgesh.” Once Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī revealed her suspicion to Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s eyes brightened.
“Nāzimah Kħālājān says it’s our Ammī herself that has conspired against our innocent Abbū.”
“So that our Ammī, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr, can herself inherit the multi millions business of Abbū?” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī asked, “I have myself heard Al Nāzimah Al Mansūr Kħālājān implicating our Ammī. But I never believed it.”
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī chuckled.
“Why not? If Durgesh is available in replacement, and I can inherit a multi millions business too, I’d myself send my impotent Musalmān husband to jail.”
“Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said heatedly, “Abbū is not impotent exactly.”
“Nooooooooooooooooo? Our Ammī is a slut instead perhaps. Isn’t she?” Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī said sarcastically.
“Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī, you are impossible sometimes.” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī groaned.
As soon as I had slammed the door of my bedroom, I pulled my shirt over my head, without undoing the buttons, and fished around in my closet for a top to wear.
I picked a plain black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, which I traded for my favorite pants.
I didn’t bother returning my clothes to my closet, but let it lie strewn on the floor instead, which gave me a small amount of satisfaction.
I spent another several minutes thinking about whether there was anything else I had forgotten, so as to spare myself further ridicule from the giggling chorus downstairs.
Finally satisfied, I returned to the kitchen.
I was aware, as I bustled around the kitchen, of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters’ jovial gazes following me.
I plonked my food down on the table before consuming it in large spoonfuls.
“So,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said, “have a nice sleep, Durgesh?”
I glared at her.
“No, thanks to you,” I replied.
“Aw, come on,” said Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, “I was just messing around. It got you up didn’t it?”
“It also nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Oh, stop exaggerating,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī said.
“What did you do?” asked Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
“I just yelled his name. Once!”
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī giggled.
“And what did Durgesh do?”
“Durgesh did this…” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī proceeded to wave her arms about like a drunken zombie.
“I did not,” I spat the words.
“Ugh,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī groaned, flicking grains of wheat and soggy sultanas off her blouse. “Gross.”
“Serves you right.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī finished her food, placed her bowl in the sink and walked towards the stairs, hitting me on the back of the head on her way.
“Ow!” I bellowed.
I glared at her back for a while before turning back to my food.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī was giving me a placatory smile.
“She’s just teasing,” she said.
I felt my anger abate, now that Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī was out of the room.
She was always the mischievous one, and the eldest, at twenty eight.
The truth was I didn’t really mind her playful antics, and was usually even livelier myself.
Today, however, I wasn’t in the mood.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s calming tones, though, had a soothing effect on me, as they usually did when she played the peacemaker.
She was four years younger than Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, at twenty four years old, and definitely the easiest to get along with out of my friend, Nādirshāh Durrānī’s three extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān daughters.
She could even be shy at times in public, I had noticed, which I thought was cute.
And then there was Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, the middle daughter, or second eldest child.
She was twenty-six and something of a nemesis to me.
They just plain didn’t get along.
They fought, they squabbled, they quarrelled, they bickered – they did just about everything except kill each other, though they often came close.
Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī, and not Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī, was the true source of the practical jokes and carefully placed insults.
She liked to go out a lot though, which suited me fine.
She also seemed, to me, a bit of a sex goddess, always going out with Hindu guys and wearing those skimpy clothes.
I thought I would rather endure Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s torment any day than be locked in a room alone with Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī for even five minutes.
They would surely kill each other then.
Luckily, Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī seemed to be out already, which meant I was able to finish my food in peace.
Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr had just finished her phone call, and was collecting her handbag and jacket, ready for work.
Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr worked to support the family, as did Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī saw to the housework and meals, which made for a good arrangement.
After Nādirshāh Durrānī had walked out, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī found that she had been forced to take on most of the adult responsibility in the house, whilst her Ammī, Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr, was out working.
She didn’t mind it at all, though, and the constant help from me made the work a lot easier.
All three children felt they had something of a duty to stay at home and help their Ammī, rather than move out periodically, leaving her alone.
They found that no one really suffered from this arrangement.
Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr though, was extremely thankful for the kindness of her kids, who meant the world to her.
As a result, she was always lenient when it came to their socialising, which, I guessed, was part of the reason why Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī was such a harlot.
“I’ll see you later, kid,” Al Ůzrah Al Mansūr said, kissing Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī on the head. “Bye, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī,” she called out loudly, before leaving.
“What are you grinning about?” Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī asked me, eyeing me suspiciously.
“Huh?” I thought about this for a moment, and then realised I had been amused by thinking of Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī as a harlot.
I could insult her as much as I liked in my head, and she was none the wiser.
I finished off the last of my food.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī came over.
“Yeah,” she said, pushing herself up to sit on the bench.
Kicking her legs like a child, she asked,
“So, what are you doing today?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Read a book maybe.”
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī stared off into space, as she often did, before turning back to look at me.
“Okay,” she said, then jumped down off the bench, crossed the kitchen and threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Happy Birthday.”
I felt myself redden from the contact, which was something I got very little of, despite the fact that I lived with four extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Houseladies.
I supposed I should be better suited to female company, considering this fact, and I guessed I was – just…not the contact.
I put one arm around Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī confidently.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī pulled back, though she left her arms on my shoulders.
“They didn’t forget,” she said. “Ammī’s just busy and Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī probably forgot after you spat on her top.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, somewhat dejectedly, though I had no idea why.
I didn’t really care that I had just turned sixty four, so why should I expect anyone else to?
I never assigned much importance to birthdays.
Parties either, especially my own.
I found the whole idea of throwing yourself a party rather vain.
Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī leaned her head a little closer to mine. “Trust me,” she said, “theydidn’t forget.”
Following Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī’s words, the next two that popped into my head were ‘surprise’ and ‘party’.
Oh, no, I thought. Nonsense, no.
I was about to wring Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī for further information when she turned and headed upstairs, probably to get ready for work.
I found myself staring at her bare calves as she went, and scolded myself mentally.
Five minutes later, Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī came bounding back downstairs and into the kitchen where she walked up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry about before; I was just riling you up.”
I turned, no longer feeling that intense anger that I had associated with my friend’s eldest daughter’s face since this morning.
“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “I was just in a bad mood.”
“I noticed that,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī pointed out, moving to wipe the stray water droplets off the bench with a sponge. “How come?”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī looked sidelong at me.
“It’s not ’cause of your birthday, is it?”
I turned and looked at her.
“Because I didn’t forget. I just know how much you hate us making a fuss over it, so I refrained from putting sloppy wet kisses all over your face.” She smiled.
I smiled back.
“I think it was just the way in which I was woken up this morning,” I said cynically.
“So it wasn’t the embarrassment at getting sloppy wet kisses all over your face?”
“No,” I replied absently.
Then, I spun around extraordinarily fast.
“I mean, yes!” I yelled, but it was too late.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī grabbed my arms and started planting kisses all over my cheeks.
She didn’t have much trouble, as she and I were the same height, unlike Fātimah Nādirshāh Durrānī and Åāliyah Nādirshāh Durrānī who were slightly shorter than the two of us.
“Hey,” I shouted. “Get off me.”
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī released me and surveyed my face with a jovial expression, disappointed she hadn’t put lipstick on, which would have made the moment funnier.
I was scrubbing at my face furiously with the back of my hand. “Don’tdo that!” I admonished them angrily somewhat.
Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī laughed.
“Boys bash; girls kiss,” she said simply. “Get used to it.”
“I think I could,” I replied, “if it weren’t my friend’s daughter doing it.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī teased, flouncing out of the room.
It wasn’t Zaynab Nādirshāh Durrānī’s calves that I found myself looking at, but the swaying of her extremely beautiful gorgeous excellent exquisite Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass, which looked incredibly tight and extremely…
Ah, get a hold of yourself man!
I turned back.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam