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