Part 12. . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
At the airport, Neshe had not been surprised to see her in a sarree. He had somehow anticipated, known, she would be in one.
Today, he was surprised, and Snama's dazzling smile acknowledged the surprise silently.
Like yesterday, when he had received her, he touched her between her thighs when she took her place beside him in the limo.
The dinner was simple. Neshe had asked Snama what she would prefer. She had replied she would love to sample more of local fare. So he had taken her to a cozy little eatery going by the unlikely name of "Mama Mia". They had both had a good laugh at the incongruity of an Italian restuarant serving Indian cuisine. Neshe had explained that fancy European business names were an ageless fashion with Indians.
Long grained aromatic white rice, lentils, grilled chicken and a vegetable Thalee made up the meal. Snama was particularly enchanted by the Thalee, a large circular tray of burnished copper, in which sat eight little bowls of different fried and steamed vegetables, with a set of seven smaller bowls of various chutneys and condiments making up a smaller circle within. Neshe told her Thalee literally means plate in hindi and punjabi.
The service was excellent, responsive yet unobtrusive. The decor, neither Italian nor Indian, was purely functional, but asethetically so. Whoever had done it had an eye for detail and knew his business well. The ambience exuded a warmth and hospitality, and this made the time spent there quite pleasant.
The theatre was a total constrast. Red and Gold dominated the place, to the point of being gaudy. The box was a cozy little affair, for four but reserved for two. The play, depicting an episode in the Ramayana. Snama was enchanted by the colourful, quaint costumes. The dialogue was delivered in rather loud tones. The make up, usually guache, almost obscured the expressions of the performers, who made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in finnesse. The music, the choreography and some of the songs, however, were unabashedly artistic, conveying moods and emotions beautifully. Snama became totally engrossed in the unfolding spectacle before her, oblivious even of the man sitting beside her.
While she watched the play, he watched her.
So immersed was she in what was unfolding before her that she did not even notice Neshe getting up from her side, and sitting down down the low wall of the box, from where he could observe her entire visage, as it continued to present a kaliedoscope of changing emotions.
When the climax arrived, the ordeal of Sita by fire, Snama was almost transfixed, her breathing imperceptible, her face composed, only the pupils of her saphire eyes betraying what was going on in her heart. The rise and ebb of the tide of molten blue fire told Neshe everything.
He was enchanted anew.
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