Nuns and Tawaifs

Nuns:

She grabs my arm. It was as though her fingers had clasped my lungs shut.

I think "Oh please Tulsa be gentle! I know I am beautiful - and I know

this tight v neck makes me look like a stud ... but I am a virginal desi ...".

Tulsa the siren sings "I missed class last week can I have your notes ? I have a

disk and I can copy it quickly off your laptop".

" \\*gulp\\* they are in incomprehensible short hand ..."

"Oh Shah ... what am I to do ?"

Mind: how did she know my name? wow! she knows my bloody name! I am famous:

"Umm, But I can email you my notes, what's your number" I suck back the saliva to prevent it from slipping out of a screaming mouth ("My first number! I may get the number of a girl!") but I change my mind and opt for lower risk "... I mean your email address..."

"Here is my email - its my last name spelled backwards ..."

I stare at aslut@onebox.com and in my mind I go "wooah baby - about time you

showed up ...".

I hazard a guess : "Your name is Tuls ... a ?"

"Yes that is my last name : as in Tulsa Oklahoma ... you can call me Anna "

"Ohhhh"

We walk down towards the subway. She hears a song. She starts humming and jumping up and down. I look at her jiggling chest. I wanted to express my admiration for the way she jumped but I was afraid about appearing too interested. So I ended up looking as though I had just seen my mother naked.

"Shah I love this song ..."

"You do? I love that song too! I am obsessed with it! ... I listen to it

over and over and over and over .... again ... "

Silence.

"You know what I mean Tulsa ? like I get bored of the song and can't stand that song anymore! then I fall in love with some other song until I grow tired of the new one - and then sometimes I will hear that old song and I will temporarily fall in love again ... you know ?"

"Shah I would say some people feel that way about each other ..."

"I guess ... What are you hiding underneath your cape ?"

She reveals a box belonging to the US Postal Service.

"I want to store my mail in it ... but I can get three years for stealing

this"

"Really?" I wonder looking at her hair of gold underneath the lamp light. I stare at her nostrils- rising like the petals blowing in the wind.

"It might happen - weird things happen to me all the time"

"Weird things like what?" I ask as I am jolted out of a "weird" fantasy ...

"Well like the other day I was just drinking at a bar with a friend when my

boy friend came and just punched him out"

"Why ? Why did he do that? I don't understand men ... "

"It was so traumatic ... so I started going out with the guy who got punched

..."

"You started going out with the guy who got punched?!"

"Yeah because I liked him ..."

Yeah, but he got beaten up!

"... but then this new guy says... he tells me that I must be afraid

of touching other men because I must have been raped ... can you believe that ? maybe I should touch men more often ... do you think I am afraid of touching men ?" with these words she brushed her fingers against my arm and then proceeded to hold on to it.

"Can you believe that ?" She looks into my eyes "I just told him, I am

becoming a lesbian now guys - my life is such a drama ..."

"wow! Really?"

"I am not really becoming a lesbian"

I am speechless from the touch. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to go "No you

are nota lesbian, here touch me ! touch me everywhere".

I bless the man who made her conscious of 'not touching other men'. I decide to call the next girl a 'nun' just so that she may one day love another man and go 'Someone called me a nun once! ... can you believe that ? Am I a nun ? Maybe I should be more un inhibted, maybe I should be more loving ... maybe I should be more easy ... maybe I am too cold and hard what do you think? '.

"That is sooo weird! Men never cease to amaze me ... Anna"

I wanted to make Anna what my mother would call "One of Shahnawaz's Umrikan Tawaifs (prostitutes)". The women of America would be to my uncles "animals" who went around loving who ever they pleased- without consulting parents or padri (cleric).

I thought Anna would make a great "animal" for me. I would give her roses and I would ask her to bite my cheeks (the other cheeks) and I would ask her to suckle the soft insides of my elbows (where they always stick needles).

I would write poetry for her "Anna! your eternal Summer shall NOT fade!". I would call her every few minutes just to hear her voice.

Speaking of calling people - I do not think I have called my mother (or my uncles) for over a year. Strange.

Tawaifs:

Once upon a time my sister told A Friend "Junaid LOOKS in my direction ALL THE TIME..."

When Junaid heard about it from A Friend - Junaid pounced on me with hope in his eyes "Did she really say that Shahnawaz? Did She? Did she?"

"Don't be silly Junaid- my sister would never say such a ... a thing! You are my friend!"

"I think your sister likes me Shahnawaz"

So I slapped Junaid.

So Junaid broke my nose.

I returned home feeling victorious " ... Ammi Jaaaan! (mother dear) stop fussing over me! so what if the cartilage is poking out and everytime I breathe my nose bursts a bubble of blood ..."

"Hai mera Bacha (oh my child), Hai merey dil ka tukra (oh piece of my heart)... kyon (why?)"

"He said that MY Gulnaz said ..." and so I told them everything, "can you believe that? "

Gul was dancing to some Indian song in the drawing room. She confirmed

everything and confessed to making that statement rather shamelessly. My mouth was open for some time. Then my jaws clashed and I rubbed the blood form my nose all over my face (thanks to years of melodramatic desi "filams") screaming "You are my sister! How could you say such a thing! How could you make a fool of me !"

She ignored me and resumed dancing. I remembered my father grimace at Indian actresses dancing in movies. He used to call them "tawaif" (prostitutes) so I screamed "Gul ki Bachi (child of Gul)- stop dancing like a Tawaif! You will burn in hell ... " Gul looked at me like I had burned her Barbie Doll (which I used to do a lot) and stopped.

Last year during Mehndi (a wedding festival) Gul was the only girl who refused to dance.

I wonder if Gul will ever touch Junaid seductively on the arm and ask him "My brother called me a tawaif once ... can you believe that? Am I a tawaif ? Maybe I should be more shy, maybe I should not trust so easily ... maybe I should be more difficult ... maybe I am too warm and loving, what do you think Junaid?".

I am sorry Junaid.