The olive branch

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                                                          (1, 130 words)                                               

They rolled on the bed, got on top of one another, hugged and kissed. Soon afterwards, the short bursts of Nafisa’s muffled excitement melted into the dim light of the penthouse apartment of the best Port Blair club, and the night became silent. A sweet, soft, and sensuous music wafted out from a jukebox. In the cubbyhole, decorated with flowers, and fragrant with the perfume of body oils, Nafisa opened her bedroom eyes. She looked happy, confident and radiant. She got down from the couch and gathered her little dress that she wore to the club while Zoheb put on his designer loafers.  

                          “I need a long hot bath,” Nafisa purred as Zoheb undressed her. That little dress came off, the lacy lingerie too came off and an uncanny silence descended on the luxury bathroom. Soon Nafisa sat in the bathtub in her birthday suit! Zoheb picked up a rose-shaped, fragrant soap from the soap dish. They soaped each other. After some time, Nafisa came out of the tub wet and unclothed.

                           They giggled uncontrollably when they came out of the toilet. “Get ready,” Zoheb smiled after some time, standing in front of the mirror. “Oh sure!” Nafisa replied.

 After a while, Zoheb and Nafisa came out of the penthouse and walked downstairs to the dance floor where a ribbon cluster hung overhead lending a rich feel to the ambience. Nafisa’s bright red lipstick jazzed up her looks. “Red lipstick is not just powerful, it’s female,” Nafisa said. A beatific expression appeared on her face. 

                                       Character and oomph spilled out of every nook, with the night temperature balanced by the warm red lights bathing the stage. There seemed to be happiness 

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all over the Eid party and that spring had arrived and the neon lights seemed to shine brighter. Zoheb stared at the party people who were styled tip-to-toe on Eid ul-Fitr bash. The time was most certainly a very busy day at party addresses. People had stepped out to feast and party instead of traditional sit-down family meals at home. Zoheb observed that glamour was reinforced by Eid ul-Fitr dresses with tiny glittering sequins. While the silks shone bright, the stunning brocades stood out. Coral, white, pink, yellow- roses were hot favourites among the revellers.

                             Nazia, an attractively tall, graceful woman was shaking her booty just like a movie star. She was talking and moving like a teenager, scratching under her arms, checking her phone, eager for confirmation, mangling her syntax in the rush to get words out. “Hi, Nazia. How are you?” Zoheb greeted, bug- eyed but serious. She waved to him from the centre. She also had a flamboyant style sense. She was matching steps to a popular party number. Zoheb joined her in the polka as the rock band grew louder. As the dance came to an end, Nafisa gazed up at Zoheb. A glum, downcast expression appeared on her face.

                                  Skimpily dressed bells floored everyone with their locking and popping steps. Burning the dance floor at the cabaret, Nafisa spotted another kinky girl going crazy as the disc jockey churned out another popular number on request. “It’s so cool, isn’t it?” said the girl, turning towards her to reveal huge brown eyes that held the gaze, and peroxide hair that looked like it’d recently been plastered to a pillow. Her hourglass figure attracted the male gaze. Nafisa’s face had a quizzical expression. 

                                                Nafisa walked toward another reveller. “It’s all so funny! All you have to do is to point at your booty,” giggled Sirin. Her eyes expressed happiness. Even after the trendy dance number ended, her energy was still infectiously high. “The party is the 

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culmination of passion that people carry in their hearts. Basically, everything is about passion and nothing else matters,” she said.

                            A sardonic smile twisted Nafisa’s full-lipped mouth.  

              Dressed in red, Aasma, another party regular, sipped on cocktails and munched on starters while soaking in the ambience. She looked happy.

There were lots of people with jazzy dresses looking beautiful and chiselled under the neon lights. The club had also spruced up Indian- style offerings like prawns cooked with carom seeds flavoured gravy that looked nice and spicy.

 The party peeps devoured roasted meat and washed it down with Sauvignon and La Reserve served also in premier London wine bars.

The organisers aimed to spoil the guests with a special buffet. Nafisa sat out alone under a starlit-sky on the lawns of the nightclub as platters of sizzling, juicy King Tiger prawns with a tangy orange sauce arrived at her table straight from the kitchen. Zoheb seemed to have vanished without trace. A sardonic smile appeared on Nafisa’s face. Suddenly, the party looked like a nonsense drama with skimpily clad women and their follies, pretences, vanities, self-deceptions, and artificialities of conduct.

Nafisa gazed at the newly featured Swiss counter and rose up from her chair. Waiters in snow white uniforms were working swiftly. She walked toward the diner. She looked delighted to see the Id spread with preserved and marinated roast beef as the main meal. When she started to eat the beef, she looked extremely happy. The accompaniment of baked pan-fried potatoes broke the monotony of mashed and roasted variations of potatoes.

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  As the lights dimmed, smoke enveloped the floor.

                                          After some time, Nafisa left the disco premises and walked alone, briskly, down the slope into the dark, silent, night. “What happened?” Zoheb asked Nafisa in a worried tone.” “Leave me alone,” replied Nafisa, in a firm tone of voice. Zoheb walked beside her with quite light regular steps.

 The silence was deafening. The quaint street lamps lighted up houses that stood on either side of the road. The sky looked like an overturned black wok of awesomeness studded with a million dazzling stones. It threw shades on the vague houses. Soon afterwards, a light drizzle made the tree-lined roads glisten in the soft light as they headed forward. The fresh scent of the earth, the pattering of the first raindrops on the street, and the low rumble of the thunder had a strangely enchanting, soothing, and almost mesmerising effect.

Nafisa reached the sands of the sea, and Zoheb followed her. The warm sea air and the waves lapping on the sand worked like a charm. “I would like to talk to you, baby,” begged Zoheb. “Don’t call me baby,” snapped Nafisa.“Well, what can I say, you know, Nazia’s husband is on virility pills,” whispered Zoheb. “Oh no! That’s awful!” squeaked Nafisa, putting her hand on Zoheb. As Nafisa kissed Zoheb’s neck and lips, the sun rose over the Bay of Bengal in a spectacular spectrum of shades.

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