Salma's Sexual Evolution Continues

This time of the year, he was in England. Under his absence, the members who are also part of his vox populi group, manage the library, an orators club started by him a decade ago. The books in the library ranged from any subject one could imagine under the sun like Fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, and psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, and Classics, etc.

She headed towards the library, which took 2-3 min to reach. When she finally entered the library, the old man at the checkout gave her a weird look. She looked more like a party animal than those regular geeks. However, there wasn't any specific dress code at the library. The library is mostly open until midnight. Most of the people who hang around after 9:00pm are the intellectual zombies. It was Thursday and the vox populi was about to begin. The library was virtually empty, with a couple of women engrossed in reading and giving her those weird looks.

She displayed her membership card and directly headed towards her favorite section, Feminism. Salma wasn't a feminist but she was interested in women-related issues. It was a pretty conservative atmosphere inside the library, it almost seemed like the old Victorian style of interiors. There was a beautifully designed rug spread across the floor and around three or four low-seated nursing chairs in the corner, placed before the coffee table. The coffee table appeared to have been made in England during the late Victorian era.

There were plenty of chairs placed near the bookshelves to create a reading area. The windowpanes had stained glasses mounted. There was a boardroom on the next floor where the vox-populi sessions took place. The library still possessed the aura of the bygone British Raj.

Professor Gordon inherited a lot from his ancestors, both culturally and materially. His great-grandfather was a British officer stationed in the Sec'bad cantonment area. The place was then under the Nizams, who always maintained their sovereignty because of their close alliance with British Raj.

Salma pulled out a book by the name "Post colonial critique" from the shelve written by Gayatri Spivak, who was a postcolonial Marxist --Feminist. It was quite ironic to find a book on Post colonialism in these settings, which resonated a colonial past.

She then sat on one of those draped chairs. Slowly, Vox populi members started entering. Some newcomers gave her a weird look while passing by. The old members ignored her. It was more of an intellectual pursuit for them. It was half past five, Salma was engrossed in the book, and the session at vox populi started.

At 6:00pm, Nitin walked in. That made her nervous. He squeamishly looked at her, greeted her, and quickly went to the first floor to attend the meeting. This was strange, she never knew that Nitin was a part of vox populi. The image of his naked body and exposed erection was fresh in her memory.

With in half an hour, he again walked down and left the library for a smoke. When he entered again, this time, he walked towards her. This made her apprehensive. He looked quite rustic with those long curly hairs spread across his forehead. He greeted her again and said, "How you doing? Which book are you reading?"

She shifted her position with smile on her face, slightly moving towards the right; locking her legs replied, "Post colonial critique". He then sat beside her.

Well, being a former professor of philosophy and a maverick got him interested in the subject; and off course her dress, but somehow he had a different view on colonial British Raj. Nitin never considered British Raj to be a bane as it really facilitated in removing the caste system, and shattered the upper caste hegemony.

This irked Salma, as she was quite liberal and never had any negativity towards upper caste Hindu. Many of her close associates were Brahmins and her good friend Sonia was a Punjabi Brahmin. None of them had any sort of caste superiority. They were quite enlightened and critical of any right-wing agenda.

"Caste system still exists", he said with a grave look on his face.

He then narrated his sordid tale of discrimination and marginalization. Coming from a lower caste Dalit family, he faced discrimination from his colleagues when he joined as a lecturer of philosophy. The head of the department was a Brahmin with intense caste feeling and he was responsible for his rustication. He was quite instrumental in getting him booked by police for seducing an upper caste Brahmin girl who was a student, in spite of the fact that the relationship was consensual.

He then narrated the humiliation he faced by police and how his parents faced discrimination by some upper caste people living in his neighborhood. He was beaten and verbally abused. Professor Gordon rescued him, the only messiah who injected in him the much-required self-esteem and helped him to come out of the victim mentality.

Salma felt apologetic for her ignorance and never had she thought that there was this undercurrent of caste-based discrimination involved. She felt bad and disgusted. It was obvious why he was so vindictive towards upper caste. The incident he narrated was enough to redeem himself.

Truth disarmed her of inhibition. She was quite open to discussing anything with him now. Her perception changed. Everything about morality seemed like a social construct. She could now empathize with him, as she was a victim of marginalization from her ex husband's in-laws. They tried to force religion, custom, and dress code but she was able to emancipate herself from all the dogmas imposed by theocratic culture. After her divorce, she turned more spiritual and less religious.

Salma was getting sporadic attention from a couple of members while everyone around was dutifully minding their business. However, the conversation would never disturb or distract anyone around. One Anglo Indian woman at the canteen counter would occasionally eavesdrop.

She glanced at Nitin and noticed that he was taking sly looks checking out her legs and thighs. The black mini-skirt was loose at the thigh. Anyone from the opposite end could easily get a peek of her inner thigh. Any shift in position would expose the danger zone. She kept her legs locked, guarding the forbidden area.

Nitin was sitting beside her. She crouched low, which slightly lifted her skirt, exposing a good amount of thigh and giving a good view of her cleavage. He was paying more and more attention to her legs and thighs and she was enjoying the attention, not bothered.

He then offered her a cup of coffee, which she gleefully accepted. They made their way towards the coffee table. She felt slightly hesitant to sit on those low nursing chairs. It would be a little difficult to adjust her skirt. He got some coffee and she sat with her legs stretched forward and crossed while seated on the low chair. She leaned forward to get the cup, which rode her skirt up exposing quite a bit of thigh. She was thrilled as he was trying to sneak a peek without getting caught. The bulge was clearly visible from his tight jeans.

She uncrossed her leg while easing forward, knowing very well that her skirt would ride up. She pulled her legs back making a tiny space between her knees. It was evident from his flushed cheeks that he got a glimpse of her dark bush this time.

No one was watching her and even if they did, she wouldn't have been bothered. She kept thinking of Nitin and his exposed dick, which she saw a couple of weeks ago. The masturbation episode was indeed getting her hot. It rekindled her memory and felt the same nervous energy penetrating her body when she saw him masturbate in the narrow lane from the kitchen window. This time, she was merely returning the favor. Nitin, on the other hand, was delighted to get a view of that hairy pussy. His perception about her being an uptight girl changed radically. He always had an image about her like those of an art movie parallel cinema actress. This slutty side of her was a revelation.

They returned to their original place after finishing the coffee. Nitin rushed to the club, stating that he had to give oath to a new member. In 15 min, he inaugurated the new member, which ended the session, and all the members of vox populi were leaving one by one. The meeting room was empty in no time. It wasn't a regular meeting, only board members meeting to decide potential members with good oratory skills.

When every member left, he again returned to Salma. She immediately asked him about vox populi. Nitin gave a detailed explanation of this place. The objective was to forward an individual's intellectuality. Every Sunday, people from all occupations come and meet to talk, debate, discuss, about various events happening around. The discourse included subjects as diverse as currents affairs, history, academics, economics, literature and, of course, philosophy.

He then said that she would love this place and poked her saying that she would look hot at the podium in a miniskirt, a real turn on for the geeks.

This time she was sporting. With a naughty smile on her face, she said, "It would unnecessarily jeopardize the session, and I don't want to be the reason."

Nitin reacted, stating that it would rather be an impetus for the new comers to visit more and be regular to the club.

She replied acrimoniously stating that, she did not want to be a sexual object, and let the geeks find someone else.

Salma was no more a novice, she knew the power of being a discreet flirt, and a selective exhibitionist. She chooses her targets carefully.

Nitin apologized to her, and they resumed their normal conversation.

It was almost seven-thirty in the evening and the temperature was dropping, it was getting slightly cold and windy outside. There were chances of a power cut. Salma found the book quite interesting at the same time complicated with plenty of philosophical jargon and she wanted to take it home. Nitin, on the other hand, was once again searching for a topic to discuss, and he asked about her Islamic identity and the challenges she is facing being a liberal Muslim women.

This time he hit the nail on the head; it was an identity issue for Salma. She then spoke of her married life, and how her rich husband turned into a fanatic who started coercing her to follow religion and wear veil.

He then asked her opinion on Hijab.

Her views on dress code were clear. It was Pro-choice. Let the woman decide what she wants to wear. She hated objectification and being a sexual object for men's pleasure. She loved the attention but hated men who tease and pass lurid comments on girls in skimpy dresses. People who are against hijab are as much wrong as the traditionalists who impose Hijab. They are two extremes.

She then stated that wearing Hijab does not make a woman purer or any better than the one who wear miniskirt, and Muslim women want to be left alone, they have recently been dragged into unnecessary controversy and debates related to Hijab, modernity and religious extremism. The so-called liberals and secularist are of no help. No dissent is allowed from the women's end, and the so-called liberals are too politically correct, which tends to favor the religious zealots.

Her message was crystal clear. She didn't want to be labelled as a rebel who defied her religious identity. It was a choice that she made to break away from organized religion and carve her own destiny. She didn't want to impose her views on other women.

He then asked why women should cover themselves and wear loose garment like Hijab?

She gave a detailed explanation that clothes are worn as the climate at that certain place at that certain point demands it. The long flowing robes are the need of living in the desert. They shield the skin from the sun and allow air to reach the body. They are loose fitting to prevent immediate sweat evaporation so that the body does not dehydrate quickly in the very dry air.

Covering the face in desert gives protection from sun and keeps the sand out of the mouth. The same clothes also keep the people warm at night and in winter in desert.

Nitin was impressed with her rational explanation. That removed many misconceptions on Muslim women and their attires.

She was enjoying the conversation. He was probably the first person, in many years, who asked some relevant questions about her personal life and made a sincere effort to understand her situation. He was in fact quite open-minded and wasn't judgmental. He had no preconceived notions about a woman's character and never attempted to categorizing women as sluts or chaste.

He seemed like someone who believed in giving space and not imposing himself. It was eight pm; there were few people around who kept glancing at her. To avoid attention, he suggested hanging around in boardroom on first floor. The vox populi meeting was over. Without any hesitation, she agreed.

She could feel her breast bouncing freely under her V-neck wrap top shaking the protruding cleavage as she walked towards the room. Her nipples tightened up as she was wondering what he was up to. It seemed like the two marginalized souls are entering an unknown, mysterious world.

They felt a lot in common this time, and had a lot to share. The room was not so large and just renovated and painted a day before. In the center there was a walnut veneer boardroom table which was neat and shiny, with a dark finish. In the extreme right corner, a pedestal lecturn was placed. The room was clean and the chairs were spread across the table. As they entered, the room emanated a strong odor of a newly painted wall. She immediately covered her face and sneezed. Nitin quickly opened the windows for fresh air. He then switched on the lights and fan.

They sat on the chairs around the table opposite to one another; she still had her face covered with handkerchief because of the strong odor. It took a few minutes for the room to become breathable.

They started meandering from one topic to another. In between, they would gossip about people living in the colony. She was surprised to find out about the secret lives of many women in the neighborhood who often portrayed an innocent persona in public, but the erotic sides of their personalities were interesting.

He then spoke about traditional housewives from conservative households, bored with their daily household chores. They are often desperate. From childhood, they are raised to be great mothers and wives. They are loving and compassionate and expected to be a selfless housewife. However, after a period this unrealistic rigid morality and the draconian double standards take a toll on them, and they say, "Enough!"

Many women have to lead an isolated life because their husbands are abroad; they have to take care of the kids and family in the absence of the spouse. This physical isolation would often lead them astray. Many Hijab women, whose husband has left for the Middle East to earn, often engage in extramarital affairs. He vituperated Marwari women, and accused them of engaging in extramarital affairs with their servants and drivers. The maligning had the undertone of upper caste hatred.

The story of Aisha especially interested her. She wore Hijab and covered herself fully. She was modest, an ideal housewife and a great mother. One day, her Husband got a lucrative offer to work in a Saudi Arabian pharmaceutical company. In haste, he left and for a couple of months never bothered to contact her. The physical isolation and rearing of two children as a single mother took a toll on her. She got a letter after several months that he married a Bangladeshi woman and, over the phone, divorced her by reciting 'Talaq' three times.

He never visited India because of the fear of getting entangled in legal issue. She could legally defend her rights and fight against the triple talaq rule. She was alone and frustrated, but her education rescued her. A commerce degree and fluency in English enabled her to get a job in an international call-center.

Despite the physical stress, graveyard shifts, mundane nature of job and low status of being a call-center worker, she was still satisfied and enjoyed her work. The wages she earned enabled her to experience a newfound freedom and autonomy. The exposure to western culture and nightlife soon changed her perspective.

Aisha started wearing skimpy outfits under the veil to show her dissent, and those tight, sexy abayas, which accentuated her buxom boobs and endless legs. She stopped covering her face, but covered her head to maintain the traditional demeanor inside the colony. This dark beauty with big brown eyes and dark brown hair, very Arab looking, was all set for an adventurous life. The wonderful asset she possessed was a gift of her ancestors who came from Arabia and settled in India for more than a century.

The call-center job gave her decent money but not enough to support her child's education in good school. The struggle to pay for a good education was difficult. Her mother took care of the kid, but being the sole breadwinner was challenging. She could no more fall into the traditional role of being a fulltime mother. That was when good fortune smiled at her. She met her college friend Karima.

Karima was half-Moroccan and Indian. She was a reputed and an established belly dancer making fortune in conducting workshop and classes on belly dance. She was expert in Raqs sharqi, a belly dance meaning 'dance of the near east', and always considered Aisha to be a natural dancer. Karima wanted her to take up dancing for some extra pocket money in college days. Aisha did learn the hip drops and belly rolls but never mastered the dance completely. She never wanted to perform because of religious obligation and conservative upbringing, which became a hindrance to master the art.

However, destiny embellished with good fortune and the serendipity of meeting Karima changed her life. At 25, she was at the crossroads of her life, to either struggle as a call-center employee or to try her luck in this new arena. She had a mentor in Karima, ready to help her, teach her, and fine-tune her skills.

She specially conducted the classes for her late in the nights before the login time. That didn't disturb her job. She showed great energy and enthusiasm, and very soon, she was able to learn musical interpretation, emotional expression, Middle Eastern nuances, and stage presentation.

It was tough balancing work and practice in the beginning. However, her determination and persistency helped. In a few months, she became a part of her dance group, which was an apprenticeship for her. In the next two years, she was confident enough to give solo performances and earn money out of it. Besides the monetary benefits, belly dancing also inspired her and guided in accepting feminine qualities and sensuality. It increased her awareness of her body, not only in the possibilities of movement, but also in how to care for it, love it and dress it. She was denied all of the possibilities previously, due to her strong affiliation with culture and religion. Necessity gave her the opportunity to experience them once again.

Initially as a budding artist, she performed some sexy, erotic, topless belly dance at private parties to earn big money. Her shimmy movements mesmerized the audience and it ensured her only claim to fame.

She quit erotic dance after making a name for herself, and started performing in metropolitan cities at an exorbitant rate and even taking part in international events in rich Middle Eastern countries Dubai, Bahrain western countries like U.S, France, and Spain. Her innumerable affairs with business tycoons and politicians marked her rise on the social ladder.

Many conservatives called her 'Aisha, the slut', by accusing her of running a house of ill fame. But they never offered her any help when she was in genuine need. The double standard was apparent.