Jayaraman C (1985)
It was my first flight to the place that had filled my childhood fantasies with stories of love, wisdom, and passion. The Arabian Nights still haunts me.
My friends had cautioned me: “If you are seated near any woman, especially in purdah, please change your seat.”
They gave me many such warnings: before entering any shopping mall, check whether it is reserved for families; before going to any parks, check whether you are permitted… your freedom is not determined by you.”
And they all, in one voice, cautioned and questioned: “Do you really want to let go of your freedom for money?”
But my Arabia was different.
Illustration: AI Generated
As I feared, I was seated near someone fully covered in a black veil. How could I know whether it was a woman or a man?
I called the air hostess and whispered in her ear, “I am afraid of UFOs. Can you give me any other seat?”
“UFOs?” she exclaimed, loud enough for many nearby to hear, including the Unidentified Flying Object sitting next to me. When I pointed discreetly, the air hostess closed her mouth to stifle her laughter, ran away, and hid behind the curtain near the cockpit. I could hear muffled laughter from behind the curtain… and a similar one from my right side.
The UFO started growing in size, ripped open the black veil, and I was struck by lightning that seemed to emerge from that body. I caught a glimpse: a glowing beauty in blue jeans and a lovely sleeveless top, who looked like a goddess appearing before her devotee to answer prayers.
I closed my eyes and folded my hands as if in prayer.
I felt someone softly tapping me on my right thigh… and I ogled to see beautifully polished nails attached to five long, elegant fingers. I didn’t dare look up. Then came a melodious whisper:
“What are you praying for?”
“I am praying for an abundance of blessings to this airline company, so that all seats are filled.”
This time she laughed aloud. I turned to have my first real glance at that beautiful face.
The air hostess rushed in and asked, “Ma’am, are you comfortable? We have just one business class seat vacant today. If you have any problem, I can talk to the pilot…”
“I love endangered species. I am not afraid of them,” the lady said firmly.
“Endangered species?” The air hostess seemed amused by the new terminology.
“Yeah… men with a sense of humour,” she said, mimicking my earlier gesture and pointing toward me.
This time I could hear roaring laughter from all around.
When the commotion died down and my blushing subsided, she began the conversation.
“You look like an atheist. Still, you prayed.”
“I am not an atheist; I’m agnostic. But how can someone judge that from looks?”
She snatched my mobile phone and asked, “What did you say? Agnostic? What does that mean? Let me check the dictionary.”
I was shocked and paralysed. Never expected the goddess to take such liberties! But I was forced out of my stupor when I saw her galloping into my photo gallery.
I had not deleted the “morning wishes” from my affectionate groups since I was travelling and overconfident that no one would peep into my privacy.
I snatched the phone back deftly, taking care not to make physical contact… that might have paralysed me again!
“Come on… what’s wrong if I have a glimpse of your beautiful deities?” she teased, her voice tinged with sarcasm.
“Only men are supposed to worship those goddesses,” I quipped.
“Why?”
“Because you women are not auditory or visual, rather, you are normally kinaesthetic. You won’t gain anything from watching.”
“Who taught you that, your wife?” she shot back.
“We never discuss such things.”
“Why?”
“I think you guys hate these…”
“Did you mean the entire womenfolk when you said ‘you guys’? Who taught you this? Absolute bullshit!”
I turned toward her for the second time, and saw that her face was red hot with rage. I glanced around to see what my envious neighbours and the confused crew were doing. They had only heard her last two words, and one man behind me tapped my shoulder and whispered:
“My dear friend, do you know anything about Saudi Arabian law? If you love your life, better change your seat.”
My goddess saved me from further embarrassment with a loud, disarming remark:
“Uncle, let’s stop fighting. These morons won’t understand anything.”
I lifted her hand and gave a fatherly kiss, coerced by the power of some unknown force, and leaned back with a deep sigh, marvelling at her quick-wittedness, the like of which I had never seen in any woman before.
I could almost see the faces of the fellow passengers, even with closed eyes, and that of the air hostess roaming nearby.
Oh God! How foolish we were to misunderstand this loving pair… that, I imagined, was their thought.
After that, we could talk freely. Our conversation wandered into unfamiliar terrains.
“I removed my purdah. Why don’t you remove your mask?” she asked.
I had no answer, so I shot back, “Why do you wear it if you don’t like it?”
“Who said I don’t like it? It gives me immense protection. You yourself showed it a few minutes ago, how afraid you were. I enjoy making men fear women.”
“Then why did you remove it?”
“To show you that you can’t remove your mask. You pretend to be highly ethical. Your dress, your walk, your cautious moves… everything you display through your mask is against what you really are.…I could rip off that mask to expose your pseudo-personality. If I stand up and show these pictures stored on your phone…” she paused. I could feel the warmth of her breath as she whispered into my ear, careful that no one else heard.
She raised her arms to cool herself under the AC vent and continued,
“I won’t do that. Do you know why? I’ve fallen in love with your sense of humour. And…”
There was a long pause. I didn’t move. I didn’t even blink, waiting to hear what else she would say.
“And I don’t want to lose the chance to see all these things you’ve so passionately stored in your phone, knowing I’ll never get another opportunity in my life.”
She continued, “You said we women hate it. No, we never get the chance. So we pretend to hate it. We can’t ask our friends or our spouses. If I ask you, who wears that ethical mask outside the safety belt of this aeroplane, who knows you won’t make a dirty move without my permission? It’s a universal dilemma for women from many countries. They die without ever seeing what men can freely see in this world.”
“You are encroaching on my privacy now.”
“Of course. But you can’t question that, not even when your wife does. Yet you can’t touch us without permission. You believe you’re the master… sorry, you’re not.”
“Tell me your hidden folder password and take some rest. I’ll wake you when we land.”
She kissed my cheek, pulled the blanket over me, and pulled up her purdah.
* * *