8.2 Underthings

On a Tuesday it was, Club Rehendi was set again to perform at LH and Muaz was told to stay out of it. He did not want to be in it in the first place. To keep out of it, he decided not to argue.

That day, Bandiya girls gathered on Marine Drive in their casual clothes, bell-bottoms, skirts and tops, by one in the afternoon. As Muaz suspected, there were very few guests at the resort, girls could go early and enjoy a moment with the boys on the beach and in the water. And that was the plan.

The dancers arrived at the resort and they were accommodated in five bungalows. Then summoned to an open buffet in the staff area, draped in white and neatly decorated with sea hibiscus flowers.

Shortly after lunch, the girls started to crack the boys. Some pulled their tops and shook their tits at them. Soon the boys were passing them cigarettes.

Then they took an afternoon swim in the water. They brought all their necessities. Farida tried to lift a windsurf sail holding her balance on a surfboard. The moment it lifted from water she ended upside down. It was not that easy on a first time.

An evening show for the guests took place at the bar after dinner. And just like that the show ended within an hour and fallen silent.

Then around eleven-thirty, all the dancers were lined up in front of the bungalows. It was indeed a very dark night.

The staff mess was prepared for the show. Walls covered with coconut fronds and linoleum placed on the floor. The dancers’ gear placed in two rows. Few allowed inside and they were the most senior bunch. A lot of Malé Office staffers were present. Others were not restricted from watching threw the windows although nobody was allowed to take photographs. This hall lit in dim lights in an orangish glow.

The dancers appeared wrapped in white towels and ushered to the floor. Each wore a garland of plumeria white flowers stringed on a thread around the neck and a red hibiscus on the hair. A loud applause kicked in air. It was hot inside.

The show began and the girls performed topless. Each dancer wearing her own piece of jangiya of her own choice. Apparently, they were in many colours and many sizes. Mostly, panties they wore were V-cuts exposing the bums from the rear. There did not exist many other types of lingerie those days. Every dancer wore her silver girdle around the hip. Now and then a flashbulb flicked the hall like lightning. Despite those ceiling fans, they were damp in sweat.

A forty-minute show that Majid organised with Farida Ikhtak who settled for the sum of money offered; five thousand rufiya – ten times his pay.

 

Immediately after the show, on the very next day Muaz knew what happened at the resort. It became more revealing when this happened; “Don’t show to anybody,” whispered Majid, “I stole this film from Hassan’s camera. We advised all the staffers not to bring cameras but some did. He secretly took these pictures. Now get it developed and bring the photos and the film to me.”

Muaz developed the film from a studio opposite to the Olympus Theatre. Studio Manager probed, “Is this yours?”

Muaz replied, “Belongs to my boss.”

“Who is your boss?”

“Mister Majid at Club 33.”

He nodded, “Do carefully return to your boss.”

Muaz came out and bought a lolly from a street boy and paused in front of the studio to take a little peek. Meanwhile, two guys pasted a huge poster on the wall of the Olympus Theatre for an upcoming film.

Muaz came home and stashed one set of photos that he made underhandedly. He paid for two sets. Then he took the other set to Majid.

“Did you make a copy?” Majid asked.

“No sir,” replied Muaz.

“I know I can trust you,” he dropped a sigh, “Do not breathe a word! Remember! Hassan must not know I keep these. Take a look!”

Muaz in a gesture of faking his deception picked the photos and glanced at them. Those photographs with black backgrounds were overexposed and sweaty bodies illuminated in the orange light. Most of the shots out of focus but few clear pictures and close-ups as well. Those were colour photographs. Again, a recent introduction in the country. Those faces caught on camera showed how shy the girls felt first time to pose topless – blushful faces and eyes closed.

 

A week later, he came across Niyaz, “Hey Madiri! I have seen you with those Bandiya dancers. What is going on there?”

“I am a contractor,” he bragged, “We do five…six resorts a week.”

“Wow! Is this your dance group?” asked Niyaz.

“Yeah! Do you want to book them?”

“I do not have a resort,” chuckled his friend, “but a month ago, I thought you said you were taking that girl to cinema!”

“Right. Her name is Kish,” he tapped his crown, “She’s a little crazy here. Do you want to date her?”

“A Bandiya girl!” he choked, “Madiri! Those girls are sluts! You know better! I will never sleep with one of them. Besides, I can get many girls, beautiful girls, young and school-going.”

“They are not prostitutes,” Muaz protested, “It’s your weak point because you are stubborn. You have not found the pleasures on earth.”

“Huh!” he sighed, “Pick any island chic, dress her up, remove her kandiki and libas, put powder on her face and little makeup…she looks great.”

“I have a picture. They look much better.”

“Show me!”

“It’s at home.”

Thirty minutes later, Niyaz sat examining those photographs, “Who is this?” He held a full pose snap of a dancer holding sticks, leaning to the right, shot from the left, her garland slipped and two swooping breasts lit in orange light on a grainy print, a naked leg and a girdle on the hip.

“She is Sawsan, their lead singer. Sometimes she dances,” explained Muaz.

“Can you give me this picture?”

“That is the best card.”

“You have plenty,” he said, “Give me a photo!”

“Sawsan has a kid,” Muaz told him.

“How about this?”

“She’s Huda. A relative of mine.”

“And this…also a relative?”

“Nasha. She’s an excellent dancer. Keep it!”

“Is she married?”

“She was.”

“But you must give me that.”

“Sawsan!” he passed the best card, “Keep it!”

“Thanks, my friend. You are living hell on earth!”