I sat back in my seat and pondered my surroundings. It was almost one am, and we were sitting in a open air bungalow as the cool fresh night air gently breezed through our hair, sitting outside, post curfew, at the Royal Orchid Hotel. Here, the town's trend setters brazenly violated the local post 1130 PM ban of alcohol consumption and ban on live music, as the glow of the moon cast long shadows on the heir and heiresses to tomorrow's promise.
It was a small yet distinct crowd, with people from all over the globe, Pakistan, England, South Africa, Holland and other exotic locales.
But despite the relative deluge of modern and attractive women there, all eyes were set on our small table. There we sat with our newest friends, whom we had arrived with just about thirty minutes earlier, from an equally posh hotel lounge.
There were four of them, dark haired beauties, all from Tehran, here on holiday. Each of them more beautiful than the next, they were each dressed like the Persian princesses they were, their dresses worthy of praise even if attending the Oscars. Long and beautiful, they were made from the finest silks of the Middle East and conservatively hugged their bodies; and the dark red lip stick of one was outdone only by the piercing eyes of another.
I thought back to the social scene I had left behind just two weeks ago in Sarasota, Fl, and how foreign this place was to it.
What had been common back home; drinking Bud Light and watching the Devil Rays, had been seamlessly replaced by the soothing sounds of our private (and illegal) live gutarist, the stars in the sky, and the company of new friends, all set within the confines of the most luxurious hotel one might hope to encounter.
We chatted politics and laughed about stories of our mutual escapades - a similar experience we might have had in Roma, or our disdain for food in mainland China. My attempt to learn a few words of Farsi kept them entertained for sometime, as they laughed at my ineptitude, but appreciated my effort.Our conversation even turned serious, discussing implications and interpretation of Sharia law, and I asked delving questions about their ability to be 'a modern Muslim woman,' . They had interesting questions about back home in the United States, and I too had questions about Tehran. I asked what life was like, and the excitement of them to share their stories with us warmed the entire group and enlightened both Jeff and me to the realities constraining the people of an entire land.
As I intently listened to their tales, I leaned back in my chair, and sipped by drink. The night was cool; much cooler than in Florida, and the stars were bright. I looked around and my surroundings, the opulence of the location, the beauty of the locale, and the diversity of the present company.
The euphoria of the relaxation and comfort I felt, mixed with the knowledge I had no where to be, no one to call, and nothing to worry about was overwhelmingly soothing. I was just enjoying myself in Bangalore, drinking in the moonlight, learning about new places and new cultures, without a care in the world.
"This is what I want my life to be like one day," I pondered to myself, as our friends chatted in Farsi.
then, it only took a moment, but I came to the realization.
this
is what my life is like.
-Zak
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