Undisguised

Photo by Lensmatter

The Flash Fiction below was written in response to a Write Edit Publish prompt for October 2023. The prompt is Phantom of the Opera, a musical whose story and music I love. I decided to do something a little different with the prompt and write it in the voice of an anti-hero. The link with Opera is the Kathakali dance form from Kerala. If you want to know more about it, you can read here.

I’m adding a warning because there have been WEP readers who didn’t like sexual content, this is not erotica but there is mention of sex and potentially offensive thoughts about women.

TAGLINE: A self-satisfied man immerses himself in his needs.

And now, to the story.

UNDISGUISED

by Kalpana Misra

I’m pleased at what looks back at me. I check my reflection in the mirror of the airport washroom. Regular features; a bit of a beard; hair styled in smooth waves; my head reaches the top of the mirror. I’m 6 feet tall. This may be the reason for the appreciative glances from women. I invariably return the look. There’s always one thing at least to appreciate in every woman. 

Head office is sending me to Kerala to conduct a training.  I’ve always wanted to go to Kerala. There’s something sensual about all those gently waving palm fronds; sultry rivers, the famous backwaters ; the glowing caramel skins of Mallu girls. I head to the plane and God’s Own Country full of lithe women with pert breasts and cheeky mouths. 

In the plane I find the stewardesses disappointingly unMallu. They’re perfectly groomed, glamorous with pleasingly tight costumes stretched across their jaunty backsides. I have an aisle seat, chosen so that I can watch them go about their duties, signalling to each other with their eyes, barely tamping down their irritation as they handle passengers firmly. They’re like kindergarten teachers but not as kind. Fantasies float unbidden to the fore interrupted by thoughts of the girl. She was a kindergarten teacher, both firm and kind. 

I wonder idly where she is now. I haven’t heard from her since I told her I had to marry within my caste. Also, (this I didn’t tell her) I decided not to marry her the day she slept with me.  I wanted my wife to be pure when I married her.  

 Was Renu really a virgin when we married? My thoughts are unusually sexual today. I put it down to my anticipation of the balmy sea breezes of Kerala. And the hope of some extramarital sex. I think of the kindergarten teacher in bed quickly chasing away the thought. Bed is such a small part of marriage. Renu makes good food, knows our caste traditions and there are always the out of town trainings. 

I download Bumble again. 

In Kochi I make hasty enquiries about Kathakali  dance performances. I usually do things fast. It’s part of my dynamic personality. Renu is also happy that I’m quick in bed, hehe. I don’t believe all that stuff on the internet about women wanting men to take a long time. That hasn’t been my experience at all. They seem to be quite happy to get it over with. Suits me. 

I don’t want to see the traditional Kathakali – it goes on all night for god’s sake and that too in a dust field. I’ll take the shorter version, any day. The hotel has a performance planned for us in their cool lawns, mosquito coils against the pests. 

I heard a hotel guest wearing handloom (always a dead give-away as to their leftist politics and over intellectualisation of everything) comment to a beleaguered husband how they could be anywhere in the country instead of in Kerala. She wanted to watch the authentic dance. She didn’t get her way, they were at the hotel performance where she wore another shapeless handloom thing in a different colour. I wonder what she’s like in bed. 

After the first striking visuals of that huge painted green face and the puffed out skirts it became a little dull. They tried to keep up the tension with some hectic drumming but all the guy (it’s always men who dance) did was wiggle his eyebrows. That was impressive and I get that he was trying to convey emotions through all that eyebrow dancing and some  additional hand mudras (I did a quick google search so I know all about it) but it was pretty boring.

 I slipped out to the bar after half an hour, watching the bar hostesses in their sleek sarees, rejecting Renu’s calls for about an hour until it seemed less of a nuisance to have the obligatory ten minute exchange of information about our day. I told her how interesting the Kathakali performance was, how nicely the palm fronds swayed in the breeze, the taste of the spicy fish cooked in leaves, thinking all the while how I could dictate a tourist brochure blind. 

I glanced at Bumble. None of the women had responded to my overtures so I went to my room, watched some porn on my laptop and took care of my horniness. 

Photo by John Brew

The green paint on my face had taken me hours to apply. I had slipped into the wide petticoats, red and white and now stood behind the green, red, white and black satin curtain stitched together geometrically. The head dress added to my stature as the main dancer. I practised a few eyebrow wiggles. No, no, the dancers can dance for an 8 hour unrehearsed performance. I was doing it wrong. No practising. The drama of the drums began, the audience hushed, the two bare chested men in  lungis lowered the curtain at an agonisingly slow pace as I stood behind the curtain. Who was I today? I couldn’t remember if we were doing the tragic love story of Nal Damyanti or something from the Mahabharata. Ramayana, I heard the whispers. Ohh lovely – I was Ram then – I would be making heroic faces. ‘Ravana, Ravana’ went the whispers. It couldn’t be. I wasn’t a monster. How was I playing Ravana? I turned to leave the stage, catching sight of my green face in a mirror. Yes. The nose was white. I was a demon. The curtain bearers and drummers wouldn’t let me leave. Years of experience made me turn and face my expectant audience. I launched into the demon’s dance. I threw myself into my performance. I was Ravana. Not Ram. 

I became aware that I was lying on the bed nude. It was a dream then. But do I want to be the virtuous Ram? I am Ravana and it suits me. 

ENDS 

985 Words