The Indian Mistress

The venue was breathtaking, with a kaleidscope of colour and man size statues of gods and goddesses sprayed and hairbrushed with hues of gold, silver and streaks of pink and purple. Beads of dew like sweat bubbles snail trailed down Rekha's blushed cheeks, diluting her makeup. Carefully dabbing her face with baby soft tissue she exited the ladies cubicle and approached the saree clad waitress. Sipping on a glass of chilled bubbly she perused her surroundings. Middle aged men and women intoxicated with a spicy home made brew danced and jigged like nutjobs in an asylum. The younger generation were either tongue locked in a corner or their hands were exploring each other without inhibitions. Raw mirth sounded more like cackles of quacking ducks and screaching hyenas. Rekha thought chimps and monkeys left loose in a circus zoo. Seems the ringmaster is yet to make an appearance. A megaphoned voice boomed. " ladies and gentleman please welcome our host and hostess Mr and Mrs Pather."