Turkish Delite

Nobody paid much attention to the singer and the drummer belting out Arabic ballads in the corner. As soon as a song ended, a few people would wipe their greasy fingers on napkins, politely clap and return to their dinners, clearly savoring the lamb kebabs and tabbouli more than the band in the background.

The star of the evening had yet to rise. Patrons bided their time drinking Pepsi and dipping pita bread in creamy hummus.

Mom was at the Turkish restaurant with a few girlfriends on a night out, and the women sat on low benches, next to a table of booze-swigging, leering Turkish men, who clearly did not have honorable intentions.

As the women passed random comments in Hindi about the sullen waitress who served them a bit of her attitude along with the food, the drum beat suddenly reached a crescendo, and the bead curtain in the back parted to reveal a brazen belly dancer who sashayed gracefully into the room.

The restaurant suddenly came alive. Hunched shoulders straightened, eyes lit up, appreciative gasps went around the room and the food grew cold as the brown-haired woman smiled seductively and swayed with the fluid grace of a sea anemone.

The seven women at mom’s table fell silent (a feat in itself) as they watched the ivory-skinned dancer effortlessly roll her belly in sinewy waves.

The dancer’s costume left little to the imagination, and there was so much of her to see and admire. From the rising swell of her breasts to the tattoo at the nape of her neck; from the glistening beads of sweat forming on her hips to the dangerously low-rise skirt hugging her curves, the woman was a veritable feast for the senses - her rhythmic thrusts and gentle undulations promising infinite pleasures and rapturous gratification.

Nervous men with clammy hands gingerly tucked notes into her flimsy garments as she teased them with wild pelvic gyrations. As the night grew and their drinking progressed, the lecherous Turkish men threw wads of dollar bills at the dancer and suggestively tucked notes into her groin, their fingers lingering on her skin a little longer than necessary.

The dancer stopped at mom’s table and expertly moved the muscles in her nonexistent belly, until she realized that the women were more forthcoming with their appreciation than with their money. Mom and her friends stayed until the dancing ended, despite the surly service.

“How was the Turkish food?” Anu wanted to know the next day. Before mom could reply, he rolled his eyes and exclaimed, “Oh, never mind, I know what you’ll say …”

East or West, Indian food is best!