Straightening Ali (13 page)

“
That’ll be six pounds fifty,” the driver said, turning to Haseena.

“
I’ll get that,” Ali said, taking out a ten-pound note from his wallet.

“
Shut up, Ali, I’m paying,” Haseena said, pushing his hand away.

“
Okay, as long as you let me pay to get us into the club,” Ali said. They both got out of the taxi and queued up outside with the rest of the clubbers to pay their ten pound entry fee. Before long, they were inside.

The nightclub was like an immense labyrinth, sprawling under several disused or partially occupied office blocks. If you took a wrong turn by mistake, it was easy to get lost inside. When you walked through the club doors, there was a small bar to the left. A corridor then took you to a large bar and the main dance floor, which had bright disco lights beaming down from the ceiling like the stage from
Top of the Pops
. There were also some UV light panels running along the back walls. Men in tight white T-shirts danced in front them giving out an eerie glow from their outfits.

A further set of double doors by the bar took you through to another dance floor. This was mainly used by the lesbians and had a pool table situated in one corner for them to use. Ali had rarely seen a gay man play pool in there. The club also had its own diner that served food until two in the morning. It was a great place to go, but it was rumored that it was moving to another location a few streets away.

The nightclub hosted different themed nights, and tonight, they had posters up for a Bollywood themed night.

“
They have your favorite DJ on tonight,” Haseena said taking her jacket off and handing it to a large female cloakroom attendant.

“
Who? Not DJ Pixie?” Ali asked excitedly, passing his own jacket to the cloakroom attendant who put it with Haseena’s and generously charged for the one.

“
That’s the one. I think she’s doing the Bollywood music,” Haseena said.

“
That’s fantastic,” Ali exclaimed, his earlier misgivings evaporating. He loved the music at the Nightingale, however, this particular DJ was the best and played some of the funkiest tunes around. A relaxing blend of urban and Indian vibes mixed cleverly to create a beautiful ambience. Ali didn’t know the DJ’s name and wasn’t brave enough to ask her, so had instead nicknamed her “DJ Pixie.”

Ali imagined her to be a lost pixie princess who’d forgotten her origins. The DJ was petite like Haseena, with small delicate pixie-like features, a small stubby nose and elfin ears. She had an air of silent mischief about her and seemed to be a bursting cauldron of creativity, hand-making rings for some of the club regulars, mixing records, and creating her own music that she sold through the nightclub. She even managed to find time to paint and display her artwork in local exhibitions. Ali had always been in awe of her.

He followed Haseena through to the main dance floor. “See, she’s here,” Haseena said, pointing out the DJ to him. “You should say hi to her. If she blanks you then you won’t have to worry about the embarrassment. It’s not like you’ll be coming back after the wedding.”

“
I don’t want to. I want her to remain mysterious and enigmatic in my memories forever,” Ali replied laughing.

“
Don’t say anything then,” Haseena said. “It’s your loss, wimp!”

“
I won’t,” Ali assured her.

“
What do you want to drink?” Haseena asked, as she squeezed herself between two beautiful women to get to the bar. She held Ali’s hand and pulled him after her.

“
I’ll have a lemonade with ice and a slice of lemon. Make sure they don’t forget the slice of lemon,” Ali said. He liked to eat the lemon at the end of his drink.

“
Have a Malibu and Coke instead. You know you love it,” Haseena said trying to tempt Ali with his favorite tipple.

“
I can’t drink tonight. You know what it does to me,” Ali said. “I can’t afford to have a massive hangover tomorrow.” He loved the taste of Malibu, but he tended to react to alcohol very quickly. Half a glass of Malibu and Coke could get him drunk within minutes, with the resulting hangover lasting for days.

“
Sorry, you’re right. You shouldn’t drink. You don’t need alcohol to have fun anyway.” She gave Ali a hug before turning her attention to the bar. She gave the blonde woman serving behind the bar a flirty look to attract her attention and managed to get served in record time. “It’s amazing what my beautiful smile can do for me,” she said laughing as she handed Ali his drink.

The dance floor had been given a radical Bollywood makeover. Incense sticks were burning in urns dotted around the room, creating a dense smoky atmosphere with a scent that reminded Ali of the local mosque. Ali shook his head at the sacrilegious comparison. The walls of the dance floor had beautiful embroidered saris in bright colors hanging on them, upon which large hypnotic shadows created by the dancers moved rhythmically.

“
It’s like a Pakistani whore’s boudoir. I love it!” Haseena exclaimed. “Let’s pretend we’re on a Bollywood movie set. I’ll be Aishwarya Rai and you can be Shahrukh Khan,” Haseena shouted over the loud Bollywood soundtrack that was being played.

“
This is my favorite,” Haseena said, sounding delighted as she recognized the starting beats of a song. “It’s called
Aap Jaisa Koi
from the film
Qurbani
. It’s from well before your time.”

“
I’ve heard it before,” Ali said. He recognized the song from when his mother used to listen to the Indian music channels on the radio while his father was out. Ali joined Haseena on the dance floor with his drink in his hand, mouthing the words to the song as it played.

It seemed that Haseena and Ali were the only Asian people dancing, which was quite normal, as it was rare to see many other Asians out and about on the gay scene in Birmingham. Ali had heard that there was a club called Kali for gay Asians in London, and it was rumored to fill to capacity every time. It surprised Ali that there were enough gay Asians to fill a whole nightclub when he’d only seen a handful since he’d started clubbing in Birmingham.

Ali danced next to Haseena but before long noticed her moving away deeper into the dance crowd. He couldn’t be bothered to follow her, knowing that she would turn up at some point. Slowly, he let himself get lost in the music.

The songs that were being played evoked memories of all the Bollywood movies that he’d watched with his mother as a young boy. It gave him a sense of what he might have given up if he hadn’t agreed to the wedding. The music helped him to recognize what the marriage offered – love, children, respect, and strong cultural values. Getting married somehow seemed to be the right thing to do.

Ali sighed to himself. He knew it was unlikely he would ever go to a club like this again after the wedding. When he’d been single, he used to go clubbing with Haseena every Friday and Saturday, and at least once during the week, usually on a student night.

He’d managed to make a few friends on the scene, but the gay scene was ever changing and very fickle, so the friendships never lasted for very long. This was the second time he’d been clubbing in over a year, and he couldn’t see any familiar faces. The only constant in the sea of changing faces was DJ Pixie.

“
Hey misery guts, what are you thinking about?” Haseena asked, shouting loudly into Ali’s eardrum and disturbing him from his thoughts.

“
Nothing,” Ali said, trying not to jump. “I was just caught up in the music and contemplating life.”

“
Well, stop it! I’ve found someone for you to talk to. This is Imran,” Haseena said, introducing Ali to what could only be described as a Pakistani man dressed as a woman. “Imran, this is Ali, the friend I’ve been telling you about.”

“
Hi, Ali, it’s really nice to meet you,” Imran said, kissing Ali on both of his cheeks.

Ali tried to hide his amusement. Imran was wearing a beautiful cinnamon red sari, with matching sandals and bangles. A bindi was stuck at the center of his forehead, just like Haseena’s, and his face was matted in foundation in an attempt to hide the dark shadow that lay beneath. However, he hadn’t bothered to do anything with his hair which was cropped short.

“
Let’s get some chips and chat in the other room,” Haseena suggested.

“
That’s a good idea,” Imran said, in his androgynous voice. He followed Ali and Haseena to the café within the nightclub. It was decorated to look like a fifties American diner with bright neon lights and posters of Elvis Presley everywhere. A small jukebox stood in a corner blasting out a fifties tune that Ali didn’t recognize. While the others found a table to sit down, Ali ordered two plates of chips to share and then joined Haseena and Imran at their chosen tables.

“
So you’re getting married on Sunday, darling?” Imran asked, as Ali put the plates down.

Ali gave Haseena a withering look, knowing that she’d discussed his wedding with Imran while he’d been ordering the chips. “Yes, I am. News travels fast, doesn’t it?” Ali said, picking up a couple of steaming chips, which he’d smothered with vinegar, and stuffed them into his mouth.

“
Don’t be like that, sweetheart. I’m married, too. It’ll be eleven years next month,” Imran said waving his wedding ring in front of Ali’s face as evidence. “What do you think of my gorgeous ring? It has three diamonds set in it. I’ve just had it valued for five thousand pounds. You know what they say, sweetheart, ‘diamonds are a girls best friend.’”

“
It’s beautiful,” Ali commented looking at the ring. However, he couldn’t help but find the ring too extravagant and couldn’t understand why anyone would spend so much money on a single piece of jewelry.

“
So, did you get married in Amsterdam?” Ali asked out of curiosity. “I know that two men can marry each other there. It’s called a civil ceremony right? I think they’re going to allow the same in England, soon.”

“
It wasn’t in Amsterdam, sweetie. It took place in Pakistan. It was an arranged marriage to my beautiful wife. The most beautiful woman you could ever meet,” Imran said.

“
What?” Ali and Haseena said united in shock.

“
You’re married to a woman? But you’re so gay,” Ali said. Realizing what he’d just said, he flushed with embarrassment. He had almost sounded like Yunus. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just surprised. I thought you were married to a man.”

“
Not to worry, sweetie. A lot of people are surprised when I tell them that I’m married. When my parents first told me that I was to marry I was so unhappy. I couldn’t believe what they were doing to me. I locked myself away for days, not wishing to talk to anyone, but my parents managed to persuade me to meet my betrothed. I’m so glad I did. It was love at first sight. From the first moment that I saw her I knew that I’d finally met my soul mate,” Imran said, gazing into the distance.

“
That’s really nice,” Haseena said, still looking and sounding puzzled.

“
You know the English say that marriage is one of the greatest institutions in the world. It is, but it has to be based on trust. Trust is the basic foundation for everything,” Imran said philosophically. “That is why I had to tell her that I preferred men sexually.”

“
She must have been devastated. What did she say? The poor thing,” Haseena said.

“
She accepted what I told her. She said ‘so what if you like men. It doesn’t stop you from marrying me.’ Women in Pakistan have such different ideas about sexuality and marriage. They are more realistic and have fewer expectations,” Imran observed.

“
I’m not sure if I could marry a man knowing that he was gay, and I don’t know any other Pakistani woman who would either,” Haseena said, disagreeing with Imran’s comment.

“
She was brought up in a small village, so she was used to seeing hidden sexual relationships between the different men in her community. Most of them were married, or if they weren’t, they always ended up getting married,” Imran said trying to explain his wife’s acceptance of his sexuality.

“
That’s interesting. So are you both happy?” Haseena asked.

“
Yes, we are. My wife and I have so much in common. Shopping, dressing up in saris, and sharing each other’s makeup. The list is endless,” Imran said.

“
That sounds wonderful,” Ali said feeling a pinch of envy. He imagined telling his own fiancée about his sexuality, but the picture that came to mind was completely different – a distraught Sajda, two irate families and a cancelled wedding.

“
Have you told your fiancée?” Imran asked, as if reading his mind.

“
No,” Ali said, shuffling uncomfortably in his chair. He reached out for some more chips and stuffed them into his mouth as if to detract from his answer.