35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

180
EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
turn in circles before me, asking what I thought of this or that
outfit. When outfit, hair, and make-up finally coalesced into
something she deemed tolerable, we descended to the lobby, taking
tiffin in the Shamiana, a huge coffee shop designed to look like a
billionaire’s tent – then often went no farther than one of the many
exotic boutiques on the lavish white marble floor.
These boutique owners welcomed Debbie reverently, behaving
as if the queen of England had just materialised. They would
produce chairs, send minions off for tea or fruit juices, and present
their wares like oblations to a conquering deity. I never saw her
leave a shop without buying another three-pound chunk of silver
in the form of a bracelet, or some gold and ruby brooch, necklace,
pin, or ring, or ordering another outfit to be made from handembroidered
silk so gorgeous you could have framed it just as it
was. The day she told the Taj vendors she was leaving, many had
real tears welling up in their dark eyes. But, she added after a suitable
pause, she’d be back in a month or so.
Ray, too, was greeted as Ray Sahib by all and sundry, fawned over,
offered special merchandise no common tourist would ever dream
existed. Vendors told him about fabulous jewels some financially
embarrassed nawab wished to part with anonymously, or invited him
to partake of forbidden and very secret pleasures.
An establishment located behind the Taj, named after and run by
a certain Ahmed Joo, was the most favoured of all Ray’s favourite
haunts. Beyond its unassuming exterior, past heavily curtained
doors, the store concealed a special room at the rear. It was reserved
for big spenders like Ray Sahib. Mint tea or cardamom coffee were
served beside soft and monstrous armchairs, hookahs were proffered,
with dark, oily tobacco marinated in molasses smouldering upon
glowing charcoals, and items never on display were reverently borne
from locked cabinets and gently extracted from ancient cases, the
aged velvet covers that enshrouded them oh-so-slowly peeled away
until these rare and precious articles could be appreciated in silent
awe.
Ahmed Joo himself, a dignified and elegant old Muslim pukka
sahib, supervised these rituals, deriving as much pleasure from the
treasures he displayed as his customers doubtless did. Treasures