The dance of the light sabres on the canal water did little to convince Noa that they were mere reflections of neon lights. The neon signs were the signature since time immemorial. Their colour even lent itself in naming the place.
As she sat dangling her legs over the canal with a Heineken on her hand, she scanned the masses that were thronging into the lanes lining the canal. Young, old, white, black, brown, males, females, couples, singles, all with impertinent expressions laced in lust. Noa let out a sigh, an ode to how human nature never ceased to amaze her.
In one of the windows near her: “Hey, how much are you down for pretty thing?”
The middle aged Korean smiled as he moved his lips and waved his hands to get his message of interest across the glass door. The brunette in her leopard skin lingerie, hugging dearly to her skin, haughtily opened the door in a half crack and motioned him to come closer with an enticing smile.
“50 euros, one time, nothing kinky though.”
“How about 30?” he bargained.
“Find yourself another one darling.” she cackled with intended sarcasm.
He stepped back and moved forward unfazed, quite easily merging with the horde that was thronging the ‘lane of lust’. Red Light District, Amsterdam.
A bunch of girls hooted and clapped at a flushed semi bald bloke who emerged from one of the many glass doors. He had proved himself worthy, proved that he was not the same mass that gaped everywhere with wishful expressions, proved had he had indeed made a memory for a lifetime.
Hamid passed the youthful furore and let out a supressed laugh at the whole episode. ‘The thrills of being young. Clichéd, yet true.’ He thought. It reminded him of his first time and how ‘manly’ he had felt. That feeling came cheap then. Now it was more expensive made that way with professionalism and commercialism. Yet it lived up to its fancy reputation.
As he made his way, jostling towards the bridge over the canal a pair of curious eyes studied him intently. There was definite judging and labelling when they saw he carried an orthodox beard. To add to their conviction his forehead had the mark of offering the Islamic prayers, five times a day. The irony was glaring but it would be so only to those who were familiar with the contrast of an outwardly pious individual roaming in the streets of lust.
A searing pain shot through his left leg, it felt numb. A nerve injury from his young football days left him a souvenir that was going to last for a lifetime according to his doctor. He limped towards the ornate 18th century ironlamppost and took its support.
“Are you alright?” asked the girl sitting there with legs dangling above the canal.
He nodded waving his hand “Its fine. Just cramps. Need to sit down.”
He struggled to sit down with one straight leg yet he managed it due to experience. The discomfort was however not fully gone, he could feel eyes gazing intently at him or more so his demeanour.
Noa was trying to decipher him. He looked Indian or Pakistani, with brown eyes. The beard was without a moustache and was not so well groomed. A grey coat with a blue shirt neatly tucked in sufficed in the pleasant Dutch summer. That his hairwas not combed after he offered his last Namaz, was apparent through his frizzy strands playing about in the stray canal breeze. He arched his eyebrows to counter her expression, full of questions now. She hurriedly wiped it off her face and pursed her lips, gulped a quick draught from her beer and looked away.
“It’s been years since I last came here. Always makes me realize there is so much to the world.” he spoke with a smug smile.
“Yeah, tourists always say that, I am too bored anyway with It.” she put in uninterestedly.
“If you should know I am no tourist. I would prefer official visit. Tourists hardly get to familiarize themselves with a city. It takes wandering alone in the streets and hopping on trams and buses randomly to understand the soul of a city.” he retorted.
She turned to him to find, her stereotyped image of him not fitting. “It’s the people who make up the city not the places. If you get to know them, you know all you want to know about the city.”
“That’s what I am trying to do here.” he laughed.
She played along and smiled at his feeble attempt to keep the conversation going. She took out a pouch and placed three pieces of weed on a grinder with a marijuana insignia on top. Then mixed it with tobacco and rolled it expertly in an extra-large rolling paper. She twisted the top and marvelled at her craft.
“Do you have a lighter?” she looked expectantly at Hamid.
“I do.” he searched for it by tapping his coat pockets both inner and outer and then proceeded to do the same for his pants. He looked troubled.
“Damn. I must have misplaced it.” he made the sound of disappointment by letting his tongue touch the roof of his mouth. “Hatt.”
“Chill. I will get one from someone. Not a problem. Lot of stoners here.” she chuckled.
“Quite a fuss over a lighter.” she added seeing him getting up to refine his search for the fifth time, frisking himself furiously.
“It was a limited edition “Division Bell” Pink Floyd Zippo lighter. I don’t think I can get it elsewhere.” he sighed and settled down.
“So partied yet in Amsterdam?” she tried to make up for upsetting him but more so for him being a fellow Pink Floyd fan.
“Nah. Not so much of a party freak. I enjoy reflection. I am an observer not a doer.” he stated.
“Reflected ever by getting high on this?” she asked holding up her joint.
“Hahaha. Only twice maybe but the experience was mostly paranoia. The group was not apt for it. They all got lively and wouldn’t stop blabbering about how amazing it was. I felt too much preoccupied with controlling myself so that I could control them. Not a good feeling.” he replied sadly.
“I know an underestimated place by the docks. It is hardly discovered by tourists. Want to accompany me?” she offered.
“There you go. The perks of talking with the natives. I am in surely.” he beamed and brushed his pants as he got up.
—————————————————————————————————————
The tram ride was for five minutes as they reached their stop in front of the central train station. It was the confluence for all the trams in Amsterdam. A fifteen-minute walk past two bridges and the city library illuminated wonderfully to flash its fine architectural design; they reached a shack by the water. It was a 17th century guard house where one could hitch one’s boat, now was rendered into a pub by the dock which went by the name Hannekes Boom.
Tables were laid outside in the open where people were talking animatedly drunk on Dutch beer. The lights were wrapped around an old steel frame with a canopy that was probably for storage in yesteryears.
“Get that spot. I will get beers.” she said pointing towards the bay.
Hamid went forward and was surprised to find a floating ramp. He sat over the ledge running by it and supported his legs over the ramp. The NEMO science centre and the “Amsterdam” a medieval ship renovated as an attraction stood out among the city lights creating a halo behind them. The NEMO centre splashed its changing colours over the water as it bobbed the ramp up and down with waves.
A speedboat leaving a trail of foam behind it, noisily entered his view with a girl in a tank top and shorts who seemed to find warmth in the lap of a guy sporting a varsity jacket. The guy driving the boat clung onto a skinny one with a dress blown half away by the wind. They waved at Hamid frantically screaming “woooo”. An effort, which was dismissed by Noa to be one of the Americans who thought Amsterdam, was just a place to show off partying skills.
“Cheers.”, they clinked their bottles and let the chilled beer run down teasing their parched neck.
“We better light this up.” she took out the joint with glee. With the lighter she got from the pub she dragged the smoke inside her. Kept it inside for about four five seconds and exhaled. After three puffs, she passed it on. Hamid pulled at it long and strong. Bit his teeth and then inhaled through the gaps between them.
“You love this spot it seems.” he said after what seemed to be a long pause of silence for them.
“Yeah. The only place I find peace.” she took her burgundy hair, placed them on her right shoulder, and felt the breeze brush her face. It felt cooler after the seven drags.
“What do you do?” he asked looking at her with reddened eyes now.
“I surely…sorry…study at the University at Ulrich. Architecture.” she replied now growing a bit conscious of her high self after the fumbling with words.
“Your creativity must be fuelled with this then.” he motioned to the now half-smoked joint between his fingers.
“Creativity is fuelled by experiences. Harness the potential of thinking out of the box and the flow of coming up with something new, when you are excited on an emotional level. It will be the best work that you will ever have.” Noa let her high lead her now.
Hamid smiled but at the same time knew she was telling the truth and making perfect sense. He looked at those blue eyes fluttering wildly to brave the wind and the effect of the weed. The jeans shirt she tied just above her belly did justice in bringing out her curves. The skirt barely covered her thighs but danced happily in the wind without losing its purpose. The nose ring gave her a somehow calming touch and seemed to gleam when she smiled.
“What do you do?” she abruptly interrupted him checking her out.
“Well, I am a senior Manager in a logistics company. Not a creative job. I do tend to enjoy these trips though.” he reached for his beer. “Dreams are left as dreams and are futile to play with in my country.”
She watched him say that with remorse filling up his face. The cheekbones made him attractive she thought. His eyelashes were thick and gave his brown eyes the highlight it needed.
“And what about love?” she asked.
“What about it?” he turned and lifted his head to address her question.
“Dreams are always followed by love. Love for a person, love for a thing, love for doing something or love for love.” she defended herself.
“Love is a divorce after fifteen years due to infidelity and still craving for that person. Love is losing a daughter to terrorists and still reading a story to an empty bed at night.” he stated in a voice heavy in sarcasm, ending in remorse.
Noa could sense the grief Hamid carried. It was humane to do that. She unknowingly kept her hand on his. He looked at her with eyes that were firm not needy.
She felt a hand entwining her back as they locked their lips. It rested on her belly just below the knot of her shirt.
—————————————————————————————————————-
“It’s late.” Mila exclaimed pointing at the clock above the fridge.
“I am sorry Ma got caught up.” replied Noa closing the door behind her.
“You didn’t get caught up you got stoned up.” she said crossly as she set the microwave to heat up Noa’s dinner.
“How was you day? The usual or anything special? Any stories.” asked Noa with expectations.
“You don’t want to hear about my work kid. It’s bad enough that I have to ask you to come and get the key every time you come home from University from the district.” she smiled sadly.
“Oh come on Maa. I love the crowds there. Seeing people lined up desperately to quench their desires gives me amusement.” she moved towards her mother and hugged her
“And that too to get a piece of this.” she said playfully tapping on her mother’s bottom. “is quite a feat at this age don’t you think.”
Mila laughed at her daughter’s antics. A sex worker in the famous red light district was a blue-collar job with a skin of debauchery. It was what she had been doing since she was 18.It was all she knew. She had hundreds of clients but every day for Noa, she was a mother.
“I got something for you. One of my clients left it today. I think you will love it.” she handed her a limited edition “Division Bell” Pink Floyd lighter. “This one has a wife and two kids still comes back every year. My friend Aparna who has the booth next door choses to call him Mullah for his beard.”
Noa ran to the bathroom and vomited.
