Words encrypted on her forehead.


Dear Shahleen,

The 12th-century dinner is laid with a platter full of perfectly cooked meat with some fancy liquor to entice its most enthralling guests, filled with compassion and sharp wit.

And since you have now grown up and finally invited to one of these places, I thought I would allow myself to teach you the basic etiquettes of one such grandeur event.

Remember that you must compliment how beautiful your host’s wife is when you first meet her, kiss her then, gently on her cheek. This would give out your intentions as being a good complementary guest. You should also say a small prayer, so as to respect the religion that your host follows, for you must never come out as an atheist or you’ll be dead before you know it.

But perhaps the last thing you would like to do or say at a dinner table at your Rich Indian friend’s house is perhaps how raw the steak on your plate is or how his servant doesn’t seem to have cleaned the house properly, pointing at a cow web somewhere near the edges.

And I must tell you that there would be nothing as offensive as that; but if you are feeling slightly lucky, go on, in fact, comment on how the silver plates don’t look beautiful enough and neither does the glass ceiling.

Be very careful now my child, and look out for an apparent reaction, and while the gentleman’s game of insults would first lead to your host shooting the servant in his head, if the setting gets way out of hand, laugh it out, and tell how you were only joking. Laugh with him now, would you?

Praise his British Sea Service Pistol…., and you will realize that he’ll readily call you to the dinner table again. Enjoy your dinner now, as the dead man lies on the left, and the lady of the house stands somewhere on the right.

“Words encrypted on her forehead, her lips sealed.”

Yours Lovingly,
Uncle Ahmad.


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