Before we go any farther, I should introduce myself. You can call me Johnny. It’s not my name, but you can call me by it. I’m a Djinn and we don’t give out our real names willy-nilly like you daft humans. We know the power of a name and are very cagey when it comes to introductions.

Occasionally, though, we get tricked, and that’s what happened to me many moons ago, and now I look after a young human called Rahul. He’s not the man who tricked me, that was his father’s father’s father’s father’s father or something like that. Some Djinns get let off easy with only a generation or two of service before a kind human wishes them free, but somehow I managed to get stuck with a family full of selfish bastards. I just get handed down from Khan to Khan and do their bidding. It’s not a thrilling life.

I don’t interfere in the affairs of mortals unless I am explicitly ordered to. Well, usually. It’s not a hard and fast rule. If Rahul were to trip up and fall in the Ganges, for example, I’d leap to his rescue because he would be in mortal danger, no explicit order needed. I’m bound to the dark-haired, blue-eyed fool, and so I have to keep him alive and well until it’s time for his natural demise.

Rahul doesn’t mistreat me, he doesn’t call on me at all hours to make him magic beverages or massage his calloused feet like his father did. I do very little for him, truth be told. He’s asked me to grant him one wish in all his life so far, and that was to make him famous. So we hit Mumbai and he became an overnight Bollywood sensation.

He’s a good-looking lad, for a human, with russet-toned skin and eyes that shine like hidden sapphires, and so he fell into the acting life with ease. I barely had to use any magical influence at all. I accompany him on set, but I tend to ignore the whole rigmarole myself. I prefer filling in the Mumbai Times crossword than watching the simpering girls dancing and the boy meets girl, loses girl, finds girl storylines of Bollywood.

Some of my relatives would kill for my glamorous life, but then they’re trapped in bogs, deserts and wastelands. Some days I wish I was in a wasteland. Let me tell you the tale of when my Master went to London and the headache I had looking after him there. I’m a Djinn, we like to tell stories and moan. It’s a little known fact.

Rahul was just finishing up work on the latest Bollywood blockbuster, Benazir, which means Incomparable to all you English-speaking folks. I can’t remember what it was about, but it was the typical Bollywood love story and I mostly ignored it during filming.

“Johnny,” my master summoned me.

I put down my needlework—what, even Djinn need a hobby—and I did the impressive poof thing complete with smoke, lightning and glowing, red eyes.

“Oh, stop messing,” he snapped. “This is important.”

“Yes, Master.” I bowed and changed into Rahul’s preferred envisagement. I find it to be rather constricting to be in human form, but I have to do his bidding whether I want to or not.

“I’ve just spoken to Uncle Rajeesh, and he’s spouting some nonsense about marriage.”

“Well, you’re getting on now, Rahul. You’re in your late twenties. It’s time you settled down.”

“Oh, shut up, Johnny. They have that horrible, simpering woman Malati all lined up for me. Apparently, all this was decided years ago when my father went into business with hers. It explains why they kept making us play together as kids even though we hated each other.”

“Well, yes. It makes the wedding go much smoother if you know your future wife beforehand.”

“I’m not ready for marriage, and I will not have one arranged for me,” Rahul snapped. “I command you to stop it.”

“Ah, Master, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I am your Master, correct?”

“Yes, Sir,”

“Then you do whatever I command you to do.”

“Technically, Sir, yes.”

“What do you mean ‘technically’?” He raised a questioning brow.

“Well, I accepted an order from your father, and as he was my master first, his command came before your command.” “And what was it?” Rahul snapped.

“I was instructed by your father at the time of Malati’s birth to ensure that you married her for the good of the family, so I’m bound by that command.”

“Bullshit,” Rahul snarled. “My father is dead. I’m your master now.”

“Yes, Master, I know, but your father was very specific when he made that particular wish. He told me it should supersede your wishes and should be my number one priority after his death.”

“So you won’t help me avoid the wedding, then?”

“No, Sir, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Well, then I command you to go back into your stupid little kettle and stay there. What’s the use of having a damn Djinn if he won’t do as he’s told?”

I disappeared with less pomp than I’d arrived and settled back to my crossword. I didn’t care whom he married, I just had to do what I was commanded to do.

You get to see a lot when you’re a Djinn in an ornamental kettle. I know an elaborate Arabic tea kettle is not a home to brag about, but at least it wasn’t the usual lamp. Lamps really are cheesy. I take what little joy I can, where I can.

A few hours after I’d been banished back to my comfortable kettle home, the door of the caravan rattled on its hinges and the sound was accompanied by girly giggles.

“At last,” the young lady exclaimed. “I hate filming in the jungle, it’s not good for my hair or my complexion.”

“Mine, neither,” Rahul agreed, and the annoying giggles started up all over again. “Did you hear they’re planning a big launch in London for this one?” Rahul asked the willowy maiden.

“Oh, no, I hadn’t heard. That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to go to London.”

“Well, I’ve been told they’re only taking a few of us over there. I’m definitely going, and of course Farhanaa is going.”

“Oh, of course.” She almost spat out the words. “Little princess big nose would have to go.”

“I hear they may take a few others of the cast, but the decision hasn’t been made, yet.”

“Do you think they’ll take me?” she asked. She fluttered her eyelashes as if she were blinking into a force nine gale.

“I don’t know, Panya. I would say your role is integral to the whole movie, but who knows what the director might think.”

“If my character didn’t exist, the love story wouldn’t exist. I think I should go to London.”

“So do I, my dear,” Rahul replied sweetly. “You’re by far the most beauteous of all the women, you’d be the best advertisement for Bollywood. I know it.”

“Do you think you could persuade Dakshi of that?” Panya rubbed her lithe body against Rahul’s arm and did the tornado thing with her eyelashes once more.

“Well, he does listen to me, so I might be able to get you into the party.”

“Oh, Rahul, I’d be ever so grateful if you could.”

Rahul was talking out of his backside. Dakshi pretty much hated him, but Rahul wouldn’t let a little detail like that get in the way of getting some skin on skin action. Rahul had many wonderful character traits, but they were hidden in the dark corners of his soul.

“Well, I have to make sure the most beautiful woman in Bollywood is by my side in England.”

“Oh, you’re so charming,” she said and batted a limp hand against his arm.

“I only tell the truth,” he replied with his most over-used and most disarming smile. “I’m so lucky to be working with you.”

It was as if they were practising for a scene in the stupid film. They stopped talking and stared at each other. I could hear the dreamy twang of a pretend sitar and I thoroughly expected a gaggle of sari-swirling dancing girls to sway and shimmy past at any moment. It couldn’t have been better choreographed if there had been a director on set, so to speak.

Their lips met in perfectly synched slow motion. They didn’t move for a moment, as if a camera were zooming in to capture the contrast of bright red lady lips and dark guy lips. Then the kiss began in earnest and after a matter of seconds the heat level grew and the whole thing became less Bollywood and more steamy sex tape.

She sees the world a different way

Adjectives, verbs and nouns.

She doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just how it happens. Don’t be upset but if she over hears your next conversation it may very well end up in one of her books. She’s an author you see but not just any author. No, oh no, the genre she writes in is quite exciting. So your mundane conversation about the price of cucumbers could take on quite the erotic turn in her hands.

She writes smut, filth, titillation or erotica depending on which definition you like best. She enjoys it, she’s good at it, but don’t tell her I said that or she’ll get a big head. And every word she writes just takes on a sexy side. She’s tried to wrote other things it’s just that she can’t leave the damn bedroom door shut. No, her characters go at it everywhere. In the living room, in the kitchen, in the garden or even in the park or on public transport.

Randy buggers.

But she’ll tell you why her words turn to smut when written on the page. It’s because sex is primal and raw. It strips that person naked. Yes, yes, literally naked is usually the thing, though she writes a clothed fuck scene well too but no, she means something on a far more subtle level than that. It’s a mental, physical and spiritual thing. When people fuck they bare their souls or spend a lot of time trying to cover that vulnerability up. Something that could take chapters to unearth and find out in another kind of story can be exposed in a few sentences when love making comes into play.

Any minute now you’re going to ask The Question, I know you are. You’re going to ask if all her stories are based on real life experiences. It’s not something you’d ask a fantasy or crime novelist but no, someone who writes about kinky sex has obviously done every trick in the books. Whips, chains, the lot.

Not so. Like every author she waves words around her personal experiences. A little of her and her experiences bleeds into every piece but that does not mean she’s tried every sexual act in the book. She’s thought of them, tried others the fun comes when you try to work out which is which. Her mind is constantly bubbling. It’s quite amazing really.

She might look into your eyes and steal their unique gaze or shake your hand and appreciate it’s heft and borrow it for her latest creation. As an author she’s a little bit of an igor. She stitches together bits of people, left overs and fleeting impressions to make a new, unique being. One she falls in love with. She falls in love constantly. Each time a new document opens it is the start of her infatuation. The crush moves on to lust, the lust moves into love and is often broken. Her heart torn in two with every syllable typed.

The joy she finds is in the happy ending. She’s a romantic at heart and she makes sure that the guy gets the girl and vice versa in all her works. It makes her smile, satisfies her aching need. And then, when they are satisfied she moves on to the next. She has a voracious hunger than can never be satisfied.

So watch out for her. She’s there, watching and turning your world upside down. She’ll take your words, your being, your very soul and claim it for her own. Don’t avoid her though, the procedure is quite painless, she assures me and is a great deal of fun too.