ABSTRACT
The lights dimmed. The hubbub sank to a hushed expectancy. The fi lm began to roll. It was called Victim. I leaned closer to Abdullah, the handsome Hindu student who for the past few weeks had been the focal point of my life. “It’s about homosexuality,” I whispered. But this was sham sophistication: I had no idea what the word meant. Nor was I about to be immediately enlightened, for the opening sequence of the fi lm was merely intriguing. Why was the young man so desperate to destroy the photographs of the older man? Indeed, what was his involvement with this upper-class lawyer? And why all this talk of suicide and blackmail? Then, as the mists of the scenario began to clear, my moment of recognition arrived. In a Damascene revelation, the word I had whispered with such confi dent innocence at the start of the fi lm suddenly exploded with special meaning . . . and of course, at the same moment, dropped out of the conversation. In the discussion I had with Abdullah as we left the cinema, we were agreed. It was a fi ne fi lm: intelligent, well-acted, thought-provoking. We discussed many aspects, but we avoided that word. Indeed we never uttered that word in each other’s company again. The recognition had gone deeper than we cared to acknowledge.
