Cigarette lit, she loosens her clothes

Red curtains behind her, a cigarette held in one hand, she works her way out of a printed wrap in front of a home camera. The framing sits low and close, catching a small tattoo at her hip each time she turns. Smoke drifts across the lens in the gaps between garments.

Nothing in the room has been staged for it: bare wall, patterned throw, daylight held back by the drapes. That plainness suits her. This Indian striptease runs on nerve rather than choreography, and the cigarette gives her hands something to do while the camera keeps rolling.