154. OS: 7: The Other Woman (Part 15)

Section 15

ASR drove to Laxmi Nagar, following Khushi’s rickshaw faithfully.

On the way she stopped at the market to buy some flowers. ASR waited in the car, his eyes tracking her nimble body as she wound her way through the crowds and haggled with the flower vendor.

He watched her as she returned to the rickshaw and drove behind her to her house.

In Laxmi Nagar, he observed her open her purse to pay the rickshaw, only to realise that she did not have enough change with her. Even as he made to open his door and leave his vehicle to help her out, she ran in to the house and returned with the money and Buaji who was lamenting over her niece’s forgetfulness.

She handed over the money to the rickshawwala and turned to walk in to the house with Buaji.

 Arnav saw her halt for a tiny moment.

 She turned around slowly as though feeling his eyes on her. She looked around her and saw him sitting in his car.

 Her eyes widened in shock.

She stared at him. He met her eyes, his gaze intent, resolute, honest.

“Oh Parmeswari! Are you going to stand outside and let all the mosquitoes of Laxmi Nagar chakk your blood this evening?” Buaji asked.

Khushi turned her head to look at Buaji.

“No, Buaji,” she stuttered.

“Then come in, Nandkisore!” Buaji said before entering the house.

Khushi sent one wary glance at the Unpredictable Singh Raizada sitting in his car and ghooring her. Would he follow her in to her house? Would he sweet-talk Buaji, con her in to getting a chance to approach her? Would he make a formal proposal of marriage to Buaji, thus forcing her to consider it? Khushi clutched her head in her hands.

‘Shall I shut the door, Sanka Devi?” Buaji threatened.

“Nahi, Buaji. I am coming,” Khushi said before running in to the safety of her home.

Khushi looked at the roti on her plate.

“Khao, Nandkisore!” Buaji exhorted her. “Or do you want me to stuff the full roti in to your mouth?”

“I will eat, Buaji,” Khushi muttered as she broke off a tiny piece, dipped it in the chole and brought it to her mouth.

“How is Arnav babua?” Buaji asked.

Khushi choked.

Buaji hit her on her back to help her breathe. Khushi almost fell face-down in the food due to Buaji’s tender ministrations.

“Why did you ask, Buaji?” Khushi croaked when she could.

Buaji smiled a dreamy smile. “Bahute ache he, hamre Arnav babua. His manners! His sanskaari behaviour! His family has raised him well.” She turned to frown at Khushi. “He is not a madcap like you.”

Khushi swallowed. How would Buaji react to the news that her sanskaari Arnav babua was sitting in his car outside her niece’s window, looking at her like a hungry dog looks at a meaty bone? Buaji would have to revaluate his sanskaar!

“Yes, Arnavji seems to be  a very nice person,” Payal smiled.

Buaji nodded enthusiatically. “Where do you find such good boys these days?”

Khushi sighed silently. AAA (Arnav Admiration Association) was in full swing and there was nothing she could say or do to stop them. She stuffed her mouth full of roti to stop herself from telling them what their precious Arnavji was capable of.

“You are so hungry, Titliyya?” Buaji asked, her eyes concerned. “Lo, lo,” she said as she placed three more rotis on Khushi’s plate.

After dinner, Khushi rolled in to her bedroom, full of Buaji’s rotis that she had force-fed her.

She slowly walked to her window and lifted a corner of the curtain. She peeked out.

The white car was still in its place. She could see the dark shadow of Saale-saheb behind the wheel.

She swallowed hard. What was this Foolish Singh Raizada up to now?

“Khushi,” Payal called. “Why are you stealing glimpses of the moon from behind the curtain? You can part the cloth and look at him. He doesn’t demand money for each sighting,” she teased her sister.

Khushi dropped the curtain as though she had been shot. She smiled sheepishly at Payal.

Payal frowned at her. “What are you up to now, Khushi?”

“Kuch nahi, Jiji. Shall we sleep?” Khushi asked even as she dived in to bed and pulled the covers over her head.

Payal stood staring at her sister’s uncharacteristic moves, wondering if Khushi had lost a screw to her brain somewhere on the way between Laxmi Nagar and Shyamji’s office.

The door bell rang.

Khushi sat up as though she had stuck her hand in an electric socket, the covers falling around her.

“Who is it at this time?” Payal frowned. “I have already supplied today’s blouses and suits.”

Khushi swallowed through a dry throat.

“Tanik thehro, Nandkisore,” Buaji grumbled as the bell rang again. “I am not as young as I used to be,” she called out as she waddled toward the door.

Khushi brushed past her like a whirlwind and pulled the door open. 

"Hein?" Buaji exclaimed behind her.

A delivery boy stood there.

Khushi gaped at him.

He handed over a bouquet to her. “For Khushi Kumari Gupta,” he said.

Khushi looked at the small card accompanying the red roses & pink lilies.

“Marry me, Khushi,” it read.

“Kaun he, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked, slowly approaching Khushi.

Her eyes wide with horror, Khushi crumpled the card and pushed it down the neck of her suit.

The delivery boy stared at the odd reception the flowers and the card had received.

“Somebody sent flowers, Buaji,” Khushi turned, pushed the bouquet in to Buaji’s arms, snatched the paper from the boy’s hands, signed it, pushed it back in to the boy’s hands and shut the door in his face.

“Phool? Guldasta?” Buaji stared at the flowers in her hands.

 Payal joined her in gaping at the bouquet. “Who sent it, Buaji?” Payal asked.

“Must be some secret admirer,” Khushi laughed uncomfortably. “Buaji, maybe Bediji has returned to Delhi.”

Buaji frowned at her. “Hai Re Nandkisore! Have you grown up enough to make fun of your Buaji?” she asked Khushi. “Has Bedi sent this? Let me see him tomorrow. Dekh loongi usko. If I don’t blister his thick skin with my words, I am not Madhumati Gupta.” Buaji rolled her eyes in anger.

Payal giggled.

Khushi tried to smile, her mind full of the terrible fate awaiting Bediji. She earnestly wished Bediji was safe and sound in Punjab and no where near Delhi.

 Buaji pushed the bouquet in to Khushi’s arms. “Tum hi sambhalo iss pyaar-bhari tohfe ko,” Buaji muttered curses under her breath. “I will go to Happy Singh tomorrow and ask him where Bedi is. Ladki chedta he, the old bugger.”

Khushi swallowed.

She shot an angry look through the shut door at the Rascal Singh Raizada sitting in his white chariot on the road. How dare he push her in to such uncomfortable situations? If Buaji had seen his card! Khushi shuddered. Poor Bediji!

“Go to bed, both of you,” Buaji ordained. “What tamasha are you planning to watch at night? Jao,” she ordered.

Khushi and Payal went to their bedroom like lambs.

Payal quickly took a glass, filled it with water and pushed the flowers in to it and placed it on the table by Khushi’s side.

Khushi frowned at the floral arrangement.

“Bediji has good taste,” Payal chuckled.

What a coil!

“Hai Re Nandkisore!” Khushi whispered, dropping her head in her hands.