155. OS 7: The Other Woman (Part 16-)

Section 16

Khushi turned restlessly in her bed.

 Was that Pagal Singh Raizada still sitting in his car staring at the door of Buaji’s house and fighting mosquitoes or had he gone home?

She turned her head to look at her slumbering Jiji. Payal was sleeping the deep sleep of the innocent.

Khushi heaved a heavy sigh.

She alone was cursed to fret and fume all night with no rest...and all because of that man squatting outside her door!

She slowly crawled out of her warm bed and parted the curtains gently. The white monster was still parked on the street. Khushi sighed again. What could she do with this Stubborn Singh Raizada? She couldn’t even complain to his family that he was behaving in an unreasonable manner. The little she had seen of them had been very educational and illuminating. Poora family was nuts, sankier than her!

She shivered in the cold wind and clutching the curtain, leaned out to spy on her unpredictable admirer. It was a cold night. He must be shivering out there, she thought. Had he taken dinner?

The car started with an almost silent, refined roar.

Khushi jumped. As she watched aghast, he drove to stop parallel to her window.

Khushi stood petrified as he lowered the glass.

“Good night,” he mouthed.

She couldn’t hear him, but could follow him by the movement of his lips.

“You are beautiful, Khushi,” he said softly, his eyes on her in her pink casual wear, her hair left unbound to dance in the night breeze.

Khushi’s eyes widened to saucers.

“See you tomorrow,” he said before driving away, his eyes still on her.

Khushi deflated like a pricked balloon as soon as the car vanished from her sight. She should have replied to his outrageous comments, should have made her stand clear...again. But...

 She turned to look at her dozing Jiji.

 How could she shout abuses at a man at midnight, especially when the said man was sitting metres away from her. Her Jiji would wake up...

Khushi looked anxiously at the silent street. If only no one had noticed the Raizada Raajkumar and his white conveyance!

 What if he made this a nightly practice? Khushi’s breath stopped in her chest. The neighbours would remark on his presence, Buaji would realise what was happening, and then...anything could happen!

Khushi clutched her head in her hands.

“Hey Devi Maiyya, raksha karna! What ghor paap have I done for you to put me in such a hot pickle?” she asked. “Bahut maza aa raha he, na? Aap hasiye, aap hasiye. What will I do if Buaji chases Bediji with her belan?”

It was a sleepless night for Khushi Kumari Gupta.

Section 17

“Shyamji, aap galat mat samajhiye, but can I have Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada’s phone number?” Khushi asked.

Shyam looked at the dark circles under Khushi’s eyes and set about to soothe her frayed nerves.

“Of course,” he replied. He rattled off Arnav’s official and personal numbers and also gave her the number to the landline in RM.

Khushi looked at the kind face of her employer. What must he think of her? He must be imagining that she was trying to further her acquaintance of a rich bachelor with some nefarious end in mind.

“I..I..” she tried to explain.

“I hope he apologised to you, Khushi. His actions that evening were not worthy of him,” Shyam cut in to help her.

“Yes, yes, he did,” Khushi murmured.

“I am afraid Arnav’s brain stops working when he gets angry,” Shyam sighed. “And he was very angry that day. Woh kya he, Khushi, he has been looking after Anjali ever since their parents died. He was fourteen and she was older, but he took on her responsibility.”

Khushi swallowed hard. He was an orphan? An orphan with a sister, Jiju, Nani, Mami etc, but still an orphan?

“When he thinks something might hurt Anjali, he becomes scared. But he is the man of the family and can’t afford to show fear. That is why he displays anger,” Shyam explained quietly.

Khushi stood listening to him.

“Arnav is not a bad man. Except for his anger and his workaholic nature and his impetuousness and his motor mouth and his bad judgement and his stubborness and his my-way-or-the-highway attitude, he is alright,” Shyam tried to make Khushi smile.

Khushi smiled unwillingly. It was hard to remain cold with Shyamji.

“And diabetes does not help,” Shyam aded softly.

The smile faded from her face.

“Khushi, if he comes to the office when I am away, make sure that he eats something. He often skips meals when he is working. If his sugar level goes down, he can faint. Anjali calls him at noon daily to ensure that he remembers to have his lunch,” Shyam explained.

Khushi could only nod. Last night Stupid Singh Raizada had settled down across the street without having his dinner. What if he had fainted in his car or on his way home?

Her face paled. He irritated the hell out of her, but she did not wish him dead!

 Section 18

Buaji phoned Khushi at the office.

“Titliyya, I went to Happy Singh and asked him if that Bedi had landed in Delhi,” Buaji began.

Khushi clutched her heart

“He said that Bedi is still in Jalandhar.” Buaji frowned. “Do you think he sent the flowers from there, Nandkisore?”

Khushi collapsed in her seat. “Buaji, Bediji ko baksh deejiye. It may not have been him. He may be totally unaware of all this nonsense. I think the delivery boy delivered the flowers to the wrong address,” she lied to save Bediji’s skin.

Buaji’s face cleared. “That is possible. Titliyya, keep an eye open for that boy. If you see him anywhere on the road, pakad lo and ask him who made him a delivery boy when he can’t even read the addresses properly, Nandkisore.”

“I will, Buaji, I will,” Khushi promised with alacrity.

“Titliyya, today is the last Somvaar of the month. Payaliyya and I will be at the temple when you return home from office,” Buaji informed her.

“I will take the key from the pot as usual, Buaji,” Khushi assured her.

Khushi put her head out of the door and peered at the surroundings. Was that Shameless Singh Raizada waiting outside?

 No, there was no sign of the white steel horse or the chashmewaala suitor. Her breath left her in a rush of relief. Slowly she tiptoed out of the door, her head turning in all directions to detect threat.

“Kaa hua, Khussi bitiyya?’ the security guard asked. “Kaa dhoondhat ho?”

“Peace of mind, sleep...” she muttered as she made her quick way out of the premises.

Khushi opened the door to Buaji’s house with the key hidden in the flower pot, shut the door after her and dumped her cloth bag on the dining table.

The bell rang.

“Who is it?” Khushi frowned as she went to pull the door panels open.

A delivery boy stood outside.

Khushi almost fell down in shock.

“Are you Khushi Kumari Gupta?’ the boy asked.

“Hey Devi Maiyya!” Khushi whispered in reply. Only she knew how she had managed the complications arising out of the last delivery and saved Bedji’s neck and other parts from Buaji’s belan...and now the next one?

“This is for Khushi, not Devi Maiyya,” The boy frowned, looking at the address once more.

“I am the unfortunate Khushi Kumari Gupta,” she admitted. Maybe she could emigrate to some phoren country...

The boy handed over a packet to her. Her hand trembled as she signed for it.

As soon as the boy left, Khushi ran with the packet to the kitchen and tore it open with the help of a knife and a pair of scissors. She had to dispose of it before Buaji and Jiji returned. Her frantic eyes looked at the ancient clock in the room. She tore away the last cover and stared at the box in her hands.

Jalebi from Channulal Mitthaiwala.

Khushi sat down, exhausted.

How would she explain why she, a halwai, had purchased such expensive jalebis made in pure desi ghee from the most renowned and upscale mitthai shop in Delhi?

There was no time to shed tears over the jalebis. Her frantic eyes went to the clock. Buaji and Jiji would be home in a few minutes. She looked at the luscious sweet dripping sugar syrup.

How could she make them vanish?

Maybe she could hide them under her clothes in her cupboard?

The ants...if Jiji rearranged her cupboard, there would be hell to pay!

The kitchen? But Buaji would find out.

Her eyes went to the clock. The hands were moving forward mercilessly.

Maybe she could bury them in the yard? Khushi ran for a spade and opened the back door of the house.

“Kaa hua, Khussi? Why are you brandishing a spade?” Kamla Chachi asked. “Are you going to plant something?”

‘My brain,’ Khushi thought in panic. She withdrew her head and the spade quickly and shut the door.

She dumped the spade and ran to the jalebis. They smiled at her from the box, all coiled and sweet. Her eyes dashed to the clock and the time sent her heart thumping.

There was only one hiding place for the jalebis.

 In her stomach.

Khushi crammed the sweets in to her mouth with both hands, her eyes on the clock.

She hiccupped.

Khushi ran for a glass of water. She swallowed half of it and then continued pushing jalebis down her throat.

Her throat muscles seized as she heard the sound of the gate being unlatched. Buaji and Jiji were home. Khushi stared at the three jalebis in the box, her eyes wide with horror.

She grabbed the three jalebis and forced them in to her mouth, trying manfully to swallow them without chewing. She ran to the back door, opened it and threw the cover out before shutting it.

Buaji knocked on the door.

Throwing the remaining water in to her mouth and holding her jaws closed with her hands, Khushi staggered to the door to open it.

Buaji looked at a flushed Khushi standing in the entrance. Her lips were wet and there was a crumb or two around her mouth.

“What have you been eating, Parmeswari?” Buaji asked.

“Nothing, Buaji,” Khushi gasped, the sugar overdose making her head spin. She didn’t need food for a month. All she wanted was to curl in a corner and die, but after killing Diabetic Singh Raizada!

“Chatori kahin ki. Lo prasad,” Buaji lovingly took a jalebi and stuffed it in to Khushi’s mouth.

Khushi collapsed on the floor.