207. OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor (Part 15)

Link to my new short story: Taking Care of You


“I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," he said.

 “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I could have been anybody. A thief even.”

He smiled wearily. “I don’t know many thieves who would look at me with anxious eyes and then cry because I was sick,” he mumbled.

Is it possible for love to bloom, sight unseen? Juhi and Abhay are strangers who know each other better than they know themselves. One night changes the equation and the even tenor of their lives and puts all their doubts and fears to rest.

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-taking-care-you

Link to my first e-novel; A Home for Meenakshi

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

"I love the way you love, Meenu," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "Such loyalty, such passion..."

Meenakshi Sharma, an orphan, lives in Varanasi with her uncle, a chronic bachelor who wants her to become a professional musician. She unwillingly relocates to Delhi to study under a renowned musician for eight months. Staying for rent in the outhouse of the Agrawals, she meets Aditya Agrawal, an attractive young man brooding over the memories of his horrendous past. Pulled between her uncle's expectations of her and Aditya's love for her, Meenakshi struggles with her feelings. How can she disappoint her uncle who had devoted his entire life to her upbringing? How can she pretend to be blind to Aditya's feelings for her? A romance that moves between the alleys of the holy city of Varanasi and the modern city of Delhi.

A blog for my VMs:

http://smitarsvms.blogspot.in/

 

Part 15

Arnav stared at her, speechless, his mind whirling.

Khushi turned to place the bouquet on the table by her chair. She then looked at Arnav trustingly for the answer to her question.

He swallowed hard.

“Err...Khushi,” he stammered.

“Ji?” she asked.

“Khushi, woh...” he paused.

“Don’t you know what live-in is, Arnavji?” she asked kindly. “It is alright if you don’t. I will ask someone else,” she smiled at him.

His eyes widened in horror. A picture of Khushi asking her Buaji or his Nani flashed through his mind.

“No,” he exclaimed. “I know,” he claimed.

“Acha?” she smiled, unaware of his uneasiness. “Then what is this live-in?”

“It is—it is like marriage,” he sweated.

“Acha?” she frowned. “Then why is it called live-in and not marriage?”

“I—I mean it is like marriage, but not marriage,” he drew in a deep breath, praying for ideas and the vocabulary to ease her into the workings of the modern world.

Khushi frowned. She parted her lips to ask more, but Arnav rushed in.

“Everything is like shaadi...the boy, the girl....in a house...but without a shaadi,” he explained.

“Oh,” Khushi said slowly. “So they have shagun, sagai, sangeet, mehendi and haldi, but don’t have shaadi?” she asked. “Such a couple is called a live-in? And after shaadi they are husband and wife?”

He stared at her slack-jawed.

“But Arnavji, how can that be? The hero only lets that girl adjust his tie. They didn’t have shagun like we did. Nor did they have any of the other rasms. Then how can he call it a live-in?” Khushi asked, worried.

Arnav looked heavenwards for inspiration and help, desperate.

“Khushi,” he gasped.

“Arnavji?” she asked.

“Khushi, it doesn’t work that way,” he tried.

She frowned. “Then how does it work?” she asked.

“I mean,” he said, his heart sinking at the thought of shattering her illusions, “I mean, the boy and girl live together like husband and wife,” he said.

“Tho?” Khushi asked, confused. “All married couples live together as husband and wife. We too will be living in your house once we get married. Isme itni badi baat kya he?”

“Yes,” he swallowed. “But they live together without marriage.”

Khushi stared at him open-mouthed.

Arnav braced himself for tears, shock and the trauma of her awakening to the ways of the world.

Khushi surprised him.

“They live together in one house?” she asked.

He nodded warily.

“Like husband and wife?” she confirmed.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“But without getting married?” she asked.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“How stupid,” Khushi scoffed.

He looked at her.

“If the hero and that girl want to live like husband and wife, why can’t they just get married?” Khushi asked. “Why pretend as though they are husband and wife when they are not?”

Arnav floundered.

“Either this world is ajeeb or I am ajeeb, Arnavji,” Khushi sighed. “Buaji will tell you that without doubt it is me who is ajeeb. I really can’t understand why two people would want to stay in a house and fight like a cat and a dog if they don’t really want to get married to each other.”

Arnav felt a smile relax his lips.

Khushi’s brain jumped to the next problem with all the agility of a monkey on steroids.

“Arnavji, the girl whom the hero invited into his house is not the heroine of the serial. The heroine is the pretty girl we saw the other day,” she reminded him.

“So?” Arnav asked, glad that the discussion had moved to the serial.

“In a serial, the heroine has to get the hero at the end. That is fixed, non-negotiable. The live-in boy will have to marry the heroine. Otherwise we will throw rotten eggs at the TV screen. But what will happen to the poor girl who packed her bags and came to live in with the hero?” Khushi fretted.

Arnav looked around for a solution to this three-ring circus that was the hero’s life. Finally he said, “I don’t know, Khushi.”

“Poor girl. She will have to carry everything back to her house and unpack them,” Khushi lamented.

Arnav smiled slightly.

Khushi looked at Arnav with perturbed eyes.

He looked at her, on guard, wondering what was going on in her head.

“Arnavji, the life shown in my serial is real. So are there really people who live in a house like couples without shaadi?” she asked, her eyes watchful.

He nodded.

Khushi hesitated.

Knowing Khushi, he expected the worst. And got it.

“Arnavji, have you ever lived-in with a girl?” she asked directly.