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 8
Khushi
stood before the mirror brushing her hair into obedience before going to bed.
She thoughtfully plaited the silky length, her mind on the proposal of marriage
that Arnavji had offered her.
She smiled.
Arnavji
wanted to marry her! That was a coup, a victory she could throw in Buaji’s face
for years...even if she didn’t accept him.
Her lips turned down.
She would
never see him if she refused him. With whom would she laugh? Who would
patiently watch the serial with her?
She sighed.
He would be
very disappointed if she refused him. She could almost imagine his face fall if
she said no, see his facial muscles clench in his effort to keep his face
expressionless, visualise his eyes dim, his lips droop...
He would
become sad.
Khushi
frowned.
No, no he couldn’t be sad, shouldn’t be sad as long as she was alive.
She was determined to entertain him as long as she was around. But how could
she agree to marry him to keep him happy?
Especially
as he would soon regret his impetuous proposal?
Khushi
threw her plait over her shoulder and proceeded to walk towards the open
window. It was a moonlit night, lending magic to the prosaic lines of houses
and shrubs on her street.
Her phone
rang.
She picked
up the phone from the bedside table and looked at the caller ID.
Arnavji.
“Arnavji?”
she asked.
“What are
you doing now, Khushi?” he asked.
“Worrying
about your proposal,” Khushi replied directly.
He smiled.
She could feel the smile and hear it in his voice as he murmured, “I didn’t
know my proposal would make you lose sleep over it.”
“What did
you think my reaction would be?” Khushi asked curiously.
“I thought
you would agree because—because we are friends,” he replied.
Khushi
sighed. “It is because we are friends and I like you that I can’t agree to
marry you,” she admitted.
He bit back
his smile. “Is there a rule that friends can’t marry?” he asked simply.
Khushi
smiled. “Yes, there is when one friend is me,” she replied mildly. “Arnavji,
what were you doing at this time of the night?” she asked.
He looked
at the laptop and files on his table. “Working,” he said, leaning back in his
black metal recliner in the garden.
“Working?”
she grimaced. “When there is a full moon?” she asked, disgusted with him.
He chuckled
silently.
“You are a
sadu like the hero, aren’t you?” Khushi asked frankly.
Arnav
guffawed. “I am afraid so,” he managed to croak between laughing his heart out.
Khushi
snorted.
“Khushi,”
he explained softly, his voice still holding traces of amusement, “I have been
alone all my life till you hid in my cupboard. That is why I am such a
killjoy.”
“You were
alone?” she asked, her voice dripping pity.
Arnav hid
his smile. If pity for him could make her marry him, he would take it. “Yes,”
he sighed. She was not the only one with a penchant for drama!
Her brain
cells kicked in at the wrong moment. “How can you say you were alone, Arnavji?”
she asked doubtfully. “You had your family with you.”
“My parents
died when I was young, Khushi,” he delved into the past. “I was the man of the
house. I had to be strong for Di. Life was all responsibility and work till you
appeared in my life.”
“So I am a
clown?” Khushi asked.
He burst
out laughing. “My family is definitely a circus, Khushi, but you are not a
clown.”
“Then what
am I?” the orphan in her asked to know her place in his world.
He
understood the longing behind her simple words. “My family,” he replied. “You
would be my family.”
She mulled
over his reply.
“I hadn’t
thought about marriage, Khushi, till I met you,” he said clearly. His ego was
insignificant in the face of her insecurity.
Her mouth
fell open. She, Khushi Kumari Gupta could inspire such a change of mind in a
man?
“But after
meeting you, I realised that I was missing out on a lot of pleasures in life. I
want to marry you, live with you, have children with you,” he said simply.
“And become
old?” she clarified.
“And become
old with you,” he smiled.
“Are you
sure you won’t change your mind?” she asked.
He smiled.
“Very sure, Khushi. I am no teenager to take decisions lightly,” he murmured.
She
pondered on his words. Then she asked, “Arnavji, when do you think the hero
will propose to the heroine?”
Arnav’s
smile widened. “When better sense prevails,” he replied.
“Then it
won’t be any time now,” she fretted. “I hope I am alive to see their marriage.”
Arnav
laughed silently, his shoulders shaking in mirth.
“You don’t take
paan, do you, Arnavji?” she made sure.
“No,” he
smiled in understanding. “I don’t take paan. I drink once in a while at
official functions, but in moderation. I don’t smoke.”
“You
drink?” Khushi asked.
“Yes, at
functions,” he admitted, hoping that his honesty wouldn’t doom him to eternal
bachelorhood.
“I take
bhang at Holi,” she confessed.
His lips
trembled in delighted merriment.
“Do you
sing after drinking?” Khushi asked.
“No,” he
choked.
“I always
sing after I take bhang,” she informed him.
His
shoulders shook.
“Buaji says
I sound like a dying toad,” Khushi warned him.
“I will buy
earplugs,” he reassured her.
Khushi
waited silently for a long moment. Then she asked, “Arnavji, why are you being so
accommodating?”
“Because I
want you in my life,” he said simply.
“If it
turns bad?” she asked.
“We will
manage,” he smiled.
“Will you
be sad if I refuse?” she asked.
“Very,” he said
truthfully.
She sighed,
“If it turns bad, we have Devi Maiyya.” She took comfort from the thought of
divine aid.
“Yes,”
Arnav agreed, smiling.
“I will
marry you,” she said softly, uncertainly.
Arnav drew
in a deep breath of relief. “You will never regret it, Khushi,” he promised
her.
“Haan, but
you may,” she responded.
