Sunday 26 April 2015

214. OS 10. An Unexpected Visitor (Part 22)



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 22





Khushi looked at a sleeping Buaji’s face with sad eyes. ‘Poor Buaji! How will she live without me? How can she bear to part with me?’ she wondered.

Buaji turned her head more comfortably against the headrest of the sofa in her living room and sighed in her sleep.

‘It is the fate of all parents and Buajis, Khussi,’ Khushi told herself, ‘to marry off their ladli girls and then live in gham. Kabhi khushi, kabhi gham. First shaadi’s khushi, then bidai’s gham.’

“Why are you crying, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked, yawning mightily. “Did you commit some folly at your sangeet, Sanka Devi?”

“Buaji,” Khushi’s voice quivered.

“Kya he, Nandkisore?” Madhumati asked, irked.

“Buaji, I have to marry Arnavji,” Khushi began.

“I know, Nandkisore,” Buaji frowned. “That is why we had your shagun, sagai and sangeet.”

Khushi drew in a tear-laden breath. “The shop,” she began to ease into the hurtful issue.

Buaji frowned. “What is wrong with the shop?” she asked.

“After marriage,  I won’t be able to look after the shop as I have been doing for years,” Khushi tried to dry her eyes.

“Acha he, Nandkisore,” Buaji replied. “Why did you extend credit to Mrs. Motelal?”

Khushi was distracted. “The poor woman, Buaji. She needed the fabric and sarees for her daughter’s wedding but couldn’t afford to pay for all of them.”

“You idiot!” Buaji castigated her. “That female owns five cars, can afford five drivers, lives in a mansion, owns properties across Delhi, can afford to hold lavish parties for seven days for her daughter’s wedding but can’t afford to pay our bills?” she asked.

Khushi gaped. “Really, Buaji?” she asked in dismay.

“Hai Re Nandkisore! What will I do with her? Thank God she is getting married soon. Nahi to I will become kangaal in her generosity to the undeserving,” Buaji buried her head in her hands.

Khushi’s mouth fell open. Buaji was happy that she was getting married and going away? She tried again. “Buaji, when I go away with Arnavji...won’t you be sad?” she asked.

Buaji stared at her in confusion. “Why should I be sad, Nandkisore?” she asked.

“I won’t be here with you. I will be in Shantivan. You will be all alone,” Khushi tried earnestly to drive the point home.

Buaji folded her hands and looked heavenwards. “I have been waiting for that day for years, Nandkisore knows,” she said. “You will become Arnav babua’s headache and I can breathe easily.”

Khushi’s mouth fell open.

“I don’t have to worry about you, run after you, Nandkisore! If only her wedding day comes faster,” Buaji prayed to Nandkisore fervently.

Khushi stared at Buaji, astounded and hurt. Then she marched to her room in a huff, throwing herself down on her bed to have a good cry.

Her phone rang.

Drying her cheeks and eyes, she looked at the display. 

Arnavji.

She answered the call.

“Hello,” she quavered.

“Khushi, kya hua?” he asked, his voice anxious. Was she upset about their wedding and having to leave Buaji? Had Buaji refused to move to Shantivan?

“Arnavji,” she wailed.

“Khushi?” he asked, feeling terribly helpless. Had he done a cruelty to Khushi by wanting to marry her?

“Buaji...” she wept.

“Buaji?” he asked.

“Buaji is happy...” she sniffed.

“To join us at Shantivan?” he asked hopefully.

“No...” she wept.

“To remain alone?” he was upset.

“That I am going away,” she confessed.

He stared at the wall slack-jawed.

“She said that she has been waiting for this day for years,” Khushi wailed.



Arnav’s lips quirked in a smile.

“She said...she said she can breathe freely when I become your headache,” she choked.

Arnav’s shoulders shook.

“She wants our wedding day to come sooner,” Khushi wept.

Arnav had to fight to keep his amusement down.

“How could she?” Khushi cried.

“It is alright, Khushi,” he comforted her. “She is just happy that you found  someone you like.”

“Acha?” she asked after a long moment.

“Yes, really,” he soothed her. “She likes me, doesn’t she?”

“She thinks you can walk on water,” Khushi admitted.

“She knows I will take good care of you. That’s why she is happy you are marrying me, Khushi,” he said reasonably.

“It is not because she doesn’t like me?” Khushi asked, doubt in her voice.

He swallowed hard. “How can any one dislike you, Khushi?” he asked.

“You like me, Arnavji?” she asked in full seriousness.

He swallowed the words of love that clamoured to leave his tongue. What if he said, “I love you, Khushi,” and it spooked her?

“Very much,” he said.

“Really?” she asked, a small smile blooming on her lips.

“Really,” he affirmed.

“What do you like most about me?” she asked.

“Everything,” he muttered.

“Arnavji!” she complained.

“I like your sense of humour,” he muttered.

“Acha?” she asked, feeling she had been let into some kind of heaven.

“Your kind heart. You are very understanding, Khushi,” he continued. “Beautiful in and out.”

“I am clumsy too,” she qualified his praise.

He smiled. “I will take care that you never fall,” he promised.

“It is a full-time job,” she warned.

“I am ready,” he stated.

“Arnavji, you are so nice. A real-life hero,” she said.



Arnav smiled.

There was silence.

Arnav waited. And waited.

Then she said softly, “Pata nahi how I got so lucky, Arnavji, to meet you. This is why I believe Devi Maiyya exists.”

Arnav’s hold on his phone tightened. He was too choked up to reply.

Khushi yawned. “I am very sleepy, Arnavji,” she mumbled.

“So jao, Khushi,” he said softly.



“Your voice—when you speak to me, I feel you are hugging me close to you,” she breathed, curling up under the blanket.

“Good night, Khushi,” he whispered.

“I will have sweet dreams about you,” she mumbled before falling asleep. Her phone slipped from her hand and fell by her pillow.




Arnav stood staring at the lights in his garden, smiling softly.







Friday 24 April 2015

213. OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor (Part 21)





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 21







A portion of the poolside had been cleared to make a dance floor. It was lit by tens of thousands of gold, red and green fairy lights coiled around plants and trees. 






Decorative bulbs in various shapes hung from branches. The water in the pool reflected the lighting, adding to the magical ambience.






Khushi stood there, amazed at the splendour of Arnav’s garden. She looked at Arnav. His face was tense, his eyes eager to know her reaction.





“Do you like it, Khushi?” he asked.

She smiled into his eyes. “I have never seen anything more beautiful, Arnavji,” she said softly. Her melodious voice floated on the silent night, adding to the anticipation in his heart.





“Did you do all this for me?” she asked, knowing the answer. There was no one more giving than Arnavji.

He cupped her beautiful face in his gentle, large hands, his rough palms caressing the soft skin of her cheeks. “I couldn’t give you a dance on stage, Khushi. I want to—I hope to have one here—in private,” he murmured.





Khushi smiled. She turned her head and kissed his palm. “You don’t need to, Arnavji,” she whispered.

“I need to. I don’t want you to miss out on the fun, Khushi. We are getting married for the first and the last time,” he said.

She smiled and kissed his palm again.

He left her and walked to a small table he had set in the shadows. He pressed a button and the opening music of a slow song wafted on the still night air.

He walked up to her and took hold of her hand.

Hum tere bin ab reh nahi sakte
Tere bina kya wajood mera... the song began.

Tujh se juda agar ho jaayenge to khud se hi ho jaayenge juda...

Arnav slowly folded Khushi into his arms. She put her arms around him, resting against him with a sigh and a whisper of “Arnavji.”

Kyonki tum hi ho, ab tum hi ho...

They moved their feet in tandem, swaying in time to the slow, romantic confession being played.

Zindagi ab tum hi ho
Chain bhi, mera dard bhi
Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho...

Arnav dropped a kiss on her silky hair, breathing in the sweet jasmine scent. His fingers tightened on the bare skin of her waist even as hers ran over the vast expanse of his muscled back covered by a black sherwani.

Tera mera rishta he kaisa ek pal door gavara nahi...

She nestled closer, her long limbs rubbing against his.

Tere liye har roz he jeete, tujh ko diya mere wakt sabhi...

She lifted her face and rubbed her cheek against his.

Koi lamha mere na ho tere bina har saans pe naam tera...

He rubbed his nose against hers, bringing a smile to her face.

Kyonki ab tum hi ho
Zindagi ab tum hi ho
Chain bhi, mera dard bhi
Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho...

His lips touched hers gently.

She parted hers slowly.

He cupped her head and lowered his to feast on her lips.

Two hearts thundered away in unison as Arnav and Khushi kissed. The music played in the background but their feet came to a stop and their ears became deaf to all sounds except the galloping of their own hearts.

He lifted his head slightly, leaving a tiny gap between their lips.

She moaned in protest. Her fingers clutched his hair and urged his head down. He obeyed her silent order and set to work assiduously to drive her out of her senses.

A few minutes later, Khushi collapsed against him, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. She coiled her arms around him and hung on for support. Arnav held her softness close to his heart, cherishing every moment he got to spend with her.

The music came to an end.

“Arnavji,” she whispered.

“Hhmm?” he asked. He was too replete and content to bother to find words.

“This must the best sangeet on earth,” she breathed against his neck.





He smiled.

“The dance, the song, the lights, the pool, the kisses...” she sighed in pleasure.

His smile widened.

“I am so glad you can’t dance, Arnavji. Nahi tho we wouldn’t have got this time together. We would have been on the stage. How could we have kissed before hundreds of people?” she asked reasonably.

Arnav chuckled, his chest moving against hers. He tightened his hold on her. “That would have been a difficult feat,’ he agreed, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Difficult hi nahi, namumkin,” she asserted. “Buaji would have died of a heart attack, Naniji would have fainted, Mamiji would have said “Hello Hi Bye Bye!” and Anjaliji would have collapsed.”

Arnav chuckled. “Yes,” he agreed.

“This is much, much better,” she cuddled closer.

They stood in silence, loving the time alone and each other’s company.

“The red carpet of rose petals, this dance—Arnavji, you are so romantic,” she said, each word interspersed with a kiss against his neck.

He swallowed hard. “Romantic? Me?” he asked. 

Numerous articles had been written about him in the business section of newspapers, but no one had dared to call him romantic, not even to picture him as a romantic. 

He smiled. He had changed.

Now even his family was looking at him with wary eyes, unsure of what he would get up to next.


He had become unpredictable. Heck, his life had become unpredictable after meeting Khushi. He was no longer the boring, reserved, cold, hard-nosed businessman he had been before she had taken residence in his wardrobe and his heart. Life had become colourful, interesting; he had lost his inhibitions.

“Yes, romantic,” he admitted slowly. “I am romantic.”

She smiled at him in appreciation as though he had scaled Mount Everest.

“I never was, Khushi,” he admitted. “I am learning to love and live now, Khushi, after meeting you.”

Khushi smiled. “Arnavji, I am so happy I came to your house for the pooja that day,” she said happily.





“So am I, Khushi. And so glad you found your way into my wardrobe,” he smiled.

Khushi  chuckled. “I made two new friends that day. You and Laxmiji,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes tender.

“But I am closer to you than to Laxmiji. Woh kya he, she can’t kiss me like you do,” she said seriously.

Arnav gave up the good fight and burst out laughing loudly.








“Now it is just mehendi and haldi, Khushi. After that we can get married and you will come to stay here with us,” Arnav told her softly as the families said their good nights.

Her face fell.

“Kya hua, Khushi?” he asked, worried.

“Poor Buaji will be alone after we get married,” she sighed.

“We will visit daily, Khushi,” Arnav promised. “Or if she is willing, she can move in here. Nani, Mami and Di would love that. As it is they are on the phone with Buaji all day long.”

Khushi quickly leaned close and kissed him on his cheek.

“You are so so sweet, Arnavji. How can you be a diabetic?” she asked.

Arnav smiled.

“I will ask Buaji,” Khushi promised.

“Call me, Khushi. We will arrange everything according to her wishes,” he informed her.

Khushi nodded.

“Titliya, haven’t you finished whispering in Arnav bitwaa’s ear? Chalo, it is time to go home, Nandkisore!” Buaji called.

“I am coming, Buaji,” Khushi called.

Buaji had arranged a car to take them back to Laxmi Nagar after the sangeet. Arnav saw both of them into the vehicle and stood waiting as they waved and said their last byes.

He waved and lingered there till the vehicle vanished from his sight.