110. Marrying Khushi: Part 1

Marrying Khushi

Part 1: A Vision

Sheesh Mahal was his once again.

Arnav Singh Raizada looked at its crumbling glory with contemptuous eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses, contempt hiding the pain of his past, a bloody and tragic past that each and every stone of the huge edifice before him was familiar with.

He turned away to look at the sprawling lawn. He had bought it for Di. He had reclaimed their heritage, throwing their Chacha out of their ancestral house.

His eyes became cold as ice behind the glasses.

In  a month’s time, after all the repairs were completed, AR Designs would organise a stunning fashion show on the premises. As his models walked the ramp erected on the hallowed acres, he would lay his stamp on the property. His possession of it would be complete, and all ghosts would be laid to rest forever. The Raizadas would vanquish the Malliks...forever.

He strode to his car, trying to push all bitter memories away. Mohan, his driver ran to open the door for him.

He lay back against the seat as Mohan tried to make his way through the narrow, crowded gullies of Lucknow. Light from the street lamps fell against his window, lighting up a part of his face. 

Once upon a time, he too had lived in Lucknow. His life had been normal, his childhood had been unremarkable. And then the bomb had burst, shattering his & Di’s lives....

 He leaned back in his seat, his eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched.

The sound of the bullet that had killed his mother...two bodies covered in white lying on the floor as he and his sister wept bitter tears at their demise....the taunting look in his crafty uncle’s cruel eyes as he threw them out of the only home they knew…

He clenched his fists. When would the nightmares end? Would he be free of its coils, ever?

He looked out at what he could see of the city of his birth. He looked out at the modest homes and small shops that littered the sides of the roads, the children playing by the road, the channawala, the street vendors….

He felt removed from the world, distanced from reality, trapped in a miasma of betrayal, caught in a bubble of pain and nightmares that just wouldn’t quit....

Mohan stood on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a stop.

“What the!” ASR swore.

“It is a barat, Arnav Bhaiyya.” Mohan said softly, hoping desperately that the delay would not infuriate ASR, trigger a temper tantrum.

Arnav bit on his tongue as he looked out at the colourful procession. The bridegroom on a horse, his face covered by a floral veil, a uniformed band playing the latest Bollywood hits, hired men carrying bright lanterns, relations dancing around the groom…. 

ASR glanced at his expensive watch. He lifted his head to glare at the crowd…and forgot to breathe.

A vision in pink and violet, her silky hair streaming behind her, was dancing vigorously to the beat. The joy on her beautiful face, the glowing creamy skin, her eyes twinkling with excitement, the nose pin glinting against the fine lines of her patrician nose, her long, heavy earrings swinging against her plump cheeks, the heavy necklace lovingly cupping the lines of her swan-like neck, the glimpse of the creamy curve of her waist, exposed by the lines of her lehenga…. Arnav stared mesmerised at the figure, losing awareness of who he was, where he was…. His entire attention was riveted on the girl.

Part 2

Arnav Singh Raizada threw away the photos with a flick of his hand, his lips curling in a sneer. The models selected for the major fashion show to be held at Sheesh Mahal next month were all too…too model-like…. He wanted something extraordinary, something that would jump off the ramp and hit the audience between their collective brows… 

The image of the laughing, dancing girl flashed through his mind as it had been doing continuously for the past three days since he had returned from Lucknow to Delhi…. He shut his eyes to savour her picture, to hold it close to him like a secret, like his own private treasure….

Anjali picked up the discarded photos one by one.

“Chotey, kya hua?” her dulcet tone did little to lower his irritation.

He frowned. “The girls…they are boring. Ordinary.”

Last night he had dreamed of the dancing girl. Again. She had sat by him as he had slept, softly running her fingers through his hair….

Anjali hesitated. Then finally, she asked, “Chotey, they are for the fashion show in Sheesh Mahal?”

“Yes.” His tone discouraged her from speaking her mind.

 But she was Arnav Singh Raizada’s sister.

“Chotey, I was thinking… Sheesh Mahal is an ancient building…” she began.

Arnav turned his head to look at her, his eyes expressionless. 

“Instead of western apparel, why don’t you display your Indian collection? It will suit the ambience, the décor….” Anjali said, excited at the prospect. “Just imagine, Chotey, models wearing elaborate lehengas and heavy sarees against the backdrop of the haveli…”

The image of the girl in the pink and violet lehenga, dancing without a care, enjoying the moment to the fullest, again filled his head and heart. Not that it had ever vanished from them, coming between his work and sleep, turning his days and nights colourful… He saw her walking down the ramp towards him…only towards him.

 The red sari flowing behind her, her hair dancing in the wind, the heavy jewellery enhancing her fragile form…. She was smiling, her eyes lustrous with anticipation, her breathing heavy… the very air was still, throbbing as his heart was, waiting to see what would transpire in that momentous moment of their meeting…. She would be perfect. Perfect…for the show… for him….

“Yes.” He acceded, to Anjali’s shock. “Let’s stage our wedding collection there.” He wanted to see his girl dressed in a bridal lehenga designed by him, wanted to see her eyes lowered in shyness, wanted to touch the mehendi on her arms, kiss the design on her palms, hear the payal on her feet as she walked towards him, his bride….


Part 3

(Thanks a million for the gorgeous banner, Akorshi)

 (Thanx a million, Nishu_Shorna, for the fab banner!)

“Di, I want you to help me out with this.” He turned away to hide his eyes from her perceptive ones. “I want a new crop of models, not the same old ones. I want them to look like real women, not stick insects. Otherwise the Indian clothes won’t look good on them…”

Anjali gaped at him.

“Liaise with our usual modelling agency. Ask them to …” he looked around for inspiration. “…run a contest or something…advertise zealously…. and get good girls, pretty girls out of their middle class homes in Lucknow on to the ramp.”

“Chotey!” Anjali couldn’t comprehend the many-headed dragon-like form that her simple suggestion had taken.

“Di, get in touch with Aman and the agency and devise ways to get the girls. Send the photos to me for approval. Train them to walk and dress. We will hold the fashion show in Sheesh Mahal. In a month’s time.” Arnav decided.

“Yes, Sir.” Anjali teased him. “Anything else, Sir?”

“I want the prettiest girls in Lucknow…” He looked away out of the window “…on the ramp, modelling my clothes.” He picked up a file and moved towards the door. “I am sure you won’t disappoint me, Di.”

Anjali collapsed in her chair, holding her head in her hands.

Arnav lay in bed, looking at the curtains of his room dancing in the cool breeze. Soon she would come to him. In the dark cloak of the night, she would appear by him, hold his hand, touch his lined face, soothe the furrows on his temple… he shut his eyes desperately seeking the oblivion of sleep so that he could be one with her.

She came to him, clothed in a white saree, the pure white of clouds, of milk, of dreams. Her hair, left unbound, was flying all around her face, looking like a halo in the dim light.

She took tiny steps towards him, hesitating to approach him.

He held out his hand.

She placed her hand in his. He could feel the warm silk of her dainty fingers enclosed in his callused hand. He pulled her to lie on him, against him, savouring the soft warmth of her lush body against his.

“Why were you late tonight?” he asked.

She smiled, looking into his intent eyes with playful ones.

“Why do you make me wait every night?” he asked, his husky drawl seductive and wicked.

She laughed silently. He could feel her body rocking against his with laughter.

Her hair fell over her shoulders and across his chest. A few strands lingered against her cheek.

“What is your name?” He smoothed them back with tender fingers, loving the feel of her skin against his rough digits.

She smiled at him, silent.

He looked deep in to her eyes that were dark pools of secrets. “I will find out one day. I will find you one day. And that day, mark my words, you will not escape me.” he promised her softly, his voice dangerously serious.

She tried to move away from him, but he resisted. He locked his strong arms around her willowy body and pulled her more firmly against him.

“I won’t let you go tonight.” he whispered in her ear, his hands running down her back. She trembled in his hold, her eyes lowered in shyness.

 He rolled over, trapping her under his limbs, his weight pressing her down in to the mattress. 

Her eyes flew to his determined ones. She blushed, seeing his passion for her turning them in to molten pools of chocolate brown.

 His lips swooped down on hers, tasting the nectar hidden within.

ASR looked through the photos, his sharp eyes scanning the features of each candidate eagerly. No…not this one, no, not her, no, no… he discarded photo after photo to the utter bafflement of Anjali & Aman.

“Hopeless. They are hopeless.” he muttered, fury and disappointment eating in to his heart.

“Sir, they are the best we could find.” Aman protested.

“Not good enough.” ASR muttered. “Are you sure there aren’t any more photos?” 

“The agency could get only ten candidates, Sir.” Aman said apologetically.

Arnav turned to walk away to the window. It was night. Stars twinkled against the backdrop of a dark sky. Where was she? Why was she hiding from him?

“Chotey, what are you looking for?” Anjali asked, finally, fed up of Chotey’s finicky taste and the unnatural interest he was showing in selecting models.

“A girl…” he said softly. “I mean, girls… with long silky hair and clear complexions. Girls who look Indian, well-bred, khandaani…”

“Bahu-beti types?” asked Aman, his eyes round in shock. “On the ramp?” He looked at Anjali, slack-jawed.

She too was staring at her brother as though she had never seen him before.

Finally, she asked, her sharp eyes on him, “And this girl…I mean, these girls have to be from Lucknow?”

“Yes.” ASR stated, his tone firm.

Anjali looked at him with suspicion in her eyes.

“And does this girl…I mean, girls have a name?” she asked, her arms crossed, her chin raised in the air.

Aman looked from ASR to his sister and back again.

Arnav stiffened.

 Slowly, he turned to look at Anjali, a frown on his face. “I am going to Lucknow tomorrow to oversee the selection of models.” He changed the topic adroitly. “We will have to postpone the show.”


 Part 4: Running into eachother

Tose Naina (Mickey Virus)

Arnav threw the portfolio of a hopeful model across the table. It skidded across the vast, smooth expanse and fell to the ground, scattering the photos stored within it.

Anjali looked at Aman. Both of them stared at ASR.

He turned to the window and looked out at the city of Lucknow. Hundreds of houses, many streets, many shops, thousands of people…and among them, somewhere...was hidden his girl. 

“Chotey, you didn’t like the new crop of models?” Anjali asked her brother’s straight, slim back, sighing.

“No.”

“Sir, we will get the next list from Lines and Figures agency in ten minutes.” Aman comforted him, hoping to avoid witnessing more objects flying in the air.

Arnav stared out of the window, trying to keep his panic down. Where was she? What would he do if she did not appear as a candidate? If she refused to fall for the lure of a modelling contract, fame, money, success…?

“Chotey, what is wrong with the models we met? What more do you expect from a small town like Lucknow?” Anjali was at the end of her patience. Chotey was unpredictable and stubborn at the best of times, but this time he had managed to raise the bar for himself!

“They…they are not what I am looking for.” ASR said, images of the girl rushing in to his head. What kind of madness was this? He worked with beautiful women day in and day out. Not a single one had succeeded in making an impression in his head, let alone his heart. And now…. He stood still, his eyes shut, feeling his heart thud in his ribcage at the very thought of his girl.

It was evening.

Another full day of meeting models, and not one of them had been his girl. ASR rubbed the back of his neck, weary, scared of failure….

Di had finally selected eight girls, and sent them for a month’s training. But his girl…Where was she? Arnav grabbed his coat, and rushed out of the room.

Aman looked at Anjali.

“Madam, what is wrong with ASR?” Aman asked softly.

“Either he has fallen in love or a wasp has bitten him.” Anjali chuckled wryly.

Aman looked at her slack-jawed. “ASR in love? Must be the wasp. That is more probable.”

“Miracles do happen, Amanji!” she trilled.

ASR rushed to the spot he had seen his girl dancing in abandon to the music of the band, her hair flying in the wind, the dupatta of her pink and violet lehenga trailing after her, the skirt of her lehenga clinging to her lissome figure….

He looked around.

Rickshaws, buses, people on two-wheelers…. vendors…cows…temple bells ringing… policeman trying to control the unruly traffic… Where was she?

How could he find her? He had no idea of her name, age, family, address…. He would have to go from house to house to identify her… What if she was a visitor to Lucknow, and not a resident? He paled at the horrendous thought, his heart sinking to his shoes.

No, no, he wouldn’t lose her. She wouldn’t escape him.

He was Arnav Singh Raizada, ASR the tycoon.

He straightened, standing firm and tall. Nothing was impossible for him. From nothing, he had made everything his family had today. Like the phoenix, he had risen from his own ashes. He could do it. He would get her, whatever happened, even if she was hidden in the farthest corner of the earth. Anything else was unacceptable!

He walked around, looking closely at the faces of the people passing by. He walked on to the road, still scanning profiles and visages. He should have just pulled her in to his car when he had seen her, and driven off. He should not have let her out of his sight, ASR panicked, rubbing his chest lightly as he stood in the middle of the road, deaf to the blaring sound of the horns asking him to move out of the way of the traffic.

Anjali & Aman looked at the stern, cold face of the man driving the car. He looked ill, totally preoccupied with his unhappy thoughts. He was not sleeping well, not eating well… His face looked almost fleshless, gaunt, the grooves running from the sides of his nostrils down to his jaw, pronounced in his misery….

What could she do? He wouldn’t open up to her or anyone else. He was looking for some girl, she was sure. But he hadn’t found her. They had been in Lucknow for four days, and were now returning to Delhi, defeated. Anjali looked away out of the window to hide her moist eyes.

Her eyes caught sight of the famous Gomti Nagar market.

“Chotey, can you stop the car for a moment?” she asked sweetly. “I would like to buy some ber and kajal for Mami.” 

ASR halted the car near the gateway to the market. Anjali made to leave the vehicle, but Arnav stopped her.

“Di, sit in the car. The ground is uneven, and it is getting dark.” he said brusquely. “I will buy you whatever you want.”

“Sir, I can…” Aman offered.

“No, you can’t. Di’s list will soon be so long that you won’t be able to remember half the things in it.” ASR said, his lips twisting in slight amusement.

Anjali pouted. “Chotey, that’s unfair.”

“Really? Fine. Then I will just get the ber & the kajal.” Arnav left the car and made to move away.

Anjali called out through her open window, “Chotey! Get some karela too if they are fresh. And some chudi. If the bindis are good, then buy them too. Henna cones…kurtis if they are good…jootis…bed sheets with chikan kari work…jadau jhumkas…incense sticks…attar… pickles…”

Arnav looked at Aman’s astonished face for a moment. Then both men looked away to hide their smiles.

Arnav walked in to the huge market. It was dusk, and lanterns and lights lit up the entire space. Hundreds of small shops set in alley after narrow alley sold everything under the sun. A frown creasing his forehead, Arnav quickly picked out the many things his Di wanted. Soon he had two bags full of gifts.

“Sir, I will store them in the car.” Aman appeared behind him.

“I will get the pickle.” Arnav said as he handed over the two bags and walked away in search of the appropriate shop.

Holding a glass bottle of mango pickle in his hand, Arnav made his way out of the shop in to the dark, narrow street. He looked around. He needed to walk to the end of the road & turn right to reach the main part of the market. He looked at his watch in the dim light. He needed to get going.

ASR walked rapidly forward, making his way through the crowd, holding the bottle carefully in his hand. He reached the end of the street, his long legs eating up the distance effortlessly.

It was a dark corner. As Arnav navigated the sharp bend, a soft warm body hurtled in to his, knocking the bottle out of his hand.

The bottle fell to the ground and cracked, the oily tangy mess of the pickle slowly seeping out through the crack on to the earth.

But ASR heard nothing, saw nothing. His girl…he had finally found her…or she had found him…. He stood as though turned to stone, feeling the warmth of the feminine bundle against his hard chest and body....

Slowly his arms rose to gather her close. His right arm crossed her lower back and pulled her lower body as close as possible to his.

His left hand touched her between her shoulder blades, pushing her against him. He stood, silent, immobile, feeling her breath against his throat, her silky hair against his cheek, her heart thudding against his, her limbs touching his long legs, his fingers feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin cotton of her suit, his nostrils filled with the scent of jasmine…. Her arms were around his waist… He should have chucked the coat before setting out for Delhi. Then he could have felt her touch with greater intensity…

As he stood there, caught in the magic of the moment, the girl tried to free herself, first gently and then vigorously.

Reluctantly, his arms fell away.

She lifted her head and he looked in to the most beautiful face he had ever seen in his short life, lit by the dim lantern of a nearby shop.

Wide hazel eyes looked at him in astonishment.

ASR stared at her, unable to believe his eyes. He had found her!

He caught her by the arm to ensure that she did not leave him again; his eyes looked at her with so much intensity from his stern face that she felt he was peeling off her skin and looking under.

She tried to free her arm from his hold, but he was in no mood to let go. His burning eyes, his clenched jaw, the bite of his fingers on the soft flesh of her arm… all told her that he was angry. Furious.

She frowned. Why should he be angry with her? They had just met.

She looked down and saw the shattered bottle of pickle on the ground. Her face blanched.

“Awwww!” she put up her hand, the fingers covering the perfect O of her parted lips.

ASR looked at her, drinking in every expression, every nuance of her personality, every look, every thought as though he were a thirsty traveller and she an oasis in a desert.

She folded her hands, even though one arm was under his custody.

“I am so sorry, so so sorry! Lakhon sorry. Please, maaf keejiye hamein. Devi Maiyya ki kasam, I did not mean to do it!” Her voice! It was honey sweet.

 ASR swallowed hard. She had never spoken in his dreams.

Her penitent eyes looked at him with worry and shame in their depths.

“Buaji always says that I am clumsy, that I should look where I am going!” She hit her head with her hand. “But how can Khushi Kumari Gupta do that? If she does not knock in to things and trip over something, people will think that she is sick.”

ASR’s eyes took care not to miss a single twitch of hers.

Khushi Kumari Gupta! That was her name, Khushi!

“I will buy you a new bottle of pickle. You bought it from Ramu Chacha’s shop, didn’t you? You must have. He is the best in Gomti Nagar market!” Arnav found himself being held by the arm, turned around, and dragged back to the shop he had previously favoured.

He turned his head to look at the slip of a girl towing him ahead through the crowd. He was happy. In the crowd of thousands of people, in an unfamiliar noisy market in Lucknow, he was happy. Because she was with him.

She led him to the shop, and at the door, shouted, “Ramu Chacha!”

The elderly proprietor looked up. It was a busy evening, and a big crowd was milling around the displays.

“Kaa he, Bitiyaa?” he shouted.

“I am taking a bottle of your mango pickle. The bada wala.” she announced.

“Humka poochne ki kauno jaroorat he kaa?” the man asked. “Jo chahiye, le lio.”

She grabbed a big bottle of pickle, and holding it in one hand and his arm in the other, proceeded to leave.

“Who is this boy in coat, suit, and boot with you, Khussi? Have you got engaged without my knowledge?” the old man teased.

Khushi pouted. “How can I get engaged to another man, Chacha? I am still waiting for you to grow up and get some teeth!”

The elderly man chuckled, and he was joined by his helpers and the customers, most of whom knew Khushi and her family. Arnav paid close attention to the occupants of the room.

“Come here!” the man summoned her.

Khushi went to him, dragging Arnav behind her. She handed over the bottle of pickle to Arnav.

The old man placed a piece of pickled mango in her mouth, and gave her another piece. “That is for the babua with you.”

Khushi smiled her thanks, gave Arnav his piece, and left the shop sucking on her piece of mango and holding ASR by his arm.

“Tell your father that I will see him on Tuesday at the temple.” the old man hollered.

“Have you missed meeting him on Tuesday atleast once in 20 years, Chacha, for me to remind him of this week’s meeting?” she asked around the mango, waving at Ramu Chacha.

“Your father?” Arnav asked.

Khushi’s face lit up. She pulled him closer to avoid a bullock cart that was delivering goods to a shop in the street. “My Babuji. Do you know who my Babuji is?” she asked cheerfully, pride on her face.

“No.” ASR said.

“He is a big businessman in Lucknow.” Khushi boasted.

“Acha?” ASR asked.

“Ji.” Khushi emphasised. “Haven’t you heard of Satwik Mistaan Bhandaar?”

ASR frowned. “No.”

Khushi was scandalised. “In which world do you live? How can you not hear of the most popular sweet shop in Lucknow?”

ASR had to look away from the consternation on her face to hide a strong urge to burst out laughing.

“You are ashamed! Good. You should be. My father, Sasi Gupta is the best halwai in Lucknow. His peda! His laddoo! And do you know who I am?” She placed her hands on her hips as she challenged him, her brows wiggling.

“Khushi?” he asked softly. How wonderful her name sounded!

“Offo! That’s just my name. I am really the Jalebi Bai of Lucknow!” she claimed.

ASR looked at her with awe in his eyes.

“Ji. People stand in long queues to buy my jalebis.” she claimed cheerfully.

“Really?’ He raised one eyebrow.

“Really. If you don’t believe me…” she looked around. “…ask Ramu Chacha…or Lallan Chacha…or Rajesh Mama….or….”

ASR looked down at the sweet face of Khushi, his girl, frowning as she tried to rope in as many uncles as she could to prove her right to the title of Jalebi Bai of Lucknow.

He wanted to kiss her senseless. He clenched his fists and his jaw; every muscle every sinew, every tendon stood alert as he tried very hard to control himself.

He should have organised a cooking contest in Sheesh Mahal, not a fashion show, he thought.

Part 5

Khushi turned her head to look at him, the stranger dressed formally and looking out of place in a Lucknow market. 

She frowned.

“Where are you from?”

“Delhi.”

“Oh!” she looked at him for a few more moments, and then said, “Acha, ab hamein chalna chahiye. Namaste!”

“Khushi!”

The call stopped her. She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes.

ASR struggled to find words to ask her to stay with him. How to arrange things so that she would be tied to him? Would be unable to leave him?

Unable to voice his need, he caught hold of her arm again.

Khushi misunderstood him spectacularly…again.

“You don’t know how to get out of the market?” She hit her head with her hand. “It is like a maze. For a person who comes here for the first time, it can be very confusing. Aap bilkul chinta mat keejiye! Hum he naa?” she smiled. “Please come with me.”

Khushi freed her arm from his and caught hold of his coat-covered arm and dragged him along with her out of the market, chattering nineteen to a dozen.

Arnav looked down at her in amazement.

“What is your name?” she asked at the late hour.

“Arnav Singh Raizada.”

It meant absolutely nothing to her.

“What are you doing in Lucknow?” Her curiosity was endearing.

What could he tell her? The truth? Maybe that would get her in to the fashion show. Hope filled his heart.

“I am a businessman.” he started.

“Acha?” she asked, turning her face away from his to wave at a young boy manning the counter at a dress shop.

“What do you sell? Sweets?” she asked.

Arnav swallowed. Her directness was disarming. “Clothes.” he said.

“Oh! That’s why you are dressed like this!” Khushi discovered. “You have a textile shop? In Delhi? You came to buy cheap maal from Lucknow?” she asked, her head twisted to one side, looking like a curious bird.

Arnav cleared his throat. How to reduce his multinational apparel company to a size that she could comprehend? He looked around, frantic for inspiration.

He looked down at her. She was staring at him, waiting for a reply.

Finally he said, “No, we design dresses…make them…and sell them…”

“Oh, you are a tailor!” Khushi exclaimed with all the glee of Archimedes at his discovery.

ASR stared at her in horror. Anger at his helplessness filled his veins.

“No. No, I am not a tailor!” he fumed.

“Theek he, Baba! You are not a tailor! Why are you so angry because you are not a tailor?” Khushi asked reasonably.

ASR looked around for inspiration and patience.

“I…I run a company that makes dresses…expensive dresses….” He tried his best to explain.

“Like Kareena Kapoorji wears?” Khushi asked.

ASR heaved a sigh of relief.

“Yes. Like your Kareena Kapoorji wears. Khushi, we need models to display the Indian clothes we have designed…”

Khushi frowned. “You need salesgirls?”

“No, I don’t need salesgirls!” shouted ASR.

“Why are you shouting? And that too at me? It is not my fault that you don’t need salesgirls!” Khushi made her side very clear. “If you are going to shout at me, I am going home.” She pointed to the entrance of the market. “That is the way out of the market. Let go of my arm.” she pouted. 

ASR took deep breaths to calm himself.

“Khushi, I don’t need salesgirls, but models. Models are girls who wear the clothes we design and walk on a stage to display the beautiful designs.”

“Oh! Pehle kaha hota na? I would have understood had you explained. I am not an idiot, Shri. Arnav Singh Raizadaji. Hum 12^th pass he!” Khushi made her displeasure clear.

“OK.” ASR tried again, calming her down by waving his arms. “Listen to me, Khushi. Models are paid really well. Why don’t you model our clothes this time?”

Khushi stared at him as if he had grown horns. “Hein?”

“Listen, Khushi. You will never get another chance like this. The fashion show is in Lucknow, in Sheesh Mahal.” He tried to persuade her to fall in with his plans.

“That huge white building in the centre of the city?” Khushi asked.

“Yes.” ASR’s lips firmed. “You will be trained for one month. And paid a good sum.” He mentioned the amount and her eyes became wide like saucers.

“The clothes are Indian. Sarees, lehengas… clothes that a bride would wear…” The image of the sari he had designed & crafted specially for her flashed through his mind. He waited for her reply with bated breath.

She remained silent, staring at him, her eyes unreadable.

ASR waited. Then he waited some more.

Finally, fed up of her silence, he said, “This is a very favourable deal. You won’t get a better one anywhere in Lucknow.”

Khushi looked at the ground for a moment, and then asked, “Why me?”

She had  a talent for asking uncomfortable questions. ASR could feel his mouth drying up.

“I mean, I can’t walk straight without tripping…” she said slowly. “If I am wearing a sari or lehenga, you can be sure that I will fall on you…”

Arnav swallowed hard. If only she would fall on him…..

“And why are you going around offering jobs to strangers? What kind of bad businessman are you, employing a person you know nothing of?” she wiggled her eyebrows in question.

ASR grabbed the opportunity with both hands…and both feet.

“Come with me.” he instructed as he dragged her along to the car.

“Kya kar rahe he aap? Chodiye hamein!” she hissed.

ASR was too desperate to listen to her.

“If I call out loudly, atleast fifty men will come to help me….” she gasped her threat as she ran to keep up with his long strides, her arm trapped in his firm, warm hold.

“They will beat you with sticks. Haddi pasli ek kar denge! Why do you have to come all the way to Lucknow from Delhi to get beaten?” she tried to reason with him.

He led her to the car.

Anjali & Aman stared at ASR and the girl he was pulling behind him, slack-jawed.

“Di, Aman, this is Khushi Kumari Gupta.” he said brusquely.

Anjali could only nod & smile faintly at the girls’ furious face. Aman stretched his lips in a smile, his eyes almost popping out.

“Khushi, this is my Di, Anjali Raizada. That is Aman, my manager.”

“Namaste! I would fold my hands, but this Laad Governar won’t let go of me!” Khushi complained. 

The jaws of Aman & Anjlai hit the ground.

“Aap inke Di he?” Khushi clarified.

Anjali nodded.

“Why didn’t you teach him some manners when he was a child? He has been dragging me through the market, holding my arm…” Khushi tried to free herself unsuccessfully. “Dard hota he, Baba! Chodiye hamein!”

ASR had to fight himself to release her.

Khushi rubbed her arm, grimacing at the imprint of his fingers. “What does he think of himself?” Khushi muttered. “Badtameezi ki bhi had hoti he!”

“Get in to the car.” he ordered.

Khushi’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Get in. I will take you home and meet your family.” ASR declared.

“No, no, no, no…” Khushi recited. “I won’t get in to your car. I won’t let you take me home. I won’t introduce you to my family….” As she spoke, she found herself bundled in to the back seat to join Anjali.

“Please don’t be scared.” Anjali said softly, her eyes softening as she looked her fill of the beautiful girl. So this was why Chotey had been like  a cat on a hot tin roof for the past few days….

“Who is scared? And that too of this…this…Laad Governar?” Khushi asked, making faces at Arnav who was driving away from the market.

“Where is your house, Khushi?” he asked.

“I won’t tell you.” Khushi placed her finger on her lips, and sat back.

Arnav slammed on the brakes. “Then we can sit here till you tell me the location of your house.” He leaned back in his seat.

Aman and Anjali looked at each other, unable to believe their eyes or ears.

Khushi fumed.

“I hope you are not hungry.” ASR said, a sardonic brow raised in the air.

Mice were eating her guts and moving on to nearby organs…. Buaji must have made poori…Jiji must have prepared her favourite aaloo… Amma’s besan laddoo…her mouth watered.

“Go straight.” She bit out.

Arnav started the car & drove ahead, hiding his smile. He could hear her muttering abuses beneath her breath.

“Turn left.”

He turned left.

“Stop here.”

He stopped there, before a whitewashed house, old in its construction and design. The name, Gomti Sadan, could be seen on the arch above the gate.

He left the car, and walked around to open the door for Khushi.

Khushi turned her face away from him.

He held out his hand to help her out of the seat.

She gave his hand the royal ignore, and jumped down.

Aman helped Anjali out, and all four moved towards the house.