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/
Dedicated to Supriya Sahasrabuddhe (Sups/ aniyathi). She wanted Mami and Payal to plot to bring A-K together. So here goes,
Part 33
They drove
to Agra at night, reaching there at dawn.
Khushi
yawned as they were shown to their rooms in the exclusive resort by the Taj
Mahal.
“When do
you have your meeting, Arnavji?” she asked as they crawled thankfully into bed.
“Ten,” he
answered, stretching out in bed, fatigued. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“Ji.”
“Khushi, I
haven’t forgotten your golgappe or the place you want to visit,” he murmured
sleepily.
“So
jaayiye,” she answered in a soft voice. “There’s time enough for all that.”
Arnav woke
up in the morning, blinking as sunlight fell on his face. He turned his head to
look at Khushi. She was asleep, her long lashes shielding her eyes, her
beautiful form covered by the blanket.
He smiled.
Seven days and nights of love and peace. He could almost dance in joy.
He looked
at the clock on the wall. ‘Get up and finish the meeting, ASR,’ he told
himself. ‘Then you can get on with your life with Khushi.’
Khushi
stirred when she felt her husband kiss her gently on her cheek and forehead.
She opened her eyes to see him sitting on the bed by her, all dressed and ready
to leave.
“Good
morning,” he murmured, his eyes tender and molten.
“Good
morning. You are leaving, Arnavji?” she asked, sitting up.
“I will be
back for lunch, Khushi. Then I will take you wherever you want to go and buy
you as many golgappe as you can eat,” he said with a smile. “Breakfast is
here,” he said, nodding towards the trays on the table. “Eat and rest. I will
be back before you know it.”
Khushi
nodded.
“Call me or
Aman if you need help, Khushi. I will keep my phone close to me and warn Aman
too,” he said.
“Ji.”
He stood up
reluctantly. Khushi left the bed, saw him off and locked the door after him.
She smiled
as she looked at the pieces of luggage. She had refused to let the attendants
unpack. Their clothes were still in the bags with only necessary stuff taken
out.
She grabbed
an anarkali and went to have a shower and freshen up.
***
Arnav
returned at one to find that Khushi had ordered lunch.
“Khushi, we
could have gone to one of the four restaurants here,” he began, sorry that she had been cooped up
for half a day.
“I don’t
want to go to a restaurant. Let’s eat, Arnavji. After lunch, I want you to take
me to a special place,” she said softly, serving him.
“Kahan?” he
asked. Did she want to visit a temple or go sightseeing?
“Back to
Delhi,” she said softly.
He stared
at her speechless.
“You took
one week off for our honeymoon, didn’t you?” she asked, a faint tinge of red on
her cheeks.
“Yes,” he
admitted.
“I would
like to spend that one week at your nanaji’s cottage in your mama’s garden,”
she said quietly.
He was
speechless, surprised and moved.
His silence
flustered her. She remembered Lavanya’s words about him not sharing his
girlfriends’ space. Maybe he didn’t want her in his sacred place, intruding
into his special zone. “If you don’t want that, it is alright, Arnavji. We can
return home or stay here. I...”
He stopped
her. “I want to,” he said softly. “I can’t think of anything I want more than
that.”
Khushi
beamed.
He leaned
forward and kissed her cheek gently. “Thank you, Khushi,” he said softly.
She smiled
at him and leaned forward to brush her lips against his hard, stubbled cheek.
He
swallowed hard at the first, tentative act of affection she had bestowed on him
out of the one night they had spent together.
“Khushi, I
promise. Tum aur mein, hamesha,” he whispered.
“I know,”
she said softly.
***
They
reached Delhi late in the evening, having taken a short visit to the Taj Mahal
before leaving. He parked the car in the car shed adjacent to the cottage.
“I called
Ram Lal and asked him to stock the cottage with essentials,” Arnav explained.
“If we need anything else, we can go shopping.”
“Ji.”
He unlocked
the cottage and led her in, holding her hand in a firm grip till he switched on
the light and dispelled the darkness that scared her.
Khushi
smiled at him in gratitude and looked around. Antique furniture, framed
paintings and sketches done by children, simple furnishings...It was cozy,
perfect for a honeymoon.
He brought
in their luggage and led her to the master bedroom.
“There are
three bedrooms, Khushi,” he told her.
“Ji.”
He dumped
the bags and took her on a tour of the house that ended with the kitchen.
“I will
serve dinner,” Khushi said.
He stayed
close by as she transferred the food into dishes, stealing a kiss when they
were setting the table.
Finally
they sat down to eat in a small kitchen bathed in a mellow light, caught in a
strange kind of silence that held anticipation and tension.
As the meal
ended, Khushi sat back and asked casually, “When did you realise you love me?”
He looked
at her, startled, his eyes revealing, unguarded.
Khushi
didn’t wait for an answer. With her fingers fiddling with her mangalsutra she
said softly, “Waise, I am not totally guiltless in this debacle.”
He swallowed
hard.
“Woh—woh,”
she murmured, her eyes falling to the soiled plate before her.
He felt
time stand still.
She slowly
lifted her eyes to look at him.
“Woh—at
jiji’s wedding, I—I didn’t come to you to give you a jalebi,” she confessed.
“Woh—I told Preetho that—that you looked handsome, bilkul like Salman Khanji.”
His eyes
widened.
She
continued bravely, “I thought you must be a friend of jiju’s from Delhi. I had
no idea you were his brother. Preetho challenged me to approach you if I was so
interested. I—I was scared, but I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t a
coward...and I wanted to meet you. Isliye I...”
“I—I was
talking to Aman about business,” he murmured.
She nodded.
“Woh—I
didn’t know you were involved with Lavanya. I never thought—matlab, you could
have been married. I never stopped to think.” She looked down at the table. “It
was a stupid thing to do.”
He said
through a dry throat, “You knocked me off my feet. I didn’t like that at all. I
didn’t want to be like my father, a prey to a pretty face. That’s why I—I am
sorry, Khushi. I was rude. I was angry with myself for being attracted to you.
That’s why I...”
She nodded.
“It had
been a hectic two months. I had just returned to Delhi from a month in Paris when I was
asked to come to Lucknow for Akash’s wedding. Lavanya had been irritating me
over the phone while I was in Paris and I had too much work on my hands. And I
didn’t want to visit Lucknow, the place where our lives had fallen apart. I was
at the end of my tether, seriously freaking out when you approached me. I am
sorry,” he said softly.
She nodded.
“I couldn’t
take my eyes off you. I watched you cry at the wedding and wondered if you were
upset at my rudeness. It was only when you approached me with the thali and
Akash introduced us that...” his voice trailed away.
She nodded.
“It was a shock to find out that you were jiji’s jetji.”
“And then
that pest NK turned up,” he muttered.
Khushi
gasped. “Don’t say such things about my Nanheji.”
He said, “He deserves it. He was all over you and you were smiling away. I
wanted to kill him.”
“Jealous?”
she asked directly.
“Very,” he
admitted easily.
“You had no
reason to be,” she said.
“I know,
but,” he paused. “I wanted to apologise to you before we left for Delhi, but.”
“I didn’t
want to hear it,” Khushi admitted. “I was very angry with you. Waise, why does
Nanheji call you Nannav?”
Arnav
looked out of the window. “That idiot couldn’t pronounce my name properly when
he was a kid. He used to lisp and call me Nannav. I thought he would grow out
of it, but.” He shook his head.
Khushi
smiled. “It is very cute,’ she said.
Arnav
rolled his eyes.
They sat in
silence for a long moment. Then he said, the words drawn out of him, “I saw you
everywhere.”
“Ji?” she
asked in bewilderment.
“After I got back to Delhi, it was you everywhere--in the
file, on the laptop screen, in my dreams.” He shook his head in
incomprehension. “I began to sketch clothes for you. I designed clothes after
eight years, just for you. I filled notepads with drawings like a mad man on
the loose. I drew till I dropped, till my shoulder and arm ached. I could see
you in the lehengas and sarees and anarkalis I drew.” He smiled. “My firm has
never produced ethnic clothes before. I started a line just for you, calling it
diversification.”
She smiled.
“What kind
of madness is this, Khushi?” he asked softly.
“I don’t
know, Arnavji. But whatever it is, we are both caught in it. That’s enough for
me,” she said softly.
He nodded
slowly.
“I never
thought something like this existed. I never believed—I didn’t know that my
whole mind, body, soul—everything I am—would be focused on another person. That
your happiness would mean more to me than mine. I didn’t know, Khushi,” he
admitted.
She nodded.
“Di talked
to me of marriage and I blew up. I never intended to marry. Never. After what
happened in my past, I had absolutely no plans to marry. That’s why I went in
for girlfriends who knew the score, girlfriends I didn’t care about and who
didn’t give a damn about me. If I knew I would meet you some day, Khushi, I
would never have...”
She looked
down at her plate. She got up and began collecting the used utensils, not
looking at his face. She placed them in the sink and opened the tap, making
certain that her back was facing him and her face was hidden from him.
His hand
came to shut the tap.
Khushi
stiffened.
His hands
cupped her shoulders. He gently tugged her back against him.
She lowered
her head hoping to hide her tear-stained face.
He turned
her to face him, his heart stopping at the sight of her wet face.
“Khushi,”
he whispered, pulling her into his arms and hugging her as tightly as he could.
Khushi
sobbed hard, her arms around his back, her fingers clutching his shoulders. All
her sorrow and her insecurities poured out as hot tears, wetting his jacket and
shattering his heart into a thousand pieces.
“Khushi,
please don’t cry,” he whispered, his voice shaky.
Her body
shook under the force of her anguish.
He rubbed
her back, showered kisses on her hair and rubbed her scalp to calm and soothe
her, but to no avail.
She
continued to weep soundlessly, her slim body unable to withstand the pangs of
misery.
He bent to
lift her in his arms. She hid her face in the crook of his neck. Holding her
securely in his arms, he carried her to their bedroom and set her down.
He got in
with her and lay hugging her, not letting an inch of space between them.
“I met
Lavanya at the restaurant yesterday,” she admitted against his heart, her voice
tear-filled.
His breath
stopped.
Fresh hot
tears wet his chest.
He shut his
moist eyes in acute grief. He didn’t ask her what Lavanya had said.
“That’s why
I said I don’t want to stay in a hotel,” she admitted.
He nodded,
feeling terrible.
"I didn't want our honeymoon to be like...be like..." she wept.
“Do you
think I will confuse you with another lady, Khushi?” he asked gently.
She said
nothing.
“I won’t,
ever. They don’t exist, not in my head, not in my heart, not in my life. They never
did, not even when I was seeing them.”
Tears
flowed silently down her cheeks. He tried to dry her cheeks with his fingers.
When her
tears subsided, he asked softly, “Don’t you trust me, Khushi?”
She nodded.
“Do you
think I loved any of my girlfriends?” he asked.
She had no
hesitation in shaking her head.
“Then
please don’t cry, Khushi. I can’t change the past. Not what happened to my and
your parents, not our childhoods, not my girlfriends. Give me a chance to make
a new present and a future for us,” he pleaded.
Khushi
nodded, trying to dry her wet face.
“I promise
to spend the rest of my life loving you and only you, Khushi,” he said
seriously.
She nodded,
sniffing.
“I love
you, Khushi,” he said softly, feeling liberated, free as the words slipped out.
“I know,”
she countered.
“Then
believe it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers.
Her lips
parted.
“You may not believe it, but this is
new for me, Khushi, as much as it is to you,” he whispered before kissing her
as though he had been starving for her.
She
clutched his shoulders; her fingers raked his hair.
They rolled over, Khushi
lying on him, their lips still locked.
He relieved
her of the weight of her dupatta. Her fingers attacked his jacket. He unzipped
her and slid the anarkali down her arms and body, his fingers trailing gently
over the exposed skin.
Khushi
moaned loudly.
She unbuttoned his shirt and ran an eager hand
over the vast expanse of his chest.
He turned
to let her lie on her back, his legs coiling with hers.
“Khushi, I
love you...so much,” he groaned.
Khushi
answered by throwing his shirt away and attacking him with kisses to every
available surface. In between she murmured, “Hum bhi aapse bahut prem karte
hein.”
Her hand
moved down his torso.
He
shivered. “Khushi...”
She caught
hold of his belt and tugged.
“Khushi,”
he whispered hoarsely.
He managed
to free her of her clothes and traced her figure with trembling fingers.
“Arnavji,” she squealed.
“Hhmmm?” he
asked, setting his lips to work.
Her nails
marked his back, unable to bear the sweet torture of his touch.
“You are a
shaitan,” she whispered against his lips.
“Only
yours, Khushi,” he promised, moving his lips down to the base of her throat
where her pulse throbbed.
“Rakshas,”
she whimpered.
“Only
yours, Khushi,” he said kissing her lower.
“Laad
Governor kahin ka,” she groaned.
“Only
yours, Khushi,” he sealed the promise against her navel. “Hamesha, hamesha, my sweet Afghan jalebi.”
The End
Darlings,
Will be
back next week with a new story. I need the time to finish the last few
chapters of my novel, Waiting For You, edit and publish it.
Keep safe,
Bye!
Rash's Interpretation:
Part 32
Just a simple request from Khushi to spend their honeymoon at the cottage of his Mama’s garden left Arnav Singh Raizada bereft of words… When he had given Khushi the hotel room with the best view of Taj Mahal, the queen of his heart, opted for his mother’s humble abode… The loving husband’s reaction of stunned silence had doubts creep into her mind… But his happy agreement sealed away those doubts for forever…
Once in the cottage after having something suited to their palate, Khushi took him by surprise with her query… when did he realize that he loved her?… She admitted that she too had her guilt part in their first meet… She told him she had made the advance taking up the challenge from her friend, without even bothering to find out whether he was already taken… This confession of hers opened to his outpour… He was at the end of his tether with his work and Lavanya’s irritating ways… With her step to converse with him, she Khushi, became the butt of his anger without realizing who it could be as he had been away when Akash’s wedding was fixed.
After meeting her, she became the source of his inspiration, his happiness…. She clouded his thoughts, and he lived in its haze which was akin to madness… He spoke at length about his thoughts on love, marriage and his girl friends’… They knew the score all along and were happy to go along… His way of life was fine by him until he met her… His only regret was if only he knew that he was to meet a girl named Khushi, who lived up to her given name and more, he would have waited for her to appear… On the canvas of life… we often go off color… but as long as there are special people to add the right shades…. Life goes on to be a rainbow… If only he knew… After hearing his version, Khushi was filled with tears…
Seeing her in tears shattered his heart to smithereens… The most important thing in communication is hearing what is not said… He could see, she, a simple person, who hid a thousand feelings behind the happiest smile, had lowered her happy mask and gave vent to her feelings… With tears streaming down her cheeks she told him of her meeting Lavanya and that was the root cause for her to uproot them from the hotel… She didn’t want her life with him to be a repeat of how it was with his girlfriends… Arnav asked her to trust him and he would never ever confuse her with them as they meant nothing to him emotionally… If he could give her one thing… he would give her the ability to see herself through his eyes… Then she would realize how special she was… The best thing in life was finding her… knowing all his mistakes and weakness… and still thinks that he is complete and special…
He realized after he met Khushi that anyone can come into your life and say how much they love you… but it takes someone really special to stay in your life and show how much they love you…
This was the story of the Laad Governor and his Afghan Jalebi… the delectable looking man who had his nose high up in the air, was brought down from his high horses by a deceptive looking simple small town girl, who became his wife… She, Khushi was a person with positive outlook, with her own set of ideas and responsibilities… Her charisma and strength of character were quite unconventional in her surroundings… Yet with her unique identity she held harmony in the family as of utmost importance… Be it with her adopted family or the family she was married to or her relation with her husband with her soft look held on to her beliefs and adjusted her sails whenever necessary without compromising her dignity… The secret of happiness is letting every situation be what it is, instead of what you think it should be…. That’s why she is an Afghan Jalebi, the deceptive beloved of her Lord Governor…
A beautiful story has come to an end… Smita… it was a delight to go through and was hooked to it… Loved every twist of it…
