138. OS 5: A Playful Love (Part 6-)

Section 6

Arnav quickly called Khushi on her phone.

Khushi looked at her phone. The fingers plaiting her hair stilled. ASR. She stared at the display till the call ended.

Arnav clutched the phone in his fingers. Khushi was not picking up the phone. He had hurt her badly, calling her honour in to question even when he knew that he was being unreasonable and was uttering accusations he didn’t believe she was capable of. Her integrity was as bright as the shining sun on a summer day. How could he have voiced such insults? How could he have hurt her so when she meant so much to him? He cursed himself and his anger that could eat in to his good sense. His temper had finally cost him what he most longed for...Khushi. What if she never talked to him? If she never forgave him? What would he do if she left Delhi?

He called her again.

Khushi cut the call, switched off the phone and crawled in to bed.

 How could he say such terrible things to her? How could he think she was capable of such low behavior? He knew her family, he knew her Jiji. Then how could he think that she would go with any man who called her?

Her eyes filled with tears.

It was because she was an orphan that he thought he could abuse her as he wished without fearing retaliation. If only she had an army of brothers! They would have beaten him to pulp and shown him what he could do with his anger. Khushi wiped her tears and sniffed. At least she had managed to slap him once.

She looked down at her hand. Had she really slapped him? Her Jiji’s jetji? She should not have done so. After all, he was her relation. But how could she not have hit him? He had been rude, too rude. And if he had any sense of family, if he counted her as a part of his family, would he have humiliated her so? No, he would have never done so. He treated Jiji and Di with respect. He was very respectful of Amma and Buaji. Then why had he been so rude with her? It was clearly because he looked on her as an outsider, an interloper.

Tears poured down her cheeks.

How could he...? And she...she had looked up to him, thought him her own blood, her own family, her friend, her own... Even when she had argued with him, she had done it out of a feeling of right, of haq over him...a right she didn’t have.

‘Khushi, Arnav Singh Raizada is not yours. He never was,’ she told herself, her heart aching. She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed her heart out.

Section 7

“Khushiji, please say you will. You won’t break my heart, will you?” Anjali begged nicely.

“Anjaliji...” she tried to protest.

“Please don’t say no, Khushiji. NK bhai will be doing the role of Ranjha,” Anjali, the queen of emotional blackmail, tried to tempt her.

“Yes, Khushiji. I will be the hero,” NK said, swinging an imaginary sword. “Will I have a pagar, Di?”

“Pagar?” Anjali frowned.

“A turban?” NK asked.

“Pagdi? No,” Anjali laughed. “This is Ranjha, not Akbar.”

All laughed.

Khushi looked at Nanheji’s face full of boyish enthusiasm. ‘You wanted a brother, didn’t you? Well, you have got one. Ab nibhao rishta,’ she thought, ‘I have to hang on till Rakshabandan. I can’t disappoint Nanheji. But doing a play...will ASR be there?’

“Khushiji,” Anjali set out to settle the doubts she could see on Khushi’s face. “We will be practicing at home. Chotey, Mamaji and Akash will be at the office. It will be just us ladies and NK bhai.”

“Titliyyaa, you are so fond of drama, on and off stage. Then why are you hesitating, Nandkisore?” Buaji teased.

“We will arrange for a stage to be built at home, Khushiji. The audience will be made up of our friends. And we will all be there with you,” Anjali wheedled.

“Khushi,” Amma warned. “How can you disappoint Anjali bitiyya?”

“Nani and Mami too are looking forward to seeing Khushiji on stage,” Anjali added.

“Khushiji, please agree. It will be so much fun!” NK added his mite.

Khushi nodded unwillingly. How could she refuse Jiji’s family? And it was only a matter of seven days, a week. She could tie rakhi on Nanheji’s wrist on the morning of August 10^th, get on the stage that evening and leave for Kanpur the next morning.

 And ASR would be at the office.

Section 8

Khushi’s phone rang. ASR.

She cut the call, placed the phone on the dining table and carried the plate of diced vegetables in to the kitchen for Amma to cook.

Her phone rang again. She grit her teeth. It must be him... again. She rushed to the table, checked the identity of the caller and cut it. She returned to the kitchen.

The phone rang again.

“Who is calling you so many times in the morning, Sanka Devi? And why are you cutting the calls? Is it some ganda boy, some lafanga who is trying to harass you? Let me talk to him. Uski nani yaad naahi dilaayi to hum Madhumati naahi,” Buaji threatened, getting up to walk to the phone.

Khushi quickly answered the call.

“Hello,” she said in a stiff voice.

“Khushi,” his husky murmur pulled at her heart strings.

 She swallowed.

“Who is it, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked.

“Jiji’s jetji,” Khushi answered.

“Arnav bitwaa?” Buaji’s face relaxed in to a smile. “Kaisen he babua?”

“Didn’t you see how babua was when he dropped you off last night, Buaji? Nothing much will have happened during the night to change him,” Khushi said mildly.

“Is it Arnav bitwa?” Amma asked eagerly. “Tell him I will make makai ki soup if he comes to lunch.”

 Khushi cupped her hand over the phone. “He is not starving in Shantivan. I am sure his family can make corn soup for him. You are my Amma, not his.”

“Khussi, tum bhi na!” Amma remonstrated.

“Khushi,” he called again.

“Yes?” Khushi spoke in to the phone.

“Khushi, I am sorry,” he whispered.

Khushi swallowed and looked down. She wanted to tear him in to bits, shred him in to pieces for hurting her. But she was helpless. There was a limit beyond which she could not retaliate without damaging Jiji’s marriage and shaking the foundations of her life. Anyway it was just for seven days, she thought. She could leave at the end of the week.

“Khushi, say something,” he whispered. Her silence was killing him.

“It is OK,” she said coldly.

He looked at the clear table and empty chair in her office through the wall of glass.

“It is not OK,” he replied. “Khushi, I...I was angry...” he began.

“Tell him that you are going to act in the play, Nandkisore,” Buaji encouraged her.

Khushi drew in air, hoping for some patience.

“Your sister came here in the morning. She asked me to act in Heer-Ranjha play to be staged on Rakshabandhan evening. I am acting in it,” she said tonelessly. She turned to look at Buaji. “Is there anything else I should tell your babua?”

The sarcasm went right over Buaji’s pallu-covered head. “Tell him Nandkisore is Ranjha,” she added.

“Buaji asked me to tell you that Nandkisore is Ranjha,” she recited in to the phone.

“Khushi,” he said softly. He could hear her pain and her anger.

“Hum phoone rakhte hein,” she said before cutting the call.

ASR stood with his head bent, the phone held tight within pale fingers.

“Sir, the HR Manager is waiting in the mini conference room,” Aman reminded him.

ASR pocketed his phone. “Aman, clear my day of appointments. I am going home after this meeting,” he said.

“Sir!” Aman exclaimed.

“Aman, where can I buy flowers?” he asked.

“Sir...” Aman gasped. “I will order them for you. We normally use Pink Petals or Roses are Red.”

“Where are they located?” ASR asked.

Aman gave him the directions, wondering what had happened to his boss.

ASR knocked on Buaji’s door.

“Kaun he, Nandkisore?” she asked, waddling to the door to open it. “Arnav bitwaa!” Her face was one big smile. “Come in, come in,”

Arnav stepped in to the house.

“What is this in your hand, Nandkisore?” she asked.

“Err...Khushi he, Buaji?” he stammered.

Buaji burst out laughing. “You are like that dog and cat on TV. Jab dekho ladte rehte hein. Usse manane aaye ho, babua?”

Arnav nodded shamefaced.

“Titliyyaa,” Buaji bellowed, taking ASR’s eardrums with her.

“Kya he, Buaji?” Khushi came in to the room to stand still in shock at the sight of her ex-boss.

“Arnav babua aaye rahe,” Buaji said unnecessarily, leaving them to fight it out.

ASR looked at Khushi. Her face was pale and grim.

He held out the bouquet of multi-hued flowers.

She looked at the bouquet and then she looked at him.

“Khushi, I got them for you,” he said, hoping that she would accept his gift.

“Arnav babua, aap kab aaye? You bought flowers for Khussi?” Amma’s face was a picture of joy.

Khushi drew in  a deep breath.

When she was determined to avoid him, poori kayanat was determined to shove him down her throat. Such was destiny! 

She had no choice. She extended her dough-covered hands to receive the bouquet. He handed it over.

“Do you like it, Khushi?” he asked.

“Ji. Shukriya,” she said politely. She had been raised to be a good girl, although she forgot it sometimes.

“Stay for lunch, bitwaa,” Amma invited.

“Ji,” he agreed, relieved. It would give him more time with Khushi.

He watched as Khushi returned to the kitchen, removed the wrapping of the flowers and thrust them in to a vase with some water in it. She placed the arrangement on the dining table and moved to the kitchen to finish making rotis.

Buaji wheeled Babuji in to the room and the four of them sat talking as Khushi rolled out the dough and made gol gol rotis, trying not to listen to the others talking.

 A while later, Amma wheeled Babuji to the table and went to help Khushi in the kitchen.

Buaji looked at ASR who was stealing glances at the kitchen. She asked, “Did Titliyya accept your apology, Nandkisore?”

“Yes, Buaji,” ASR said helplessly. “But I don’t think she has forgiven me.”

Buaji sighed. “She is normally a cheerful person. But if she is hurt, if someone reminds her of her past and her parents, she distances herself from the world, bitwaa. Then it takes a long time for her to thaw.”

ASR paled.

Buaji consoled him. “Tum chinta mat karo, babua. Ek screw dheela he in her bheja. Just give her some time. She will become our old Khussi, Nandkisore.”

“Lunch is served,” Khushi announced.

ASR hoped Khushi would sit by him, but she chose the seat farthest from him. He hoped to exchange pleasantries with her as they ate, but she remained silent. In fact, she finished her meagre lunch at record speed and excused herself from the table. She went to her room and shut the door, leaving Arnav with the rest of the family.

Section 9

Khushi looked at the script of the play. The language was simple but poetic as it traced the tragic love story of Heer, a beautiful maiden and Ranjha who became an ascetic in love of his Heer.

NK looked at Khushi’s drooping lips and then at Nani, Mami and Anjali. He winked at Anjali and said, “Let me look at the dialogues, Di.”

“You will have to learn all these lines in Hindi by heart, NK bhai,” Anjali warned.

“Don’t worry, Di. This is baaye pair ka khel for me. Don’t you think I can do this, Nannav?” NK asked an Arnav who was slowly walking down the steps to the hall, his eyes on Khushi.

Khushi’s head jerked at the mention of his name. She looked up, horrified to see him. ‘What is he doing here? He should be in the office frowning at his laptop or ghooring at the girl who has replaced me,’ she thought.

Arnav manfully refrained from expressing his views on NK’s Hindi and acting abilities. He walked down to sit by his Nani and Mami.

“Arnav bitwaa, learn how to romance a girlwaa from Heer-Ranjha,” Mami whispered in his ear.

“Manorama, they died at the end of the story! I want Chotey to live happily with his wife. His life should be full of Khushi,” Nani chided Mami, her eyes on Chotey who looked at her with alert and suspicious eyes.

“His life will be full of khushi, Saasumma. We will make sure of that, Hello Hi Bye Bye!” Mami leaned against Arnav’s arm to watch NK make a botch of the dialogues as planned.

NK cleared his throat and began.

Tere zukham meri tadap se harre hai ... meri aankh mein tere aasoon bhare hai.

All looked at him, horrified.

“NK bhai, what did you read?” Anjali looked at him, her eyes wide.

Khushi peeked in to the page NK had read from and said sotto voce, “Tere zakhm (wound), Nanheji, not Tere zukham (cold).”

“Sorry!” NK pulled his ear and tried again.

Tu jab aa jaati hai paas ... bhains mar jaati hai, jaag uthti hai pyaaz.

“Bhainswaa? Why are bhainswaa dying when Heer comes close to him?” Mami asked.

“Pyaaz? Onion? What has pyaaz got to do with Heer-Ranjha love story?” Nani asked.

Khushi snatched the paper from NK and read out,

“Tu jab aa jaati hai paas ... bhook (hunger) mar jaati hai, jaag uthti hai pyaas (thirst).

When you approach me, hunger dies, thirst awakens in me. That is what it means, Nanheji,” Khushi explained.

“I see,” NK nodded thoughtfully. He began,

 “Meri nazar ne husn ka jadoo jaga diya ... tujhko sajaake aur bhi katthal bana diya.”

Mami laughed, “If Heer was like a jackfruit, would Ranjha have fallen in love with her?”

Khushi looked at the paper. “Kaathil, not katthal, Nanheji,” she sighed.

“What does it matter, Khushiji?” NK asked deliberately. “Murderess ho ya jackfruit, kya faraq padta he?”

Khushi stared at him in horror.

ASR spoke up. “NK, can’t you pay attention to the words? Are you staging a comedy show or enacting a romantic tragedy?”

“Nannav!” NK protested.

“Do you want the audience to laugh at Khushi?” His cold eyes penetrated NK’s being.

“Nannav, if you are so particular about Khushiji’s reputation and the success of the play, why don’t you do it yourself?” NK asked.

ASR looked at Khushi.

She stared at him, astonished, astounded.

He looked at the eager, anxious, expectant faces of all his family members, including NK. Only Payal seemed lost and confused at the turn of events.

Suddenly he understood how his family wanted him to have Khushi in his life. He said, “I will do it.”

Khushi opened her mouth to protest.

“That is, if Khushi is up to the challenge,” he added silkily.

Khushi glared at him.

“My Khussi bitiyya is not a coward,” Nani claimed before Khushi could decide if she was chicken or lion.

“Don’t think we Lucknow girls are iiscared of a play, Hello Hi Bye Bye!” Mami said, leaving Khushi no choice.

“Then it is fixed,” ASR declared. “Khushi is Heer. I am Ranjha.” He took the papers from a relieved and happy NK, leaving Khushi cursing Devi Maiyya.

Section 10