202. OS 10. An Unexpected Visitor (Part 10)

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 10

Khushi looked at his lips with wide eyes, too shocked to speak.

Arnav wanted to say more but she looked concussed, as jolted as an accident victim.

He bent to clasp her arms gently and lift her. She tottered on unsteady limbs and he held on to her for a long moment till he was sure she could stand without aid.

“Will you come home for Diwali, Khushi?” he asked.

She nodded uncertainly, her rapt eyes on his dangerous lips.

He wanted to smile but felt it might inflame her into throwing the shagun gifts at his face if she imagined he was laughing at her.

“Chotey?” Anjali called. “Shall we leave?”

“Time for me to leave,” he said, unwilling to leave her. “Tum theek ho, Khushi?” he asked, finding it very difficult to walk away from her.

She nodded again.

He had no more excuses to stay.

He turned to leave, only to feel a pull keeping him in place.

He looked down in surprise.  Khushi was holding on to his coat sleeve.

“Khushi?” he asked softly, hopefully.

She moved closer and pressed her lips to his chin.

His eyes looked into hers as she moved away.

She pressed her chest with one hand. “Something just happened in my heart,” she confessed.

“Chotey?” Nani called. She had been bidding goodbye to Madhumatiji for the past fifteen minutes.

“It happened to mine too,” he whispered against her ear before walking out of her bedroom.

Khushi ran to the window of her bedroom to peek at him as he left the house with his family. Just before driving away, he looked at her window at her lost face. He gave her a secret wave before driving away, a small smile on his face.

Khushi ran to the mirror to look at her lips. They did not look burnt. She frowned. How could they look normal when she had felt the fire char them?

She gently touched a plump curve and shuddered. It felt like Arnavji’s lips were touching them. She quickly took her fingers away and hid them behind her back.

So Arnavji too had felt that blaze? She drew in a deep breath of relief. At least she was not alone in this. How embarrassing it would have been had it been just her in this plight? Buaji would have dumped her in Agra pagalkhana and Arnavji would have happily paid the bills to have her kept there!

She looked closely at her own body. Her face was flushed, her breath was rapid, her heart was thundering in her chest, butterflies were doing a bhangra in her tummy and she felt a bit groggy. All these because Arnavji’s lips had touched hers once?

She swallowed hard.

What would have happened if his lips had lingered on hers? She would have self-combusted, leaving behind only ashes. She frowned. Did every girl feel so weak and dizzy and wobbly when her Arnavji’s lips touched hers? Whom could she ask? Buaji?

She imagined the look on Buaji’s face if she ever made bold to ask her and burst out laughing, the peals of laughter carrying to the next room.

“Hai Re Nandkisore! This girl is pagal, bilkul sanki,” Buaji muttered in the living room, her hand on her head. “Poor Arnav bitwaa!”

Diwali came finally, bringing with it the end of anticipation. Arnav stood with Akash, both dressed in cream-coloured silk kurtas and pyjamas, waiting for the Guptas.

“They bill come, Arnav bitwaa,” Mami teased. “You are looking at the phront door like a chakor looks at a moonwaa!”

Arnav flushed. Akash blushed for his brother.

“Look at our Akass bitwaa,” Nani teased. “He is blushing already, Manorama. Get him married off too.”

Anjali chuckled. “We have to get another girl like Khushiji for Akash, someone who is not shy like him,” she suggested.

“Another girl like Khussi?” Mami’s eyes went round. “Another namoona? Saasumma, lagat he I bill have to go on new dietwaa. No pickles, no fireworks, no nothing, Hello Hi Bye Bye!”

All laughed.

Madhumati and Khushi stopped at the door and stared at the house with huge eyes. It was covered with fairy

lights and flowers and looked a treat.

“Khushi,” Arnav murmured, walking towards the door on eager feet.

She was in a pink and orange lehenga in raw silk with a flaring skirt that flattered her slim frame. The silver and crystal work and the net dupatta added glamour to the pleasing shades of colour.

She looked at him with happy eyes. “Arnavji, you look so nice in a kurta,” she praised him.

He smiled.

“You smell nice too,” she sniffed delicately. The fragrance of sandalwood was alluring. “You always do.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, still smiling. “Buaji, I am glad you came,” he greeted the middle-aged lady wth a hug.

“Your house looks beautiful, babua,” Buaji complimented him.

The Raizadas fell on the Guptas, welcoming them into the mansion with glad cries.

“The crackers, babua,” Buaji whispered in Arnav’s ear.

“No crackers in the house today, Buaji,” Arnav whispered back.

“Nandkisore ki jai ho!” Buaji called devoutly.

Khushi looked suspiciously at them. They must be talking about me, she fumed. What did they think she was? A discomfiting  image of the old lady covered in pickle followed by one of the chachaji without a tooth flashed through her mind. She sighed. Why was she a magnet for trouble?

“Khussi, be phree. There are no patakhe in the house today,” Mami confided in her.

Khushi took a deep breath of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was burn her future sasural even before entering it as a bride.

The Raizadas introduced Buaji and Khushi to all the guests and the ladies inspected the young girl from the top of her head to her toes to find out what had attracted the infamous recluse and Indian version of Mt. Vesuvius, Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada.

“She is pretty, but ASR is used to pretty girls in his line of work,” Mrs. Patel whispered to Mrs. Sinha.

“There is a sweetness to her,” Mrs. Sinha replied. “Maybe the akhdoo was attracted to that.”

“She is too young for him,” Mrs. Mehta remarked. “If it were my daughter...”

“Your daughter?” Mrs. Tiwari snorted. “ASR better become a sanyasi than marry her,” she said bluntly.

The other ladies giggled while Mrs. Mehta walked away in a huff.

“That’s her Buaji?” Mrs. Agarwal asked. “The family seems traditional, orthodox. A funny choice for ASR, the tycoon.”

As the ladies watched, Khushi Kumari Gupta walked towards the huge glass window taking up a good part of a wall to look out at the glorious view of  a thousand lamps lit outside. A beatific smile bloomed on her face at the sight. She leaned forward to see better and the tassels of her pink and orange net dupatta hovered dangerously over the flame of a row of tiny lamps lit on the window ledge.

Before the ladies could gasp, the mighty ASR appeared by her side and gently tugged her away from the window and towards him.

The girl turned her head to look at him, her face suffused with joy and love.

The ladies caught their breath. She looked beautiful.

ASR whispered something in her ear. The girl cast a horrified look at the burning lamps on the ledge and her own dupatta. She huddled closer to him. His arm went protectively around her, his entire body surrounded hers, gathering her into its safe fold.

The ladies stared at the sight that was rarer than rare.

The girl lifted her head and asked him something, her eyes anxious.

ASR smiled and his shoulders shook with hidden mirth.

“He is laughing!” Mrs. Patel exclaimed.

“He know how to smile?” Mrs. Tiwari gasped.

ASR whispered something to the girl, the lines of his face relaxed.

Anxiety vanished from her eyes and naughty playfulness took its place.

The ladies held their breath. Now confident in her man’s feelings for her, the girl looked the epitome of beauty.

“No wonder he fell for her,” Mrs. Patel said. “He is lucky.”

“Yes, akhdoo has won the prize. Where was she when I was looking for a bride for my son?” Mrs. Sinha asked with a disappointed sigh. “Devyani Raizada has all the luck.”

Unaware of the good-natured envy of the guests, Arnav and Khushi laughed and chatted as though they had not met for years.

As the ladies watched, a white goat butted the girl right behind her knees. She stumbled but ASR caught her easily. Both of them turned to look at the goat and burst out laughing. To the astonishment of the guests, Khushi cried, “Laxmiji...”, kneeled down and uncaring of her expensive-looking lehenga, hugged the goat till it bleated.

ASR looked at the girl and the goat friend with an amused and indulgent smile.

Mrs. Sinha fanned herself.

Mrs. Tiwari summoned Akash. “Where can I get a glass of water?” she asked.