218. OS 10 An Unexpected Visitor (Part 26)

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 26

Khushi was very happy on her haldi day. So happy that she did not complain about Arnav having his haldi at his house while she had hers in Laxmi Nagar.

Because haldi was the last rasam. The next day was her wedding day.

She smiled and laughed as the people of her neighbourhood slathered the yellow paste all over her body.

“My Titliya,” Buaji sighed. “She will go away to her husband’s house tomorrow, Nandkisore!”

“You should be happy, Buaji,” Khushi teased. “You won’t have to call Nandkisore so much once I am out of your life and He will finally get some rest.”

Buaji hit her own forehead. “Look at this girl! How dare you make fun of my Nandkisore?” she asked. “No laaj, no sharam,” Buaji lamented.

“But you still love me, Buaji,” Khushi laughed. She marched up to her aunt and hugged her tight, rubbing her haldi-covered cheek against Buaji’s.

“Chodo,” Buaji yelled. “What are you doing, Nandkisore?” She tried to squirm out of Khushi’s hold.

“Making you more beautiful for your Nandkisore,” Khushi laughed.

“My poor Arnav bitwaa,” Buaji sighed. “He is sitting in his house unaware of the bomb that is going to fall on his head tomorrow.”

Khushi burst out laughing. “He knows, Buaji. But he still loves me.”

“Ussi ka rona he,” Buaji teased. “You are going to lead him a pretty dance.”

Khushi nodded unrepentant. She then ran around, trying to share her haldi with as many of her neighbours as she could. The girls ran screaming and Khushi chased them, laughing loudly.

Arnav sat through the torture of having his family rub the yellow mixture on his head, face, arms and legs. His kurta was covered with the paste and he thought longingly of a bath. His only comfort was that Khushi too was sharing the rasam with him and that this was the last step to marriage. If only tomorrow came fast, he wished.

Once he cleaned up, he called Khushi. Her phone rang but she did not respond. Must be washing off the haldi, Arnav thought with a smile.

She called later. “Arnavji, I saw the missed call just now,” she said as she clambered up her bed.

“Were you washing off the haldi?” he asked smiling.

“Yes. But before that I took revenge on my neighbours,” she said with relish.

“Took revenge?” he asked. “How?”

“I chased them and rubbed my face against theirs,” she laughed. “You should have heard them screaming, Arnavji.”

Arnav chuckled.

When their laughter died down, she said wistfully, “I wish you had been here, Arnavji. It is no fun without you.”

He swallowed. “Tomorrow this time, we will be married, Khushi,” he said softly.

“Then we will be together forever and ever,” she breathed, her words dreamy, filled with anticipation.

“Hamesha, you and me, Khushi. Whatever happens. Hamesha,” he promised.

“And I can watch my serial with Laxmiji and you,” she reminded herself of the treats in store for her.

Arnav smiled. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Arnavji, how many children do you want?” she asked suddenly.

Arnav frowned. Children? What for? Was it mandatory to have children attend their wedding the next day? He had no idea of the rasams involved, never having attempted marriage before.

“How many babies do you want us to have?” she asked.

His jaw dropped to somewhere near the floor.

“Arnavji,” she called again impatiently.

“Two...I guess,” he said weakly.

“Sirf two?” she asked, disappointed.

He cleared his throat to find his voice. “How many do you want?” he asked.

“A dozen,” she said cheerfully.

“A dozen?” he stared at the dull drapes in shock.

“It will be fun, Arnavji,” she smiled away. “They will play football in your big house and keep Naniji, Mamiji and Anjaliji entertained.”

Arnav had to laugh at the picture she drew.

“Imagine going out with the children. People will think we have our own nursery,” she was lost in her imagination.

“You will be the death of me, Khushi,” he laughed, delighted at the thought of his death at her fair hands.

“Buaji too was pitying you today morning,” she admitted.

The wedding passed in a daze. Shantivan was crowded with guests. The Raizadas and Buaji wore huge smiles. All were dressed in gorgeous clothes and the house was decorated with flowers.

Arnav was in a cream sherwani and Khushi was in a green and pink joda.

The priest gave them instructions on the rituals and they, lost in a pleasurable haze, obeyed him. The guests laughed and teased them, but they heard nothing.

“Take the blessings of your elders,” the priest said at the conclusion of the ceremony. They did so and were hugged enthusiastically by Buaji and the Raizadas.

As they stood together, accepting the good wishes of the guests, he whispered, “Khushi Arnav Singh Raizada. Finally.”

Khushi chuckled.

“We have a gift for you, Khushiji,” Anjali approached her and gave her a packet.

Khushi took it.

“Kholke dekho, hamri bahuriya,” Mami exhorted.

Khushi unwrapped it to see a framed photo of Arnav kneeling down to arrange red rose petals for Khushi to walk on.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Who took this?” Arnav asked, confused.

“Me, bhai,” Akash smiled sheepishly.

Tears ran down Khushi’s cheeks.

Arnav’s eyes flew open in alarm. “Khushi, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

She threw herself into his arms. “You are such a good man, Arnavji. I hope I will be half as good a wife to you,” she sobbed.

“Khussi bitiya, marriage is no test that you have to pass,” Nani smiled, patting Khushi’s shoulder.

“Tum jaisen bhi ho, we will takes you,” Mami promised.

Arnav dried Khushi’s tears. He said, “Whatever you are, however you are, you are my wife, Khushi. For seven births. Didn’t you hear what the priest said?”

“For saath janam?” she asked in confirmation.

“Yes, saath janam,” he said, smiling into her eyes.

She clutched the photo to her heart. “Anjaliji, I will hang it in our room so that I never forget how much Arnavji loves me,” she said seriously. “Thank you.”

Anjali dropped a kiss on her cheek. “We are blessed to have you, Khushiji. You are our own miracle.”

Akash held out his hand. “I will hang it now, bhabhi.”

Khushi happily handed over the photo.

As the Raizadas moved away, Khushi asked Arnav, “I am a miracle?”

He nodded, his eyes dancing.

“Are you sure she didn’t say specimen or unique piece?” she asked.

“I am sure,” he laughed.

Arnav carried Khushi up the stairs and into the bedroom he had ordered to be decorated to his specifications.

Khushi tightened her arms around his shoulders and gasped, “Arnavji, you remembered?”

“How can I forget?” he asked huskily.

Both of them looked at the double bed covered with red rose petals.

He laid her down on the soft, fragrant silk.

She looked up into his molten chocolate eyes and smiled.

“I love you, Khushi,” he said, the words wrenched from him. “More than my life, more than my breath.”

“I love you too, Arnavji. A moment without you is like a year, dull and colourless, boring, like a life without ber and channa and my serial,” she confessed.

"You are the unexpected visitor who dropped into my life one moment and then changed it forever," he murmured.

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and lay down beside her on his side, threading her fingers with his.

“I can spend hours just looking at you, Khushi,” he whispered.

“I can’t,” she replied. “Arnavji, don’t waste time. We have only seven lives together.”

Arnav burst out laughing.


Darlings, we have come to the end of this tale. I am taking a break till June 15 to work on my next novel, Waiting for you. It is set in Kollath village in Kerala and is an amusing story of Gauri's all-consuming love for Shivan. See you in June with the new novel and the next ArHi story.

217. OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor (Part 25)

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 25

Khushi looked at the door, biting her lower lip in tension. How would Arnavji react to the bomb she had sent via the phone? Would he be happy? Sad? Shocked? Alarmed? She really, really hoped that he swooned from happiness. Not that she wanted him to faint, but it would be nice if he was thrilled.

Would he come to Laxmi Nagar? She leaned forward to look at the door.

“Whom are you looking for, Titliya?” Buaji asked her, a teasing smile on her face. “Arnav bitwaa can’t come here today, Nandkisore!”

Hemaji and the Raizadas smiled at the disgruntled look on Khushi’s face.

“When will the mehendi end, Buaji?” Khushi asked. Maybe he could reach here after the function.

“It is done now,” Hema said, smiling, setting aside an empty cone. “Take care not to smudge the design, Khushiji.”

Khushi looked down at her hands and legs. How would she hug Arnavji when he came to see her? That is, if he came to see her? His clothes would be spoiled by the greenish-brown goo on her body. Khushi sighed. If only they had run away and gotten married!

Arnav stared at the screen, blank, unable to believe his eyes. His head spun; he saw stars.

“I love you, Arnavji.”

He looked at the words till the letters blurred. Was he going mad? Had he imagined the words his eyes had desperately wanted to see?

He stood up on trembling legs. He needed to see Khushi immediately. He pushed the phone into his pocket and walked into his bedroom to grab his car keys.

“Bhai, where are you going?” Akash asked, blinking behind his specs.

“To see Khushi,” Arnav muttered, striding towards the front door.

“Bhai!” Akash squealed scandalised. “You can’t.”

“I can,” Arnav muttered as he opened his car door.

“Bhai, what will Buaji say?” Akash asked.

“I don’t care,” Arnav got in and slammed the door shut.

Akash quickly opened the passenger door and slipped into the car.

Arnav drove off with a roar.

Akahs tried to reason with his head-strong brother. “Bhai, we are not supposed to attend the mehendi.”

Arnav said, “We are attending it.”

“Nani will be angry, bhai,” Akash reminded him.

“That’s alright,” he replied, steering the car expertly through narrow gullies.

“Buaji will scold you,” Akash tried.

“She won’t. I am her favourite damadji,” Arnav said with certainty.

“You are her only damadji,” Akash said, his eyes rolling.

Arnav parked the car before Buaji’s house.

“Stay in the car if you are afraid,” Arnav said. “I am going in.”

Akash jumped out. How could he let his brother face the ridicule of the guests and the anger of the two families alone?

Arnav marched into the house, Akash following him closely.

Buaji and the Raizadas stared at a resolute Arnav and a sheepish Akash in pure shock.

“Arnavji!” Khushi yelled in joy.

The guests began to titter.

“I am sorry, Buaji,” Arnav said, “but I want to see Khushi.” He was polite, sorry for embarrassing  Buaji even, but determined to plow down all obstacles in his path to Khushi.

“Nani,” Anjali whispered, clutching Nani’s hand in fear.

The Raizadas looked at Arnav and then at Buaji, scared of the outcome. Would Buaji cancel the wedding saying that she didn’t want to give her niece to such an uncultured boy?

Bujai looked into his eyes and her astonishment melted into love. “Kauno baat nahi, Nandkisore. The function is over anyway. Come in, come in,” she invited.

The Raizadas sagged in relief. Akash couldn’t believe his ears.

“The boy couldn’t sit at his house without seeing his girl,” a lady laughed.

“So eager,” another joined in.

“What jaadu has Khushi done on him?” another asked.

“Our damadji is a heera,” Buaji stilled the wagging tongues. “Here he has the freedom to come and go as he wishes. This is his own home, Nandkisore.”

The ladies nodded obediently but could not stop their smiles from breaking out.

Buaji whispered in Arnav’s ear, “Did Khussi ask you to come here? Kaa batiyaa rahe phoon ma?”

“No, Buaji. We didn’t talk,” he replied honestly.

Buaji chuckled, “I thought it must be her doing, Nandkisore!”

Arnav looked away smiling.

“Bahut parem karat ho na, bitwaa? You love my pagaliya, don’t you?” Buaji asked.

Arnav nodded, flushing.

Buaji lifted her hands over his head and warded off evil eyes. “My good bitwaa! May Devi Maiyya protect you from all harm, especially from Sanka Devi,” she blessed.

Arnav chuckled.

“Arnavji,” Khushi called, almost jumping up and down in excitement.

“Go, bitwaa, before she runs over and covers you in all the mehendi on her body,” Buaji warned him.

Arnav nodded with a smile and moved towards Khushi, a tender light in his molten eyes.

Pinky caught her amma’s pallu, forgetting that she had mehendi all over her hand. “I want a boy just like Khushi didi got, amma,” she demanded. “He is so handsome. Look at his eyes, that smile,” she sighed.

Pinky’s mother pulled the pallu of her sari away from her daughter’s hand. “You never fast on Teej, you can’t fast on Mahashivratri! And you want a boy like Khussi’s?” she fumed.

Unaware of the envy they were arousing in many tender hearts, Arnav came to stand before Khushi. His throat felt dry, his heart was too full for him to speak.

“Arnav bitwaa,” Buaji called. “Why don’t you take Khussi to her room? Or she will spoil the mehendi design and the flowers on her hand will look like a bhootni, Nandkisore!”

Arnav agreed with alacrity. Arnav & Khushi walked into their room.

“Sasumma,” Mami discovered. “We were all shocked when Arnav bitwaa came in, but Khussi was not shocked. Bhy? That ijj bhat I am asking. Bhy?”

“I don’t know, Manorama,” Nani sighed. “Today he escaped by the skin of his teeth from being thrown out. What is wrong with our Chotey?”

“Had Buaji taken affront to Chotey’s arrival, Nani...” Anjali’s voice trailed away.

“Buaji ijj used to Khussi,” Mami explained. “She must be unshockable by now, Saasumma.”

Nani and Anjali looked at her.

“Manorama Baand thinks that Khussi called hamre Arnav bitwaa here,” Mami said thoughfully.

“But she didn’t phone anyone,” Anjali said.

“I bill steal Arnav bitwaa’s phone and check bhat Khussi did,” Mami decided.

“Manorama!” Nani exclaimed. “Thoda to sharm karo. You are the mother of a grown-up son,” she hissed.

“Bhat has that got to do with looking into Arnav bitwaa’s phone, Hello Hi Bye Bye?” Mami asked, confused. “How did Arnav bitwaa get here? Inbestigation karega padi.”

“No,” Nani ruled. “You won’t do anything of that sort.” She looked around and saw Buaji. She said, “We must leave now, Madhumatiji.”

“You must, Nandkisore?” Buaji’s face fell.

“Yes,” Nani smiled, holding on tightly to Mami’s hand lest she go in search of Arnav’s phone.

“Buaji,” Anjali quavered. “You are not angry that Chotey came here, are you?”

Buaji smiled. “Naahi, Anjali bitiya,” she pinched the girl’s cheek. “My Khussi must have called him here. Otherwise Arnav bitwaa would never do something like this.”

All smiled.

“Arnavji, you came,” Khushi beamed at him, cursing the henna on her hands and legs that stopped her from throwing herself at him.

He quickly cupped her face. “Khushi...what you wrote...I mean, texted...you mean it, don’t you?” he asked. His eyes were anxious.

“I do,” Khushi asserted. Never let it be said that Khushi was scared of owning up to her atrocious behaviour.

Tension left his body. His hands trembled. He whispered, “Khushi, I love you.”

Khushi pretended to be hard of hearing. She frowned and said, “Kya kaha aapne? Theek se sunai nahi diya.”

“Khushi, I love you,” his voice was stronger now, his eyes light with joy.

“Acha? You fell in love with me now, when you saw me dunked in mehendi?” she asked, one brow raised in query.

He chuckled. “No, I think I fell in love when I saw you sitting in my wardrobe clutching the sleeve of my coat,” he confessed.

Her mouth fell open. And then her lips pursed. “This nuisance mehendi! I can’t even hug you,” she complained. “Why couldn’t you have told me this on our sangeet night as we danced in your garden, Arnavji?” she asked.

“I..I wasn’t sure you liked me,” he mumbled.

She gasped. “Do you think I kiss men I dislike?” she asked to tease him.

“No, no,” he scrambled for words.

“That I sit on their bed and drink their tea? Woh bhi bina shakkar wala chai. That I watch my serial with them?” she asked, looking like a wounded doe.

“No. Khushi, please don’t be upset,” he begged, feeling terrible.

Khushi threw her arms around him and almost knocked him down in her enthusiasm. “I love you, Arnavji.”

“I love you too, Khushi,” he whispered in her hair, feeling as though he held his world in his arms.

“Your jacket will be stained with mehendi,” she informed him after the event.

“Hone do,” he muttered.

“Buaji may see us,” she teased.

“Dekhne do,” he breathed, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Do we really have to sit through haldi too?” she whined. “Can’t we get married now?” she asked.

“Khushi,” he smiled.

“I am serious,” she insisted. “Then I can come with you as you leave.”

He smiled, rubbing a loving finger down her cheek.

“I am already covered in mehendi. Ask them to throw some haldi too on us, Arnavji. Then shaadi and then bidaii. We can get to your house by night,” she tempted him beyond measure.

“One week, Khushi. Just one more week,” he whispered, lowering his lips to hers.