216. An Unexpected Visitor (Part 24)

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 24

Khushi stared at the gathering in her living room, her eyes wide in astonishment. Every inch of the room was taken. Ladies were spilling out of Buaji’s house and there was a lot of good-natured jostling going on, interspersed with laughter and loud calls of greeting. Ladies were passing trays of cold drinks and snacks among themselves. Her whole neighbourhood had turned out in full strength to celebrate her mehendi.

 She stared at them slack-jawed. She knew so many people?

They were congratulating Buaji on Khushi’s marriage.

Were they so relieved to see her off from Laxmi Nagar?

She saw Naniji, Mamiji and Anjaliji sitting with Buaji, laughing at something Kamla chachi had said.

Mami lifted her head to dry her eyes and saw Khushi.

“Lo aa gayi our bridewaa, Hello Hi Bye Bye!” she called out.

All turned to look at her, all faces lit by delight and anticipation.

Khushi smiled uncertainly. They looked as though they were waiting for her to conjure up a rabbit from her magician’s hat.

“She looks beautiful,” Vimla maasi said loudly with a sense of accomplishment as though she had fashioned the bride from raw clay with her own bare hands.

All nodded.

Khushi clutched the folds of her green and red suit with nervous fingers.

“You are lucky, Khussi,” Preetho’s naani shouted. “A handsome groom and a good family.” She looked almost as if she couldn’t believe how clumsy Khushi had gotten so lucky.

The Raizadas smiled in delight.

“Khushiji, come and sit here,” Anjali invited.

Khushi clutched her phone as she made her way to the designated spot. She texted, “Arnavji, where are you? At office?”

He replied immediately, “At home. Working.”

“Where at home?” she asked.

Another groom might have wondered if his bride had bolstered her spirits with a glass or two of spirits, but Arnav knew his girl. He smiled. He knew she wanted to picture him, see him in her mind as she texted.

“In the garden. By the pool. Under the big tree. By the flowerbeds,” he texted.

“The pool is to your left?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “What are you wearing?” he asked.

Khushi smiled. “Green and red salwar suit,” she typed.

“You must look beautiful,” he messaged. “I wish I could see you.”

“I wish you were here, Arnavji,” she typed.

“Just a week more, Khushi. Then no one can separate us,” he comforted her.

“Why is our marriage taking so long? What is the use of all these rasams?” an impatient Khushi asked.

He shook with laughter, unable to type.

“I know you are laughing,” she typed, adding an angry face. “We could have gotten married a month back without all these bekaar functions.”

“Our families expect us to enjoy them, Khushi,” he typed ruefully. He had been trying to ease her into the concept of marriage by dragging out the marriage. Apparently his plan had backfired.

“You are the angry hero of your family. You could have terrorised both families into agreeing to a quick marriage,” she accused him of being a slowpoke.

Arnav smiled.

“What is the use of your ghussa if it can’t do something for us?” she asked.

He sat back looking at the placid water of the pond, his eyes dancing with merriment.

“Arnavji, bhaagke shaadi karein?" she suggested. She looked around. Then she typed,  "The house is full of ladies. Looks like I will have to sit on the road to do my mehendi,” she messaged him.

He smiled. “Enjoy the function,” he typed.

There was a commotion at the door to add to the noise inside. All looked towards the door. Hemaji and her troupe had come with the designs and their mehendi cones. A glad cry rose from the excited ladies.

“Hemaji has come,” she messaged.

“The mehendi lady?” he asked.

“Yes,” she typed. She quickly began to take photos and sent them to him.

He saw the happy crowd, the jolly faces of his Nani, Mami and Di, a laughing Buaji, the mehendi cones and designs laid out for the crowd, the food and drinks served...

“I want your photo,” Khushi typed.

He quickly sent her a snap. He was in semi-formal dress.

Khushi felt her heart throb with the desire to see him. But how could she make him abandon his scruples and join her here?

She took a selfie and sent it to him. This would bring him running to Laxmi Nagar, she thought with glee.

He stared at her pic with disturbed eyes. She looked downright scared.

He stood up and paced among the flower pots anxiously.

Had the ladies teased her? He wanted to see her, but how could he go there?

He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, feeling helpless and desperate. She looked upset. What could he do to make her feel better?

He got the next set of photos. They were of mehendi designs.

“Which one do you like the most?” she asked.

Arnav stared at them, feeling lost. What did he know of mehendi designs? He frowned. They looked more complicated than the building plans of his multi-storey guest house.

“Pick one,” she urged.

Arnav stared at the display in utter confusion.

“Do you like the mango design or the flowers or the triangles?” she typed.

“The flowers,” he said. He could identify little else.

“I will have this design,” she told Hemaji.

“Are you sure?” the lady asked with a smile. She was used to the changing whims and fancies of brides.

“Yes,” Khushi smiled. “My Arnavji is a gardener at heart. He loves flowers.”

Hema smiled and set out to work on Khushi.

 Khushi sat watching as the lady began to decorate her hands and feet with intricate designs using the greenish brown mixture.

All looked at the entrance of the house when a voice asked, “Is Khushi Kumari Gupta here?” A boy in a blue and white uniform stood there, a notepad in hand.

After a moment of silence, Khushi said, “Yes. I am Khushi.”

“Just a minute, madam,” the boy smiled, turned and walked away.

“Oo kaun he, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked. The ladies began to whisper among themselves.

“Pata nahi, Buaji,” Khushi replied.

The boy returned with a huge bouquet of red roses. He made his way through the gaggle of ladies and handed over the fragrant gift to Khushi.

The ladies gasped.

She quickly pulled out the card with her free hand.

“To the most beautiful girl in the world, my Khushi,” the card read. It was signed, “Your Arnavji.”

She blinked to clear her eyes.

“Sign here, madam,” the boy held out the pad and a pen.

Khushi scrawled her name on the designated place. The boy left.

She quickly took her phone and took a selfie of her beaming, holding the bouquet to her chest. She sent it to Arnav.

“Who sent the phlowers, Khussi?” Mami asked in a whisper. She had to make sure it was Arnav before she could comment on it.

“Arnavji,” Khushi smiled away.

The Raizada ladies relaxed.

“Hamre bhateeja, he ijj soooo romantic,” Mami claimed.

“Yes, yes, our Chotey loves Khussi bitiya very much,” Nani said, all smiles.

Khushi’s mouth fell open. Arnavji loved her? Her? Loved her? But why had he never told her? Acute happiness filled her. He loved her as she loved him? Was it true?

“Our Chotey thinks the world of Khushiji,” Anjali cooed. “We are so lucky to get Khushiji as Chotey’s bride.”

‘Arnavji loves me?’ she thought. ‘The rose carpet, the dance, the kisses...’ she blushed. ‘...the hundred ways in which he has been considerate to me....yes, he likes me. Maybe he even loves me. Lekin why didn’t he ever tell me, the sadu?’

“He is the best damadji I could hope for, Nandkisore,” Buaji smiled. “So considerate, so loving. He is Nandkisore’s gift to us,” Buaji said in a heart-felt tone.

‘How can I make him confess his love to me...if he feels love?’ the hunter plotted. ‘How can I drag that secret out in the open? How can I find out what is going through his head and heart?’

Her victim, sitting in Shantivan, looked at her photo with her beaming face and the roses and felt on top of the world. His long lashes fell to shade his eyes as he lay back in his black recliner. A week. Then she would be with him here. Then he could show her how much he loved her.

“Khushiji, shall we start on the right hand?” Hemaji asked.

“Just a minute,” Khushi begged. This was her last chance. If she wanted to do something, she had to do it now. Once her right hand too went under the cone, she would be helpless for something like the next twenty-four hours.

She quickly messaged him. “I love you, Arnavji.” She sat back waiting for the fireworks.