232. OS 12. A Delicious Theft (Parts 6-9)

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 6

She pushed him away, shock giving her the energy to lift her face away from his.

He had really touched her lips with his? What was wrong with this man? Her tongue touched her lower lip nervously, her heartbeat erratic.

He stared at her, his eyes hot, molten and needy.

Her eyes were wider than saucers and her lips were parted. She was too astounded to breathe.

He lifted his face from the recliner to reach her lips again, addicted to her taste, desperately wanting more of what he had just sipped.

He was trying to steal her lips again? Khushi wondered horrified. The thief!

She bit his cheek. Hard.

“Aaaaa,” he cried, his hands falling away from her.

She leaped off him to stand by the recliner, glaring at him.

He rubbed his cheek. “You hellcat!” he exclaimed.

“How dare you touch me, you shameless man?” she raged. He was responsible for everything that was wrong with her, she decided. Her heart was ready to burst, her head was spinning, her pulse was sprinting and her limbs were quivering. He was the sole reason for her collapse.

“You left a bruise on my face,” he gasped.

“Good. Let everyone know that you are a mannerless lout! Chi!” she fumed even as she tried to wipe his touch off her lips with her hand at this late date. “I should have rolled your laddooos in chilly powder. Devi Maiyya doesn’t know how much of a scoundrel you are! You keep the cheque and your contract with you. I don’t want or need it. Devi Maiyya knows how good a Lakhnavi chef I am. She will see to it that we are never hungry or short of orders. You take your money and your diabetes and your order and your lips and stew in them.”

She turned to leave. He got up from the recliner.

“Khushi,” he tried to get her to stop.

“You sit here hugging your thieving ways and glaring at your sister. I am never cooking for you again. I can’t believe I wasted my time trying to show you how mahan we chefs are! You are not worth it. You don’t deserve to even taste a morsel I cooked,” she ranted, walking to the door.

He followed. “Khushi,” he tried to get a word in edgeways, but she was having none of it. He caught her arm to keep her from leaving him.

She turned to face him.

“You brazen, barefaced...,” she began, only to have her tirade stopped by his lips. He pressed her to the shut door with the warm, hard weight of his body, his hands cupping her face to angle her face.

“Ummmhhhh,” Khushi protested, trying to wrest her lips from his, wriggling to throw him off. She was in danger of melting into a puddle on the floor if he kept this on. And her lips would no longer be hers once he was done stealing them! She intensified her struggle.

But he was wiser now. He held on tight, not letting her buck under him and throw him off balance.

Panicking, Khushi tried to free her lips so that she could bite him, attempted to claw at his shoulders, struggled to lift her knee to hurt him, tried to throw him away with her body weight, but to no avail.

Then he did something she would never forgive him for.

His lips gentled against hers, brushing against her lips, persuading them to part to let his tongue enter the sweet cavern of her mouth.

Khushi trembled, losing all claim to sanity and chastity and numerous other virtues she was supposed to have.

He angled his head for more pleasure, capturing her top lip between his and sucking on the sweet morsel. One hand slipped down from her face to her neck, caressing the silky, unblemished skin lovingly.

Khushi felt she was drowning, dropping into a dark abyss with nothing to stop her free fall. She opened her mouth for air and he, not being one to miss a chance, dived right in.

Time passed.

She lay flat against the door, propped up by his hands on her waist and neck and the press of his hard body against hers. She knew nothing, not even her name as she remained enslaved by his lips.

Much later, he lifted his lips reluctantly off hers, his hot eyes roaming over her features to see if she was as affected, as undone, as lost, as shattered by the kiss as he was.

She was leaning against the wall, her lips parted, breathing heavily, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttering, her heart pounding. Her eyes were shut tight.

Arnav lifted his hand from her throat and gently touched her flushed cheek with the back of his fingers.

She lifted her lashes.

His breath caught in his chest. Her eyes were alight with passion and wonder.

He swallowed hard.

“Khushi,” he whispered.

“Hhmm?” she asked hoarsely.

“You—your lips—they are so sweet.” He couldn’t stop himself from confessing.

She blinked.

Then her eyes widened.

“No,” she said firmly, pushing him away with her hands.

He stared at her flushed face.

“I won’t let you,” she panted. “Never.”

Arnav stared at her lips that were red from his loving and felt he was on some other planet. What was she refusing him? Or rather, why was she refusing him? Hadn’t she felt the passion that had almost burned down RM and taken the Shanti from Shantivan?

“Don’t think you can steal my lips too,” she hissed. “You were after my bijjnijj secrets, my cap and my secret ingredient yesterday. Now you want to steal my lips too? No way! They belong to me, not to you.”

Arnav blinked. Then his lips curved in a sweet smile.

“Why are you smiling like Bikky, the cat who steals into Buaji’s kitchen to steal milk?” Khushi asked, her hands on her hips.

“Because I am like your Bikky,” he replied softly. “He will,” he began to explain.

“She,” Khushi clarified.

Arnav choked back laughter.

“She,” he agreed, giving in to her superior knowledge of the cat’s gender. “She will steal the milk however you try to save it from her.”

Khushi frowned. How did he know Bikky? Were they members of the same association of thieves?

“And I will steal your lips even if you lock them away, Khushi,” he concluded, crossing his arms and waiting for her to give it to him.

Her eyes widened at his arrogance. Anger, righteous indignation, butterflies in her stomach and an inappropriate desire to see how it would feel if he stole her lips again clashed and made a fine khichdi in her mind.

“I am going home,” Khushi declared. “You are not worthy of being our client.”

Arnav pursed his lips, trying to look rueful.

“You are a nautanki. You are behuda. You are a lafanga. You are a chor, a hijacker of lips, a stealer of caps. Go away,” Khushi thundered.

“I am in my own room,” Arnav reminded her, his lips twitching, his eyes on her rosy lips.

He was looking at her lips again, Khushi realised. It was time to leave before he tried to kidnap her lips again and they went with him.

“Don’t come before me again,” Khushi threatened him. “Even Devi Maiyya won’t be able to stop me from hitting you with a chair if you do. I can’t promise my good behaviour.”

“Same here,” Arnav replied saucily. “The next time we meet, I promise you, Khushi, that I will steal more than your lips.”

Khushi gulped. What else could he steal? Her ears? Her hands lifted to cover her ears.

Her nose?

She covered her nose with both hands.

Her eyes?

She almost covered her eyes before she realised that standing blinded before Shri Diabetic Arnav Singh Raizada was not exactly the way to fight him.

“I am going,” she mumbled before grabbing her bags and running out of his room.

Arnav followed on soft feet.

Khushi emerged from the room to see the three ladies and HP huddled near the door.

She brushed past them.

“Cooker,” Mami called. “Isstop!”

Khushi walked on.

“Khussiji,” Nani called.

“Namaste,” Khushi bid farewell without stopping or turning around.

The ladies and HP hurried after her.

“Khushiji, zara suniye,” Anjali begged.

“Yes?” she asked, still walking.

“Did you get your contract and the cheque?” Anjali asked.

The question stopped Khushi in her tracks. She turned around to glare at the hapless family, her eyes blazing.

HP stepped back, overwhelmed by the Devi’s divine aura and fury.

“I don’t want your contract and your money,” Khushi declared. “Your brother is the nastiest person I have met in my entire life,” she said, not hesitating to inform the ladies of the high opinion she had of the scion of their family. “You have spoiled him rotten,” she claimed. “Why didn’t you take a birch to him when he was young?” she asked.

The ladies gaped at her.

HP clung to the wall to hear of his sainted Arnav bhaiyya being spoken of in such unflattering terms.

“If I had my way,” Khushi fumed, “I would make his akal theek. I would teach him a lesson he would never forget, the shameless crook he is.”

The ladies gasped again. She was talking of Arnav Singh Raizada?

Arnac chuckled silently, standing on the landing and listening to the conversation.

Khushi turned and flounced out of the house, the bags swinging from her shoulder.

“Yeh sab kya ho raha he?” Nani asked, rightfully confused to the maximum.

“Laagat he, Saasumma, there hajj been a misunderstanding,” Mami surmised. “Hamre Arnav bitwaa ijj khadoos, akhdoo, angry young man, but not shameless. He wears clotheswaa albays. Too many clotheswaa. Hab you seen him bithout clotheswaa, Saasumma?” Mami asked.

“Manorama!” Nani chided.

“And he ijj not a crook,” Mami stated. “His tongue ijj like acidwaa, his brainwaa ijj sharp like a knife, but he ijj not a thief.”

“Then why did Khushiji call Chotey a shameless crook?” Anjali asked, bewildered.

“Only Devi Maiyya knows,” Nani sighed. "What is happening in this house?"

The ladies turned away from the door to return to the living room and came to a sudden stop at the sight of Arnav Singh Raizada standing on the landing staring at the entrance of his house with a small smile on his lips.

It was the ladies’ day to gasp and gasp again.

Part 7

Part 7

Arnav looked up from his plate.

Nani, Di and Mami were staring at him, ignoring the food on their plates. Their eyes were trained on him as though he were a rare animal in a zoo.

His lips twitched.

“Di, do you have Khushi’s card?” he asked casually.

“Uhhh?” Anjali asked, her big eyes growing bigger.

Nani looked at him as though she had never seen him before. 

Mami placed her new phone on the table in fear that she would drop it.

Laughter rushed to fill his heart like water released from a dam. A sense of lightness, of being carefree, of anticipation, of wanting to breathe again filled him. It felt wonderful to play tricks on his family, something he hadn’t done in ages, not since his parents died, he thought, the corner of his lips turning down as the past came rushing into his mind.

“Cooker’s card?” Mami asked in a hushed voice.

The happiness came rushing back to his heart at the very thought of Khushi. Someone had named her right. No other name could capture the essence of what she was, he thought.

“Yes,” he replied. “Her business card.”

“Why, Chotey?” Anjali asked, her voice soft. “Why do you need her card?”

Arnav lifted a brow in an imperious look that notified her that he would brook no interference.

“Why does one ask for the card of a caterer?” he asked shortly.

“You want to employ her to cater for a business meeting?” Nani asked with a wondering look at Anjali and Mami.

“Yes,” he said.

“Oh,” Anjali responded. “I—I have her card in my purse. I will give it to you after dinner.”

“But she won’t come, Arnav bitwaa,” Mami informed him. “The cooker called you, hamre Arnav bitwaa, a shameless crook, Hello Hi Bye Bye.”

He had to fight not to smile.

“She will,” he replied confidently.

“Chotey, why didn’t you give her the cheque and get her to agree to supplying food for our poojas?” Nani asked.

“She refused both,” he replied simply.

“But why? Why did she refuse?” Anjali asked.

“Maybe because I like her very much,” Arnav dropped the bomb on his dining table in a very offhand manner.

There was complete silence in the room. HP, who had entered the dining room with fresh roti, stood stupefied, immobile.

“Chotey?” Anjali asked, unable to believe she had heard what he said.

He lifted his brow again.

“Really, Chotey?” Nani’s voice held a hint of tears.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

“But the kwestin ijj does Cooker like hamre Arnav bitwaa?” Mami hit the nail on the head as usual. “Saasumma, today girls call boys they like hunkwaa, sesky, stud, babe chumbak (magnet), sapnon ka boat, aankhon ka candy, yummy, hottie, not shameless crookwaa!”

“Manorama,” Nani chided.

Arnav looked down to hide his smile.

“Chotey, I—I don’t think she likes you very much,” Anjali said sadly, regretfully, tears filling her eyes.

Her eyes drenched in passion and wonder swam before his eyes. He could still feel her lips against his, the skin of her warm, silky throat against his fingertips.

He took a sip of cool water to down the yearning burning in his gut.

“She does,” he murmured. “I just have to make her aware of it,” he informed his family.

“Hein?” Mami asked, bewildered.

“HP,” Arnav called. 

“Ji, Arnav bhaiyya?” HP came running.

“Bring me Khushi’s business card. Di has it,” he instructed.

“Yes, bhaiyya,” HP said nodding. ‘Poor Arnav bhaiyya,’ HP thought. ‘This is his last wish. He doesn’t have much longer to live. If that Devi in white cap gets hold of him, she will eat him alive.’

Aranv excused himself and left the table.

HP stood watching him walk away. Now who would scold him? Demand black tea without sugar and headache pills? Shout at him? HP sighed.

Mami whispered in Anjali’s ear, “Write down the address and phone number before giving it to HP, Anjali bitiya. We may need it.”

Anjali nodded.

                                       ***

He held her card between his fingers and fought his laughter. It was the colour of a jalebi. On it, was written Devi Maiyya Caterers in gold. It had two addresses with phone numbers, one in Laxmi Nagar and the other in Lucknow.

He saved the numbers in his phone and memorised the addresses.

‘Shall I call her?’ he wondered fondly. ‘How will she react? Will she try to strangle me over the phone?’

He called Aman instead of Khushi.

“Yes, sir?” Aman asked.

“We need new caterers at AR Designs,” he informed Aman.

“Sir? We do?”Aman asked, perplexed.

“The Personnel Manager reported in our last monthly review that employees were complaining that Shukla’s food was too oily and that he wasn’t delivering lunch on time, didn’t he?” ASR asked.

“Yes, sir,” Aman agreed. “I have asked Shukla to come over this Friday. I don’t know how many times I have warned him in the past year of the terrible quality of his food.”

“Throw Shukla out. Cancel his contract. Get in touch with Khushi Kumari Gupta of Devi Maiyya Caterers,” Arnav ordered. He rattled off her address and number.

“Sir,” Aman demurred. “We don’t know her...”

“I do,” ASR declared. “Get her to agree at any cost. Double the monthly payment. Triple it. Give her whatever she asks for, but get her here.”

“Sir!” Aman could not control his cry of disbelief.

“Place one condition before her. Just one,” ASR instructed.

“Sir?” Aman asked, sitting down.

“She has to come with her helpers to our office daily in the morning, six days a week, to cook lunch. No cooking elsewhere and delivering boxed lunches here,” Arnav said.

“Sir, Shukla used to deliver food packets here. How can we ask her to...?” Aman asked.

“We can. We will. She has to agree,” Arnav stated. “I will not accept anything less than that.”

“Sir, we don’t have space—no k-kitchen...,” Aman stuttered.

“No problem,” ASR ruled. “Build one. But I should be able to see the kitchen from my office. Make sure of that. Show me the building plan for sanction before you begin. There are two more things you need to keep in mind, Aman,” he said.

“Sir?” Aman asked, stunned.

“One, make the contract watertight. She shouldn’t be able to walk out for one year,” ASR said.

Aman wiped his forehead.

“Two, she shouldn’t know that I own AR Designs. Whatever happens, Aman, she should never connect AR Designs with Arnav Singh Raizada till she signs the contract. Get Mehta, the HR Manager to sign for the company,” Arnav said.

“Sir, but—but you said you know her,” Aman said in bewilderment.

“I do,” ASR confirmed.

“Then why shouldn’t she know that you own AR Designs?” Aman asked, puzzled.

ASR smiled wryly. “Because if she knows I own AR Designs and you go to her offering a contract, she will chase you away with a ladle,” Arnav replied, being under no illusions about his girl.

Aman’s mouth remained open.

“And Aman,” ASR continued, “treat her with respect. She will be your bhabhi one day soon.” He cut the call.

Aman sat with the phone clutched to his ear, thunderstruck, unable to believe what he had just heard.

                                         ***

Aman looked at the beautiful girl staring at the ten-page contract the company legal cell had drafted, a frown on her face.

‘So this is my bhabhi, even though she doesn’t know it now,’ Aman thought. ‘She is beautiful, but will ASR be attracted by any pretty face? What made the khadoos of the century flip for this girl?’

“Amanji,” she called, her beautiful hazel eyes directly on his face. “Why are you here? You don’t know me or our catering company. Why did you opt for us?”

Aman cleared his throat. “I heard about you from an acquaintance who was lucky enough to taste your cooking,” he tried to speak without saying much.

“Phir bhi,” Khushi hesitated. Then she asked, “Is the amount mentioned in the contract for one year of work?”

“No, for one month. You will be paid this amount at the end of every month,” Aman smiled, hoping the money would do the trick.

Khushi gasped.

Aman relaxed in his chair.

“It is too much. Why are you wasting money?” she asked, horrified at such wastage of money even though the company was wasting it on her.

‘Only ASR knows why,’ Aman replied in his mind. Aloud he said, “The caterer we are using now is hopeless. We are desperate.”

Khushi looked at the contract again. “You want us to cook on your premises?” she asked. “Why? We have our kitchen here. Why do you want to dirty your office with the smell of onion and garlic?”

Aman cleared his throat. “We want to ensure that the food is freshly-prepared, Khushiji. Aap chinta mat keejiye. Your job will be done once you finish cooking lunch for 300 employees. You can leave. We have cleaners to do the dishes and waiters to serve the food,” he said.

“I want to see your kitchen,” Khushi declared.

Aman gulped. Now what could he do? He was the formidable ASR’s personal secretary alright, but not a magician who could pull a ready-made kitchen out of thin air.

“We—we are building it, Khushiji,” he mumbled.

“I want to see it before signing the contract,” she insisted.

“Yes, of course,” Aman had to agree. He would have to ask the great ASR to hide in a closet when his bhabiji came to the office to inspect it.

“You have 300 employees, right?” she asked, looking at the contract.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Any dietary restrictions?” she asked.

“There are four employees with diabetes,” Aman explained.

Khushi’s heart clenched. Her fingers clutching the contract trembled.

“Twenty with high blood pressure,” Aman explained. “Thirty four with high cholesterol.”

Khushi nodded jerkily. “Leave the contract with me, Amanji. I will study it in detail. When should I come to your office tomorrow?” she asked. "Is three fine?"

“Three is fine,” he replied.

Khushi nodded.

“Namaste,” Aman folded his hands with a smile. At least she hadn’t kicked him out or found out about ASR.

“Namaste,” Khushi folded her hands and bid farewell.

Aman left.

Khushi stood watching him leave, feeling unsettled.

‘Now what is wrong with you?’ she asked herself. ‘Why are you hyperventilating because Amanji dresses like—like you-know-who? Is he the only man on earth who can wear a coat and suit? Hey Devi Maiyya, raksha karna. I am losing my mind, that is, the little mind I was born with,’ she said, lifting her folded hands holding the contract to her face in a position of prayer.

She stilled.

 A faint fragrance rose from the papers—of a man who had pressed his lips to hers, tasted her so gently, called her name in his husky voice...of a man who had been haunting her dreams all of last week.

Khushi shut her eyes and stood there, shaking, breathing in his scent.

“Khushi, kya hua? Have you become a statue?” Payal asked.

Khushi jumped.

“What is the contract all about?” Payal asked.

“I need to go there, Jiji, tomorrow,” Khushi managed to say. “Let me meet him.”

“Him? Whom?” Payal asked.

Khushi turned away. “No one, Jiji,” she mumbled.

                                      ***

Aman looked at the display on his phone. ASR.

“Aman, did she sign it?” he asked.

“No, sir. But she didn’t refuse to do so,” Aman replied.

ASR stood looking down at the kitchen being built behind his office through the glass walls.

“She—that is, bhabiji will be coming to the office tomorrow to check out the new kitchen. She wants to see it before committing to the proposal,” Aman explained.

“When?” he asked, feeling his heart race.

“Three,” Aman explained.

“Damn!” ASR said. “I have a meeting in the conference room downstairs from two to four.”

“Hide, ASR,” Aman suggested.

“Yes, I will,” ASR agreed.

Part 8

“Aman, call Khushi and confirm that she is coming over at three,” ASR instructed over the phone.

“Yes, sir,” Aman said, hiding a sigh and a smile. ‘Ho gaya shuru, bulldozer ASR,’ he thought.

“Send her a car from the office. No, no, you go to her house in a car from the office and collect her,” Arnav went on.

“Yes, sir,” Aman said, leaning against the wall, his eyes shut. He and ASR had spent the night at the office monitoring the construction workers who had been pressed into doing a night shift at an exorbitant amount as overtime.

“I will be in the conference room on the ground floor,” ASR reminded him. “Take her to my office. Get Manju Singh from the canteen to serve her jalebi and tea with cardamom in it,” ASR told him for the hundredth time.

“Yes, sir,” Aman replied. ‘How many more times will I have to hear these instructions before it is three?’ he wondered.

“Aman, what did she say when she saw the contract?” ASR asked again.

Aman repeated Khushi’s answer for the hundredth time, “That we were paying her too much. That Bhabiji would prefer to cook in her own kitchen.”

ASR frowned. “I need her here. She has to cook here, in our kitchen. How else can I woo her?” he spoke softly to himself. “And the cost doesn’t matter. It is just money,” said ASR the hard-nosed businessman who prided on having a finance department that could squeeze the last drop of blood from a rupee note.

ASR the lover was a bigger headache than ASR the hard-nosed boss, Aman concluded ruefully, trying hard to keep a smile from his face.

“We did it carefully,” ASR mused. “Drafted it carefully. I went through it with a toothcomb to get rid of loopholes. She can’t get out of it for a year once she signs.”

“Bhabiji said nothing about the amount we listed as compensation if she broke the contract,” Aman remarked.

“Because she is a straight shooter,” ASR admitted. “Once she signs, she won’t dream of breaking the contract. She will hang on till the year ends. I am counting on her integrity.”

Aman nodded even though ASR couldn’t see him over the phone.

“Aman, give her whatever she wants. I want it to be her kitchen, a place she wants to be in. I am planning for her to make this her permanent kitchen,” ASR told Aman seriously.

“Yes, sir,” Aman agreed.

                                             ***

Khushi turned restlessly in bed, feeling hot, bothered and terribly anxious.

‘Why can’t I sleep? I have to go to the office tomorrow to check out the kitchen, Devi Maiyya. If I am an owl all night, how can I be a sherni all day?’ she asked reasonably.

She turned her head to look at her sister sleeping peacefully, miffed.

‘It is all that man’s fault, that Arnav Singh Raizada. He has stolen my neend, my chain, my hosh, my josh! That robber! That wicked devil! How could I know that men touch women with their lips?’ she asked silently. ‘Or that when they do, it fries the brains?’

She frowned. Was this his specialty or would any man’s lips do the same to her? ‘Think, Khushi,” she told herself. ‘Think of some other man, a handsome man touching your lips with his. Yes, Salman Khanji! Think of Salman Khanji touching you like that man did—no, no, Salman Khanji is like your father, no, brother, no, not Salman Khanji. Think of some other man...”

She spent a good hour trying to find replacements for Arnav Singh Raizada and failed dismally.

‘Khushi, you are your own worst enemy,’ she chided herself. ‘Why can’t you think of another man doing with you what that chor did? Why are you thinking of him and staying up all night? He must be fast asleep in his bed, unaware of you celebrating jagrata in his honour. Who knows? He may be a serial lip stealer! Maybe he does the same with any girl who makes him so much as a cup of coffee,’ she grumbled. ‘Maybe he specialises in stealing lips from all girls.’

A strange ache spread across her chest as though a heavy hand were crushing her poor nazuk heart mercilessly.

She saw in her mind the vision of a lip-obsessed Dracula-like figure of Arnav Singh Raizada pull a girl towards him and lower his lips to hers to steal them. The face of the girl was indistinct. Only her red lips gleamed in the light as though begging him to take them. His face was a play of light and shadows as he lowered his head.

Khushi sat up in bed, clutching her heart, sweating profusely. No, no. How dare he try to steal another girl’s lips!

She jumped out of bed and ran to the cabinet in which she had placed the contract. She pulled it open, snatched the cover, flipped it open and pulled out the contract. Needing reassurance, she raised it to her face to smell it. The faint fragrance of sandalwood and musk entered her lungs. Khushi closed her eyes to savour the addictive scent. Her hand brought the document closer to her face till her lips touched the cool paper.

She trembled. Tears trailed down her cheeks as she stood alone in her room at midnight sniffing the elusive scent of the man who had stolen into her head when she wasn’t looking.

                                             ***

“Khushiji, please come with me,” Aman appeared at her doorstep.

“Kaun he, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked, her big eyes resting on the dapper young man waiting to escort her niece out.

“Buaji, this is Amanji. He has come to take us to AR Designs to see the kitchen there,” Khushi explained. “We will be back as soon as possible.” She turned to look at Aman. “Payal, my jiji will be coming with us.”

“Ji,” Aman agreed. ‘Good for ASR,’ he thought. ‘The offer is very advantageous to bhabiji and Payalji will definitely push her into accepting it.’

“Suno, bitwaa,” Buaji told Aman. “Take care of my nieces. Their amma and babuji are in Lucknow. They are staying in Delhi with me. If something happens to them, Hai Re Nandkisore, I...”

“Aap bilkul chinta mat keejiye. I will take them safely to the office and bring them back in no time,” Aman promised her.

Buaji nodded. She turned to Khushi. “Sanka devi, have you taken your phone?” she asked.

“Yes, buaji,” Khushi replied. “Don’t worry.”

Payal walked out, a glass-studded bag hanging from her shoulder.

Khushi introduced her to Aman.

Soon they left for the office.

“Got bhabiji and Payalji,” Aman texted ASR.

ASR, sitting in the meeting room on the ground floor of his office, felt his heart pick up its beat. She was coming to him.

On the way, Aman stole a glance at his bhabi’s face. She looked tired, as though she had spent a sleepless night. Had she spent it mooning over ASR? Aman wondered. He shook his head in bemusement. Even khadoos ASR could fall in love. Even angry young man ASR could find a girl to sigh over him. God, tussi great ho! Aman looked skywards.

They reached the office.

Guards opened the car doors for them. They alighted and the girls looked around the humongous car park.

“Reached office,” Aman texted ASR.

“In conference room on ground floor,” ASR texted back. Khushi would walk into the kitchen he was building for her. Her feet would touch the space he had prepared for her. Would she agree to cook for him? Would she sign the contract? Panic spread through his veins.

“Aayiye, Khushiji, Payalji. This is the space set aside for your vehicle,” Aman pointed to a plum, comfortable parking slot for Happyji. A board said ‘Caterers’.

“Ji, shukriya,” Khushi replied.

“You can park your vehicle here and walk into the kitchen easily,” Aman said, leading them to the kitchen under construction.

The kitchen was huge but half-done. There was no worker in sight.

Aman explained, “We need your input, Khushiji, Payalji. Only you can know what you need to work comfortably in this space. This kitchen will be built to your specifications. You can pick the marble, the granite, the tiles, the equipment, anything you want. I know that the contract we offered you is for one year, but if you are comfortable here, we are willing to extend it for years.”

Payal stared at the generous Aman with wide eyes.

Khushi turned to look at him with suspicion. “Why?” she asked. “Why are you being so generous?”

Smart bhabiji, Aman thought. He repeated the answer ASR had taught him. “Because we know the value of food, Khushiji. Because we want our employees to have healthy and tasty food prepared with care and love,” he said. “We will get healthy and happy employees with high productivity. So this investment will pay off for us.”

“Can you afford to spend so much money on us?” Khushi asked directly, her kind heart unwilling to beggar AR Designs.

Aman smiled into her worried eyes. She was so sweet. No wonder ASR had fallen flat on his face and was still lying on the floor.

“AR Designs is a global company, Khushiji. We have offices in London and Paris too. Money is not an issue,” Aman said, smiling at her. “We can build millions of kitchens for you and not feel the pinch.”

Khushi swallowed. “Who owns it?” she asked directly, her voice trembling only slightly.

Aman swallowed at such a direct attack.

“It is a family-owned concern,” Aman prevaricated.

Khushi nodded unwillingly. Was that family the Raizadas?

“We need burners of commercial strength,” Payal inserted.

“Ji, done,” Aman replied, noting the demand down.

“Exhaust. A space to dice vegetables. We do it sitting down,” Payal added.

“Done,” Aman said, writing them down.

“Khushi has a list of vessels, pots and pans needed. Also equipment for grinding, kneading and cutting,” Payal said.

“Ji,” Aman said, holding out his hand.

Khushi handed over the list.

“We will get all of them,” Aman said.

“We normally buy ingredients from merchants we trust,” Khushi said.

“You order whatever you want, Khushiji, when the kitchen is done. Ask them to deliver them here. We will unload them and store them in your kitchen,” Aman said. “The payment for provisions is not included in your fee, Khushiji. The firm will be paying for them.”

Payal looked at Khushi, both of them unable to believe that a deal could be so advantageous to them. It was like the universe wanted them to cook to their hearts’ content without paying for the produce or the fuel!

“In kitchen,” Aman texted ASR.

Arnav swallowed hard. Would she like it?

“If you have seen enough, shall we go to the main building?” Aman asked.

Khushi nodded slowly. There was no reason for her not to sign the contract. Except for, maybe, a feeling, an intuition that Arnav Singh Raizada, the hazard to her heart and lips was somewhere close by.

“Going up to your office,” Aman texted ASR.

ASR clenched his jaw and hung on to the arms of his chair to stop himself from leaping out and running up to his office to see Khushi. It had been one week of torture, staying away from her.

Payal and Khushi followed Aman out of the kitchen up a flight of steps to the first floor of the office.

“This is for your sole use,” Aman enlightened them. “If you need to speak to anyone in the admin, you can just walk up the steps and get to our office without going through the car park and the entrance. And if we need to see you for some reason, we can drop in.” ASR will be wearing down the steps, Aman thought, hiding a smile.

“Ji,” Payal responded.

Khushi walked silently with them to an office made of glass and black leather. Streaks of red enlivened the minimalistic decor. She hesitated before stepping into the room. Her heart picked up its beat as she took a deep breath of air laced with the scent that was uniquely Arnav Singh Raizada.

“Whose office is this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Ji,” Aman hesitated. “We hold meetings here,” he said, evading her. “Please sit down,” Aman offered them seats on the plush sofa in the room.

They sat.

“Why don’t you discuss the offer, Khushiji, Payalji? I will arrange for some refreshment,” Aman added before leaving.

“In your office,” he texted ASR. “Decision time. Off to get tea & jalebis.”

ASR clutched his phone with trembling fingers.

                                                  ***

“Jiji, what do you think of the contract?” Khushi asked.

“We would be mad not to sign it, Khushi,” Payal said. “It is pure luck that they considered us for this offer. Amma and babuji couldn’t believe their ears when I told them about the terms.”

Khushi nodded slowly.

“What is stopping you from accepting it?” Payal asked directly.

“It seems too good,” Khushi muttered. “Why are they so eager to get us?”

Payal sighed. “Kaaran ko goli maaro. You are a bad businesswoman, Khushi, if you let such an opportunity slip through your fingers,” she said.

Khushi jumped up from her seat. With wild eyes, wringing her hands, she moved to stand near the glass wall and looked down. The office was like a beehive. Hundreds of employees worked beneath her feet, unaware of her spying on them.

Arnav Singh Raizada.


The office looked custom-made for him. The big, imposing chair, the glass and aluminium, the black leather....Even the red streaks looked like him.

Khushi shut her eyes, pressing the contract to her racing heart.

Was this business his?   

      

She had no proof it was, only a hunch, only a certain instinct, only an intuition that this was his, that his spirit permeated this place.

Was a mere hunch reason enough to shoot down the most advantageous and exciting proposal that had ever been made to her and Jiji?

Everything about the contract was perfect. It was a dream come true. She could see herself working in that kitchen once it was fully done, laughing, dancing, teasing Jiji and the boys, but....

But what if this business was his?

AR Designs. Arnav Raizada Designs? No, he would never let go of that Singh in his name. He would have called it ASR Designs.

AR, AR, who was AR? Anjali! Anjali Raizada!

Was this his firm and had he named it after his sister?

If it was, then why was he so eager to get her to work for him? Was it because she had refused to take his cheque and accept his contract for the poojas at home?

Or was it because...Her mind flew to the few moments in his room when he had kissed her and her hosh and sud-bud had flown out through the window.

She squeezed her eyes tighter and almost hunched over her hold on the contract in her hands.

“Khushi, kya hua? Is your stomach hurting?” Payal asked. “No wonder you didn’t eat even a single poori at dinner last night. Pet kharab tha? Why didn’t you tell buaji? She would have given you her infamous kada.”

Khushi straightened quickly. “I am fine, jiji,” she said quickly.

“Then sign the contract and end this tamasha. You have been choking the life out of it since yesterday,” Payal was succinct in her comment.

Khushi nodded jerkily.

Was it because he had kissed her? She had been angry with him, had challenged him. And he had challenged her right back that he would steal her lips again. She had threatened to hit him with a chair if she saw him again and he had threatened to steal more than her lips when she saw him next.

She swallowed hard.

Had today been a mere day after he had kissed her, she would have thrown the contract out of the window after chasing him down and giving him a piece of her mind.

But today was not a day after the kiss.

It was a week after the kiss.

A week of nights spent pacing her room, a week of days and nights filled with thoughts of him, a week of staring at food without eating it, a very long week of trying to forget him, a week of trying to escape the voice in her head calling her name in the husky way only he could....it had been hell. A strange kind of hell she had never experienced before. Khushi looked down through the glass at the employees downstairs.


Was he down here?

The look in his eyes as he had teased her, the fear and loss she had felt when he had crumpled at her feet, the way he had taken her bite on his cheek and the stamp on his foot in his stride, the gentle way in which his lips had caressed hers, his tongue had invaded her mouth, the feather-like touch on her arms, the feel of his hard chest against her soft one....

“You—your lips—they are so sweet,” she heard him say.

She clutched her head.

Could she refuse the contract? Could she leave him? Could she walk out of here and be happy that she had ensured she would never see him again?

“Khushi, has the pain moved from your tummy to your head?” Payal asked.

How would she live with the regret of giving up this chance of knowing him? Could she stay in her room all night fretting if he was fine, if he was thinking of her, if he was stealing another girl’s lips?

“Khushi, are you alright?” Payal asked.

The picture of Arnav Singh Raizada lowering his head to kiss a stranger flashed through her head, piercing her heart a hundred times and leaving it bleeding.

“No, I am not fine,” Khushi whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

She quickly walked to Payal, sat down, placed the contract on the low glass table before them, grabbed a pen from Payal’s bag and signed her name wherever required on the contract.

Payal heaved a sigh of relief.

“Shall we leave, jiji?” Khushi asked.

“Amanji,” Payal reminded her, looking towards the door.

Aman rushed in with Manju Singh, ready to serve the girls tea with cardamom and jalebis.

Khushi gulped at the sight of the jalebis. Yes, he was here and he was behind this contract. She was sure now. Khushi drew in a deep breath. She had taken this decision after careful thought. She had to know why he was spending a fortune on getting her here. Was it revenge or was it because he was as fascinated by her as she was by him? She had to see where this went. There was no going back now.

“Manjuji, this is Payalji and this is Khushiji,” Aman introduced them. “Manju Singh is the Canteen Manager.”

The girls greeted the lady.

“I hope you accept the contract,” Manju added her bit. “Shukla’s food is atrocious.”

Khushi handed over the signed contract.

“Khushiji, you signed!” Aman couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming.

“Yes,” Khushi said. “I hope we don’t regret it.”

“Never, never,” Aman promised her.

“If there’s nothing else, we would like to leave now,” Khushi said.

 “Please wait here a moment. Let me just...” He rushed out, leaving Manju to talk to the girls.

“Bhabiji signed,” Aman texted ASR.

There was silence for a moment. Then came the reply, “Really?”

“Yes!” Aman replied.

“Place the contract in the safe, lock it and come down, Aman,” ASR instructed. He could feel himself tremble with relief.

A few minutes later Aman appeared before Payal and Khushi.

The girls stared at him. He held two large bouquets in his hands.

He handed over a huge bouquet of red roses to Khushi.

“For you, Khushiji,” he said, beaming.

“Shukriya,” Khushi whispered.

“Payalji,” he called, giving her a big bouquet of yellow roses.

Payal nodded her thanks.

“May we leave?” Khushi asked.

“I will take you home,” Aman said, leading them down and out to the car park, Manju joining them.

On the way home, Aman chatted with them freely.


Khushi looked down at the red roses on her lap.

“I can’t tell you how happy we are to be doing this deal with you,” Aman said.

“Is there anything we need to know?” Payal asked.

“Well, our boss is diabetic,” Aman began.

Khushi's fingers tightened around the fringe of her dupatta.

“He drinks black tea,” Aman added. “I know the canteen can accommodate him, but it would be very kind of you if you could take care of him. He works very long hours. His food—Khushiji, if you could pack a box for him daily, it would be a kindness.”

Khushi took a deep breath scented by the red roses on her lap. ‘You decided to step into this river, Khushi. Now swim,’ she told herself.

“I will” she replied.

Chapter 9

Khushi prayed to Devi Maiyya.

‘Thank you, Devi Maiyya. Our cooking went off without a hitch. The kitchen is very convenient, bright and spacious. Jiji and the boys love it. I adore it. He Devi Maiyya, please make the employees love our food. Let them chak their fingers and praise our food,’ she said, her hands folded, her eyes on the smiling face of the goddess.

She shut her eyes.

‘Where is he? I thought he would come down to the kitchen today,’ she asked the goddess silently. After a long moment she said silently, ‘Oh, you want me to be a sherni? Theek he. Your wish is my command.’

She turned to look at the vats of pakoda kadi, tehri, raita, pickle, papad, onion chutney and plates of mooli paratha. A big bin of besan laddoo sat by them. She blew a kiss at all the dishes that had been prepared for the workers and warded off the evil eye with her hands.

“Munna, Krishna, cover the vessels. The serving staff will see to the food,” Payal instructed.

Khushi moved away from the others and called Aman.

“Khushiji?” Aman asked, a smile in his voice.

“Our cooking is done,” she told him evenly. “What should I do with the food I have set aside for your diabetic boss?” she asked.

“Khushiji, I will come down to the kitchen in ten minutes and take it from you,” Aman assured her in a whisper. “I am stuck here for the moment. I can’t get out right now. Give me ten minutes, please.”

“Aap chinta mat keejiye,” Khushi reassured him. “I will take it up to the office. By the way, where does he take his lunch?”

“Ji?” Aman asked.

“Does he eat in the office we sat the other day?” Khushi asked.

“No,” Aman admitted. “There is a small meeting room attached to the office. He eats there. Manju leaves Shukla’s food on the table for him.”

“I will leave it today. Aap chinta mat keejiye. When does he have lunch?” Khushi asked.

“One,” Aman replied.

Khushi cut the call and looked at the clock. Thirty minutes to go. She turned to address Payal, Munna and Krishna. “You go home with Happyji. I will be a bit late today,” she said.

Payal frowned.

“I want to know if they like our cooking. I will return after lunch hour is over,” Khushi said easily.

“Yes, that makes sense,” Payal said thoughtfully.

“You will be alright, didi?” Munna asked.

“No, Amanji is going to swallow me whole,” Khushi teased him.

“Amanji will get indigestion if he does,” Munna got his own back.

Khushi pretended to throw a carrot at him and Munna ducked.

“Aap sab jaayiye. I will get home soon,” Khushi packed them off.

                                  ***

“Aman, she doesn’t have a clue, does she?” ASR asked anxiously.

“No, sir. Aap bilkul chinta mat keejiye,” Aman reassured him.

“Did she like the kitchen?” he asked.

“Bhabiji loved it. She was smiling while cooking, sir. How did the meeting with the Sinhas go?” Aman asked.

“Well, but I missed Khushi’s first day,” muttered ASR.

“Bhabiji was happy. She cooked for you with her own hands and has personally left your lunch in your room for you,” Aman said smiling away.

“Really?” ASR was eager like a schoolboy.

“She sounded happy. Although I can’t be sure she will be pleased when she discovers she has been taken for a ride,” Aman fretted.

“Yes,” ASR murmured.

“I hope she doesn’t hold grudges,” Aman worried.

ASR was too distressed to reply.

“Will you get here now, sir?” Aman asked.

“Ten minutes,” ASR replied.

“Bhabiji must have left by now. I saw Happyji’s van leaving the car park,” Aman said.

“I will see you after lunch, Aman,” ASR replied. He wanted to relish Khushi’s food in peace.

                                             ***

ASR pushed open the door to his room, dumped his laptop bag and coat, freshened up in his washroom and entered the dark and small conference room adjoining his office.

The light was dim, but he could see a covered tray at one end of the oval table made of smooth teak.

He switched on a light and turned towards the table. He stood as if frozen.

Khushi was sitting at the other end of the table, her feet on the chair, her chin resting on her knees. She was dressed in a coral anarkali and her hair was in a single plait. Her eyes were directly on his.

“Khushi?” he whispered.

She sat still, silent.

Maybe he had imagined her. His need for her must have made him imagine her. He made to move towards her, but her voice stopped him.

“Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada?” she asked softly.

He swallowed hard.

“Sit down,” she suggested.

Arnav sat.

She lowered her legs, pushed her dainty feet into her jootis, got up and approached him.

Silently she lifted the cover from the tray. The fragrance of good food filled the air of the tiny room.

“Khayiye,” she said, her voice low. “Or you will faint again. We can talk later.”

Arnav ate. The soft, delicious paratha slipped down his throat.

The tehri reminded him of his childhood in Lucknow when his life had been secure and filled with love and laughter. His throat closed over with feelings threatening to overpower him. He hadn’t tasted pakoda kadi for years.

Khushi moved the glass of water closer to him. "The laddoos are sugar-free," she told him.

He sipped the water and had a laddoo. It was easily the best besan laddoo he had been lucky to eat in his life.

“How did you find out?” he asked softly, his eyes serious. No anger, no challenge. Just a desperate need to keep her close.

Khushi hesitated for  a moment. To speak the truth or not? The truth, she decided. She had nothing to lose.

“Your smell,” she admitted. “The contract, your room—I could smell your fragrance everywhere.”

Arnav gulped.

“The glass office is yours, isn’t it?” she asked.

Honesty had to be repaid with honesty. “Yes,” he admitted.

“It looks like you,” she remarked.

‘I look like glass, aluminium and leather?’ he wondered.

“Why did you go to such a lot of trouble to hide your identity?” Khushi asked directly.