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.
“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/
Dedicated to Supriya Sahasrabuddhe (Sups/ aniyathi). She wanted Mami and Payal to plot to bring A-K together. So here goes,
Part 24
He slept
while she was massaging his neck and temple.
Khushi
tiptoed away, making her way down.
“Khushiji,
how is Chotey?” Anjali asked.
“Asleep,
di. Shall I get the photo out of the storeroom?” she asked.
“I will
help you,” Anjali said, limping to join her.
In the
storeroom, Khushi and Anjali looked through a hundred discarded items—old
lamps, notebooks, old clothes, broken furniture....
“Why is the
photo kept here, di?” Khushi asked.
Anjali
smiled uneasily. “Khushi bhabi, why don’t you check in that cabinet?”
Khushi
opened the cabinet and her eyes fell on a framed photo of two people she had
never seen before. She took it and held it towards Anjali. “Is this the one?”
“Yes,”
Anjali replied, smiling in relief.
Khushi
handed it to her.
“I will get
it cleaned,” Anjali said as she left.
Khushi made
to shut the cabinet when her eyes fell on an album. She took it out and opened
it.
A sombre
looking young Arnav Singh Raizada looked back at her. Dressed in a kurta, he
was staring at the camera as if all the burdens in the world were heaped on his
shoulders.
Khushi felt
a smile tease her lips.
The next
was a photo of an old haveli, a huge mansion on acres of land. Khushi frowned.
She had seen it somewhere. Was it in Delhi or Lucknow?
She saw a
photo of his parents, another of an old lady with a teenage girl and a cross
Arnav Singh Raizada, sitting as though someone had stuck a stick in the place
of his backbone.
Must be his
dadi, she thought. His nani was here, alive and well. And the girl was di.
“Khushi,”
Payal called. “What are you doing among the rubbish?”
“Nothing,
jiji,” she replied. She took the album with her as she left the storeroom.
***
“Arnavji,”
she called softly.
He slept.
Khushi
slowly touched his shoulder and tugged. “Arnavji.”
His eyes
opened. “Khushi?” He blinked in the dim light.
“Have some
soup. You have to take your medicine,” she told him softly.
“Yes,” he
mumbled.
She placed
the tray before him on the table and went to get his pill.
After
giving him dinner, she prompted him to go to bed and covered him with his blanket.
“Lie down with me,
Khushi,” he whispered.
“Ji,” she
said softly. “Let me take the tray down.”
He lay
waiting till she returned.
But as she
returned after changing into a simple pink suit, he sat up. “The photo,” he
mumbled. “I have to get it.”
“Di and I
found it in the storeroom,” Khushi reassured him. “She has taken it for
cleaning.”
He sagged
in relief.
“Aap let
jaayiye, go to sleep,” Khushi said, coaxing him to lie down, her hands on his
shoulders.
They fell
asleep, Khushi taking care not to touch him for fear of causing him discomfort.
***
Around
midnight, Khushi woke up.
Something
was pricking her. In irritation, she sat up and dug through the covers to find
a black, ugly clip she used to hold back her bangs.
With a
grunt, she leaned forward to keep it on the bedside table.
She sensed
movement beside her and turned around.
Arnav was
moving his head restlessly against the pillow.
Khushi
stared at him in panic. Was his headache worse? Was the pain worse? Should she
call nani and the others? She made to leave the bed.
He
murmured, “Mama.”
Khushi
stilled.
“No, mama,
please, no,” he muttered as his head thrashed against the pillow and his limbs
fought against the cover. He was sweating profusely.
“No, mama,
no,” he pleaded.
Khushi jumped
out of bed, ran to his side, caught his shoulder and shook as hard as she
could. “Arnavji, wake up. It is just a nightmare.”
His eyes
flew open. He stared unseeingly at her.
“Mama?” he
groaned.
“Khushi,”
she replied. “You were having a nightmare.”
He blinked
at her. Then he sat up, looking around him.
Khushi
quickly poured him a glass of water and held it to his lips.
He sipped
slowly.
When he was
done, she returned the glass to the tray.
His head
was buried in his hands.
Khushi
wanted to ask him what was wrong, but felt she had no right to intrude. She
turned to leave, but stopped.
He had
caught her hand.
Khushi
turned to look at him.
“Khushi.”
That soft,
needy cry touched her heart.
She took a
step closer to him.
He threw
his arms around her waist and buried his face against her bosom.
Khushi
stood astounded for a moment. Then her arms went around his shoulders.
They stayed
in that position for long. If she felt his hot tears wet her chest, she said
nothing.
Then he
mumbled, “My parents killed themselves.”
Khushi
almost fell down in shock.
“Papa—Papa
and mama fought. I heard them. It was di’s wedding. The shehnai was very loud.
She was sitting, all decked up, her friends and family all around her...” his
voice trailed away.
Khushi
frowned. Di’s wedding day? Why would her parents fight and kill themselves on
such an important day in their lives?
“I saw mama
running. Then—I heard the shot above the sound of the shehnai. I ran to the
study. She—she was lying there in a pool of blood. Papa’s hunting rifle was
lying by her,” he recounted, his face buried in her bosom.
Her arms
tightened around his shoulders.
“Two hours
later, papa shot himself dead.”
Khushi
tried to swallow her tears. “Why?” she asked. She couldn’t make any sense of
this senseless violence.
He sighed,
his hot breath singeing the sensitive skin of her chest.
“Papa was
having an affair,” he confessed.
Khushi’s
eyes flew wide open in horror.
“Mama found
out,” he murmured. “I heard them. Mama had seen him with her that evening in
our house.”
Her mouth
fell open. It seemed the height of stupidity for a man to invite his paramour
to his home on the day of his daughter’s wedding when his wife was in
attendance.
But what did she, Khushi Kumari Gupta know?
What she knew of love
and romance could be written on the head of a pin and space could be still be found to write a Salman Khanji movie
script on it.
“Mama was
asking him about it, saying that she had seen him with her that evening. He was
trying to protest his innocence. She asked him if he had ever loved her, his
wife,” Arnav confessed.
Khushi
swallowed hard.
‘So chasing
women is a family trait?’ she thought, her chest aching. ‘Laad Governor has
inherited it from his father? Khushi, tum to gayi kaam se. Your fate will soon be that
of his mother, your saasumma.’
She saw
Lavanya clinging to him, Lisa hugging him.
Her arms
fell away from Arnav.
He moved
back a couple of inches.
“I used to have
nightmares every night for years after they died,” he muttered.
Khushi
nodded, trying hard to find sympathy for him in her heart that was filled with
anguish and fear.
“Then their
frequency decreased, but there was no warning when they would strike. Sleep
became a luxury. Relaxing enough to rest became an impossibility,” he
explained. “Some nights I would have terrible dreams more than once. Working
was the only way I could get through the nights.”
“Aap—aap so
jaayiye,” she said, her voice feeble. Now it was her turn to have nightmares.
***
Anjali
placed her parents’ photo on a pedestal and Arnav garlanded it. The priest
settled down to do the pooja.
Nani, mami,
and Payal sat down, all dressed in white sarees. Akash and NK sat near them.
Anjali sat facing the photo.
“Chotey,”
she called softly.
Arnav,
dressed in a white kurta pyjama, settled down by her.
Khushi
quietly moved away to join her jiji, but Arnav called, “Khushi.”
She turned
her head to look at him.
He held out
his hand.
Khushi had
no choice but to walk to him.
“Sit by me,”
he requested.
Khushi, to
her dismay, found herself seated between Anjali and Arnav.
The priest
began the prayers.
Khushi
fisted the skirt of her white anarkali, trying to keep her thoughts pure and
non-violent. Her eyes fell on the photo of his parents and all her good
resolutions burned in a bonfire.
She scowled
at his dead father.
‘Philanderer,
immoral man. If you wanted to chase women, why did you get married? You could
have run after every woman on earth and no one would have been hurt if you had been a bachelor!’ she
raged. ‘Why did you have to drive that poor woman to her death and give nightmares and tears to your children?’
She thought
of a bullet passing through her own head and flinched.
Arnav
turned to look at her with sombre, worried eyes.
‘Kya hua?’
his eyes asked.
She shrugged.
How could she tell him that she had just seen her own gory end?
The garland
slipped from the photo.
Arnav
leaned forward to hang it right.
Khushi
sighed, her eyes on her saasumma’s photo. ‘Your husband was a scoundrel, a
rogue and your son is no better. Soon it will be me in your photo, but with a
difference. You killed yourself and then your husband killed himself. In my
case, I will shoot your son first and then myself. Otherwise there is no
guarantee that he will kill himself after I die. I can’t take the chance. He
will most likely dance on Second-hand Jawani at my funeral with his Lavanya and
Lisa on either side of him.”
Tears
filled Anjali’s eyes and flowed down her cheeks.
Khushi
passed her a box of tissues.
‘Poor di.
She will have to cry at my funeral too, our funeral. Mine and her brother’s.’
She frowned suddenly. ‘Why should I die? Why should I kill my Laad Governor? That
Lavanya was hanging on him. That Lisa was hugging him. He was not hugging them.
I will kill them,’ she decided, nodding, pleased that she had found an easy solution
to her problem. ‘If I kill one girl, it will send the right message to all the
girls in Delhi. Don’t look at Khushi Kumari Gupta’s husband. Don’t touch my husband.
Don’t even dare to dream of my Laad Governor. Yes, that’s the way. I won’t have any
problems after the first murder.’
Khushi looked at her saasumma with pity. ‘You
should have done the same. You had rifles in your house. You could have done
this easily. My situation is slightly more difficult, saasumma. I have to find
a gun.’
She looked at Arnav with doubtful eyes. ‘Can I ask him for a gun?’ she thought. 'No. He will ask me why I want it. Phir hum kya kahenge?'
Her glad eyes
fell on Nanheji. ‘Yes, Nanheji will help me buy one without asking awkward questions.’
Poor NK,
unaware of her plan for him, sat playing with the plate of flowers before him.
Part 24
A question is not just there to be answered. It is also there to answer...
What is more deadly? The gun or the thought?… The occurrence of the event or the nightmare, the impact of it?... A gun gives you the opportunity, but a thought pulls the trigger... The occurrence just takes a second to happen but the impact of it is long lasting! Though Arnav and Anjali's parents used the gun with just a thought that occurred in their mind, that very thought left a deep impact on so many lives... It had a lasting effect...
The impact on Anjali is such that she clams up when the topic of her parents arise... Arnav who has gone into a shell at the mention of Barsi is more forthcoming towards Khushi and narrates the circumstances... But he is still hounded by the nightmares...and is haunted by it... When he slept it crept into his thoughts like a bad debt, he couldn't pay...It left him helpless...it is seen by the way he has clung to Khushi...
It not only changed their children but it also made their daughter-in-law think in a moment of weakness, that she too would have the same ending... She sees her husband stepping on the very stones his father had tread... But Khushi is made of sterner stuff... She knows she can turn tides around if she wants to... Though her thoughts had rushed on like a runaway train she could rein them in... If you realize how powerful your thoughts are... You would never think a negative thought again.... To the question of your life you are the answer and to the problems of your life you are the solution... Her contention that since she is the legally wedded wife, it is they, his paramours, who need to seek the shelter when she wields the sword...
Over thinking ruins you... Ruins the situation, twists things around, makes you worry and just makes everything much worse than actually it is... There are far better things ahead than what we leave behind... Sometimes it is not the pain that makes you suffer, it's your own negative thoughts that make things seem worse…
A very good update Smita... Lots to ponder over... Deep thoughts shrouded by humor...
Part 25
“Nanheji, I
want to buy a gun,” Khushi told him, her eyes checking to see if anyone was
watching them.
NK chewed
on his chips and asked absently, “What?”
“A gun,
Nanheji,” she replied.
“Why?” he
asked simply, digging in his almost empty packet for chips.
Khushi was
stumped.
“You want
to learn how to shoot?” he asked helpfully.
“Yes,” she
replied, her face lighting up.
“I want to
learn too, Khushiji. Don’t worry. I will get a gun and we can practice in
Nannav’s garden,” NK offered.
“Yes,” she
agreed readily. “But only after he goes to office.”
“Fine,” NK
said, shaking the packet to see if any chip had escaped him.
“Let it be
our secret,” Khushi told him in a hushed voice. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Our
secret,” NK said with a big smile, shaking her hand.
***
Arnav
stared curiously at Khushi and NK shaking hands. Both of them looked like
schoolkids planning to play truant. Mischief was written large on their faces.
Khushi
turned away from NK to see her husband staring at her.
She gulped.
“I am
going, Khushiji,” NK whispered as he ran for his life.
“Kya hua,
Khushi?” Arnav asked, a mild frown on his face.
She smiled
widely. “Kuch to nahi.”
“What are
you planning with NK?” he asked bluntly.
“Nothing,”
she said, trying to look innocent.
He waited
one more moment hoping that she would explain, but she didn’t. “I am going to
the office,” he said.
“Ji,”
Khushi said, relieved.
“I will be
back by six.”
“Ji. I will
send lunch,” she replied.
He nodded
and left.
***
NK returned
in one hour with a pistol and bullets.
“Nanheji,
you can buy guns so easily in Delhi?” she asked, her hand trembling as she
touched its cold surface.
“Very
easily,” NK explained. “But the crowd was terrible.”
“In a gun
shop?” Khushi asked doubtfully.
NK nodded.
“Yes, Khushiji. Looks like all of Delhi found out that we are planning to learn
how to shoot. Copy billis of Delhi.”
“Did someone
ask you why you wanted a gun?” she asked fearfully.
“No,” NK
replied, a frown on his face. “Why should they?”
Khushi
nodded slowly. She hadn’t realised that guns were freely available across
Delhi.
“Come on,
let’s practice,” NK invited her. “Nannav has gone to the office, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. He
will be back only by six,” Khushi said gleefully. “Chaliye.”
***
Arnav
looked at his unopened lunch box with a sense of disquiet. Khushi was planning
something. That by itself was bad news, but when she was doing it with NK, it
was terrible news.
Aman
crossed his arms and waited for something momentous to happen. And happen it
did.
Arnav Singh
Raizada, the boss who lived, breathed, ate, drank and spit out office 24x7 told
Aman, “I am leaving for home. Send the contract via email. I will go through
it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Aman had to strain to maintain an expressionless face.
Arnav
grabbed his laptop and his coat and marched out.
Ama beamed.
Aman’s
official phone rang.
“Aman
Mathur speaking,” Aman said, the smile still in his voice.
“Aman, it
is me, Lavanya,” she began. “I want you to help me book an upscale resort for
my cousin’s wedding in Delhi.”
Ama sighed.
He asked for the date and the budget.
“I asked
ASR for help. The least he could have done was talk to me politely,” Lavanya
fumed. “I called his phone just now but he didn’t answer.”
“I am afraid
ASR is a bit busy,” Aman said, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Work is
crazy?” Lavanya asked.
“No, work
is under control. ASR is busy with his wife,” Aman said with satisfaction.
“Wife? Did
you say wife?” Lavanya asked in a screech.
“Yes, I
did.”
“ASR is
married?” Lavanya confirmed.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Who
married him? I mean, whom did he marry?” Lavanya asked.
“Khushi
Kumari Gupta,” Aman said with pleasure.
“But—but he
was always against marriage,” Lavanya gasped. “Who is she?”
“Akash’s
wife’s sister,” Aman said.
“Family?”
Lavanya asked.
“Yes,” Aman
said.
“His family
must have forced him to marry. I don’t see how ASR could marry. Looks like I
owe him my condolences,” Lavanya said wryly.
Aman wisely
said nothing. What did it matter what Lavanya Kashyap thought of ASR’s wife and
his marriage?
***
Arnav
walked silently to his room, opened the door, dropped his bag and moved to the
glass door to see what NK and Khushi were about.
Khushi was
pointing a gun at a shrub in a pot.
He blinked.
A gun? In
Khushi’s hands? And that too aimed at a shrub?
“Shoot,
Khushiji, shoot,” NK exhorted her.
Arnav
walked to join them.
“Nanheji,
it won’t kill the plant, will it?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Poor
thing.”
“Shoot,” NK
encouraged.
“Arnavji
will feel bad if that plant dies,” Khushi said, blinking back tears.
“How can we
learn to shoot if we cry over our victim, Khushiji?” NK asked.
“Phir bhi,”
Khushi sniffed. “It is a living thing. How can we hurt it?”
Arnav
sighed, a smile trembling on his lips.
He waved NK
aside and came to stand behind his wife, covering her.
Khushi
jumped. “Aap?” she squealed.
“Yes, me,”
he replied. His hands supported hers. “Aim at the wall, Khushi.” He moved her
arms to point at the wall.
“It will
collapse,” she whispered. ‘He Devi Maiyya, Arnavji is teaching me how to kill
his girlfriend?’ she thought.
“I will
rebuild it,” he offered.
‘But how
can you give life to one of your girlfriends after I am done with her?’ Khushi
asked silently. But this was not the time to quibble.
She shut her eyes tightly
and shot.
She dropped
the gun.
Arnav felt
her tremble and shake and pulled her to rest against him. Khushi turned and hugged
him, burying her face against his neck.
“Your bloodthirsty
instinct is satisfied?” he asked her, intense amusement in his voice.
Khushi
nodded. She never wanted to touch a gun in her life. ‘Maybe a knife will do for
his girlfriend?’ she wondered.
“Where did
you get the gun from, NK?” Arnav asked.
“RCS Toys,
Nannav,” NK proclaimed proudly.
Khushi
lifted her head. “RCS Toys?’ she asked in disbelief. “A toy shop?”
“Yes,
Khushiji. I had to fight with three kids to get this gun,” NK said with a
victorious smile. “ And the salesman said the rubber bullets were free.”
Khushi
collapsed against Arnav, thankful and miffed at the same time.
“Take your
rubber bullets and your toy gun and get out,” Arnav told NK mildly. “You scared
Khushi.”
“But she
told me to get the gun, Nannav,” he protested.
“Out,”
Arnav ordered.
NK went out
grumbling.
Arnav
managed to swallow his laughter before asking, “Khushi, why did you want to
shoot my plant?”
She lifted
her head to look at him with earnest eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt your plants,
Arnavji. I just wanted to,” she paused.
He caught
her closer and asked, “Just wanted to?” He smoothed her hair back with a couple
of fingers.
“To learn
how to shoot,” she confessed.
“Why?” he
asked, his lips twitching. “Do you make jalebis by shooting batter into the hot
oil?”
“Awww,” her
mouth fell open. How dare he insult her jalebis?
“Then?” he
asked.
Khushi
turned her head away, miffed.
“I know,”
Arnav discovered.
He did? Her scared
eyes met his.
“You were
planning to kill me,” he said as though he were Archimedes in his bathtub
during the Eureka moment.
Her mouth
fell open. “Of course not,” she fumed when she could.
He pursed
his lips. “Hhhmmm, I am wrong. You were planning to shoot yourself?”
“Do I look
mad to you?” Khushi asked in a huff.
“Then whom
were you planning to kill?” Arnav asked.
“Mosquitoes,”
she replied.
His
eyebrows hit the sky. “Mosquitoes?” he asked in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“With a
pistol?”
“Yes.”
“Albeit
from a toy store. You sure, khushi?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I
could have seen you kill a mosquito with NK’s free rubber bullet, Khushi. I am
sorry I stopped you,” he said, laughing.
Khushi saw
red.
He could
roam around with all chote kapde girls with stylish hair and high heels and he
was laughing because she wanted to kill them? How dare he?
“They are
pests,” she retorted.
“Acha?”
“They buzz
around where they are not wanted,” she declared.
“Really?”
“If I
could, I would squash all of them under my foot,” Khushi bit out.
“Mosquitoes?”
Arnav asked.
“Yes,” she
said, looking like an avenging queen.
He smiled. “You
think of the oddest ways of killing something as insignificant as mosquitoes,
Khushi,” he said softly.
“They are
not insignificant,” Khushi challenged him. “They are out to drink my blood.”
“Let them
be, Jhansi ki rani. I am hungry,” he changed the subject.
“I sent
lunch to the office,” she replied.
“I know.
Let’s eat together,” he suggested.
***
SHIPPER K has a new blog, Expressions of Love. It carries a collection of stories by fanfic writers. Check it out, darlings.
https://ipkkndexpressionsoflove.wordpress.com/maha-index/
My story, Stolen Moments
https://ipkkndexpressionsoflove.wordpress.com/2015/12/02/stolen-moments/