251. OS 13. Laad Governor and Afghan Jalebi (Part 18)

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/

Dedicated to Supriya Sahasrabuddhe (Sups/ aniyathi). She wanted Mami and Payal to plot to bring A-K together. So here goes,

Part 18

“Khushiji, aap bait jayiye na?” the handsome boy invited. “Please sit down.”

Khushi sat down, frowning. So much tameez? Was he saving tameez in his bank locker?

“Khussi, this is Abhishek,” Sasi told her. “He is an engineer in the electricity department.”

Khushi folded her hands and muttered, “Namaste.” He was too clean shaven and too fair.

The boy did the same, smiling at her.

Khushi looked at his white teeth with disfavour. Why did he need the electricity department? All he had to do was smile and entire Varanasi would be filled with light.

“Maybe we could let them talk in private?” the boy’s father suggested.

“Ji, ji,” Garima replied. “Khussi,” she called. “Take Abhishek to the dining room and talk to him.”

Khushi got up and moved to the dining room.

Abhishek followed.

She motioned him to a chair and took a chair away from him. He was wearing a floral perfume. Khushi, who normally loved flowers, wrinkled her nose.

“Khushiji, I saw you at the market one day a month back. I decided then and there that you would be my amma’s bahu,” Abhishek said, smiling.

Khushi clenched a fist, wanting to knock down his teeth. He decided? Who was he to decide? What about her? Didn’t she have a say in whose bahu she was going to be? Khushi bit on her tongue to stop herself from being impolite to a guest.

“Khushiji, what is your educational qualification?” Abhishek asked, a smile on his face.

Khushi smiled. Never let it be said that she had scowled at the first boy who had reached her house to inspect her, she thought. “Are your parents willing to send their bahu out to work?” she asked easily.

“Err—no. We are orthodox, khandaani people, Khushiji,” Abhishek stammered.

“Acha? Then what will you do knowing my educational qualifications?” she asked, a smile still on her face. ‘Will you make a bharta of it and eat it?’ she asked silently. “Your bahu doesn’t have to be a postgraduate to wash dishes and roll rotis in your khandaani kitchen, does she?” she asked loudly.

“Err, no,” he muttered, flustered.

Khushi smiled at him, determined to be pleasant.

Abhishek smiled back at her, but the brightness of his smile was slightly dimmed by her determined cheerfulness.

“Khushiji, I earn a five-digit salary,” he claimed, proud of himself.

‘Good for you,’ Khushi thought. ‘As long as it is not 00000.’

“My amma is very careful about how we spend money,” he began.

“She is a tightfisted hag,’ Khushi translated silently.

“She keeps track of our spending,” he said, wiping sweat off his face.

‘He gives his monthly salary to her,’ Khushi understood.

“After our shaadi, that will continue,” he said, looking uncomfortable.

Khushi’s smile widened. “I have no problem with that, Abhishekji,” she remarked. “After all, it is your salary, your mother and your shaadi.”

“Ji?” he asked, perplexed.

“But you may have issues later on,” Khushi informed him charitably.

“Ji?” he asked.

“Ji,” she enlightened him, smiling all the way. “No girl wants to marry a man she thinks is spineless.”

“What?” he asked in shock.

“Every girl wants a man for her husband, not an amma’s boy. Baaki aap ki zindagi he. It is your life. You decide,” she said, a big smile on her face. “Shall we join the others?”

“Err—Khushiji, are you sure you don’t want to ask me anything? Matlab about girlfriends and things like that?” he asked nervously.

Khushi smiled widely. “Ji nahi. Aapki girlfriends aap ko aur aapki ammaji ko mubaarak ho. Let’s go.”

                                             ***

After the boy and his family left, Sasi asked Khushi, “Bitiya, did you like him?”

“No, babuji,” Khushi replied simply.

“Why not?” buaji asked. “Ladka was very handsome, wasn’t he, Nandkisore?”

“He was too handsome, buaji,” Khushi replied.

“Too handsome?” Garima asked in astonishment. "Aisa bhi kuch hovat he, jiji?"

“No hair on his face and his foolish smile, uuuggghhh,” Khushi grumbled.

“Hein? You want a bearded cross sanyasi?” buaji asked.

“Not clean shaven, not bearded. Something in between,” Khushi declared, seeing the stubble she wanted clearly in her mind. “Cross akhdoo chalega. I can’t tolerate someone who smiles all the time like an idiot.”

Buaji, Garima and Sasi stared at Khushi.

“He was tall,” buaji tried to find his good points.

“Too tall. I am not looking for a ladder to pluck mangoes from the tree,” Khushi said.

“You want to marry a short man?” Garima asked, her eyes wide.

“No. A man who isn’t short or tall, but something in between. He should be just a head taller than me,” Khushi said, sipping her tea.

“He was dressed well,” Garima tried to interest Khushi.

“Uuuggghhh,” Khushi made her distaste clear. “Pink shirt. Will any mard wear a pink shirt? A real man wears only black or brown. Or even dark and light blue. White bhi. Not pink. That Abhishek looked like an oleander tree in bloom!”

“Uh?” Garima asked.

“He smelled like one too. Floral scent. Will any mard wear floral scent? Is he a ladki? Men wear musky fragrances, sandalwood scents,” Khushi replied. She could smell the perfume as she spoke.

“He had attractive eyes,” Garima inserted quietly.

“I don’t like light eyes on men, babuji. They are alright on ladies, but on men, uugghhh. Men’s eyes should be black or brown. Sach kahein to, bilkul like chocolate. I should feel like eating them when I see them,” Khushi said, a small smile on her face.

Garima looked at buaji. “She wants to eat the groom, jiji?" she asked in shock.

“Chatori kahin ki,” buaji condemned Khushi’s indiscriminate eating habits.

“And his hair was too long. Does he think he is a girl? And his nose was not sharp enough. His voice was too sweet. Does he think he is a koel? A real man’s voice should be husky, authoritative. And his shoulders, poochiye hi mat,” Khushi said, shaking her head.

“Kaa hua? Didn’t he have shoulders?” Garima asked anxiously.

“He had shoulders, amma, if you can call them that. How can a man’s body be so thin? A real man is lean, with muscled shoulders and arms. Aap hi kahiye, babuji. What if I fall? He has to lift me, doesn’t he? How can he lift me with weak shoulders?” she asked reasonably.

“He was well-mannered,” Sasi said slowly, leaving Abhishek’s shoulders to the boy.

“Too well-mannered,” Khushi condemned the groom. “Is he the Nawab of Awadh to say pehle aap, pehle aap? Lagta tha he had looted the bank of politeness and kept all of it in his pocket, leaving nothing for others.”

Buaji was stumped. “O sanka devi, you want to marry a badtameez man, Nandkisore?”

“No, buaji. My groom shouldn’t be badtameez. Nor should he be the epitome of politeness. Bade bore hote hein aise ladke. I want something in between. A man who is badtameez to others and full of tameez to me, except when his dil dances to Badtameez dil when he sets eyes on me,” Khushi said, her hands clasped to her chest.

“Hai Re Nandkisore!”

“He Devi Maiyya!”

“Bilkul pagla gayi he, sasuri.”

“Haan, jiji. Kaa hoga iska?”

Sasi alone sat silent, looking at his daughter with new eyes.

Buaji said, “Khushi’s lucky babuji, take a diya from the pooja room and go out in search of a groom for your beloved, picky daughter. Maybe you will find him in a hundred years, Nandkisore.”

Sasi smiled.

“He should be neither tall nor short,” Garima said, a false smile on her face.

“Not fair or dark,” buaji added.

“Neither bald nor long-haired. No beard, not clean shaven. With a nose that is neither too long nor short,” Garima said. "Take a tape with you to measure the length, Payaliya's father."

“Dairy Milk eyes that make your daughter hungry, Nandkisore.”

“Is there any specification for his ears, Khussi?” Garima teased. "Their shape, their length, their curve?"

Khushi scowled at them.

“Muscled shoulders, muscled arms,” Garima added. "Don't forget the shoulders, Payaliya's babuji, jo kuch bhi ho jaaye."

“Try an akhada or gym first, Sasi babua,” buaji suggested.

“A man who doesn’t wear pink, only black, brown, blue and white,” Garima said.

“Who is angry with everyone except Khussi and wears only musk or sandalwood scent,” buaji added.

“Has a husky voice,” Garima added.

“The voice is very important, babuji. No compromise on that. And I want a man who has a spine, a backbone. Abhishekji is still attached to his amma’s pallu,” Khushi added.

“And he should dance to badtameez dil song,” buaji said, tying a red cloth around her forehead. She could feel a humdinger of a headache coming on.

Sasi sat back, his amused eyes studying Khushi. “Beta,” he asked quietly. “Have you seen someone you like?”

Khushi was jolted out of her complacence.

She swallowed hard.

“No, babuji,” she replied softly. “My ideal man doesn’t exist. Matlab, he lives only in my dreams.”

She left the room hoping that they hadn’t seen the tears in her eyes.

                                      ***

“Where were you?” asked many voices as ASR and Akash walked in at eleven at night.

ASR and Akash stared at their militant family.

“Chotey, tum bhi na!” Anjali said, furious and hurt. “You are good for nothing.”

“What the!” ASR frowned, furious and confused at the same time.

“Nannav, aaj tumhara band, baaja and baarat--all bajegaa,” NK said sadly, shaking his head in sympathy.

“Kya hua, mate?” Akash asked softly. “We were working, striking a deal.”

“You sit hugging your deal, your phones switched off,” nani told them. “There Khussi is getting married.”

“What the!” ASR exclaimed.

“Nannav, no tension, no tension. Saas andar lo and bahar phenko,” NK tried to calm him. “You don’t want to marry. I understand.”

“Shut up, NK,” ASR bit out.

“Have you made up your mind, Chotey?” Anjali asked, her eyes red with tears and fury. “Or do you need more time? Like another three years?”

“All boyjj are not slow like you, Arnav bitwaa. A boy went to see Khussi today. We have been trying their phoone for hours, lekin koi udhaa nahi raha he“ mami said looking at the clock. “Payaliya, call Garima again. Phind out bhat happened. Did Khussi say yes?”

“Yes, saasumma,” Payal replied, taking her phone.

All looked anxiously at her.

ASR could feel something thumping in his chest region. Panic spread like poison in his veins, leaving him weak and light-headed.

Payal held the phone to her ear for a few seconds and then said, “The line is busy. Ab bhi.”

“He Devi Maiyya,” nani whispered.

“Call Khussi again,” mami said urgently.

“Yes,” Payal said. She tried Khushi’s phone again but to no avail.

“We have been trying to get hold of you all day, Chotey,” Anjali said. “Our bags are packed. So is yours. Mohan and Kishen have been waiting all day to take us to Lucknow.”

ASR drew in a deep breath. “Payal, you can try calling your family later. Come on, let’s go to Lucknow.”

A glad cry rose from the Raizadas.

“Chotey!”

“Hamre Arnav bitwaa!”

“Bhai!”

NK alone stopped Arnav. “Nannav, why are you going to Lucknow?” he asked seriously.

“To marry Khushi,” Arnav replied.

A loud cheer went up from the Raizadas.

“You are sure?” NK asked, wondering what would happen to Lavanya and Lisa and other girls with names beginning with L.

“Very sure,” Arnav said.

“What if Khushiji has decided to marry the guy she met today?” NK asked.

“I will change her mind,” Arnav asserted.

“Good luck,” NK wished. “You will need it.”

Darlings, latest pic of IPKKND Jashn episodes.

yeh lo,