255. OS 13. Laad Governor and Afghan Jalebi (Part 24-25)

Link to my new short story: Taking Care of You


“I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you," he said.

 “How did you know it was me?” she asked. “I could have been anybody. A thief even.”

He smiled wearily. “I don’t know many thieves who would look at me with anxious eyes and then cry because I was sick,” he mumbled.

Is it possible for love to bloom, sight unseen? Juhi and Abhay are strangers who know each other better than they know themselves. One night changes the equation and the even tenor of their lives and puts all their doubts and fears to rest.

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-taking-care-you

Link to my first e-novel; A Home for Meenakshi

http://pothi.com/pothi/book/ebook-smita-ramachandran-home-meenakshi

"I love the way you love, Meenu," he whispered, his eyes on hers. "Such loyalty, such passion..."

Meenakshi Sharma, an orphan, lives in Varanasi with her uncle, a chronic bachelor who wants her to become a professional musician. She unwillingly relocates to Delhi to study under a renowned musician for eight months. Staying for rent in the outhouse of the Agrawals, she meets Aditya Agrawal, an attractive young man brooding over the memories of his horrendous past. Pulled between her uncle's expectations of her and Aditya's love for her, Meenakshi struggles with her feelings. How can she disappoint her uncle who had devoted his entire life to her upbringing? How can she pretend to be blind to Aditya's feelings for her? A romance that moves between the alleys of the holy city of Varanasi and the modern city of Delhi.

A blog for my VMs:

http://smitarsvms.blogspot.in/

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.

Rash's interpretation:

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/