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
Arnav paced
the length and breadth of his room, trying to outwalk his panic-inducing
thoughts.
Laxmi
chewed on his Management Skills journal as she relaxed on his bed. Her beady
eyes looked at his anxious movements with amusement.
“Hamre
Arnav bitwaa ko kaa hua?” Mami wondered, standing at his door. “Did someone
steal hijj laptopwaa, Hello Hi Bye Bye?”
“Chotey,
what is wrong?” Anjali asked, limping into his room.
Nani and
Mami followed her.
Arnav sat
down on his bed, locking his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. He
mutered, “Khushi.”
“Khussi ko
kaa hui gawa?” Mami asked, her big eyes as wide as they could go. “Did she burn
her housewaa like her dupatta?”
Arnav
frowned. “No,” he said miserably. He would take
a burned house any day over a prospective rival in the marriage stakes.
“Kaa hua,
Chotey?” Nani asked, sitting down by him.
Laxmi shifted an inch to accommodate
the ladies on the bed.
“Tomorrow
evening,” he paused.
“Tomorrow
ebening?” Mami fluttered her heavily painted lashes.
“A boy is
coming to see Khushi. He wants to marry her,” he said baldly.
All three
ladies gasped.
“Who ijj
this enemy number one?” Mami asked, her crafty brain at work.
“I don’t
know,” Arnav shook his head helplessly. He couldn’t very well ask Khushi. Nor
could he ask Aman to find out who the mystery suitor was.
“You should
know, “ the female Chanakya advised. “Albays know your enemy, Arnav bitwaa.”
“We should
have spoken to Madhumatiji about you when she was here for the pooja,” Nani
fretted. “Now we can’t ask her to cancel another proposal and consider ours.”
“Arnav
bitwaa, phind out details of that boy phor me. I bill go to his house and talk
to his parents and cancel the marriagewaa,” Mami promised him.
“How,
Manorama? By badmouthing Khussi bitiyya?” Nani asked bitterly. “If it succeeds
and then Chotey marries her, what will the boy and his family think of us?”
“Saasumma,
hamre Arnav bitwaa’s happiness ijj more important than some last minute entry phellow’s
pheelings,” Mami said clearly.
“What if
Khushiji likes the boy?” Anjali asked, scared to her soul. She would have to
put up with a crying papad ka tukda, jab dekho ukhda all her life. What if
Chotey became like Devdas in Khushiji’s pyaar? She looked her brother from head
to toe. A beard, long hair, red eyes, hungover look, always drunk...she
swallowed hard. He was bad enough as akhdoo ASR!
Arnav
stared at her in horror. What if Khushi agreed to the marriage to please Buaji?
What if she actually liked the boy? His heart languished in his shoes. With
Khushi, one could never tell what she would do and why!
“I need to
be there tomorrow,” he said urgently.
“Bhere?”
Mami asked.
“In
Khushi’s house,” Arnav stood up in his agitation.
“Arnav
bitwaa, sit down, pleej,” Mami requested. “Hamre Arnav bitwaa ijj right. We
should all be presents at Khussi’s house bhen that upstart comes to see her.”
“Lekin,
how?” Anjali asked, her eyes moist.
Nani asked,
“Anjali bitiyya, do you have your phone with you?”
“Yes,
Nani,” Anjali replied. She held out the phone.
Nani called
Buaji.
“Madhumatiji,
this is Devyani Raizada,” Nani greeted.
“Devyaniji?
How are you, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked, smiling.
“I am
fine,” Nani was the soul of pleasantness. “We are all fine. We were talking
about the last pooja we had here and then we thought about you and Khussi bitiyya.”
Buaji
smiled. “It was a wonderful pooja, Devyaniji. Nandkisore must be very happy
with you and will shower all his blessings on you and your family. Waise your
grandson came here tonight to watch the serial with Khussi,” Buaji informed
them.
“Yes, we
know,” Nani smiled. “We were thinking that he met you both but we didn’t. I
called you to warn you that you can expect a visit from us soon. We can sit and
chat for long, Madhumatiji.”
“Yes, yes,
Nandkisore,” Buaji was surprised but she hid it well. “It will be nice to see
all of you again. You are welcome here.”
“You don’t
mind us visiting you, do you, Madhumatiji?” Nani asked, sounding like a lonely
and forsaken old woman.
“Of course
not, Devyaniji. Yeh bhi poochne ki baat he? Nandkisore, come whenever you want.
We will be very happy to see you,” Buaji threw open the door of her house to
the Raizadas.
Nani
smiled. “You are a murti of kindness, Madhumatiji,” she praised her
whole-heartedly.
“Sab
Nandkisore ki kripa he,” Buaji disclaimed all credit, feeling shy.
“Hum phone
rakhte hein, Madhumatiji. We will meet soon,” Nani promised.
“Ji, ji,”
Buaji agreed.
Nnai cut
the call and looked at her family.
“Saasumma,
you are a genius!” Mami exclaimed. “Which soap do you ujj?”
Nani
frowned at Mami.
“Nani,
thank you,” Arnav said, his gratitude heart-felt.
“Yes, Nani.
We can at least turn up in Buaji’s house when the boy is there,” Anjali tried to
calm herself.
“Once we
are there, Arnav bitwaa, leave it all to me. I bill phinish the boy. Who ijj he
before hamre Arnav bitwaa?” Mami asked.
“Mami,”
Arnav demurred.
“Hamre
Arnav bitwaa has big business, big houses, big cars, big phamily, big bank
account. Bhat does that boy have?” Mami asked.
“We will
know tomorrow,” Nani sighed. “Anjali bitiyya, light the ghee lamp at Devi
Maiyya’s feet and pray.”
***
“Arnav
bitwaa, don’t be scared. Your Mami ijj with you,” Mami told Arnav as he parked
his car before Buaji’s house at fifty minutes past seven in the evening.
Arnav drew
in a deep breath and looked at the open door of Buaji’s house. Golden light was
streaming out from the house. Was Khushi getting ready to meet the boy? he
wondered.
“Chotey,
shall we go in?” Anjali asked.
“Yes,” he
replied before leaving the vehicle and helping his Di out. He led his Nani,
Mami and sister up the steps to Buaji’s house.
They stood
at the open door and sounded the door bell.
Buaji came
rushing out of the kitchen and came to a shocked halt at the sight of the
Raizadas.
“Aap?” she
stuttered. “Devyaniji?”
“Yes,” Nani
smiled. “Do you mind? Are you very busy?”
“No, no,
please come in, Nandkisore,” poor Buaji welcomed them in. “Please sit down,”
she invited.
“Are you
sure you don’t mind, Buaji?” Anjali asked, feeling bad for having landed at the
older lady’s doorstep in such a manner.
“Of course,
I don’t mind, Nandkisore. It is just that we were expecting another family to
visit us. Oo kaa he, Nandkisore, Kamla, who lives next door, arranged for a boy
to come here to see Khussi tonight. He will be arriving with his family any
moment now,” Buaji explained.
“A boy ijj
comings to see Khussi?” Mami asked. “For shaadi?”
“Haan,
Nandkisore,” Buaji said. “Shall I make tea for you?”
“No,
Buaji,” Arnav replied. “Please sit down with us.”
Buaji sat
down across from him with a sigh. “It is a big responsibility, Devyaniji. Her parents
are no more and she is sanki. Only Nandkisore can help me find the perfect boy
for her.”
Nani nodded
in sympathy. “What is the boy doing?” she asked.
“Kamla said
he has some business, Devyaniji. I don’t know anything more about him,
Nandkisore,” Buaji adjusted the pallu of her yellow Benarsi saree over her
head. “Kamla said that his family is good, sanskari,” Buaji fanned herself
nervously. “It is just the two of us, Khussi and me. Who will enquire about
him? Can I go to his mohalla and ask if he is good, bad or medium?”
The
Raizadas nodded, fully appreciative of Buaji’s difficulty.
“I am glad
you are all here, Nandkisore,” Buaji confessed. “Arnav bitwaa, you are a man.
Tell me how he is, if he will suit Khussi.”
Arnav
nodded slowly. He was being given the right to choose Khushi’s groom?
“If I make
the wrong choice, how will I look her parents in the eye when I die,
Nandkisore?” Buaji hit her head with her hand.
“Don’t
worry, Buaji,” Arnav comforted her. “Where is Khushi?”
“Fighting
with her sari, bitwaa,” Buaji confessed.
“I will
help her, Buaji,” Anjali said. She got up and moved towards where she thought
the bedroom was.
“We are all
here, Madhumatiji,” Nani took Buaji’s hand in hers. “We will make sure that
Khussi bitiyya gets a husband she deserves.”
“Yes, yes,”
Mami said. “Don’t borry. No third-rate maal phor Khussi. Why take duplicate
maal bhen original ijj ready?”
Buaji
blinked in confusion.
A commotion
was heard outside the house.
“I think
they have come,” Buaji whispered. She turned to look at Khushi’s bedroom with
worried eyes.
“Don’t
worry, Madhumatiji,” Nani said.
Kamla
appeared at the door, her face wreathed in smiles. “Madhumatiji, this is
Kishori Lal and his wife, Sheela. This is their one and only son, Banke Lal,”
she introduced the family with her.
All eyes
stopped at the boy. Slightly hefty, his heavy body was made up of muscles
developed at the local akhada. His cheeks and temple shone, showing his
fondness for desi ghee and rich food. No one could comment on his looks as the
major part of his face was hidden by a lavish, luxuriant moustache that looked
artificial as no real mush could grow so lushly. His hair was well-oiled and
his white kurta strained over his biceps.
“He looks
like an only son, Hello Hi Bye Bye,” Mami muttered to Buaji. “His parents have
been stuffing him with rabdi and jamun and parathas with desi ghee. Kahan yeh
and kahan hamri phool si bachi, Khussi.”
Buaji
swallowed in nervousness. “Please come in,” she invited them. “Please meet the
Raizadas, our friends.” Buaji introduced the Raizadas to the guests.
Kishori Lal
and Sheela looked around at all they could see of the house.
“Is this
your own house, Madhumatiji?” Sheela asked.
“Ji, ji,”
Buaji replied.
“It is
old,” Kishori Lal discovered.
“Ji,” Buaji
agreed.
“How much
rent do people pay in this locality?” Sheela asked.
“Ji?” Buaji
asked, her eyes wide.
“I was
asking what will you get if you rent it out?” Sheela showed all her teeth in
her smile.
Buaji
blinked. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly.
“We neber
enquired because we don’t plan to give it phor rent,” Mami tackled the lady.
“Madhumatiji plans to live here all her life, Hello Hi Bye Bye!”
Kamla
looked at Mami’s warpaint with wide eyes.
“How much
do you make from the saree shop in Chattarpur?” Kishori Lal asked Buaji.
“Enough to
live on,” Buaji replied quietly. “And to marry off my niece in a way that suits
our biradiri.”
Arnav
looked at the ladies of his family. He then turned his eyes to the groom who
was sitting silently between his mother and father.
“What do
you do?” Arnav asked him.
Banke Lal
opened his mouth to speak, but his mother preempted him.
“Business,”
she said. “Our son is a businessman.”
Arnav asked
quietly, “What business do you do?”
Sheela said
with pride, “Our son is the best paanwala in Delhi. He owns three paan shops in
the city.”
The
Raizadas stared at the groom.
Mami asked,
“Paan shops or paan carts?”
Sheela
fumed.
“One shop
and two carts,” Banke Lal said happily. He sounded like a child. The weak voice
coming from the huge body was a shocker.
“Where are
the girl’s parents? You are her aunt, aren’t you?” Kishori lal asked.
“They
passed away when she was eight, Nandkisore,” Buaji explained. “I am her
father’s sister.”
“Both of
them died?” Kishori Lal frowned as though he disapproved of their death.
Sheela too
looked doubtful about the suitability of taking a girl who was little better
than an orphan into her family.
“Yes,”
Buaji answered.
“Don’t you
want to see the girl?” Kamla asked the groom and his family anxiously. “She is
beautiful, sanskaari,” the lady tried to list Khushi’s good points.
As if on
cue, Anjali led Khushi out.
Arnav felt
a large hand closing over his heart. She was wearing a red and green sari and
looked a dream. As he watched, she lifted her head and looked directly at him.
A big smile bloomed on her face; her eyes twinkled and danced with joy.
Arnav
swallowed hard. There was no way he was letting her go to any Banke Lal!
Khushi
smiled at Nani and Mami and then her eyes went to the groom and his family. Her
face became expressionless.
“Khussi,
this is Banke Lalji. Kishorilalji and Sheelaji are his parents,” Buaji
introduced the strangers to Khushi.
Khushi
folded her hands in greeting.
“Sit down,
Titliyya,” Buaji invited her.
Khushi sat
down by Buaji and smiled at Arnav sitting across the room from her.
“You help
your Buaji in the shop?” Sheela asked.
Khushi
nodded and looked at the time on the wall clock. It was ten past eight. She
sighed. The serial had already begun and would be over in twenty minutes. Would
the guests leave before it ended? Maybe she could catch at least the precap,
she thought. She looked at the other clock on the wall. It was five past eight.
Khushi frowned. Which clock was right?
“Is the
girl dumb?” Sheela asked Kamla. Kamla pursed her lips in displeasure.
“Arnavji, what
is the time?” Khushi asked clearly.
“Five past
eight,” Arnav said softly, his eyes twinkling as he knew she wanted to see the
serial.
Khushi gave
him a dimpled smile, knowing that he understood the workings of her mind.
Banke Lal
smiled shyly at her. Khushi looked warily at him, especially at his overgrown
moustache.
“Khussiji,
do you like paan?” he asked, blushing.
“No,”
Khushi said. “It stains my teeth,” she explained.
“Oo isliye
pooche rahe, Khussi bitiyya, because he has a paan shop and two paan carts in
Delhi, Hello Hi Bye Bye,” Mami explained the situation to Khushi.
Khushi
looked at Banke Lal with cautious eyes as if he would spit red paan juice all over her any moment.
“Maybe the
boy and girl should talk in private, Nandkisore,” Buaji suggested.
Kishori Lal
waved her opinion aside.
“What will
you give her?” he asked.
“Ji?” Buaji
asked.
“Dowry.
What will you give her?” Sheela asked.
The
Raizadas looked at Buaji, distressed for her.
Buaji
stared at the Lals, unable to believe their bluntness.
“An
elephant,” Khushi replied.
There was a
moment of shocked silence. Kamla and Buaji looked at Khushi and then at the Lals,
their mouths open. Arnav’s eyes lit up with unholy amusement and the Raizadas
stared at Khushi with hope in their eyes.
“If you are
very particular, she will pack all my old clothes and send them too to your
house,” Khushi was nonchalant in the extreme.
“Are you
mad?” Kishori Lal asked Khushi.
“Yes,”
Khushi said helpfully.
The Lals
stood up, furious. “How dare you insult us after inviting us to your home?”
Sheela asked Buaji.
Buaji
looked at them with narrowed eyes. “I fully stand by my niece, Sheelaji. Nandkisore
ki kasam, she is right in this instance. If you are more worried about dowry
than getting a good bahu, then this is not the house for you and my niece is
not the girl for your son.”
Mami
whistled, two fingers in her mouth.
Arnav sat
back and watched the fun.
Nani and
Anjali were trying to hide their joy at the turn of events.
“Your niece
is mad; she is outspoken and mannerless,” Kishori Lal shouted.
“She will
never get a good husband. She will stay unmarried and rot in your house. People
will laugh at her,” Sheela blessed a Khushi who was looking at the TV with
longing in her eyes.
“Hello Hi
Bye Bye!” Mami protested. “All boys are not paanwale like your son and all
parents are not greedy like you. There are good boys who will carry hamri
Khussi bitiyya away on a bhite horsewaa!”
“Acha?”
Kishori Lal was laal with anger. “Then why don’t you sacrifice your nephew? Why
don’t you get him married to this lunatic?”
The Raizadas
took the offer with a glad cry.
“Yes, we
will,” Nani accepted before anyone could withdraw the offer.
“Yes, yes,
our Chotey will marry Khussiji,” Anjali gave her word.
“Aur nahi
to kaa?” Mami asked. “And Khussi will not have to live with paan stains, Hello
Hi Bye Bye.”
The Lals
stormed out.
Kamla said
bitterly to Buaji, “Madhumatiji, forgive me. I am ashamed I brought this
proposal for our Khussi. I didn’t know that they are so...” she paused, lost
for words.
“It is
alright, Nandkisore,” Buaji comforted Kamla. Kamla left the house, her face
drawn.
Buaji said
with a sigh, “Shall we have tea, Devyaniji?”
“I will get
it, Buaji,” Khushi said as she rushed to the kitchen. “Biscoot and jalebi too.”
Buaji
buried her head in her hand, troubled by the scene that had just taken place in
her house.
“Madhumatiji,
when shall we have Chotey’s and Khussi bitiyya’s wedding?” Nani asked eagerly.
Buaji
lifted her head to look at Nani with shocked eyes. “Arnav bitwaa marry Khussi?
Devyaniji, you don’t have to do this, Nandkisore. I know Manoramaji spoke in
haste.”
“Manoramaji
did not speak in haste,” Mami cleared herself of wrongdoing. “Hamre Arnav
bitwaa is the perfect broom for Khussi bitiyya.”
Buaji parted
her lips to protest.
“Yes, Buaji,
please don’t disappoint us. Please,” Anjali pleaded with her trademark pout.
“Bitiyya,
what are you saying? Your pity for us is making you suggest a marriage between
two people who are not suited to each other, Nandkisore!” Buaji argued
earnestly. “Can you imagine poor Arnabv bitwaa living with my sanki niece? Can
you? She will drive him pagal in two days, Hai Re Nandkisore!”
The
Raizadas smiled. Before they could mount attack again, Arnav got up and moved
to sit by Buaji. He took her hand in his. “Buaji, I want to marry Khushi,” he
spoke softly.
Buaji
stared at the suicidal boy with shocked pity.
“I know she
is..err... sanki, but I like it,” he said softly.
“Really,
bitwaa?” Buaji asked, unable to believe her ears.
“Really,”
Arnav blushed slightly.
Buaji
looked at the poor boy who was sacrificing his life to make her niece’s life a
happy one. She said softly, “Khussi is accident-prone.”
“I know,”
Arnav’s lips twitched. After all, she had given him a very eventful evening in
his room on the day of the pooja.
“If there
is a lamp burning, she will take her dupatta or pallu near it. If there is
water on the floor, she will fall. If she so much as looks at any glass bottle,
it will fall and break all by itself without waiting for her to knock into it, Nandkisore! She is an affat ki pudiya,” Buaji confessed.
“I will
take good care of her, Buaji,” Arnav promised, laughter and joy filling his
heart.
“You will,
bitwaa. I know you will. But who will take care of you?” Buaji worried.
