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/
Part 24
Khushi
stared at the gathering in her living room, her eyes wide in astonishment.
Every inch of the room was taken. Ladies were spilling out of Buaji’s house and
there was a lot of good-natured jostling going on, interspersed with laughter
and loud calls of greeting. Ladies were passing trays of cold drinks and snacks
among themselves. Her whole neighbourhood had turned out in full strength to
celebrate her mehendi.
She stared at them slack-jawed. She knew so many people?
They were
congratulating Buaji on Khushi’s marriage.
Were they
so relieved to see her off from Laxmi Nagar?
She saw
Naniji, Mamiji and Anjaliji sitting with Buaji, laughing at something Kamla
chachi had said.
Mami lifted
her head to dry her eyes and saw Khushi.
“Lo aa gayi
our bridewaa, Hello Hi Bye Bye!” she called out.
All turned
to look at her, all faces lit by delight and anticipation.
Khushi
smiled uncertainly. They looked as though they were waiting for her to conjure
up a rabbit from her magician’s hat.
“She looks
beautiful,” Vimla maasi said loudly with a sense of accomplishment as though
she had fashioned the bride from raw clay with her own bare hands.
All nodded.
Khushi
clutched the folds of her green and red suit with nervous fingers.
“You are
lucky, Khussi,” Preetho’s naani shouted. “A handsome groom and a good family.”
She looked almost as if she couldn’t believe how clumsy Khushi had gotten so
lucky.
The
Raizadas smiled in delight.
“Khushiji,
come and sit here,” Anjali invited.
Khushi
clutched her phone as she made her way to the designated spot. She texted,
“Arnavji, where are you? At office?”
He replied
immediately, “At home. Working.”
“Where at
home?” she asked.
Another
groom might have wondered if his bride had bolstered her spirits with a glass
or two of spirits, but Arnav knew his girl. He smiled. He knew she wanted to
picture him, see him in her mind as she texted.
“In the
garden. By the pool. Under the big tree. By the flowerbeds,” he texted.
“The pool
is to your left?” she asked.
“Yes,” he
replied. “What are you wearing?” he asked.
Khushi
smiled. “Green and red salwar suit,” she typed.
“You must
look beautiful,” he messaged. “I wish I could see you.”
“I wish you
were here, Arnavji,” she typed.
“Just a
week more, Khushi. Then no one can separate us,” he comforted her.
“Why is our
marriage taking so long? What is the use of all these rasams?” an impatient
Khushi asked.
He shook with laughter, unable to type.
“I know you
are laughing,” she typed, adding an angry face. “We could have gotten married a
month back without all these bekaar functions.”
“Our
families expect us to enjoy them, Khushi,” he typed ruefully. He had been
trying to ease her into the concept of marriage by dragging out the marriage.
Apparently his plan had backfired.
“You are
the angry hero of your family. You could have terrorised both families into
agreeing to a quick marriage,” she accused him of being a slowpoke.
Arnav
smiled.
“What is
the use of your ghussa if it can’t do something for us?” she asked.
He sat back
looking at the placid water of the pond, his eyes dancing with merriment.
“Arnavji,
bhaagke shaadi karein?" she suggested. She looked around. Then she typed, "The house is full of ladies. Looks like I will have to
sit on the road to do my mehendi,” she messaged him.
He smiled.
“Enjoy the function,” he typed.
There was a
commotion at the door to add to the noise inside. All looked towards the door.
Hemaji and her troupe had come with the designs and their mehendi cones. A glad
cry rose from the excited ladies.
“Hemaji has
come,” she messaged.
“The
mehendi lady?” he asked.
“Yes,” she
typed. She quickly began to take photos and sent them to him.
He saw the
happy crowd, the jolly faces of his Nani, Mami and Di, a laughing Buaji, the
mehendi cones and designs laid out for the crowd, the food and drinks served...
“I want
your photo,” Khushi typed.
He quickly
sent her a snap. He was in semi-formal dress.
Khushi felt
her heart throb with the desire to see him. But how could she make him abandon
his scruples and join her here?
She took a
selfie and sent it to him. This would bring him running to Laxmi Nagar, she
thought with glee.
He stared
at her pic with disturbed eyes. She looked downright scared.
He stood up and
paced among the flower pots anxiously.
Had the
ladies teased her? He wanted to see her, but how could he go there?
He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, feeling helpless and desperate. She looked upset. What could he do to make her feel better?
He sat hunched over, his elbows on his knees, feeling helpless and desperate. She looked upset. What could he do to make her feel better?
He got the
next set of photos. They were of mehendi designs.
“Which one do you like the
most?” she asked.
Arnav
stared at them, feeling lost. What did he know of mehendi designs? He frowned.
They looked more complicated than the building plans of his multi-storey guest
house.
“Pick one,”
she urged.
Arnav
stared at the display in utter confusion.
“Do you
like the mango design or the flowers or the triangles?” she typed.
“The
flowers,” he said. He could identify little else.
“I will
have this design,” she told Hemaji.
“Are you
sure?” the lady asked with a smile. She was used to the changing whims and
fancies of brides.
“Yes,”
Khushi smiled. “My Arnavji is a gardener at heart. He loves flowers.”
Hema smiled
and set out to work on Khushi.
Khushi sat watching as the lady began to
decorate her hands and feet with intricate designs using the greenish brown
mixture.
All looked
at the entrance of the house when a voice asked, “Is Khushi Kumari Gupta here?”
A boy in a blue and white uniform stood there, a notepad in hand.
After a
moment of silence, Khushi said, “Yes. I am Khushi.”
“Just a
minute, madam,” the boy smiled, turned and walked away.
“Oo kaun
he, Nandkisore?” Buaji asked. The ladies began to whisper among themselves.
“Pata nahi,
Buaji,” Khushi replied.
The boy
returned with a huge bouquet of red roses. He made his way through the gaggle
of ladies and handed over the fragrant gift to Khushi.
The ladies
gasped.
She quickly
pulled out the card with her free hand.
“To the
most beautiful girl in the world, my Khushi,” the card read. It was signed,
“Your Arnavji.”
She blinked
to clear her eyes.
“Sign here,
madam,” the boy held out the pad and a pen.
Khushi
scrawled her name on the designated place. The boy left.
She quickly
took her phone and took a selfie of her beaming, holding the bouquet to her
chest. She sent it to Arnav.
“Who sent
the phlowers, Khussi?” Mami asked in a whisper. She had to make sure it was
Arnav before she could comment on it.
“Arnavji,”
Khushi smiled away.
The Raizada
ladies relaxed.
“Hamre
bhateeja, he ijj soooo romantic,” Mami claimed.
“Yes, yes,
our Chotey loves Khussi bitiya very much,” Nani said, all smiles.
Khushi’s
mouth fell open. Arnavji loved her? Her? Loved her? But why had he never told
her? Acute happiness filled her. He loved her as she loved him? Was it true?
“Our Chotey
thinks the world of Khushiji,” Anjali cooed. “We are so lucky to get Khushiji
as Chotey’s bride.”
‘Arnavji
loves me?’ she thought. ‘The rose carpet, the dance, the kisses...’ she
blushed. ‘...the hundred ways in which he has been considerate to me....yes, he
likes me. Maybe he even loves me. Lekin why didn’t he ever tell me, the sadu?’
“He is the
best damadji I could hope for, Nandkisore,” Buaji smiled. “So considerate, so
loving. He is Nandkisore’s gift to us,” Buaji said in a heart-felt tone.
‘How can I
make him confess his love to me...if he feels love?’ the hunter plotted. ‘How
can I drag that secret out in the open? How can I find out what is going
through his head and heart?’
Her victim, sitting in Shantivan, looked at her photo with her beaming face and the roses and felt on top of the
world. His long lashes fell to shade his eyes as he lay back in his black
recliner. A week. Then she would be with him here. Then he could show her how
much he loved her.
“Khushiji,
shall we start on the right hand?” Hemaji asked.
“Just a
minute,” Khushi begged. This was her last chance. If she wanted to do
something, she had to do it now. Once her right hand too went under the cone,
she would be helpless for something like the next twenty-four hours.
She quickly
messaged him. “I love you, Arnavji.” She sat back waiting for the fireworks.
