Smitar's Stories

OS 10: An Unexpected Visitor

Arnav Singh Raizada stared at the vehicles parked before his house. Why was the whole of Delhi in Shantivan? He rubbed his aching temple as he left the car.

A bad day was going to get worse, he knew.

He held his hand on the door bell till HP opened the door.

HP took one look at Arnav’s face and whispered, “Naniji is holding a pooja. The house is full of ladies. They came at noon.”

Arnav’s eyes widened. Di had mentioned something at breakfast but he had been too preoccupied to hear it. Damn! He should have stayed back in office for another couple of hours. He turned his head to look at his car. Was it too late to leave?

“Arnav bhaiyya, I will bring a mug of black tea and a pill for headache to your room,” HP said softly as he took his bag and coat.

Did he really want to drive around aimlessly for three to four hours? he asked himself. No, he didn’t.

Arnav nodded at HP and strode up the steps, hoping that none of the ladies in his family would see him make his escape to his room.

He walked into his room, waited till HP placed his coat and bag in their places and shut the door behind him.

He turned around in surprise.

The TV was on.

He frowned. How could the TV be on? He rarely watched it. In fact, he hadn’t switched it on this week.

He turned around to interrogate HP but he was long gone.

He looked at the screen. A pretty girl was standing at her bedroom window and weeping.

He grimaced. Didn’t people have anything better to do than weep over fate? The girl would be better employed trying to find a job than a lover, he thought, pulling off his jacket and dumping it on the recliner.

He switched off the idiot box.

He sensed a movement in his wardrobe and looked towards it. His brows joined in a fierce frown. What the hell was happening in his room, to his life?

He marched to the wardrobe and slid it open.

His mouth fell open. His eyes rivalled saucers.

There was a beautiful girl in a red anarkali crouching in his wardrobe, holding the sleeve of his coat as though it were his arm. The sleeve of his blue shirt was lying over her right shoulder as though he were hugging her.

She gaped at him, her beautiful eyes wide with fear and shock.

“What the!” he exclaimed huskily.

The girl’s eyes widened further if that was possible.

“Bhoooooot,” she whispered.

“What?” Arnav asked, perplexed.

He felt a movement behind him. He turned around to figure out what was happening when he felt the girl leap into his arms.

His arms came up to hold her close. She smelled of jasmine and felt like the sweetest, warmest bundle of clouds in his arms.

“Bhooooot,” she whispered against his heart. “He Devi Maiyya, raksha karna.”

“Where?” he asked softly.

“Behind you,” she whispered, clutching him closer in panic. Her arms were around his waist; her eyes were shut tight.

He turned to look at the ghost. He sighed, a small smile appearing on his lips.

“That is Laxmi,” he explained.

Her eyes flew open. “Your ghost has a name?” she asked in awe. “You live with her? Are you not scared?”

Arnav looked heavenwards. How could he explain that living in Shantivan with his relations was no less trying than living with a ghost? A picture of his painted Mami and sainted Di flashed through his mind.

“Laxmi is a goat,” he admitted.

“The ghost of a goat?” Khushi’s scared eyes looked into his.

Arnav curbed his smile.

“Not a ghost. Just a goat,” he said.

“She doesn’t look like just a goat,” the girl said doubtfully, her voice quivering.

He smiled. He pulled the blankets off Laxmi to reveal her in all her glory. She was chewing the cover of a book on managing flowering plants.

The girl gasped loudly. “How did she get under the covers?” she asked.

“Laxmi is my Nani’s goat. She wanders through the house day and night. She has the nasty habit of getting on my bed. She must have burrowed under the blanket and walked off the bed with the blanket covering her,” Arnav guessed.

“Aap ko pata he how scared I was?” the girl asked, slowly letting go of him. “I looked up and there she was, looking like a bhoot,” she explained.

“You know many bhoots?” Arnav asked conversationally, wishing she would stay hugging him.

The girl burst out laughing. “No, I don’t. Even if I knew them, they wouldn’t be friends with me. Buaji tells me that I can scare off the worst of them.”

Arnav smiled slightly. The girl’s laughter was infectious.

“By the way I am Khushi Kumari Gupta,” she held out her hand.

He slid his hand into hers, his rough skin touching her warm, satin-soft skin. “Arnav Singh Raizada,” he muttered.

“Raizada?” the girl frowned. “Are you related to the old lady who welcomed us for the pooja?” she asked.

“That must be my Nani,” he explained, holding her hand in his and revelling in the feel of her.

“Acha,” Khushi said.

There was a knock on the door.

Khushi jumped, startled. She pulled her hand from his.

He motioned her to stay put and went to open the door.

HP stood there with a tray in his hand.

Arnav held out his hands.

“Arnav bhaiyya, I will place it on your table,” HP offered. “It is hot.”

“I will take it,” Arnav blocked him from entering the room and took the tray from him.

HP left.

Khushi took the tray from him and placed it on the bed. Arnav shut and locked the door and walked to her.

“What are you doing in my room?” he asked. To his astonishment his voice held neither anger nor sarcasm. There was only mild curiosity in it.

Khushi sat down on his bed to tell the tale.

“Woh kya he, I was sitting with all the old ladies. They were talking of their pota-potis and their dentures and hair dye. I was feeling very bored,” she explained.

Arnav nodded sympathetically, his eyes running over her beautiful form and animated face with great interest.

Khushi handed over the mug of black tea to him.

“Then I remembered something,” she said, her eyes lighting up like stars.

“What?” he asked, taking a refreshing sip.

“That it was time for the rerun,” she explained her Eureka moment.

“Rerun?” Arnav asked, placing the mug back on the tray.

“Of my favourite serial,” Khushi explained happily.

“Serial?” he asked, totally lost.

“Ji,” she smiled. “I asked that sympathetic kaka where I could find the nearest bathroom. He pointed upstairs. So I snuck up and opened all the doors. I found a TV here,” she said triumphantly.

“Oh,” he murmured. That explained the TV being on. “And did you watch the rerun?” he asked.

Her face turned cross. “Not fully. Laxmi came to scare me half-way through.”

He smiled. “Laxmi is used to watching serials with my Mami. She likes them. That is why she joined you.”

“Laxmi likes serials?” Khushi asked happily.

“Yes.”

“Then we are going to be great friends,” she proclaimed.

Arnav looked at the happy goat eyeing his plants. Lucky Laxmi!

“Do you watch serials?” Khushi asked him.

He looked at her with mistrust. “Of course not!” he exclaimed.

“Why the of course?” Khushi asked.

“I am a man,” he claimed. “Men don’t watch serials.”

“Acha? Then why does Happyji watch serials? And you can’t say that he is not a man. He is married and has three children,” Khushi claimed.

Arnav opened and shut his mouth like a landed fish. How could he question the masculinity of a man who had three kids?

Finally he asked, “Who is Happyji?”

“My friend,” Khushi replied.

Arnav looked up at the ceiling.

“You should watch this serial. It is so thrilling,” she claimed, her fingers linked, her hands held close to her chest.

His eyebrow shot up.

“Sachi,” she promised. She pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged on his bed. “The heroine is so beautiful and the hero is,” she began.

“Handsome,” he completed wryly.

“Aap baitt jaayiye,” she invited him to sit on his own bed. He accepted her invitation.

“The heroine is poor,” she started.

“And the hero is rich,” he completed her sentence.

“How did you know?” she asked, wonder in her eyes.

He hid his smile.

“Are you sure you don’t watch my serial?” she asked, suspicion in her eyes.

“No, I don’t,” he said.

She glared at him for one more second before she launched into the story with a zeal of a born fanatic.

“The hero is twenty-eight years old. He is a famous businessman, very rich, very arrogant, very alone,” she narrated.

“Alone? Why is he alone?” Arnav asked.

“He has a bad past, a terrible, horrible, scary past,” Khushi informed him with relish.

“He has to have a bad past. Otherwise he would be married with three kids like your friend, Happyji. Then how could he be the hero of your serial?” Arnav teased.

“Raizadaji,” Khushi protested.

“Arnav,” he corrected.

“Uuggghhhh,” Khushi grimaced. The mug of black tea was in her hand and she had just tasted it. “It is bitter. How can you drink this?”

He smiled. “I am diabetic,” he said softly.

Her eyes raised to his were full of sympathy. “Really? You drink bitter tea daily?”

“Yes,” he murmured, enjoying her drama.

“What is this pill? Is it for your shakkar ki bimari?” she asked.

“No, for my headache,” he replied gently.

“Your head is aching? He Devi Maiyya! And here I am going on and on. You must have wanted to throw me out an hour ago,” Khushi fretted, handing over the pill to him. “Aap yeh le leejye. I will go down and badger my Buaji.”

“My headache is gone,” he replied quickly, taking the pill and placing it back on the tray.

“Sachi?” Khushi asked.

“Sachi,” he replied.

“Promise?” she made sure.

“Promise,” he smiled. “You were telling me about the tortured soul, your hero,” he nudged her on.

Khushi laughed, handing over the mug of tea to him. “He is going to know the meaning of the word torture now. He has met the heroine.”

Arnav frowned. “Why? Is the heroine in the police?” He sipped the tea and returned the mug to the tray.

Khushi chuckled. “No, she is worse than a police officer. She is very naughty, very brave, very pagal. She loves to take up challenges that no one will touch. She is going to make his life hell.” She took a sip of the tea and grimaced.

“He deserves it?” Arnav asked.

“He deserves to be fried in oil. Aap ko pata he unhone kya kiya?” Khushi asked. “He dropped her from a height in his office. He let go of her hand and she fell to the ground floor. Devi Maiyya ki kripa se she didn’t die.”

Arnav frowned. “Is he mad?” He sipped his hot tea.

“No, but he is an angry young man,” Khushi explained.

“Then what did the girl do? File a complaint at the nearest police station?” Arnav asked.

“Noooo,” Khushi answered thoughtfully. “But she should have.” She sipped his tea. “I would have done it.”

“What did she do?” Arnav asked.

“She accepted his challenge to work for him,” Khushi frowned. “Do you take only tea in the evening? No biscoot?”

Arnav smiled as he phoned HP and asked for biscuits and a fresh pot of tea.

“That was stupid of her, wasn’t it?” Khushi asked thoughtfully.

“Very,” he replied. "No employer can misbehave with an employee in this manner."

“Aur aap ko pata he, there is one more man in the serial who likes the girl,” Khushi informed him.

“Really?” Arnav asked. “Your heroine is so popular?”

There was a knock on the door.

Arnav returned to bed with biscuits and a pot of tea.

“And there is a girl in the hero’s office who likes him,” Khushi explained, draining the mug.

Arnav frowned. “A girl likes him? Why? Does she like being thrown down from the office at regular intervals?” He poured fresh tea in the mug and handed her the plate of biscuits.

Khushi giggled. “I don’t think he makes a practice of it. I think he did it specially for the heroine.” She bit into a biscuit.

“No repeat performances?” Arnav teased, sipping the tea.

“No,” Khushi giggled. Then she sobered. Still chewing the biscuit, she asked, “How can a man like two girls at the same time?”

“What?” Arnav asked.

“Hum pooch rahe he, there is already a girl who likes him. Then how can he like the heroine?” Khushi pondered on this universal problem while devouring biscuits.

“The girl likes him. That does not mean that the hero likes her,” Arnav explained tactfully.

“Aap sochiye. Will you let me adjust your tie and hang on your arm if you don’t like me?” Khushi asked seriously.

He looked at the imp in red sitting cross-legged on his bed, biscuit crumbs on her face, his mug of tea in her hand and said softly, “No.”

“Wahi to!” Khushi exclaimed victoriously. “So the hero likes Lavanyaji. Then how can he have another heroine?”

Arnav smiled. “It is just a story,” he tried to comfort her.

“It is not just a story. It is a serial I watch daily without fail. Aapko pata he, when it is 7.30, my heart starts going dhak dhak,” she explained.

“Why?” Arnav frowned. “Are you sick?”

“Yes, sick of love for the serial which airs at eight,” she explained.

Arnav smiled.

“Buaji scolds me saying that I am too enamoured of the serial, so pagal about it that ordinary boys look very boring to me. That I am waiting for the hero to walk out of the TV and marry me. She says that is why I keep refusing proposals of marriage,” Khushi said. “She says that my head is in the clouds, that I think I am the heroine of the serial, that I dream of Rabba Ve all the time...”

“Rabba Ve?” Arnav asked. “What on earth is that?”

“That is the tune they play when the heroine trips and falls and the hero catches her,” she explained seriously. “Also when they look at each other for long minutes.”

Arnav smiled.

“Suniye, can you stare into my eyes for one minute?” Khushi asked.

Arnav laughed. “Why?”

“The hero does it to the heroine. Can real men and women do it?” Khushi asked.

“Let’s try it out,” Arnav said. He leaned forward to look into her eyes. She blinked her eyes and then tried to focus on his gleaming orbs.

“Aap ko pata he, your eyes are very beautiful,” Khushi remarked after a while.

He smiled. “Do the hero and heroine talk while having Rabba Ve?” he asked.

“No. They are too busy ghooring each other to talk,” Khushi replied. “You have golden flecks in the chocolate brown of your eyes,” she sighed happily.

Arnav tried to hide his amusement.

“What do you do?” she asked.

“Business,” he replied, lost in her eyes.

“You are a businessman?” she asked in excitement.

“Yes,” he muttered uncertainly. What was there about business to make her so enthusiastic?

“The hero is a businessman too,” she replied.

“Oh,” Arnav replied weakly.