Thursday, 29 September 2016

episode 84 now say the word



he said sorry three times. or that's how it looked like to me.

but why is such an elaborate story being told around something as simple as "sorry"? so arnav singh raizada never seeks forgiveness from anyone... so what? why is this so important anyway? is it just to show that khushi is making him change his ways or is it something that he must feel for his own character's sake?i had mentioned the centrality of forgiveness in doctrines of many religions yesterday. but it was a casual remark that i heard yesterday about someone who had been through a terrible killing of her parent, that got me pondering this again. she had gone and actually forgiven the one who took her father's life and pleaded that the accused be set free. "Kshama" or "maafi" washes us, cleans us, frees us of our dark, omnivorous baggage which is bound to inhabit us after a traumatic experience. it is very difficult, almost impossible to come to that point, but it can be done. if we can't forgive, the ugly side of the pain will never leave us, it will maim us terribly eventually.

i am so glad arnav singh raizada learnt to ask for maafi. some day this lifting of the barricade will take him all the way to forgiving his mother'
s killers. the day he does that he will be free. and khushi indeed is the one with the key, the wish sent to him by life, that will guide him to the right path. he in turn, no doubt will help her find her destiny and also realise our destiny depends partly on our actions too.

so back to the three sorries.

he's completely odious with lavanya again, brusquely he says he doesn't want to go to the party. and then at her "arnavji" snaps, "aur yeh arnav ji  ka drama band karo" now stop this drama of arnavji. can't blame him for that. it is disconcerting, suddenly cool la is all sati savitri lavanyaji, how can anyone put up with it? la is still managing to hold on to her temper, and says, fine, but why is he so angry with her since the morning? i wish i could tell her, he's actually angry with himself. 

when the doorbell rings and la says that must be khushi as she's going to the party with her, asr, about to shut his door, stops in his tracks, and can't stop himself from saying, "khushi!... khushi aayi aaj?" khsuhi! khushi has come today? i love the way the "kh" sounds when he says her name. they say your lover takes your name in a way no one else does. well barun sobti's asr has the copyright on the sexiest way of saying khushi and that too in a million different pitches and tones.

"khushi lavanya ki party mein?" khsuhi at la's party? he strides out quickly to go see her. asr is eagerly rushing out to meet khushi. i was so happy to see that. a long tilt up to reveal a very pretty khushi in dark pink and gold, camera reminded me of the day of the red sari.

she sees him. he has already seen her. there's a funny awkwardness in him, while her gaze is direct, ready. he wants that forgiveness. he has never asked for such a thing. this is tough.

she remembers, "pata hai kaisa lagta hai jab apne haathon se apne maa ko agni dete hain... sab kehte hain ki wo samajhte hain ki hum kya mehsoos kar rakein hain lekin koi kuch nahi samjhta!!" know how it feels when you put fire on your own mother and come home?...everyone says they understand, but no one understands a thing!!

a sadness in her. this death of parents sits heavy on her. his words awaken the fears and insecurities of loss in her again... he's looking contrite. he starts walking toward her.

they stand facing each other. air of hesitation in him, and discomfort in her. the day before had not been easy on either. yet he needed to reach her somehow. he knew his words had not only hurt her, they had slammed a door with their complete self absorbed cruelty. and by saying "koi nahin samajhta," he'd let her become just anyone, part of a faceless mass. but she wasn't that, was she? good or bad, infuriating or not, she was anything but just some "koi" to him. he was aware enough to know that for some reason quite unknown to him, she mattered. which is why perhaps it was all the time important to let her know she didn't (contrary mr asr, forever flinging "tum hoti kaun ho" at her). he'd made a promise to himself never to let a woman be of consequence to him. everything went and rested in that one killing moment of his life. his mother gone in a trice, because his dad played with another woman. never would he let a woman in his life.

so when khushi started to walk into his thoughts, claim his unconscious reveries, he had to manage this breach somehow. "kissi ladki se koi faraq nahin padta..." no girl makes a difference... his walls of resistance were high and thick. yet, with her, padta hai faraq... dammit. not just now, it will be so forever. hamesha.

his instincts bid him to build back what he'd wrecked the night before. but of course his dimaag/brain struggles with this need... in his telepathic conversation he would talk of the desperate attempts he made to not like her, hate her in fact... "kitni koshish ki maine..." however, his heart refused to listen.

he strode purposefully toward her, but la came to whisk khushi away.

he was left looking on... he looked.. helpless? asr?

she who is mad at him, left, but not without looking back. even on the day she called him a man without a conscience, she hadn't been able to walk away without looking back. her instincts fought with her dil. rakshas or not, it wants to take her toward him.

rabba vey decks up her walking away. she seems a bit reluctant though to just leave him there and go.

twice he turns back for her. khushi! khushi!, i hear him calling her in the guest house that terribly night of the storm, first time her name on his lips. with each turn, perhaps a seeking of forgiveness, unheard.


his very first sorry. i was certain that's what it was, there in  his eyes, and she could sense it too.

 
"heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:"
~~~ john keats, ode on  a grecian urn ~~~


at the party, she stands around alone, unwilling to join the revelry inside. and memories of him come unbidden. he is telling her he doesn't want to see her face. why his thoughts all the time? why can't she just stop letting rakshas in? she berates herself, "hum bhi na, kitne ajeeb hain, dimag kabhi bhi kuch bhi sochne lagta hai... ab yahan uss laad governor ke baare mein kyun soch rahe hain." i am so strange, the brain starts thinking anything anywhere, now here i am thinking of that laad governor!


and like a genie he appears in front of her. 


she makes to walk past him and... "khushi," something gentle, tentative in his voice. but she is in no mood for that. for a second a turbulence on her face though...


again, "khushi."

"lavanya ji andar hain, aap andar jaa sakte hain," la is inside, you can go in...

"khushi,"

she turns away, rejecting his call. she knows, oh yes, she knows he's here for some reason that she will find hard to handle emotionally. she is running away from it. i have nothing to say to you, she says emphatically, angrily almost.

he's hit hard by her vehemence. he is unused to opening himself up so much, allowing the feeling of remorse to show through, it's a first time for him. after behaving strangely and badly, he always knows he's wrong and feels terrible but he chooses not to show it...

she tells him, "aap jaiye yahan se," in this dismissive tone. what the. teeth are clenched, an involuntary threatening step forward. the two of them spell friction, always. there's too much unspoken attraction, fire under the skin, bound to be combustible.

"how dare you," he's beside himself with anger in a split second.

"kyun hum daring kyun nahin kar sakte? daring pe sirf aap ka naam likha hai kya," why can't i be daring, have you got your name written on the word... and the love/hate talk takes of... as usual.

equal talent. equal rage. equal right. i can hurt you, and i can hurt you right back. no cowering and singing sad songs for our heroine here, merely 18, small town, unfashionable, whatever she may be. just as he fell for her utter and mad ajeeb cuteness, so too perhaps for her crazy, leap in, gutsiness, some would call it foolhardiness. but that's what will get her to switch diesel to water alone in a lonely farm house surrounded by goons one scary afternoon... and have him exclaim with a funny kind of enjoyment and pride "khushi kumari gupta singh raizada."

"aapne daring khareed li hai kya?"
have you bought out daring? i am thinking here, khsuhi, what if he said he had? ah well.

"what nonsense."



"aap nonsense... aur aapke saath apka poora p-" you're nonsense, she counters, and your whole f- oops. no, khsuhi didn't mean to insult his whole family, but her tongue was running way ahead of her brain. big mistake.

the rage, the gussa flared in his being. i was overjoyed, for some reason, that's my signal that all is well with him.

he shoots off a tirade instantly, "tumhara dimag kharab ho gaya hai, khushi kumari gupta. tumhe kya lagta hai, main tumse yahan baat karne ke liye aaya hoon? agar do minute pyaar se baat kar leta hoon toh usska matlab yeh nahin ki tum apni jagah bhool jaao... understnd?" you've gone mad, kkg... you think i've come here to talk to you (but you have, haven't you? but no matter, keep yelling, sounds beautiful)... speak lovingly for two minutes and you forget your palce. wonderful, insults have started flying.

again a curious moment. she's upset, close to tears... he's feeling the anger dissipate and the reason for coming here take hold again. what's he to do. how to tell her what he wants to?



and one more time he looks back back with a world of emotion in his eyes. she wipes a tear. he's quick to respond with an intense feeling. yes, this time the tear hurt him. one of those har baars. he can't see this. he turns away. "sorry bolna hai, arnav, sorry bolna hai." got to say sorry, arnav, got to. he didn't know, but he had said and felt sorry with those eyes closed in pain, feeling her pain, in him. second sorry is here.

he opens his eyes and looks for her, she's gone.

he finds her. and at her sight, there is music in his heart even if he doesn't bid it "play on."



he's steeped in remorse, wondering how to approach her and say his thoughts. she stands alone, tossed by too many feelings. again a tear is wiped.


he can't take it. finally, he walks up to her and enters the gazebo. a few seconds of poetry in absolute silence as he watches her, and she him. 

"khushi mujhe tumse kuch baat karni hai." khushi, i have something to say to you.



but again she must walk off... and he must lose his cool at this repeated turning of her back on him... he must stop her, shout. in the shouting, even before he can think, all his feelings of remorse. forgive me, scream the words yet they sound most unapologetic. 

"kitni baar kaha hai ki main jab baat kar raha hoon toh mooh mat moda karo.. kitni baar... subah se dimaag kharab kar rakha hai," how many times have i told you not to turn away when i am talking to you... how many times... you've been chewing my brain since the morning...


"aap apne dimaag pe dhyaan dijiye, kyunki subah se hum mile nahin hain," give some attention to your brain, because we haven't met since the morning.

then he just blasts her. "forgive me" seem to say every word nonetheless.
on a rush, without a breath or pause, and decibel climbing, he goes for it, "i wanted to tell you what i said i shouldn't have... if i'd known i'd have never said such a thing... if i'd known about your parents, i'd never have said such a thing...

SAMJHI TUM?"

in tune with him instinctively, she realises why he is here. "toh yeh sab... aap sorry bolne ki koshish kar rahe the," so all this... you were trying to say "sorry."

and then, though upset, and angry with him, she helps him in a way only she can. she acquaints him with a khushi kumari gupta he has never met.



how could he? she was only eight. when the accident happened. when she had no idea what death was even. and her parents went forever. how unreal it was to her, she kept on thinking they would come back, but no. even today she's scared of the dark... and speeding cars. even today she feels sometimes that she will suddenly wake up, the nightmare would end and they'd be there. but alas.

now you know, "pata nahin tha," you'd said, now you do.

"now say sorry." 
(reminded me of the "say sorry" thing i have with my husband :))


"aaj bhi hume lagta hai ki hamare amma babuji taare ban gaye hain"... till this day i think my mother and father have become stars... that's why i hang stars above my bed, i'm scared of fast cars... of sleeping alone... of the dark. i feel they will return, it's only a bura sapna.

he swallows hard and looks away. she seems to give up. all her churned up emotions, the outburst, everything seems to have sapped her of energy.

"rehne dijiye, kyunki hamari itni haisiyat hi nahin hai ki aap hume sorry bole," let it it be, because i don't have the status that you should ask for my forgiveness.

she's walking away.

"khushi," tears in voice.

she stops and looks back. he's looking at her, eyes filled with tears.



merging of pain, yours, mine. what is mine is yours, what is yours is mine. something is making it impossible to separate pain. tears redden his eyes, he finds the word that had eluded him so long and says it with determination. asr says, "sorry."


tears streaming down her cheeks she looks at him disbelieving... hey hey...

"sorry..."



her feelings congeal, choking her, his tears are hers perhaps, even if she doesn't want them to be.

"i'm really sorry."



"amar matha noto korey dao he tomar chorono dhular tole
shokol ahonkar he amar dubao chokher jale
" two lines from tagore in my head...  make me bow my head beneath the dust of your feet/every arrogance of mine, lord, drown in my tears. sometimes that arrogance is just a shield for a heart filled with unshed tears. sometimes tears remind you of pearls, falling unrestrained like portia's mercy, perfect, round, and shining.

his first uttered "sorry," how tremulous with tears, like a little boy almost.


arnav singh raizad asked for forgiveness three times today. the last time, he manged to say the word too. that too three times. i don't think there's any need to mention how perfect and emotional but never melodramatic or cheesy barun was. sanaya was the instinctive and astute foil. always a private space for their most intimate moments. beautiful setting, the lights gleaming like those tears whose release it was all about really.



at the end, two short, lighter scenes in parallel. khushi with jiji, asr with di, a lightness in dialogue, music, pace, taking episode to a breezier note, perfect contrast with what came before.

as khushi talks to payal, i realised, yes they were her tears too. "ek sorry hi toh bolna tha... aur woh bhi uss laad govrnor ne aise bol diya, ke.. hume rula diya." just had to say a sorry, that too the way the ladd governor said, it just made me cry. she had sensed that sorry in him, and his struggle. she felt his devastation about his parents just as she'd told him she could. but in khushi vein, she took it all to her chirpy, irreverent talk, "
sorry hai ya gold medal...!" is it a sorry or is it a gold medal...? gold medal, khushi, you've come first in class.

interestingly, the word "paagal," mad, connected this scene with the one at rm. earlier payal had joked that khushi was mad and would make everyone go her way.

in asr's room, di hovered around chhotey, saying he's driving her "pagal," she was certain something had upset him, he'd cried. he was irritable. the look at his sis. aw. she went into a fit of "sorries."

"di ek minute mein paanch baar sorry bol chuki hain aap... itna aasan hota hai kya aap logi ke liye?!!  mere liye itna mushkil kyun hain" di, you've said sorry five times in less than a minute... is it so easy for you guys? then why is it so tough for me? fantastic voice modulation, note of humour creeping back in.

"chhotey, tumhari tabiyat toh theek hai na?" chhotey, you're fine, aren't you?

"haan, di... nahi, di... di, mujhe lag raha mein paagal ho rahan hoon." yes, di... no, di... di, i feel i am going mad.








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fanfiction






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