Sunday, 18 September 2016

why does it make a difference

he asked her a simple question, and though her eyes said everything, the pucker of her brow spoke of her consternation, and the wind underscored each word her heart possibly replied, yet she uttered words that conveyed just the opposite... for there was nothing else to do.

ever since her "yeh humari sagai ki angoothi hai," a tightly packed ready to burst emotion has entered the scene, an explosion lurks near. 

something was intriguing really as the episode started though. he'd thrown an ultimatum at all, this engagement will happen tomorrow or never, and before leaving he'd paused and looked at her squarely in the eyes. a challenge leaping in his. so you think you're happy, let me show you how happy i am. a classic struggle of emotions intertwined, inevitable... who will admit first. who will as it's called "give in."

early life trauma had damaged both. asr had shut out "love" and latched on to money and power to negotiate life. everything had become a deal. khushi was more together in many ways, believing much in love and all the good/wholesome things of life, having given herself the support of a belief, that her parents rested in those stars up there and watched over her. and there was devi maiyya as her constant companion and "mother." yet, this man rattled her composure like none other. he made her feel different. he didn't accept her at face value. he questioned her basic goodness. he got under her skin. he became her rajkumar.

hard to explain, but there it was.

with asr perhaps, khushi for the first time entered the real mysteries of life.

and somewhere she started assuming she had a right over him that nothing in their relationship really gave her. interestingly, it was the same with him. he has a right to be terribly attracted to her, then terribly mean and hurtful, however only he can drive her home on diwali night and make sure she's safe while he's nastily telling her she means nothing to him. but how dare she then go and get engaged.

he's coming across as most confused and confusing. how come the shatir one is not seeing this himself.

but to get back to that thing that was intriguing me... look at her. after asr shimmies off, satisfied with his lethal move, la is in a mess, "asr ko aisa kya ho gaya, itna gussa?" what's happened to asr, so much anger?

di assures her that she would speak to chhotey. but khushi takes matters in her own hands. she knew he was mad at her, but what makes her think that she can persuade him to change his mind? in fact, even di isn't waited for... she rushes off to talk to him.

a sense of right... intimacy... perhaps even, power. and soon enough an argument that had the sound and feel of a husband wife fight.

"arnav ji..." he pauses then walks off... she chases him out to the pool, he picks up a  file pretending to be busy or maybe he is.

"aap aisa kyun kar rahe hain?" why are you doing this?

"main kuch bhi karoon, mujhe tumhe jawaab dene ki koi zaroorat nahin hai." i may do whatever i wish, don't have to answer you. in your face, angry and definitely looking to engage in battle.

"par aap itni jaldi kyun...?" but why are you rushing...?

"tum hoti kaun ho mere life ke decision mein interfere karne wali..." who are you to interfere in the decisions of my life? just the kind of thing we say to those who are important enough to us. much later he'd ask her to claim her right, her "huq" over him, wasn't this also in a way a plea for the same... almost? he goaded her... what if she'd said, i'm the one to whom you matter, what would have happened to all that fight and fury in arnav singh raizada then?

"aap samajhte kya hain apne aap ko... aap ke saamne dar ke maare koi mooh nahin kholta iska matlab yeh nahin ki..." who do you think you are, she parried with equal rage, just because no one opens their mouth in front of you... she stops... she knows she's gone too far.

there's that intimacy here... who are you... who do you think you are... an entering into each others personal space... not what polite acquaintances do... this is close personal private circle stuff.

a certain sexual undertone since "yeh kya kar rahi ho tum," in a husky torn voice. he is cut too deep. he's not really in his senses. hitting out at his tormentor; she who thinks she is the tormented one. again a classic bind of two people in a tight embrace of feelings... not neat understood clear sweet feelings, but convulsed, tumultuous, almost threatening, confusing, hardly understood ones... all of which compel and pull like a magnet.

"chumbak" is magnet in hindi, "chumban" is kiss... i think not by chance.

when anjali ji and nani ji have consulted the priest and fixed your eng- she stops short again. why? can't she say "your engagement?" he is looking at her, eyes slightly narrow... studying her expressions around that word she didn't say.

the duel continues.

if la hasn't sent you... "toh kyun ayee ho"... why have you come? i won't listen to her, nor you... "so just get lost."

"nahi get lost." a sparkling khushism. "aapko sunni padegi... yeh aap ki sagai hai... koi khel nahin..." this is your engagement, not a game.

"tum mujhe samjhaogi.. tum pehle apni engagement toh sambhal lo..." you'll make me understand? first manage your own engagement...

alas... no one is "sambhalo"ing anything, both are falling apart.

"hum apni nahin... aapki sagai ki baat kar rahi hoon," not mine, i am speaking of your engagement says khushi, trying to bring him to topic and get him to see reason. quite unaware how very vulberable she's made herself with taht one assertion, how exposed and without chain mail she is now.

the warrior moves with lightning speed. he senses victory. "exactly," burn in his voice at the edges, "sagai meri hai... khushi, meri sagai ho ya na ho... kal ho ya ek saal baad ho..." he's walked closer to her, his voice is level, his eyes look deep into hers, a confrontation, he seeks an answer and in that is her defeat... rabba ve under his clear, questioning words... "tumhe usse se kya faraq padta hai..."

kya faraq padta hai.

what makes a difference, what doesn't. who makes a difference. who doesn't.

exactly... the engagement is mine... khushi, whether it happens or not... happens tomorrow or a year later... what difference does it make to you? an echo in his voice, a hollowing out, not put their by a machine, just by a breath releasing a feeling...

arnav singh raizada ko kissi ladki se koi faraq nahin padta, he'd asserted in a torrent after seeing her in red, holding her in the rain, feeling things he'd sworn he'd never feel.

yet her, "aapko usse kya farq padta hai?" had blown a hole in his carefully constructed fort faraq nahin padta, and he'd lashed right back, "mujhe kya faraq padta... mujhe faraq padta hai dammit kyunki... ?" showing his extreme vulnerability, his need, his despair.

now it was payback time. she'd ripped off his ramparts, he wasn't letting her get away with it.

what difference does it make to you... a dance around each other has started... sensuous, sinuous,  ferocious, a sexual dance that seeks a culmination... in an admission, a surrender, a submission.

tell me, say his every word, look, move, shard of gussa, tell me i make a difference... baat aapki hai iss liye faraq padta hai... she answers him months later...maybe that's why it hurts him so much to go away, far from her... to her, he always made a difference... just that she didn't know how to place it before him... he was someone else's and he had told her she meant nothing to him.

a gust of wind, that storm since 124 sweeping in, it will make her say all the wrong things.

he looks at her intently, a slight swallow, the wind plays on, he tilts his head ever so slightly to catch her expression, enquiring.

in a confused disturbed voice she avers, "aap ki sagai ho ya na ho, hume kyun faraq padega?" whether yopu get engaged or not, why should it make a difference to me?

the wind was keening as though running sadly over barren moors...

and she gathers her strength, all her yearnings, into a tight slam of indifference..."suna aapne, humne kya kaha... hume koi faraq nahin padta," did you hear what i said... it makes no difference to me whatsoever. this time the echo came from a machine, it sounded distorted to him just as her "hum bahut khush hain" had sounded.

he just held her gaze and let his longings seethe. rabba ve, wasn't that its most melancholic note ever.

his gussa made his nostrils flare, he grabbed her hand and dragged her after him as he went to make his next announcement...

has television ever seen such layered sequences before? that hint at things gone by, things to come, things seen and unseen? so much in every scene, every look, breath, word? i have never hung on to every move and sound of a serial like this ever before. not likely to happen again. rabba vey.


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