two sets of memories battled.
and a man struggled valiantly against memories that refused to budge. finally, one set of memories took precedence, and the man swore many things to himself, but would it work?
and though the day ended on a capitulation to an obscene adversary it seemed, there was a funny kind of happiness in it... there was something really precious in the way khushi sat alone after everything, under the stars, and slowly unfolded her fingers and looked at her two hands, her eyes rested on the bandage on her ring finger and she seemed to remember who put it there and what buaji had said... the nerve from that finger goes straight to the heart, the dil. his bandage lay on that finger. really, was that ring on the wrong finger even valid as a sign of engagement?
the mother and the sister protested. but the bua ji held sway today. and khushi was commanded to put the ring on shyam's finger, "ee lo pahanai deo..." watch khushi's face as the ring comes out of the pocket, and the box is opened, there's something close to horror in her eyes. it seemed to have suddenly struck her what was upon her. silently, without a word, sanaya expressed beautifully a state of mind. torn, worried, just after the exhausting emotional scene at the temple, now this.
as bua ji insisted she looked at her babu ji who wanted to say no, but she couldn't read him right today, perhaps she was too tired.
then she thought of the man she loved... a hundred memories, all beautiful, all of her soul, not even one ugly one.
the flashbacks came...
he is holding out a box of food to her.
her dupatta is stuck to his cuff link.
she's lecturing him in the car on the way to nainital. oh nainital.
she's falling onto him as he pulls her out of a ditch.
she's just spat water out onto his face.
her face is buried against his steady strong shoulder at the hospital.
fairy lights, he takes them off her, slow and gentle.
she's fallen on him and they lie there in the middle of a rangoli, colour everywhere, he's looking at her.
he's drawing her close, so close, to blow dust from her eyes.
he holds her hand, looks into her eyes and walks her out of rings of diyas, she is lost in him.
he kneels before her.
puts on her payal...
he wants to kiss her... she wants him to kiss her...
and along with these came perhaps memories that didn't need flashbacks, for they were part of her by now. the way she looked at her father said it all. perhaps in her mind was a picture of a little khushi at 8 crying, and this man making funny faces trying to stop her tears, memories of him as she grew up, 10, 11, learning to make jalebis maybe at 15, babuji delighted chhutki has done well in maths, learning to drive a car with him, him insisting it was perfectly ok for a girl to have her own scooter and then getting it for her, babu ji who loved with all he had; not rich, not powerful, but a loving gentle kind man who'd stood by her when she most needed someone. her dear friend and father. to whom she was more like a son, the responsible one, his second in command.
it was a moment when her whole life seemed to flash before her eyes, she couldn't understand what her father's writhing and shaking of head meant, and while he watched with wretched tears, khushi the daughter put the ring on to the wrong man's finger.
khushi an orphan, khushi who loves babuji, khushi who brings light and happiness. khushi who loves her laad governor, her rakshas, her arnav ji.
"khussie, haath aage badao bitiya... apne babu ji ki khatir haath age baddao..." khushi, hold out your hand for your father's sake, prompted bua ji, a touch of the most macabre cheerleader in her, shyam just stood back and faked sweet meekness, letting her do all the work... what delegation. and on khushi's face a fabulous touch of what was it ... as she extended her hand.
"ee ka hai?" what's this, bua ji is shocked.
her ring finger was taken already. at the auspicious hour, the man whom she loved and the man who loved her had already wrapped it with complete attention and tenderness, and claimed it. his to hurt, his to heal, his to hate, his to worship, above all his to love... "khushi."
how could khushi not remember that.
"kauno baat nahin... doosra haath badao.." no matter, extend the other hand. so the ring went to the wrong finger... not engaged really.
and at that very moment, a turbulence in the man who would push her away forever, but never leave her in his heart and soul. maybe he could sense the mayhem at gh. he walks restless in his room. pacing, out by the pool, looking up at the sky as he does when troubled.
the ring is slipped on. shyam grabs her hand with both of his, she had used just one hand and barely touched his skin while putting on the ring. he is alien to her... her own is allowed to grab her, hold her, push her, touch her ankle tenderly, draw closer and closer. not this person. who was he to her? she would do her best not to touch him. so what if it was an engagement ring she slipped on.
but a storm is rising in both. he at the poolside now, she before her tormentor.
a drop of blood on his finger. and memory. as camera pans, thoughts of wiping her blood away drift in... from inside him, a call, quiet, still with a trace of yearning, and wonder... "khushi..."
he remembers their fight at the temple... get out of my life today... he is angry, they are fighting... he picks up tissues and starts wiping her red off him... as he had that day after bersarai... what's happening to me he'd asked that day... today he perhaps knows, and the pain is even more intense, the need to reject even greater.
i said leave, dammit. but she's falling into his arms that first day they met... he's whirling away with her in the rain carrying her to safety putting his own life on the line...wipe, rub, erase this sign of her on his skin... in the rain her face is so close as he holds her, no idea he must let go, their first ever hug, in the pouring water, ocean and his shore... he's dropping her from his office, he's pushing her against that wall in the guest house... every memory, all early ones, from that very first day... oh he's carrying her home, the first time he ever held her in his arms and walked with her... why won't the blood go off? heck, more tissue... she's dashing into him, sindoor everywhere, the two together... he must stop that fall at teej, hold on to her... she's yielding under him in a hot store room one sunday... she's walked into him and her earring is stuck to his shirt pocket... he's twisted her arm and is dragging her close, she's called him immoral... in his office, under the stars with tears in her eyes, she's hugging him desperately in the hospital... they are falling on a rangoli... and it's diwali. he hurls the whole tissue box away.
but there's the payal, the kiss coming close...
"nahi karoonga usse yaad, aaj ke baad kabhi usske baare mein nahin sochunga..." i won't remember her, after today, i'll never think of her. he is in extreme pain, he will not remember her, after today he won't think of her again. exactly the sort of promises she'd made that very evening.
finally shyam talks of taking all of ranisahiba's wealth. so by this episode it's pretty clear why he married her. wonder why his character lost direction entirely along the way.
a bandage, a drop of blood, a flood of memories, let's see what tomorrow brings.
..............................
ahamiyat and bandagement episodes
episode rambles
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