let's get engaged

the ahamiyat and bandagement episodes

114 - 118

  

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ahamiyat and bandagement episodes
episode rambles
fanfiction

episode 116 time and tied

he turned and there was the key on the table. right next to the broken glass and a smear of red. his eyes focused only on the key. he grabbed it and went to hurl it away.

but her voice cut in... "zara suniye!" please listen...

there she was in white walking toward him, arm outstretched, key in hand. the mazar, the day that di had sent him against his wishes to do things that thanked for wishes being fulfilled. the day he saw her for the second time.

somehow, he couldn't let that key go. part of their connection, this inanimate little object. seemed to have a meaning, though it really shouldn't. 

then the red smear registers. it's blood.

"khoon?" why i wonder, the voice over is someone else's or did i really not recognise barun's voice?

quickly, his mind connects dots... he's pushing her, turning away, she's falling.

the khoon is khushi's and it's there because he was brutish once again. the hurt cuts to the core.

"khushi?!" wrenched out of him, just her name.

in the way he says her name there's always something of his intense feeling. every time asr utters her name, he seems to give the lie to a rather famous writer's much quoted line, "what's in a  name?" there's too much in his "khushi" for me to ever think the name was just a physical indicator with no real intrinsic, essential necessity to it. no, juliet, romeo had to be romeo and not any other of name, khushi is inalienably khushi... and always asr had to be asr. which is why the mere thought of an arnav mallick had me in a blue funk, even though his first name is the same. identity, you, all there in that name.

and when asr says, "khushi," it becomes a love story in itself sometimes. like today. i listened to just that one call and heard fear, guilt, desperation, love, care, fear, desperation, guilt all in his voice. if barun sobti hadn't understood that feeling exactly, no amount of directing could have given us that hoarse ragged dear god bring her to me sound.

"khushi?!!"

nor that look.

her left hand wrapped in dupatta she prays, "hey dm, humari madat karo ki hum pichhli saari baaton ko bhool jaaye," help me so that i can forget the past... she wants to live, not succumb, she is a fighter too, and even if it kills her she will do all she can to survive the bleakest hour and look toward light.

the 18 year old promises never to go back to that house nor see uss laad governor's face. that laad gov... that khushi, that girl. the sense of possessiveness in the way they refer to the other, mine to be rude about, ok? how much she wants to see him, which is why a huge promise must be made... like i promise not to eat rice every day, ha. since morning, she's been praying for this resolve, not to see him. because of that key (oh how we like to fool ourselves)... but now, never.

"humne unhe unki mannat ki chabi bhi lauta di... bhool se bhi unhe yaad nahin karenge." how sweet, even by mistake i won't remember him... uppermost in her mind is that awful man still. i believe you must have thought well for me, with this faith she closes her eyes to pray as the conch blows, as the wind rises again. the wind?

and a car comes swishing into frame. a man in a cool grey suit, blue shirt, shades on, makes his way purposefully up the steps of the temple.

the wind grows thicker, insistent.

she's leaving the mandir... he is walking up.

as she steps off the temple hall, her dupatta is caught by the wind and hurled on her face. a "wake up, khushi" from the skyriding gust?

if the parting had been calamitous the night of diwali, equal and opposite reaction is here. a momentous meeting. like no other.

piano notes join the wind as the moments are stretched preparing...

at last, she pulls the veil off and she looks up, only to freeze on the spot. beyond the veil... the most beloved, the most hated face.

no thought, no words, no waste of precious time... la la hm mhm hm hm hmhmmm, the piano goes into happiness, joy, and the sheer sweetness of you in my life. she looks bemused, he slowly takes off his shades, all his feelings in those eyes.

imagine this moment, khushi. all that was everything between you, then by the pool a losing of inhibitions, after that the vicious strike of you mean nothing to me... then a last meeting... again the turmoil. but now at last you've made up your mind though your heart yearns for another reality. yet you will strive... never see him again... never. and then your eyes find him. just that. and the music goes dreamy. what a moment.

"khushi?" again he calls her.

a little unsure, almost gentle... asking?

she walks away. immediately the flare up. so so asr. that tenderness wants a chance but the gussa holds sway. you can't walk away while he is talking to you...

"khushi, main tumse baat kar raha hoon, tum aise nahin ja sakti," i am talking to you, you can't walk away like that.

firebrand waits a bit, then turns and challenges... "kyun nahin jaa sakte? yeh zindagi humari apni hai..." why can't i go? this is my life... i can go where i please when i please and anyway i don't work for you now, so you have no right to order me (that ultra cute northie "aarder" for order).

no right?

through gritted teeth, "don't talk to me like that." what pure unadulterated anger.

he has this thing about being spoken to badly. but i feel he's almost pleading at a level, he can't take her harsh tone, it hurts him. i know, too bad, he's the rudest harshest being of all, but what to do, tender he is of heart when it comes to jhalli.

she never learns. she pushes him... why? what will you do?

and she turns away to leave.

well he has to do what he has to do.

that familiar hold, that grip on her shoulder. she squirms... but today he's here to hold her like that and find out something. slowly his hands starts sliding down her arm, he just wants to see what he'd come here to see. the damage he'd done.

she's puzzled, he's transfixed. he holds her wrist, she jerks her arm back. he is not giving up... draws her arm up holding it gently.. then holding her still, he removes that covering of dupatta from her left hand, and there lies the inch long cut, still alive, bleeding, on her tender innocent hand.

the episode design was built on a neat intercutting pattern between the scenes of two lovers who have decided to part today forever and engagement talk between bua ji and a man who is married but has an unhealthy interest in engagements. we know now that 6pm is the blessed hour just five minutes away.

"tumhe" his voice is clouded, unclear... as though in shock. she's hurt, she bleeds. he feels his blood draining out. these are strange chaotic feelings, not that sweet thing poor khushi believes love is.

he gathers himself... swiftly, huskily, and unbelievably sexily, "tumhe chot lagi hai," you're hurt.

"toh, aap se matlab?" so, what's it to you? yes, she is cut to the heart by his cruel words and will give some of the real chot he's given her right back to him. that "matlab" thing.

altercation again. what's your problem, why are you bothered. stop the tamasha... till he takes command.

"humara haath chhoriye," let go of my hand, she's reaching another level of anger. when lovers quarrel, why is it that anger always seems to arouse other passions, something sexual? but not when you fight with someone who means nothing to you.

dark saturnine look.

he has taken out a handkerchief and started dabbing the wound. uuhhh, an indrawn breath from her. oh it hurts.

that cut and that uuhhh reminds me of cut through. he seems to have achieved this cut through with her and she with him from that first moment. in a world full of people two strangers meet, and they register with each other instantly. it's rare, there's a sense of meant to be in it. even if both walked away from each other at this very moment, never will either forget the other nor not get a thrill, a pleasurable uuuhhh if they thought of the other.

it's almost six.

had to be recorded on shyam's watch. nice touch.

bells ring, conch shells sound, the auspicious hour is here, the chants begin... om swasti na indro... the peace prayers then the mantras to dm... and on the temple grounds, a  young man with no faith in idols or god as we understand the word, holds a dm worshiping young girl's left hand and starts tying a gauze bandage on her ring finger. the finger whose nerve they say connects straight to the heart, the way a key connects to a girl, the way the thought of her hurt connects to a desperate love.

the beauty and sanctity of this moment is paramount and creatives have given it all they have, the camera movements, the lighting, the sound, the pace, all of it.

asr and khushi are tying some sort of knot,  feels like it is for life. (and believe it or not, as i write this sitting in a hotel room in sydney facing a garden with a beautiful church right beyond it, the church bells ring joyous and jubilant... a wedding is on... my daughter said two weddings are on, she saw two brides and two bride grooms... make whatever connections you will of this fact).

when he held on and put his hand in his pocket to pull out the bandage, it was the most beautiful moment for me somehow. he'd carried a bandage for her, he came all the way just so he could take care of the wound the girl who means nothing to him has got thanks to him. he would tend to her... not anyone else... he. if he could hurt, he could heal. his khushi, his responsibility. he stood before all and drew her near and tied the bandage over and over till he was certain it will protect her.

what must she have felt when she saw the first aid preparation. bet he also put some ointment, etc. she just watched him do his work. the significance of it all somehow not lost on her. dm watched over them, the creatives were not taking any chances that you didn't get the point.

but really, even without dm, even without mahurat and all the chanting, just by itself the whole thing was magical. and  desperately beautiful.

there are many reasons i can never have enough of bad boy asr, this is one of them. that revelation of a loving heart behind khadoos, and none of your soppy nonsense... though he wants to bawl at having hurt his dueling partner, he is practical, all set with things of use, not just silly sweet words. months later, even as he went nuts, he will think of a mangalsutra and sindoor because even though he hates her, she needs them to even think of a thing called marriage. crazy man.

a handsome devoted man, a gorgeous in love girl, and an attraction that pulls them even when they push each other away. how intimate, how loving his hands on her soft ones, making pain go away. another glimpse of this thing called love. wonder which rasa.

she watches silently. he works absorbed. just a couple of times he looks at her. nihatya, unarmed, as he is,  feelings evident... no rancour.

it's done. she's all flustered after that rapt attention. if he looks at her like that any more...

"humne mana kiya tha na," i'd set not to. she's retreating to agreed battle lines.

offense is the best defence and in seconds both warriors arm themselves anew. "aap kya chahte hain humse," what do you want from me... would he ever be able to answer that.

"beta, leo arati," god walks in to help the two.

and the nastik, the atheist, offends the astik, the theist, again.

bhagwan, kismat talk... meri marzi, my wish, too. and so she goes all the way to, some day you'll realise the hand of god in everything, but that day i won't be there.

what an opening for a shatir fighter. why that day, returns he promptly... now, this minute, get out of my life. warriors take position. a song going crazy trying to make head or tail of this chaotic twosome.

  
the synchronised turn away. the walking away from each other. both committed to never seeing the other again. lovely. the most stylish put back of shades in the history of the planet. aviators, i think they are called.

shyam has put babu ji through hell again to get that ring on her finger. he deserves a noose around his neck. "suhag ki sej paane ke liye arthio ka dar dikhana padta hai," to get the wedding night bed one must put the fear of the death bed into people. the sick twisted cretin, with its disturbing knowledge of the human mind alerting all who watch to the game of manipulation.

my last thought, khushi had looked so sad, so terribly heart broken as she's walked away from rm a while ago. she really felt all was over. but that appearance of her hotshot in his deadly glasses with his arms and ammunition, that broken "tumhe," everything seemed to put the zizz back in her, and she was all take on the world, show you what i'm made of as she stormed of. lot of ishtyle in our man's stride too. obviously, they both knew all was far from over. though they were never gonna meet again. ever. samjhi tum?

 









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ahamiyat and bandagement episodes
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restless and close to a precious feeling

couldn't sleep. restless as h. thought might as well watch some ipk... actually, wanted to watch the drive after diwali, and once i started, i couldn't stop. now at 116... when i watch i wait subconsciously i think to reach that point when my heart will feel the graze, then the tug... and my eyes get that fixed stare. i wonder would this feeling just go away one day, like so many feelings do... especially those crushes in school... and if you're made like me, even much later. but for now there is that pressure on the chambers of the heart, a pull at the gut. i don't know if this happens to you. everything is so physical yet not... khushi!... aur yeh bhi yaad rakhna ki main apni kismat khud likhta hoon... wahi karta hoon jo meri marzi hoti hai... lekin jis din aapko yeh pata chalega na, uss din wahan hum nahin honge...uss din kya... aaj se... in fact, issi pal se meri zindagi se nikal jao... na tumhari shakal dekhni hai, na tumse koi baat karni hai... aur yeh definitely mere haath mein hai, khushi kumari gupta...

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ahamiyat and bandagement episodes

episode rambles

fanfiction

khushi!... and remember this, i write my own kismet... i do what i please... but the day you realise this, that day i won't be there... why that day... from today... in fact, from this moment, get out of my life... neither will i see your face, nor will i to speak to you... and this is definitely in my hands, khushi kumari gupta... 

episode 118 on my mind

he's sleeping, it's early morning... and "aaj se hi tum meri zindagi sa nikal jao..." his words to her play back, leave my life from this very day... she's walking away... he's on the other side of the temple, leaving her. forever.

eyes open, he starts and jumps up... "khushi?" again that different cadence to a name. today it's a question, a first thought, a where are you? she's so on his mind. all that go away forever yet the heart doesn't listen. in your sleep the truth is clear.

and it's di yelling at him, her little bhai dooj drama. rather sweet.

"di, what the hell," (aw the "hell").

but to go back to that dream, this has happened before. the day she'd told him in a closed, stirred storeroom that she was leaving for lucknow, forever. hamesha ke liye. perhaps the first time hamesha had entered their moment.

episode 118 started on a note echoing the one we we ended 47 on:

he lay there in deep sleep. then her voice. she's going... forever. no, you can't go like that... khushi, khushiii. 
he jerked up and sat upright in bed. shallow erratic breathing. 

why do i feel you in the pit of my stomach. why do i want to go where you lead me. listen to me, will yoy?

doesn't he, like many of us, take his innermost thoughts and fears and desires to his dreams, his nightmares? that recurrent memory of di's wedding day, a woman running, shehnai, and "maa." the thought of separation from the one most loved. his mother. haunts his sleep often.

and now at the mere thought of being separated from khushi, the fear laced with a wish, a want, a need is stalking him behind closed eyes. i felt at some place the sudden loss of ma and the sense of parting with khushi had a similar sensation. not consciously or clearly. but both felt like a terrifying terrible thing. the intensity of losing his mother is no doubt much keener, but the emotions evoked by the two partings are alike.

without our knowing, sometimes people become more extremely important to us. they become part of life. habit. even when we tell them to go away and never show face, we think that's not going to happen, they'll always be there. hamesha. then the dream shows otherwise. with ma, he knows there's no hope, she's gone. but with khushi?

"khushi bitiya agar aadat hai, toh hum aisan umeed karat hai ki aisan acchhi aadat harek ko pade..." nani is wise and her sentence: if khushi is a habit, then may everyone get a habit like this... a sweet hint from writers that someone is becoming someone's habit.

and like all good habit owners, he is trying his best to kick it... failing miserably. looking more and more angry. now if a grown man didn't look so cute disgruntled and rude with a red tika and stubble, might have been easy not to let such an aadat form.

"enough di, please..." an outburst. "stop it... bahut ho gaya khushi khushi... why don't you guys understand ki woh ja chuki hai..." how he rants... she's gone, why don't you guys get it...

too much protest? all taken aback.

then di's words chill him to his gut. sometimes you don't know whom you're meeting for the last time and after they leave you realise how wrong you were.

he stands there riveted to that thought. di storms out, her anger is real this time, the others leave too. at last he can close his eyes, swallow...

in the meantime, khushi has decided to start teaching kids maths and hindi and earn some money. di and gang have mounted a campaign to bring her back to rm. and akash ji has come to lakshminagar to acquire a gift for di... for next year's bhai dooj. payal ji.

bhaji gali love, done.
diya stall love, done.
now auto rikshaw love. while the other two are doing suv hate.

nice contrast, creatives. the sweet love and the khadoos killer type love. no need to guess which is clearly aspirational, unless of course you have a thing for three wheelers. have to say, the auto driver's brusque get on with it was funny.

khushi has been tricked into returning to rm. her three champs are doing their "sab darama" to convince her, while mami ji wonders what the. khushi enters and nani ji and la start.

360 degree pans as the two women scream and "fight". a mysterious "galati," mistake, it's cause. so what is the problem, a harried, concerned khushi asks, which book does la know nothing about?

di says, bhagwat gita... nani says, ram charit manas. to cover up the faux pas, nani yells, even mano baby knows it... "aur toh aur manorama ko bhi ee sab ka gyan hai..." manorama is ready to pass out at this... "humka?" me? she clearly knows nothing. another insight into the raizada essential tolerance and open mindedness, despite all the daughters in law need to know this and that talk and the endless poojas and festivals. a place for new thought and different ways exists here. somewhere a recognition of each to his own. a little irritation, leg pulling, discord amongst fam members every now and then, but no real interference with one's right to be who they want to be. sadly la seemed to have pressed all the wrong buttons, not just one, and so this stringent "get with the programme" regimen she had to go through. but even that was made easier once nani sensed there was a good, wholesome, loving girl in there somewhere.

a lovely imbroglio, set up to get madam khushi dream stalker back. well written, well acted, dum (kick) in it.

finally mami gets it. phew.

as khushi goes to get some oil for the lamp, the music, feelings, where is he, thank g he isn't around. really?

"where the hell is my..." storm strides in. stops. just like that other day, when he knew she was here and how he'd shouted even then. rakhi.

bhai dooj today. sisters brothers and their love and hopes for the each other, on two days significant for this relationship, a sister's wish for her brother seems to be coming closer.

she was walking along light and happy, when that wind got to her too.






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ahamiyat and bandagement episodes
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episode 117 i remember

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.




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episode 115 if you go away

it was a moment only, a fraction of a second, yet it told an entire story of its own. he turned away, all set to ascend to his ivory tower, and never see her again. and then after a few steps, he stopped. she was being welcomed in by his family, all trying to make her feel better, but her eyes still held an ocean and a half of hurt.

he stopped.

head slightly turned this way as though he just had to. he struggled again, then giving up, slowly turned and looked at her.

a long look. and somewhere along the way the anger in his eyes shifted out a bit, letting something else in.

then it was time to go. he was outta here... or so he wished to convey.

how much of him was there in that little hesitation and capitulation. to feelings he just never ever wanted. yet now they were here, and he was powerless before them. in a state like that what is a man do. he had to fight back. at least that's how he saw the whole thing.

after that the little wordless communication between the two, dense with meaning, a massive conversation, visceral, valid, utter, not the sort where you calmly sit back and say "let's talk." and there is no place for anything remotely akin to "calmly" in all of this.

a long time back, i saw a movie called dr dolittle. i was a kid then, remember laughing hysterically at an animal called push-me-pull-you, that neither lets you move this way nor that. did i detect this animal in that pause of asr's just now? he'd just heard that today was her last day; little eye movements, always telltale, had hinted at the fact that he hadn't thought of that and also some other feeling this news brought on. then there had been mami ji's nasty suggestions as to how to throw a major party to send off phatti saree and di's admonishing words: khushi ji has done so much for the fam, without her the dream of seeing chhotey married would remain just that, a dream, we must do something really nice for her.

by this time, his biggest protector, his anger, had walked in, jaws clenched, eyes grew nasty, an outburst looked imminent. he stalked off. and perhaps because he so wanted to see her though he kept saying he didn't, he sat in his castle, face grim, glued to laptop. but peace was elusive.

in no time, thoughts of her. in a beautiful contrapuntal arrangement, dialogues said one thing, visuals showed another. the push-me-pull-you was having a good time. don't think a rich guy was hanging around with your payal clasped to his heart... but here he is, tenderly, reverently, romantically putting the payal around her anklet, taking his time over it, enjoying every moment. doesn't make a difference to me, you don't matter... yet he's getting lost in her, drawing closer to hungrily kiss her pearly trembling lips, that's all, all he wants.

he's telling her these horrible things, her voice is a whisper, struggling to fend off the onslaught... koi matlab nahin... doesn't mean a thing. naniji's voice layers on, how about this pendant for khushi bitiya, today's her last day.

his eyes shut involuntarily. the pain is sharp.
just then la had to walk in, with more talk of khushi's last day.  what should i give khushi, now that she's going away, should i give her a la sort of dress after all she taught me her style... i want to teach her la style... what do you think.

slam.

the poor laptop took the brunt of that fury. he stormed out and down those steps to tell everyone what he thought of their idea. this fussing over khushi.

not that the morning had been easy for the girl who never left his mind. though khushi affected an unaffected air and when buaji called her tried to look calm, her mind was on that phone call she'd been asked to make to say goodbye to the raizadas. "nahi hume nahi jana..." no, i won't go she'd said to buaji, i won't go. but didn't she want to? "toh nahi jao..." so don't go, said her aunt. "haan nahi jana... hum kyon jaaye taake phir se woh humse buri tarah se baat kar sake," and like a little lost girl, yeah, not going... then to herself... why should i go so that he can again talk badly to me.

talk badly? the man has insulted her, crushed her emotions, told her she means nothing to him, alleged she's out to catch a rich guy, and all this after he was desperate to be with her. and now she says, talk badly. and she's not looking too convinced about not going to rm also. muttering to herself. oh, she misses him, he misses her, it's real mess. just that the acting is so good and dialogues so measured you want to see how far and how well this can be taken.

just underneath her jhola sits the thing that will again make going to see him easier. his mannat ki chabi.

still she says, as though echoing his words, a nice play of words here, key phrases pulled up like repeated notes in a large long piece of music, giving depth and focus, a sense of continuity... "hume isse koi matlab nahin...   hum nahin jaayenge," means nothing to me, i won't go. this despite naniji speaking to her and requesting her to come to rm, if not for her job, then for naniji. naniji had also said "hamesha humra maan rakkha hai... bahut hi achhi ladki hai.," she's always given me respect, a very good girl is our khushi. but she says she won't go.

i wondered how they'd show her changing her mind. i needn't have worried, the pull you was working harder than the push me it seems.

in his anger, he's come rushing down the steps and stands at a point above them. reminds me of an angry wave racing in swift, fierce. the visage though is thin, drawn, pale, looks like he hasn't slept the night. his voice when he speaks is hoarse, rasping, sandy. was this by design or barun wasn't keeping well? it worked perfectly though. after saying the things he had the night before could he have retired to sound sleep?
"di," peremptory, gussa all over the syllable.

"kya zaroorat thi ussko yahan bulane ki," ... decibel rising... "usska kaam yahan khatam ho chuka hai na.. wo iss ghar se jaa chuki hai... aur hamari zindagi se bhi... toh phir kyun bulaya use?" what was the need to call her? her work is done, she's left this house, and our lives, then why, what's the need to call her?

anjali is dumbstruck. why this rough anger suddenly, and such words? she tries to tell him to calm down. matters escalate. he takes it to money, but naturally. she'll come and ask for money for this extra day, a rather crudely put together thought, none of the asr polish. he's losing it again.  anjali is livid. reminds me of janmashtami (episode 68), then too he'd felt this pull you and pushed hard with his money insults. that day too, he'd had to look back at her from these stairs (episode 69). the stairs were such a gorgeous place for their love story. so much happened here.

and today, the feelings were at a much higher pitch. the attraction had gone all the way to a predatory walk in the dark with only one clear intent. he'd fought it off desperately, torn all beautiful feelings asunder, leaving a mass of seething, roiled emotions. he went on relentless.

"haan, di, main bhi yahi kah raha hoon, kyunki main bhi pareshaan ho chuka hoon... khushi yeh, khushi woh... bas kijiye." yes, di, i am saying the same thing... i to am tired... khsuhi this, khsuhi that... stop it, please.

with that, he turned, and shhh the gust of wind... he stopped, his eyes registered change, a gash of feelings quickly masked, he knew she was here. 

 
he turned back. she was standing there, tears in her eyes.

a flow of emotions that neither could help any longer, a little chat without words, between heart and heart, gut and gut, skin and skin. convulsive. unstoppable.

she made to leave. and the lady who saw a lot of herself in this refreshing young woman, said "thairiye, khushi bitiya," wait, khushi bitiya, you have come here on my invitation... no need to go because someone else says so.

he swallowed, again those feelings.

she smiled at something la said, his stood watching...

then he decided to let anger rule and turned to surge right back to his den... but as he went up the steps, he just had to. had to stop. let himself turn and look at her. and she had to look at him with all her complaint her hurt in her eyes.

khushi tried to remain calm and accepted the gifts and mamiji's customary insults.

but not asr. everything was too much for him today. when you've been terrible to someone and are not planning to own up, perhaps the conscience plays its own game and makes you suffer as much if not more than the one you inflict pain on?

breaking glass.

and a roar from upstairs. "just shut up... maine juice nahi, coffee mangi thi." just shut up, i asked for coffee not juice? why not juice, i think, because you want her to pour it into your shoe, or you want her to mix coughing powder into it?

like me, poor op had several questions and things to point out, and boy did the poor man named after god who khushi wants to play ankh micholi with get it from the chhotey terror. first a reminder of janmashtami, now the blind man's bluff om prakash. sense of krishna in the air. this too is a rasa of prem, an aspect of love nothing else.

asr is screaming blue murder, poor op tries to place the broken pieces of glass on the table by the pool and clear up the mess, but he is ordered to get out, i said just leave it, dammit.

nani wonders why her grandson is so angry all the time these days. she obviously hasn't noticed a thing. but since the priest comes by, all waft off to get la's horoscope made. this is a traditional household, asr is the only one perhaps who will openly disregard the astrologer's opinion and predictions.

khushi is asked to join them but holds back. she had said she wasn't coming here. but she is here. she had said looking at the key, doesn't mean a thing. apparently, it does.

for some reason it ties her to him. she wanted to return it that first day but he'd refused to take it and said "phenk do."  throw it, she hadn't. it stayed in her bag. and the day she'd gone to his home, screamed at him and resigned, she'd come back and found that key in her bag (episode 34) and held on to it, just feeling him, thinking of him, that meeting of theirs.

the key stayed. but today, after what he'd said, she wanted to end this connection. or maybe her gut knew this was the only way too keep it alive. we are contrary creatures. i am sure khushi's conscious being wanted to finish all relations with asr. but are we just our conscious selves?

from the living room, she sees him in his garden... he sees her, but they both turn away. then a change of mind. she will go to him. why khushi? why? i wonder.

and we go into a shyam break. usual putrid games with babuji, today it's chucking medicines day... to coerce khushi into wearing that ring he has bought with the money he's stolen from his wife. charming man. never shouts, never screams. never says get out or koi matlab nahin.

back to poolside.

he feels the gust, he knows what it says...

their first meeting here after the night before.

gruff, shallow voice, tired, hurt, angry, mix of emotions. "chali jaao yahan se.. na tumse baat karni hai... na tumhari shakal dekhni hai..." go away from here... don't want to talk to you... nor do i want to see your face. sounds like a lover's tiff.

  
"just say bye to everyone and leave."

he has turned away, he is finding the whole thing too difficult to handle.

"hume bhi aap se baat karne ka koi man nahin hai..." even i don't want to talk to you... not submissive and sad, spunky jhalli khushi... "hum sirf yahan aaye the taaki-" i'd only come so that-

he interrupts, "maine kaha na mujhe tumse koi baat nahin karni hai, khsuhi kumari gupta... ek baar kahi hui baat tumhe samajh nahin aati?" told you, didn't want to talk to you... don't you understand what's being said the first time.

"par aap..." but you-

"i said... leave, dammit."

suddenly he turns and he lunges at her, holding her shoulders in a vice like grip. out of control.

long long moment.

and he pushes her away as though all he wants to do is hold her forever... but he can't... a resigned and helpless turn of head.

she falls back, hand on broken glass

when he turns around after composing himself, she's not there.

"tum abhi yahin ho..." you're still here,  half hoping perhaps... "i said..." she's gone.

her dupatta, now her saviour, wraps around her left palm and hides the truth from everyone. she takes her leave with a promise from la to take her to parties and... under the tiger eyes of naniji... also satsang. tears are still making khushi's eyes red.
 
someone hurries to windows overlooking the entrance, a pair of eyes follow her as she walks out. words will always fail to describe what's in them. 

 
 

a song from years ago, if you go away on a summer day/then you might as well take the sun away in my mind. here's shirley bassey singing it, and here's to if you stay.

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