asr gripped the secateurs firmly.
he looked at the tip of the stem, brow scrunched, lips pursed,
willing his mind to focus. he was not going to think of anything else
now. he would snip the stem just where he knew he must, he was…
“am i speaking to mr raizada… mr arnav singh raizada?” she had a
poised voice, he could tell from the way she said his name, especially
the “r,” that she wasn’t indian. she sounded… asian? yeah, asian.
all this he had processed and thought in less than a fraction of a
moment. a sudden chill had come into the air, and it wasn’t because it
was winter in delhi.
he had replied curtly, “yes!”
she had seemed to laugh just a little. he had frowned.
asr tried not to think of what she said after that as he placed the
edge of the clippers on the stem. but the thoughts wouldn’t go away.
naho yamakawa, that was her name. she was the wife of dave ogawa, the
obnoxious little man from shima. she was in fact the daughter of the
major stakeholder in the company, he had no idea she was involved with
running the business. asr grimaced.
ms yamakawa had introduced herself
and then said after a little pause, “mr raizada… i heard about your
meeting this morning… may i apologise on my husband’s behalf. i hope you
will allow us to take the discussion further.”
there was a bold clear simplicity in the way she spoke. when she’d
realised she had called at such an early hour, she’d been contrite. he
had sensed she had miscalculated the time possibly because she was
agitated. it was obvious she was nothing like her husband. there was
refinement in her way of speaking and she seemed to know her business
well. she also wanted to work with ar. she had been looking, she’d said,
for some time for a fashion house in india…
asr let the woody tip fall as he cut it off and moved toward another
stem that needed to be trimmed. pruning in winter as the plants lay
dormant was important. the camellia shrub was slightly overgrown, he
would spend some time getting rid of what was not needed. the flowers
were in many ways like roses, yet different… the pale pink of this one
maa would have…
he shook his head and stopped the thought.
“i am looking for a line in mooga silk,” he heard naho’s quiet careful voice, “are you familiar with the silk, mr raizada?”
familiar?
a soft brush of a pallu on his face, a mere hint of a scent he had
known always… maa liked mooga. or moonga silk as everyone called it in
lucknow, in delhi… those days. moonga means gold, his mother would say.
you only get this silk in one place in india… he remembered the golden
glint… no, sheen… of the material, it was a little stiff, not like the
other silks he’d seen, but then as you wore it for a while, it grew
soft…
apparently, there were many japanese women who liked mooga, it had
been popularised among people with an eclectic taste by a small family
run boutique. naho yamakawa wanted to introduce the material to her
clientele… in a line that was essentially western but had touches of the
orient… she wanted to meet him and talk about it.
mooga… pure gold. unconsciously his fingers reached and caressed the
thick shiny leaves of the camellia plant as if seeking to touch
something… feel its texture, know it once more. he swallowed hard and
went back to pruning. the first of january had not been an easy day for
years. but it would get over soon.
and anyway, there was work to be done.
***
“naya saal mubarak ho, lakshmi ji!” khushi beamed down at the quadraped then gave her a hug.
lakshmi ji, by now quite used to the new members of the family and
their ways, rubbed her chin against khushi’s kurta and gave a little,
“meh… meh…”
she had a feeling there would be a reward for that soon. a palm
heaped with crunchy things came into her line of vision and a very happy
goat leaned forward to grab a mouthful of crisp chane.
“how am i looking today? nice na, lakshmi ji… kyun!” khushi said
chirpily, she was very pleased with her deep red churidar kurta with
gold gota and pure zaree pompoms. she wanted something dressy for the
day. it was new year, not just another day, after all.
“aap bahut hi mahurat lag rahin hain, khushi ji!” it was nk, who had
just come into the sitting room still looking sleepy, his hair tousled.
khushi turned to him and beamed.
(you’re looking very auspicious time, khushi ji!)
“mahurat nahin, nanhe ji…” she started to correct him.
(not auspicious time, nanhi ji…)
“khubsoorat!” payal said walking out of the kitchen carrying bowls of
kheer, “khushi, stop preening and thinking no end of yourself,” she
admonished as her younger sister made a face, “go call arnav ji and
everyone else… breakfast is ready.”
(beautiful!)
“but you are looking very pretty, khushi..” anjali said from
the dining area, she grinned and winked at payal, “if one elder sister
won’t pamper, the other must, kyun! tell chhotey i’ve made sugarless
kheer for him…”
“di!” it was asr, he was rolling down his sleeves as he came from the
poolside, “i hate the stuff… no sugarless kheer…!” he scowled at the
offensive bowl sitting on the table. then abruptly said, “payal, give me
some kheer, will you!”
he sounded terse.
anjali looked at him, surprised. concern filled her gaze.
khushi said without thinking, “but, arnav ji… you aren’t supposed to…”
“i’ll decide what i am supposed to or not!” asr said in a clipped
brusque tone, picked up a bowl from the tray payal was carrying and left
the room as everyone watched absolutely nonplussed.
anjali looked after her brother silently, worry and sadness clouding
her eyes. khushi stared at him mouth open. what had come over arnav ji!
she would have snapped perhaps but then she saw di’s face…
***
he sat at his desk staring at the screen of his laptop. the office
was empty, it was silent all around. he sought its calm and tried not to
feel the sensation in the pit of his stomach.
mooga. he had to find out the particulars. how much was available.
who produced it. was there any surplus, what would it cost… when was it
made, were there any environmental issues… how did one ship it… assam…
at the other end of the country, rich in natural wealth… petroleum, tea,
silk… but a little cut off from the rest… upheavals at times… what was
it like?
he picked up the phone and chose a number, still staring at the screen.
“hello? yes… salman? i was thinking… would you know anything about
mooga silk? anyone in your family… around the tea estates? what? oh
okay… yeah, maybe i’ll need to go over soon.. okay see you.. huh? what?
yes yes.. happy new year!” he spoke to the young designer and went back
to studying the material, beside him on the desk lay a thick tome on
indian fabrics and textile and some copies of japanese fashion
magazines.
“sara din agar aap kaale badal ke tarah dikhe toh kya sab khush ho
jaayenge?” asr started as he heard her voice. khushi stood before him,
her hands on her waist, an arch look on her face.
(if you look like a dark cloud the whole day will everyone be happy?)
he frowned at her and snapped.
“kaale badal… whaaat? khushi, what’re you saying, dammit! why are you
here?!” his voice rose sharply, partly because he was taken aback,
partly because he was angry.
khushi came up to his desk, put her hands on it and leaned forward, her face grim.
“don’t think i am scared of you! you’ll do whatever you please and
everyone will keep quiet you think?” khushi said, her anger evident in
her voice. her hazel eyes flashed, her bosom heaved, asr stared at her.
“aap apne ko nuksaan pahunchayenge aur hum sab sirf chup chap
dekhenge? aap kissi se kuch nahin kahenge, hum se bhi nahin… what had
you said… no shouted! yes, shouted… ‘you’ll marry me… now!’ just because
you believed you had to… not because you loved me even! that is
allowed, mr arnav singh raizada, but hum is not allowed to know anything
about you, do anything for you… bas dekhte rahein aap ki taqleef… aur…
aur… ”
khushi’s voice had risen and sounded quite stern till now,
suddenly it was wobbly… she took a deep breath, steadied herself and
continued, “you’ll eat anything… anything! even though it’s not good for you… k..k..kill yourself…” khushi had no idea but she was bawling by now.
“no, mr raizada, i am not… i am not… dammit! you are!” khushi cried
out and sobbed, her breath shaken, tears beginning to stream down her
face. she could never explain to him the feeling that had gone through
her as he’d picked up a bowl of kheer full of sugar and stalked out,
refusing to talk to anyone. she had sat through breakfast quietly
wondering what to do. later she had gone looking for him and was told by
op, who was clearing up the garden by the poolside where arnav ji had
been working since early morning even before she had woken up, that he
had left for the office. she knew this day was not easy for him so she
had tried not to crowd him, stayed away, hoping he’d feel a bit better.
she was touched by what he had done for her the previous evening.
but when he reached for the kheer…
(you’ll harm yourself and we’ll just watch without saying a thing?
you won’t say anything to anyone, not even me… what had you said… no
shouted! yes, shouted…’you’ll marry me… now!’ just because you believed
you had to… not because you loved me even! that is allowed, mr arnav
singh raizada, but i am not allowed to know anything about you, do
anything for you… just keep watching you in pain… and… and…)
“shhh! khushi, no…” his voice was low and yet it made her listen. she
stopped stuttering and crying and looked at him. he was still sitting
on the other side. his eyes were fixed on her face. they glittered like
pebbles. she could read nothing in them. she stared mesmerised still…
how could eyes have so much shine in them she wondered. his lips began
to stretch… was he smiling? she saw a helpless look pass across his
face… she wanted to run to him. but something held her rooted to the
spot. something said, stay… don’t move.
“who said i didn’t love you even?” his voice was hoarse and the words
seemed to just leave him of their own volition. he leaned forward and
reached out, his fingers, long and brown, touched her left cheek… a
touch that had grown familiar, that she needed… stroking away the tears,
they moved to her forehead and tucked a strand of errant hair behind
her hair.
he looked at her without blinking, a steady long gaze. she could see
his eyes grow hungry slowly. she felt her own heart beat quicken, her
lips crave something.
khushi caught his fingers and gave him a weepy smile.
his lips stretched… at an angle… this time it was a smile.
his shoulders moved once… again.. then he snorted.
khushi frowned. what? that jwalamukhi… that magarmach that frangipani…
“i won’t die if i have one bowl of kheer, khushi…” he tried to say evenly but he clearly laughing.
khushi made to pull away in a huff but he had caught hold of her
hands in a firm grip by then and was walking around the desk already.
even though he laughed, here was a fire in him she knew… he dragged
her into his arms roughly but his voice was the most tender as he said,
“so you called me dammit!”
khushi sighed and threw her arms around him. she had felt so terribly
left out the whole day and worried for him… why couldn’t she have
fallen in love with an easier to understand man, she wondered, then she
quickly shelved the idea and looked up at him adoringly.
asr saw the smiling face, the bright grey green eyes, right now the
grey was iridescent, golden… he felt something draining from within and
an animated exhilaration begin to make its way in. this girl was crazy
and she was beautiful… most importantly she was his.
he smiled, his teeth flashing. he went to kiss her but held back…
what is it that goes on between a man and a woman in a space of time
not recorded anywhere in any annals but for a split second surely
eternity was there, and everything went to still, perhaps even time. a
topsy turvy moment. when lips know a tingling, eyes search, sensation is
born on fingertips, and in some corner of a mind or heart or some other
vital organ a person becomes part of another. what is such a moment
called, or do such moments never have a name…
“arnav ji,” khushi whispered, her eyes now fixed on his lips, she could see them thinning slightly.
“khushi…” even as he murmured her name he was drawing closer, kissing
her eyes, her nose, then her lips… he had picked her up in his arms and
was sitting on his chair, leaning back, letting her lie across him,
upon him, pulling her near, running his hand over her back, his
breathing erratic, rubbing his stubble on her cheek, her chin, her neck,
smiling at her little protests, turning his face to kiss her again,
listening to her sigh of contentment…
she had been angry with him and for some reason that had felt good.
she had looked stunning… though how one managed that in pompoms and gota
continued to remain a mystery. his mind checked his thoughts… he was
again perhaps trying to run away… maybe because of that damn wetness
behind his lids. tears. stinging and warm.
he swallowed hard and kissed her deeper, he felt the swell of her breasts against his chest, her breath…
mooga… he would go looking for it, he decided. long time since he had
sat beside her in a plane. a pallu seemed to brush across his face, a
faint familiar scent…
***
“aap yahan kaise aa gaye?” khushi shrieked as she saw the white
pigeon. she peered at it, yes, the eyes were red. it was her old friend
from lucknow, no doubt about it. and now he was sitting here in the
garden at shantivan.
(how did you get here?)
it was almost five in the evening, she had left arnav ji after a most
satisfying lunch at the dhaba near his office. he had watched
resignedly as she had polished off her three parathe, one makki ki roti,
a bowl of raita, another of sarson ka saag, some lasooni chutney with
it, plus a couple of hot bhajiyas, she particularly liked the brinjal
one, then there had been a round of ice cream at the parlour. he had
asked for a bottle of mineral water and taken a swig from it every once
in a while. he’d said he would grab a bite later. beside that bowl of
kheer…
khushi had wanted to throw the sarson ka saag at him.
after she was done, he’d walked her to the car, kissed her lightly on
the tip of her nose and said, “mind that temper, khushi kumari gupta
singh raizada! i might get to like it too much.”
khushi had blushed violently remembering what had happened in the office earlier.
he had waited till mohan ji had driven out of the parking lot, then gone back to work.
she blushed once more at the memory. really, arnav ji just didn’t understand that you couldn’t… couldn’t…
“kahiye, kabootar ji, koi aise karta hai kya… woh bhi saal ke pehle din… aur office mein…” khushi muttered to the bird.
(say, mr pigeon, does anyone behave like this… that too on the first day of the year… and in the office… )
“shut up, khushi! stop talking to the bird!” asr said from right
behind. he must have come into the garden through the poolside door.
khushi went as red as her deep red churidar kurta, her pompoms swung
wildly. she felt his arms go around her from the back. he pecked her
lightly on the neck and asked, “think your kabootar will fly with us to
assam?”
a banner by sunshine 80, i fell for the greys and and the intensity.
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