new one shot : deal

"the deal's off, gentlemen! akash, let's go."

the voice rang out sharp and precise, its decibel remained low.

there was a tremor on the surface of the water in the glasses on the long conference room table, and as the three men sitting across watched nonplussed, the man who had just uttered those words got up smoothly from the leather upholstered chair and strode toward the exit. behind him shuffled a pleasant looking young man, with a slightly myopic air, his amiable face filling with bewilderment.

the man he followed had not a trace of amiability or bewilderment on his visage. he looked straight ahead, his profile immobile. his jawline was rigid, his lips had thinned to a steely contour, his eyes were opaque. he breathed swiftly, the air he exhaled was searing. anger was apparent in every line and movement of his taut, lithe frame. he walked fast and didn't look back as one of the men, the large one with a flamboyant lavender velvet jacket, called out plaintively, "mr raizada! but, mr raizada...!"

the youngest of the three men, the only one in shirtsleeves, ran after the man who was now almost at the stern of the yacht, where a smart sunseeker predator in white and polished black waited. in front, the elegant arc of mandovi stretched and touched the horizon, it was a warm day in june, sunlight glittered on the undulating ripples, an eagle banked gracefully overhead.

"arnav! arnav! don't worry about what daddy is saying, i'll find a way..." the young man stuttered in his haste, obviously distressed.

the man walking ahead didn't break his stride. at the edge of the stern he leapt neatly across to the other yacht, then he turned and stood still for a moment facing the young man who shifted awkwardly on his feet, looking perturbed.

"it's okay, we agree to your terms!" the young man blurted out, unable to bear the pressure of that long point blank stare.

there was a lick of fire in the inscrutable eyes; though one couldn't be sure. wind blew back thick jet black hair off the man's high forehead, a sharply etched widow's peak at the centre. his precisely cut charcoal grey jacket fluttered in the breeze, the slim trouser legs wrapped around legs firmly planted about a foot apart, the yacht swayed gently.

"good," said the man.

relief washed over the young man's face, he gave a helpless smile and began, "thanks, arnav, you don't know..."

"akash!" the man cut in, "take the deed and let's go!"

he turned around once more and walked off.

the young man was too flabbergasted to say anything. akash singh raizada walked up to him and with his habitual gentle smile held out his hand for the deed of sheesh mahal.


***


sheesh mahal.

he exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. the river was all reflections, the sky closed in, the yacht increased speed. a shrill call cut through the air and hovered over images intent on entering his mind. it was the eagle. he swallowed and an indecipherable expression glanced across the planes and angles of his face, he seemed to start. suddenly his face looked tired, drawn.

sheesh mahal... the house of glass, of shattered mirrors, in which every image must get tainted, must bleed, must die. the eagle called again. his eyes opened and he stared straight into the sun, which was getting brighter just before setting.

dark irises glinted. you could tell now they were brown, a deep startling shade of earth and cognac, a transparency in them which you'd never have imagined only an instant before.

"bhai!" akash was standing behind him, he sounded elated, "how did you manage to swing that! those guys! poor chaps!"

arnav singh raizada gave a tight smile and drawled, "akash. money. it's all about that. and yes -"
he turned deliberately toward his cousin, and reaching out with a languid arm dusted an imaginary speck off his shoulder with long fingers that were, as always, perfectly manicured.

"-don't let anyone get away with a 'no'. remember, you don't win some and lose some, you win them all."

akash grinned nervously. he hoped his cousin was saying this in jest.
he knew for certain, he wasn't.


***


the helicopter's staccato whir sent ripples through the silent air of the night. lights began to dot the land below. first just a handful, then more. and the twinkling grew, beckoning. they had reached lucknow.

arnav sat staring ahead in the passenger's seat behind the pilot. the robinson r66 five seater craft had started to arc toward the destination, they were beginning to descend.

a pair of remote eyes looked down. was there a flash of lightning caught and stilled somewhere, in some inaccessible depth or haunted recess?

the man in the passengers' seat threw back his shoulders and took a deep long breath. it had been a while. yes, a long while. was sheesh mahal ready for him? was he...?

arnav singh raizada cut the thought short.

the flight from goa had been delayed, they'd reached delhi as evening fell. he was determined to reach sheesh mahal that very day. there would be no waiting, enough time had been wasted, been taken away.

he was out of the helicopter the instant it landed. as his feet touched the ground, he breathed in again, this time sharply. it was done. he had returned. he had wrested from the pretenders what was his. the night air touched his face, and seemed to greet him.

darkness lay all around, he let his eyes adjust to it. the grounds stretched into woods at the back, he could hear the sound of water to his right... the river. the helipad was where it had always been, in the far right corner of the property. he pivoted slowly in the direction of the house, it was to the left he knew, even if the night wouldn't let him see anything clearly.

the first silhouetted spire came into view, a rush in his throat made him draw in his breath. the muscles in his gut clenched, his diaphragm was taut, as if anticipating an attack. he let his eyes travel further over the barely visible curves and arches. the massive shadowy structure coalesced into view, memory filled in the details.

there was the front door below the main arch at the centre, a series of windows with stained glass ornate tops flanked it on either side. a pathway led to the door through the manicured lawn.

sheesh mahal.

his steps quickened. he could feel the crunch of gravel under his feet.

clouds shifted in the sky, a bright ivory moon lit the night.



***


he pushed open the heavy mahogany door and stepped into the hallway. it cut the night air out, he was enclosed in a cocoon of silence. arnav walked briskly to the wide pavilion ahead, which ran all around the four sides of the central courtyard. he could see the row of pillars along it in the moonlight. there were twenty four in all, six on each side.

he went out onto the mosaic paved courtyard and stood there for a moment. then he inhaled deeply, remembering. trying not to remember.

why had he not reached in time? why had he not started running the moment he felt something was not right? why had he waited? had he not... had he not- his breath became short, constricted, laboured. even after so many years, he couldn't think of that moment without feeling his breath slowly die.

maa had died. he had been too late.

the night was mute and unmoving around him, an indictment in its stubborn quiet. he had known it would be difficult to return, but he hadn't known just how difficult. arnav looking up at the star studded sky above. he willed himself to take control; he would counter the pain, he would not brook it. maa would never come back, his father would always be the weak philanderer he was, and his uncle a charlatan, a thief.

but his sister was innocent. she was a mere child of four when their parents died that treacherous night. later their uncle cheated them out of everything they had. he had promised himself then, he'd get sheesh mahal back for her. it would be her eighteenth birthday present.

arnav exhaled slowly. anjali had no real memory of their home. or maa, or pita ji. to her, arnav was her elder brother, mother and father. she called him badey... elder. she'd be eighteen in a couple of weeks. unbelievable.

a tiny smile played on his lips as he thought of his sibling. the right corner of his lips dipped a little more than the left. an asymmetry his mirror reflected without any kindness, a part of him. his eyes glinted. he swallowed hard, his adam's apple jutted out, an ache in his throat. he had been only fourteen at the time. his maternal grandmother, nani ji, had stepped in and taken over. they had gone to delhi with her and lived there ever since, along with their mother's brother and his wife, their uncle and aunt–mama ji and mami ji– and their son, akash. anjali bullied akash shamelessly. poor akash.
arnav was about to reach for his phone to call anjali when he heard the noise.

he started. what was that?

a sweep of fluttering wings overhead. he looked up involuntarily and saw the pigeons flying out of the eaves.


***


there was the noise again.

a tinkling, bell like. bells? here? arnav frowned.

was he imagining it? how could anyone be here? the main door had been locked. besides no one lived in sheesh mahal. his uncle's agents had assured him of that. he shook his head, it must have been the pigeons.

a shadow moved somewhere. he looked around swiftly, his eyes darted toward the upper floor. the covered balcony with the ornate balustrade and stucco decorations on the ceiling and arches loomed above, with its curiously watchful air. darkness crowded its hollows, moonbeams streamed in at places illuminating a baluster here, a lamp shade or stained glass elsewhere. but all seemed still up there.

arnav craned his neck, peering. right behind his head there was the sound again. arnav didn't turn this time. his head cocked at an angle, eyes narrowed, a feral alertness in him, he tried to gauge what the noise might be, what was its source.

bells, yes, they were bells... he was sure now. he had heard bells like that before. here, in this house...
maa. his mother's anklets used to have a clear happy sound, a jingle of tiny gently swaying round bells, like the pitter patter of raindrops.

his eyes closed at the reminder of that sound, pain shot through him. he swallowed involuntarily, feeling the tightness in his throat. the bells could be heard again, now a longer spell. who was running around the house wearing anklets?

arnav opened his eyes. no, this wasn't his imagination.

he swung on his heels and dashed back into the pavilion, taking care not to make any noise. he let his instincts lead him to the stairs and raced up, two steps at a time.


***


reaching the balcony above, arnav turned blindly to the left, that's where the noise had come from he was quite certain.

something beat furiously close to his ears. wings. a pigeon flew by brushing his cheeks and eyes with its rushing wings. he ran on down the balcony, intent on finding the intruder.

as he turned at the far end of the long marbled stretch, he felt the hit on his chest, it knocked the wind out of him, he almost fell but managed to stay on his feet. his arms shot out and caught hold of whatever it was that had made such violent contact with him. he stood there gasping for breath, his eyes closed.

an instant went by, grabbed by the night and locked away in its opaque embrace.

just an instant, or maybe a fraction of it, a tiny endless piece of an infinitesimal sliver of time.

then the frantic threshing registered. arnav realised the thing he was holding was moving constantly and with considerable force. what was it?

he opened his eyes and frowned darkly at it, his anger mounting. his lips had already tightened as he glared at the object. he wasn't sure what he noticed first though, the eyes or the volley of breaths.
large iridescent irises were looking at him angrily. or were they terrified?

it was a girl.

a woman, in fact.

arnav stared at her dumbfounded.

a woman? what was she doing here?

he felt her breath on him; on his neck and chin; warm, stirred up. she was breathing fast and she was pushing hard against him. arnav was still trying to collect his thoughts. who could she possibly be? why was she here?

he noticed his hands were grasping her tightly, he could feel her bones through the fabric of her clothes. his left hand was on the small of her back, his right hand was clamped on her left arm and was twisting it behind her.

she made an incoherent, vicious sound and tried to jerk away from him.

he caught hold of her shoulders none too gently and shook her as he bit out through clenched teeth, "who the hell are you?!"

she didn't answer. instead she wriggled desperately and tried to wrench herself free, but he was not letting go.

"i said who... are... you?!" arnav repeated in a guttural voice, pausing menacingly between each word.

a thought struck him and he could feel a surge of anger ricochet through him. his uncle. was this woman part of some game his uncle was playing? a plant? here to sabotage his possession of sheesh mahal? arnav's anger and instinct came to a decision.

he tightened his grip on her shoulders and thrust his face close to her, his lips drawn back in a sinister grimace, eyes glowing with chilling fury.

she drew back and strained against him, trying to get away. he pushed his face further toward hers, his rage scalding.

"who... sent... you? ANSWER ME DAMMIT!" his hoarse voice rang out and echoed off the bare walls and  surfaces of the empty mansion clothed in darkness.

the girl flinched. her eyes widened and grew more opalescent. her body began to tremble. he could feel her shoulders shake; she has such fragile, small bones, he thought taken aback. and what was that pounding he could hear? it was getting louder, almost deafening. he felt his mouth go slightly dry. what was he sensing? danger?

he saw her open her lips... why were they shimmering?... she took a slow breath, tilting her head up till it went all the way back, till he could see the arch of her dark eyebrows in the moonlight, the bridge of her sharp nose, the curve of her upper lip... her quivering chin... the long column of her neck...

arnav waited. the pounding was louder now. what was it?

suddenly he knew what it was. his eyes were wary as he looked down. he saw their bodies touching, almost fused near the chest; the pounding was coming from there. it was heart beats.
how could heart beats be so loud?

he could feel them racing against his sternum, striking the inner walls of his chest cavity, riding up his throat. whose heart beats were these? his? or were they hers? he had the strangest sensation of drowning for a moment. running... he was running... but he knew he wouldn't reach in time.
he felt a jolt... it was her. the girl. the woman.

she was pushing him back with all her might. as the force with which she resisted scaled and overcame his hold, she lost balance and surged toward him, her face coming up close to him, her breath on his eyelids and cheeks.

then she heaved and thrust him back with both her hands, and kicked him on the shin. the pain made him wince and her shoulders slipped out of his grip. a cascade of shimmery fabric; a skirmish of anger, surprise, and velocity... and she was gone. he turned swiftly and lunged to catch her, but she was quicker. his feet moved of their own accord, giving chase. he could hear the sound again of those wretched bells as she fled. by the time he reached the main door, she had disappeared.

he stood there, dazed and furious. the woman had sensed his distraction and taken advantage of the moment. his opponent had got the better of him. arnav didn't like that. he didn't like that at all. he looked out into the night and up at the starlit sky.

"dammit!" he hurled at his invisible opponent under his breath.

arnav turned and went back into sheesh mahal.

he had to know who this woman was. she couldn't get away so easily. he retraced his steps all the way back to where she had bounded into him. he squinted at the balustrade, the floor, searching for what he wasn't sure. he took a step, what was that under his foot? he prodded with his shoe.
there was the noise again.

arnav bent down and touched the object. he lifted it up slowly, wondering what it was. it was a delicate strand of silver he saw, there were tiny clusters of round bells hanging from it. it was an anklet. he raised it further up to examine it more closely in the moonlight. a frown creased his forehead.

such a small insignificant little thing. but that's all that was needed. it wasn't easy to defeat arnav singh raizada; a smile began to tilt his lips; an almost meditative malevolence entered his eyes. his adversary would have to return. and this time, she wouldn't get away.
he felt the thrill of a win in his gut. his heart beat accelerated.


***


the girl was pelting down the path leading to her house. it wasn't too far. she had climbed in through the window at the back as usual to feed the pigeons. she'd gotten late because they'd gone to the fair today. she shivered at the thought of the intruder. no one lived in sheesh mahal... so, who was that man? or maybe he wasn't a man at all. he was... he was... she almost screamed at the thought. was he a ghost? was he a... m... m... monster??

she folded her hands together in supplication as she ran.

"hey devi maiyya" she prayed fervently to her goddess, "save me! save me!"

but what was that? something was not right. she stopped and looked down at her feet. where was the anklet on her left leg?!!! was it lying somewhere on the road... or perhaps it had fallen off in sheesh mahal??

the girl could hear her heart beat thudding against her rib cage, speeding up.





............................................................................................................................................
a cataclysmic meeting. i just felt like intruding upon that. arnav singh raizada and khushi kumari gupta were on my mind. started writing this one shot months ago, but only the other day it all started coming together. so i decided to give myself a birthday treat. hope you had fun reading it. i have no idea if this is the preamble to a longer story. for now, it's this... the meeting. the collision. the cessation of all normalcy.

  

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episode rambles 

episode 3 a touch calls

khushi's dupatta reached out and touched arnav's face, lingering.

if i had to write a precis of episode three, that's what i would write. nothing else. for that's what touched and lingered over the heart. it  was beautifully written into the story and shot, and it powerfully embedded the idea of connection. 

connection that is made unknowingly, unknown to both. perhaps true connections are like that... you don't seek it at a rational plane, you let it come to you, or rather, it comes to you. that in our existence replete with challenges, where usually extremely practical concerns have shaped thoughts and ideas, the very fact that we have come to the notion of love and given it so much value is a surprising thing. and then to actually evolve to a one man one woman idea, where we hope to create a permanent tie, how childish at one level really... is human the animal even remotely monogamous? even nature doesn't make us so... yet we have been touched by and yearned for this feeling we name love. and search forever to find its name, paradoxically... its meaning.

we have lived and died for it, written songs novels essays poetry, and dreamed of it. love, such a difficult to rationalize thing. why do we love someone or something? hard to answer that one. we humans who keep talking about "reality" and "get real" actually have never been able to snuff out the call of this ideal, even if we speak of it mockingly at times.

why?

from where does it come?

it comes wafting and touches us and lingers.

3 always feels like a song to me; that song which plays, arziyaan saari... all my wishes i have brought written on my face. powerful actors and a director along with writers who wanted to go beyond and touch another kind of realm in their story, have created twenty odd minutes of beauty and lyricism that a trp/money obsessed "reality" driven genre neither seeks nor celebrates. but who is to tell barun sobti, sanaya irani, shashi gupta, daljeet bhanot, deepali pansare that, especially the first two... and also nisar parvez, maan singh, and the creative team.

whoever thought of that gold coloured fiat... absolutely inspired choice that, i laugh and yet i feel a whole world and its feelings, its milieu, its heart and hopes.

the wishes were really written on faces. even if i close my eyes i can see a still profile, sharply etched lines, regal bearing of head. feels like all the breath, all the air from everywhere has been trapped and taken in. nothing out there. and yet one can sense a fire somewhere, a fire that burns and won't be put out. it calls and i stare.

the director of these three shots of a solitary arnav singh raizada standing on some terrace in lucknow, looking out at the city with its graceful ancient contours, he the utter counterpoint... a man of his times, needs a special salaam. and where exactly did barun sobti learn to create that stillness.  
 
i get stuck on that scene at times and can't think of anything else. there was often in barun's delivery a thickness, a volume... layers and layers which possibly came from the thought he had put into the moment delineated... i'll never know, but something beckons at certain scenes and one just must look and feel.

the other face was a young beautiful sprightly girl's who was in tears and we thought she was going to set herself on fire. instead she made jalebis, mountains of them and bit into them from time to time, weeping buckets.

sanaya irani did some sort of magic here. what could have become a ha ha hilarious scene, she with her capturing of khushi in her heart and mind, made into a moving portrayal of vulnerability and a valiantly sunny nature, also that inexorable innocence that almost nothing can vanquish. she is badly shaken up by all that has transpired... a horrible encounter with a terrifying man, her sister's wedding broken, and then her mother and her aunt reminding her of the one thing that completely breaks her. she is not their own flesh and blood... she is not real family. adopted.

after the storm and shatter of 1 and 2, where the protagonists met and wrangled for the first time, the story is telling us a little bit about the characters. establishing their sketch, what's important to them, what makes them who they are, and most importantly, how completely unlike each other they are. one is black, the other white, as it were...
and yet, on that still face, there is vulnerability. and just as khushi has a deep relationship with her babu ji who has taught her from the time she was a child that "khoon ke rishto se dil ke rishtey..." more significant than blood ties are the ties of the heart, so does the stone faced man with the young woman who had interrupted his show.

he is perturbed to see chane ki roti instead of oats for breakfast by the pool. he knows who could have done that. and why is she still here, he barks at his assistant. she appears just then and says, well she is the culprit. he is not appeased or amused, she should go to delhi and be with his jija ji, her husband, but this beautiful woman in a gauzy saree does as she pleases and smiles beguilingly, bossing over him a bit. he has told her many times not to call her "chhotey", little one... how beautifully barun says that without losing even a bit of asr yet sounding huffy and cute.

and at one point he gets too angry to hang around and begins to stalk off. she calls out, her helplessness in her voice and lurches after him... suddenly he stops and turns, she takes another halting step, obviously she limps. he simply walks back to her and holds her, supporting... he can't hurt her or see her in that state. 

his di. asr with all his hard heart and nasty tongue and don't care and ruthlessness has a completely vulnerable side to him. his sister, he can't bear to see her in pain, a complex set of reasons there no doubt. but the most powerful one is love. his love for her.

and in khushi's life no one is perhaps more precious than her babu ji. she adores her sister who absolutely dotes on her, she needs her amma who is the giver of tough love, but babu ji is her life, her succour... and why not, it is he who understands what makes his chhutki  feel really terrible, he senses her tender heart and gives it the balm it needs, the truth it must accept and be strong with. the relationships of the heart are stronger than those of blood.

chhotey and chhutki. so utterly different, tycoon and jalebi maker, city and small town, remote and engaged, dark and light, ruthless and tender... and yet somewhere both broken, both needing something... the wishes, the arziyaan that need not be said for it's there on their faces and the one who knows will know what to do with them.

usually i am allergic to overtly religious bends in stories, mandir masjid church used arbitrarily to bludgeon the viewer into believing in a higher power. but this mazar scene is so very beautifully written in and reached and walked through... i love it. again and again while watching the initial episodes i have got a feeling i am watching a movie with all its largeness and details and not something small. the language is often of cinema, the shots, the angles, the expanse. beautiful direction. the qawwali's sound pouring upward the devotee's plea... it's a real mazar i get the feeling, the ensigns, the fakirs, the peacock feather bundles for blessing... authentic, touching, remind me of sikri. 

and there they arrive, one sent by his sister to complete the mannat, aloof, uninterested, just doing his duty, he'll be done in a few minutes, no need to cancel meetings.

and she comes with her family to the urs they go to every year. this year it will perhaps heal them, lift the gloom that has entered their lives.
 
khushi and payal are obviously familiar with the place and want to be completely involved with everything. khushi will not stay away from anything, she is here for a maximum urs experience. and baba must be spoken to loudly and told all her deep desires and wishes. also about that laad governor. she has mentioned him a couple of times already to her sister, obviously he is never too far from her mind. next time she sees him, she'll really give it to him, yeah.

he however shows no sign of even remembering her. not till the very end that is.

this ease with which hindus come to a muslim shrine especially a mannat place... makes me miss india every time. for it is exactly like this, even now. i recall going to a mazar in bangalore and making a mannat... also at sikri.

the scene where the sisters and the dark inert man come into frame and cover their heads signals at something momentous, i don't know why.

then my favourite scene... the two walking on either side of a procession. one in white, grinning, leaping, taking part in everything, eyes shining. the other, with long loping stride that i could watch forever, all black, handsome forehead below pure white hankie, a chiseled unmoving profile, eyes still, closed, no entry for anything or anybody.

the song rises from a group of qawwals who feel even more real than what we see in films. the main singer is surely that in real life.

as words of desires, messed fortunes, of being erased being made, beseeching, maula maula maula mere maula, oh my lord... fill the air, the two walk, parallel lines literally.

but they shall meet.

she will take a turn and pass before him, both unaware of the other. and her white gossamer dupatta will blow in the wind, reach and find the face that has no hope on it and... touch.

it will stay there, clinging to the craggy features of that stony face, getting caught in its peaks and planes, almost caressing. he who is so impatient and snaps at the slightest, will say nothing as the fine virginal cloth will do its thing and move on... he will only look after the one who wears the dupatta and walks away, with an impassive face. nothing in his eyes, no expression, yet a pause. that seems to say something vital.

how magnificently barun sobti interacts with the moment.. and sanaya moving away, no idea, that laad governor has been beckoned by her dupatta.

the dupatta. an oft used slightly obvious device employed by many directors, here though it rarely felt contrived, heightened reality but not silly and jarring. dupattas don't do such things, and yet they do fly and when two actors start treating it with a certain dropping of their sense of disbelief, it almost becomes an emissary. khushi's many thoughts, which perhaps a well brought up middle class girl would never say, were expressed by the flying odhni.

while thinking of the dupatta, i was reminded of the other piece of cloth that flutters in the wind and says so much... the flag of a nation. there's a funny power in just a piece of cloth dancing in the wind.

today though what was the dupatta saying exactly? i had no way of knowing, but it was eloquent. it made him stop. take note. it connected the two just as the ripping of a dori in episode 2 had done. then there was violence and knowledge, here neither, but it was just as powerful.

arnav singh raizada had entered khushi's life with an egregious rip that reflected him perhaps. and now a reply from khushi, with her untouched absolute innocence, gentle and soft yet with a weight and power of its own.

every scene inside the mazar was beautiful and poignant.

he was done at last and ready to leave, while she continued to pray. but then a key fell. mannat ki chabi... like a symbol of something. or someone. the ever alert miss sunshine saw the key fall and had to rush and pick it up...

wait, your mannat ki chabi has fallen.

when he heard her voice, what was that in his eyes? did he sense something? did she sound familiar? he turned and there was of course instant recognition. turmoil in her. a strange noncommittal air about him. he was here because di wanted him to be here, he was ready to leave. the girl from last night, he didn't care.

"phenk do..." throw it away... with two words again he painted a character...

but she would not let him go...

and in seconds from an almost ethereal moment to a chase a la good old hindi phillums. chaotic khushi run after the man walking calmly away, taking off his bandana, looking deadly cold and handsome beyond belief and she charming, nubile, mojri slipping off, funny, pretty, utterly delectable almost as crunchy and delicious as her favourite jalebi, an orange ire in her, how dare he? how dare he!

you can't go like this... and so it was that the girl whose dori he had ripped stopped him from leaving and altered the course of their lives forever.

arziyaan sari mein, chehre pe likh ke laaya hoon
all my requests have i brought written across my face

tumse kya mangu mein, tum khud hi samajh lo...
what should i ask of you, why don't you yourself understand

ya maula... maula maula maula mere maula
o my lord... my lord

maula maula maula mere maula
oh lord... my god

maula maula maula maula

dararein dararein maathe pe maula
cracks (lines) on my forehead, o lord

maramat mukadar ki kar do maula, mere maula..
repair my fortune, my fate, my lord

tere dar pe jhuka hoon mita hoon bana hoon
i've bowed at your door, been erased, been made,

marammat mukdar ki kar doo maula..
repair my fortune, my fate, my lord
 
jo bhi tere dar aaya, jhukne jo sar aaya
whoever has come to your door, whichever head has come to bow

mastiyan piye sabko, jhoomta nazar aaya
drunk on fun/happiness and dancing they've looked to all

pyaas le ke aaya tha, dariya woh bhar laya
he had come with thirst, and filled up a sea

noor ki barish mein bheegta sa tar aaya
drenched in the rain of light, he has came

...

o ek khushbu aati thi
a fragrance would come

main bhatakta jata tha
and i'd lose my way

reshmi si maya thi
there was a silken mirage

aur mein takta jata tha
and i'd keep staring at it

jab teri gali aaya, sach tabhi nazar aaya
when i came to your lane, only then did i see the truth

mujhme woh khusboo thi, jisse tune milwaya
the fragrance was in me, with whom you introduced me

...

aaa aaa...

tut ke bikharna mujhko zarur aata hai
i know how to break and scatter of course

varna ibbadat wala sarur aata hai
otherwise i know only how to pray

sajde mein rehne do, abb kahin na jaunga
let me stay at your feet, i will not go anywhere now

abb jo tumne thukraya to sawar na paunga
now if you leave me i will not be able to recover

maula maula maula mere maula
maula maula maula maula
dararein dararein hai maathe pe maula
maramat mukdar ki kar do maula, mere maula..

sar utha ke maine to kitni khwahishe ki thi
i had asked for so many things with my head raised

kitne khwaab dekhe the, kitni khosishe ki thi
i'd seen so many dreams, i'd tried so hard

jab tu rubaru aaya...
when you appeared before me

jab tu rubaru aaya nazarein na mila paya
when you appeared before me i could not meet your eyes

sar jhuka ke ek pal mein...
with bowed head in a second...

sar jhuka ke ek pal mein maine kya nahi paya
with bowed head in a second what have i not received

maula maula maula mere maula
maula maula maula maula
maula maula maula mere maula, mere maula..
maula maula maula maula mere maula..

mora piya ghar aaya, mora piya ghar aaya
my husband/partner has come home
 
maula maula maula mere maula

the song is written by prashoon joshi for delhi 6. ar rahman's music. i have attempted a translation. took the translation by princess on hindilyrics.net as reference.

n i s h a n a   e p i s o d e s
.........

episode rambles

fan fiction

ncofl... never on a new year: epilogue

“hume lagta hai, you need a hair cut, arnav ji!” khushi blurted out when asr suddenly looked up while fixing his tie and caught her staring at him.

(i think… you need a hair cut, arnav ji!)

it was seven in the morning, she was still half asleep in bed. 
she’d heard some noise and her eyes had opened for a moment. he’d walked into the room from the adjoining dressing room just then, in a charcoal waistcoat over a light khaki shirt, black trousers, his hair still wet. he was pulling his tie around his collar, chin up, distracted air. she had no idea why but her breath had quickened.

she’d not been able to look away. and though her eyelids were heavy with sleep, she’d found it difficult to shut them. it was a strange problem.

a shard of light seemed to streak through brown irises for an instant. fine lips, with their natural asymmetry, the right corner dragging down just a little bit… gave a quick smile. a dark eyebrow went up. the knot was tugged and set in place.
“shut up, khushi!” said arnav singh raizada. his voice was husky with a note of that early morning crispness.

khushi ducked under the sheets.

her knees had started turning to water. she swallowed hard and shut her eyes tight. the butterflies in her stomach though refused to settle down.

something moved. a blast of cold air on her face. her eyes opened, startled. he was bending over her, he’d just yanked the sheet off her face.

she could smell his light musky aftershave, she could feel his breath getting warmer as he came nearer, she could see his lips open and his head turn…

and then he was kissing her on the mouth. a hard quick kiss. then a gentle slow one. then a murmuring soft barely there one.

the butterflies were setting up a storm. her breathing had almost stopped. her body was taut, all sleep forgotten.
he kissed her once more. this time on her cheek.

then he stood up quickly, flicked her nose, and turned away.
“remember, 9 o’clock, sharp!” he said, as he shrugged on his jacket and strode out of the room.


***

“arri! arri! bhy bhy… bhy you’j phalayings like thayt, again becomings madhumakhhi, ij eet? hello hi bye bye!” mami ji asked, her voice careening to highs at appropriate words such as “phalayings” and “ij eet”. she was dressed in her mooga mekhela.

to draw attention to her waist where she had tucked the chadar, she had worn a heavy gold kamar band. it lay in a dazzling arc around her left hip, the tiny bells along its edge jingled as manorama walked her usual sashay. that it was just about 8.30 in the morning was of course not allowed to interfere with manorama raizada’s choice of makeup, clothes or jewellery at all. she had also chosen a particularly bright pink lipstick this morning.

(hey hey, why why… why are you flying like that, again becoming a honey bee, are you? hello hi bye bye!)
she posed by her chair at the table and arched an eyebrow at khushi who was running down the steps, arms flailing and breathless, her maroon jhola with bright mirror work swinging about, her mojris almost off her feet.

“mami ji! hume nau baje tak… i have to reach the office by nine, arnav ji will be so angry if i’m late again!” khushi ran over to the table, breakfast had been served. she stuffed a poori into her mouth, grabbed a glass of lassi, tried to swallow the poori with some lassi, choked and and started coughing.

(mami ji… by nine i must…)

“dheere, bitiya, dheere!” mama ji said in his calm placid way, “i know today arnav bitwa and akas bitwa will be very busy because of the show… but have your breakfast slowly.”

(slowly, child, slowly!)

at this, manorama did a shimmy with her lips and hips simultaneously and sat down.

“aur aap, manorama, ka aap cow walk ke liye taiyaar hui gayi subah ma hi?” mama ji smiled indulgently at his overdressed wife, there was the tiniest hint of sarcasm in his tone.

(and you, manorama, are you all dressed up for the cow walk in the morning itself?)

manorama looked daggers at her husband. she would have said something but her mother in law was sitting at the head of the table.

hemangini raizada tried to hide a smile. she turned to khushi and said, “yes, khushi bitiya, finish your breakfast… payal bitiya will call chhotey and tell him you’ll be a little late.”
“nooo! nahin! nani ji!” khushi started chewing really fast and taking gulps of lassi, “i reach work late every day… he says nothing! but i know, he knows… even when he is out…! i’m sure he keeps track! that that…” khushi’s eyes narrowed, her lips thinned, several words such as laad governor, magarmach, rakshas, khadoos, chudail, jwalamukhi, shadyantri sher passed through her mind, then she weakly said, “…arnav ji!”

she couldn’t call him any of those things in front of the elders. hey devi maiyya, this man was driving her crazy.

“today he said, i must be there at nine sharp…!” khushi exclaimed and kept eating and talking.

payal watched her sister, her head shaking gently, a little smile on her lips. it was good that khushi was eating her breakfast even if she hadn’t stopped talking. both these activities were highly important to khushi. she was clearly very happy, and wanted to go to arnav ji as soon as possible. payal started putting butter on a hot toast, she could see her mother in law had finished her first one and was still looking quite miffed at what her father in law had said.

op appeared almost magically as he often tended to. his warm, ugly face was wreathed in smiles.

“babua peed on me!” his eyes shone as he reported the news and then disappeared kitchen ward.

mami ji’s face underwent an extreme transformation instantly.

“oh my clebhers boyj, my darlings mupphinwa, my kings… anjali bitiya wills nebhers by saydwa agains!” she said in a rush, the sweetest of smile on her lips, her eyes sparkled.

(oh my clever boy, my darling muffin, my king… anjali will never be sad again!)

adil, anjali’s son was almost four months old now. he was a chubby little fellow who smiled all the time. everyone adored him, of course. anjali sang him songs at night, her voice floated over the poolside. khushi had seen arnav ji smile to himself at times when he sat out there. watching him happy always made her stomach knot. she left him alone at such moments.

khushi grinned at payal, their nephew was the cutest thing ever and between them they called him balu jaan. balu, short for balushahi. after all, his favourite aunts, his mamis, were daughters of lucknow’s most well know sweet maker and who didn’t know his balushahis.

suddenly khushi hiccuped, her eyes widened to large circles, she shrieked, “kya! five minutes to nine!”

then she was flying out of her chair and down the hall before anyone could stop her. when she saw lakshmi ji at the door, she shouted “lakshmi ji, please pray for me… hum aate hain!” at the goat and she was gone.

(lakshmi ji, please pray for me… i’ll be back!)

“hooonh! phalayings!” manorama muttered and took a delicate bite of her well buttered toast.


***

“ah!” asr said, looking up as khushi walked into his office, “okay, aman, get it done! i’ll be back in about an hour!”
he got up and walked around his desk briskly. aman, who had been sitting across the desk, going over the details of the show once more, got to his feet too.

“let’s go!” asr said to his wife, who stood there looking flustered. he caught hold of her hand and started pulling her along, moving swiftly, going down the spiral staircase that led from his office to the lower floor.

“hu–um kahan jaa rahe hain, arnav ji!” khushi asked sounding confused. where was he taking her? and what was the rush?

(where are we going, arnav ji!)

asr didn’t bother to reply. he kept walking fast, his steps long, his slim trouser legs wrapping around his ankle, not getting any tie to fall with its smooth crease, his hand grasping hers. khushi was having a tough time keeping the mojris on her feet.

“lavanya!” he stopped in front of lavanya’s office for a second, “don’t forget to send the car for naho an hour earlier, she wants to go somewhere before coming to the airport!”

“don’t worry, asr… i won’t forget!” lavanya said, giving khushi a big grin. before khushi could say anything though, asr had started walking off again, her trailing behind him.

***

“here! what are we doing here, arnav ji?” khushi was mystified.

“we’ve come to eat golgappa!” asr said curtly, unfastening her seat belt and getting out of his suv. he was going around the car to her side, when khushi opened the door and jumped out…

“yeh aap kya kah rahe hai! golgappe!” she almost shrieked.
(what are you saying! golgappa!)

“shut up, khushi! i have no time today… now shall we go!” asr came toward her as she backed away. something made her want to run. her jhola bag hit a hard object… it was the bonnet of the car. khushi stopped, she couldn’t go back any farther, he was approaching still, closing the distance between them. her eyes had a trace of fear, her breathing had become rapid, asymmetrical.

a strange look passed over asr’s face. all the muscles seemed to relax. he stopped in front of her and bent down slowly, his eyes had a softness in them she noticed… his lips were on hers and he was kissing her slowly. his hands caressed her sides, then held her hips and pulled her close, his tongue nudged against her teeth. khushi wished her knees were made of something solid, like that car’s bonnet maybe. arnav ji… she let her hands slide around his hips and opened her mouth, her eyelids felt heavy. a lick of fire came out of nowhere and and made the soles of her feet go searing hot. a mojri slipped off.


***

light played on the red. the red was deep almost scarlet. around it glittered facets in a dark shade... like night.
 
khushi stared speechless at what lay before her. she couldn’t speak. arnav ji’s hand in hers felt reassuring, maybe she could breathe, nothing would happen.

the necklace was about an inch wide, it was set with oval shaped rubies and black diamonds in rose gold. the rubies sparkled right across it, whimsical touches of black diamonds here and there, a sheen of gold in between. but everything was really in those red stones… the rubies. they were magnificent. bharathi prakash had just taken the necklace out of its case and laid it on a bed of white satin.

“asr, i hope you like it… i got as many burmese rubies as i could get on such short notice. six months is just not enough time as you know. all the stones are natural… untreated. otherwise, it just doesn’t have the look… that… that preciousness. khushi my dear, it will look stunning on you… and with your ring!” bharathi had beamed and spoken all the while as she’d gone about arranging things and getting the necklace out. khushi sat there looking more and more bemused.

arnav ji had brought her here once, which is why she had been so surprised when they had stopped in front of the beautiful house. then he said all that about golgappe! rakshas, magarmach... she could feel a smile though as the thoughts flitted across.

he had bought her her dark red ruby ring, her engagement ring, from this jewellery shop that didn’t look like a shop at all. khushi remembered that day suddenly, how she had hated him… yes, really! how he’d said he liked the ring… then he’d slipped it onto her finger. later in the car going back… “bas, khushi!” khushi stopped her thoughts instantly. her cheeks began to flame. she felt arnav ji’s grip on her hand grow tighter. she turned and looked at him, her expression tremulous.

(enough, khushi!)

his jawline was what she saw first. it was hard, angular, unyielding. the stubble across his cheek, his chin, up to his high cheek bones was perfectly even. her eyes moved farther up, he glanced at her just then, a brilliant heat in his eyes. she breathed in sharply.

he had ordered this six months ago? for her?

there must be some mistake. why would arnav ji…

“like it?” she heard him ask in a curt, specific way.

she nodded, then she struggled to find her voice.

“kisske liye?” she asked in a whisper. bharathi ji was surely mistaken, this must be for…

(it’s for whom?)

“mere liye,” asr deadpanned and picked up the necklace. bharathi walked away, khushi wondered why. and would arnav ji now wear the necklace!

(for me.)

she stared at him, eyes beginning to say too many things. asr stood up. khushi breathed in deeply… there must be some mistake.

something cold touched khushi’s neck. she shivered. she felt the necklace settle against her skin, it seemed so sure of itself, knowing exactly where to sit. arnav ji’s fingers were at the back of her neck, he was fixing the clasp. a tear reached her eyelid from where exactly she didn’t know. then it fell down her cheek.

her jwalamukhi. her arnav ji…

“here, khushi, take a look,” bharathi had just placed a mirror before her on the cabinet top.

she lifted her eyelids and there she was in the mirror, the skein of red glowing around her neck… her tears refracted the light rays, the shimmer of stones merged and become a continuous flow. of red… blood… she looked straight into arnav ji’s eyes. he was looking at her in the mirror.

he gave a funny tight smile. she saw his hand lift, brown long steady fingers… his index finger brushed away her tears.
“bharathi… it’s just what i had in mind, ” he murmured, looking at the older lady. she was elegant in a pair of loose white slacks and a dove grey silk shirt today, her hair was cut short now and perfectly blow dried.

bharathi smiled, pleased, it was always good to know what the customer really wanted… she had spent almost thirty five years in the business figuring that out.

“asr, i had a feeling, you might want these as well… so i…” bharathi held out a little box. inside lay two earrings. each had a square ruby around which were sprinkled tiny black diamonds, a small fall of diamonds dangled from each one.
asr frowned and perused them, he said nothing. khushi saw little crow’s feet appear at the corner of his eyes.

“thanks, bharathi… great touch!” he shot a smile at her. 

bharathi motioned to a young assistant to pack the jewellery.
khushi watched the proceedings, still unable to say anything.
she reached back to take off her necklace. her necklace… she felt her heart leap. this was hers.

hands which were slightly calloused, rough in places, stopped her fingers.

she looked at him in the mirror again. he was standing right behind her. she could see the length of his neck from this angle, he swallowed… then he said, “don’t take it off!”
her eyes widened… he was walking away already.

***

khushi licked her lips, a little breathless. they were driving back.

“arnav ji!” khushi started…

“hmm? ” he sounded completely absent minded.

khushi had wanted to thank him, but suddenly it all got to her. nine sharp… golgappa… for me… really! and how dare he buy her such an expensive thing without even saying anything to her… who did he think he was…

“arnav singh raizada!” he was looking straight ahead as he brusquely said the words.

“huh!” khushi looked at him, puzzled.

“you just asked, who does this laad governor think he is!” he countered evenly. the car slowed down, then stopped.

asr unfastened his seat belt and turned toward khushi.

“aap kaise hume…” khushi blurted rounding on him, her agitation growing.

(how can you…)

his hand went up and touched her cheek. the gentlest stroke followed. khushi felt tears rush to her eyes again.

“shh!” his breath was on her cheek, then his lips… “don’t cry… i… can’t bear to see you cry…” he pulled her toward him. he would always remember her eyes filled with tears, dark and accusing and scared… that very first time he saw her.

she felt her hand go of its own volition to his cheek and her fingers wanting to be grazed by that stubble of his. their bodies began to intertwine almost involuntarily. neither noticed they were right on humayun road, surrounded by fairly heavy traffic. it was eleven in the morning.

he nuzzled her neck, kissing her behind her left ear. she heard him moan softly. she drew him against her, forgetting her indignation.

he suddenly sat up straight and started the engine.

she knew his day was packed, they were flying to lucknow at four o’clock. the show was to start at eight. she didn’t say anything. she touched her necklace with unsteady fingers and kept quiet for a change.

though not for long.

“what! where are you going, arnav ji!” she yelled as asr swung sharply to the right and drove into the gates of the taj mansingh.

he didn’t bother to reply. instead he braked as he came up to the porch, got out, flung the keys at the waiting valet and holding khushi’s hand raced up the stairs two at a time, to the reception.

***

khushi glanced around the room. it was a suite actually, they were in the sitting room with its deep sofas covered in pale salmon velvet and chairs with ornate backs and finishes in burnt gold. she remembered he had brought her to a room like this once… that afternoon… she smiled and stepped inside. but today he had so much work…

she turned to tell him that but he just picked her up in his arms and started walking toward the bedroom. khushi stared, there was a look on his face.

he lowered her onto the bed and threw off his jacket. soon his waist coat was on the couch by the large bed, then his tie… swift movement of precise long fingers and his shirt was off. khushi gasped.

arnav singh raizada unbuckled his belt and pulled it out, throwing it carelessly on the table by the couch, then he went to her and pulled her up holding both her hands in one of his. without seeking permission or fumbling, he twisted her around, his hands came up and caught hold of her breasts, cupping them, squeezing slightly. he bent and bit her neck lightly before kissing her… lingering there, his lips caressing the crook of her neck.

she could feel the heat emanating from his skin right behind her. he fell back on the bed with her on top of him… she lay there on her back. his hands moved over her stomach, her abdomen, farther down. she caught them as they reached her thigh. she realised her whole body was shaking now, she began to draw his hands to where she wanted him to touch her. she was drowning, she couldn’t think straight, her body was arching, she wanted to…

“make love to me, khushi!” asr said, saying out loud the words that were about to form in her heart.

it had all happened so quickly. she had no idea why they were here… but at this moment, it really didn’t matter.

she rolled off him and started to open the buttons of her kurta at the back. he lay their leaning on his elbow, an indulgent smile sending his mouth on a steep irresistible climb on one side, the left side… khushi reached and touched his lips. his grin widened, he cocked an eyebrow.

he was opening the dori of her kurta and he was tugging it gently, taking it off… her churidar was gone next and he had caught her back in his arms. he pulled off the covers from the bed and tumbled onto the white sheets with her in his arms. the hair on his chest was damp.

her hands went to the waist band of his trousers. she felt him shift, she heard him groan. when she reached up to take off her necklace, he stopped her again. he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to play, he just wanted to feel her skin on his, he wanted to feel her body quickening against his, thrusting, writhing… he wanted to feel her hunger for him.

she was on top of him now, her eyes slightly glazed, her body moving in a hypnotic rhythm. her hair had opened out, it fell all around her, silken auburn tresses. he could see the rubies against her pale firm skin. she moved losing her balance once in a way, falling forward… he held her in his arms… they kissed, he bit her lips, he felt her every response to his little touches.

the pristine white sheets got crumpled, two of the large fluffy pillows found their way to the floor, husky whispers and ragged breath played in the silence of the room.

she tried not to scream. he told her no one would hear. just him. then he pulled her even closer and smiled.

when they woke up, they realised they must had slept off… it was one o clock already.

“red suits you,” he muttered and kissed her on her nipple, feather light soft kiss. she gave him a light whack and jumped out of bed.

“arnav ji!” she protested and ran to the bathroom. she didn’t see him lie back against the pillows and laugh.

***

a tall slim statuesque girl walked alone down the cat walk. warm golden fluid fabric flowed… she was wrapped in a sheath of pure mooga… nothing else. a bunch of red frangipanis dangled from each ear. her hair had been pulled right up to make a high top knot. she had no shoes on her feet, and no other ornaments.

the spotlights focused on her, the audience sat all around on chairs and sofas on the grounds of sheeshmahal. fairy lights hung from trees and over manicured bushes, there were cascades of lights on wires strung between branches of old trees. the walls were decorated with rows of incandescent bulbs. it was a full moon night. to ward off the heat, large fans blew air over curtains of khus soaked in water… their earthy fragrance mingled with the warm evening breeze.

the girl stood poised and still. she had appeared suddenly without any warning. people were caught unawares. they were still talking amongst themselves. slowly the noise died down.

there was silence.

she took a deep breath and flung out her arms. it took one a moment to realise she was throwing gold dust into the air. she smiled after she was done. then she said three words distinctly, “i am gold.”

the light on her went out, another spotlight picked up a lone figure in black at the back on the stage. it was arnav singh raizada.

“ladies and gentleman!” he said coolly walking down a few steps to the ramp, “welcome to ‘i am gold’, our celebration of mooga! i hope you enjoy the evening!”

he went up to the girl standing by herself and offered her his arm, she put her hand on his elbow. the two of them turned and walked back as the show started and the opening sequence with models in fine, swirling, almost chiffon light mooga began.

khushi sat in the front row in her mooga sari. arnav ji had given it to her soon after they managed to get the texture he was wanting to create. there was no work on it, no embellishment, only a fine row of tassels at edge of the pallu. the blouse was made of mooga too, but in another shade of gold, not its natural colour, a cluster of dark red pompoms hung from the short sleeves. she had left her hair open. he had put on the necklace for her after she was done and given her an appraising look when she had added on the earrings.
“hmm… not bad!” he had nodded, then lifted her left hand and given a curious smile as he caught sight of the ring she always wore.

“naho ji,” khushi turned to the petite japanese woman sitting next to her on the sofa, “i just wanted to say thank you… bahut bahut thank you…”

(many many thanks…)

naho ogawa, the daughter of shima’s owner, and major shareholder at the company, had called a week after they had returned to delhi. she had assured asr they would find a way to get the mooga deal back on track. her husband had tried to call it off and managed to convince her father, but naho was quite certain she would get her father to change his mind.

khushi knew arnav ji would go ahead with the project even otherwise, but there was a different fun and creative surge to it all when you knew you a demanding and different audience was waiting to see your work, wear it, feel it, taste it. like helena ji. oh how pleased she had been that helena ji had liked her jalebis… she had wanted to experiment and make something that suited her friend… or like when she had made jalebi for arnav ji without sugar.

when she had told arnav ji that, he had shaken his head, his eyes had narrowed and he’d said, “did you just compare the eclectic, fashion conscious japanese woman to an elephant, khushi?!”

when she had nodded sheepishly, understanding yes, she had done precisely that, he had again shaken his head and said, “unbelievable!”

a moment later it had struck him, “and you compared me to helena…! khushi,… but wait… this wouldn’t be the first time, would it, so why complain!” he had stalked off.

“khushi san, there is no need to thank me…” naho had a low pretty voice, there was a little trill in her way of speaking, “i am happy to be doing this project… also going to assam was very instructive, have you been to assam, khushi san?”

khushi beamed and replied, “yes, naho ji… i love assam too!”
she hadn’t been able to go with arnav ji again, the baby came suddenly and then anyway, you can’t keep going away like that all the time.

the show drew gasps and applause from the rapt audience. an entire collection in a single material was something most design houses would balk at presenting. and for the bridal series which were considered a must, who could avoid organza and silk and velvet.

the bridal entourage appeared in swathes of mooga in different weaves, textures and colours. then came a bride in a golden gown, a bride in a gold and red saree, a bride in a short shift dress… a bride in a mekhala chadar of blood red mooga, carrying a pale gold stole… a bride walked slowly in her swirling lehenga, fine bead work all over.

the viewers were floored… there was a roar of approval as the last sequence ended.

kareena came running from somewhere and hugged khushi, “did you like my short shift wedding dress!! isn’t it lovely! the flowers in her hair and the lightest of strappy sandals… you know i love working for asr…” one more tight hug and kareena had disappeared.

salman was in his usual jeans and tee shirt, “i think kanumoni and helena are missing you!” he laughed, “anyway, mother is in delhi next week… watch out, golf talk will start again!”

khushi tried to smile. she hated lying but really there was no way she was going to learn that laad governor’s game.

asr walked up to them, the tall statuesque model on his arm. it was tsering.

khushi knew there was nothing between them, this was all work… but still.

naho beamed at them and went forward, shaking his hand, congratulating him. khushi could tell the japanese woman was not immune to her husband’s good looks. she could make out very clearly, in fact.

and what about arnav ji… he was smiling so much at the two of them. khadoos. most of the time he was frowning at her or calling her unbelievable… or snarling at her or or or… khushi’s cheeks started to go hot.

***

they were standing outside their room in the balcony of sheeshmahal. the stars were in full array up in the inky sky. khushi leaned against the railing gazing up, breathing in the scent of jasmine.

his eyes were on her, a thoughtfulness about him. he had never imagined he would feel the things he felt for this strange girl with her off centre plait and mercurial mind. he never ever meant to feel this way, dammit. it bothered him sometimes even now. and yet he knew he really had no choice.

he remembered how out of sorts and disoriented his life had felt after that first meeting of theirs. it all made no sense. and that made him uncomfortable.

but maybe comfortable was overrated, dammit. and even sense.

he put his arms around her from behind and laid his cheek on her head.

“talking to your parents?” he whispered.

“hmmmm…” she leaned back against him.

“like your necklace?” he asked gently, he had no idea why, but he had wanted to give her a necklace of rubies. red suited her, he could almost see her with the stones gleaming on her neck… and he just wanted her to remember this year for some reason. he had also wanted her to wear it tonight. the silly girl said “moonga”, he laughed a little.

“hmmm… why are you laughing?” khushi said.

“you were jealous…” asr asserted.

her back stiffened.

“you know, tsering is…” asr started to reason with her.

“hume pata hai tsering ji kaun aur kya hain!” khushi snapped.

(i know who and what is tsering!)

he tightened his arms around her.

“missing helena?” he asked, she thought he was changing the subject.

khushi sighed… she had been missing helena ji, kanumoni ji, the tea gardens… everything. she had been longing to go back with arnav ji when he went on all those work trips… just that how could she ask, she had to be at home, look after everything, amma had never gone anywhere…

“shall we go to assam tomorrow morning?” he asked almost casually.

she shrieked and tried to turn in his arms, he didn’t loosen his hold.

“assam? haan… par dilli?” she mumbled.

(assam? yes… but delhi?)

“dilli won’t run away…” asr said with a smile beginning at the corner of his eyes.

khushi struggled and turned in his arms then and gave him a full big hug. up in the sky a cluster of stars twinkled, somewhere far away a shooting star was streaking across the sky… in little inexplicable things, in things that don’t make sense, things that are even uncomfortable maybe, sometimes forever lives.

just completed "ncofl... never on a new year". funny feeling, no more wondering over when i'll be able to "update" next. no more talking to myself about asr and khushi and what they might or might not be feeling or doing. fanfiction is something i knew nothing about, then i didn't want to know about, then i had to know. as i made the final edits for this story, knowing i really have no idea when i will write about these two people again, i felt a certain sadness... as you write about characters, if you write about them, and for a longish period of time, they really become people and a part of you. thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed this story.

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episode rambles

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