on looking at 122 again

something told him, it had to be her. who else.

and she did get caught. he wished he could...
he was ready to scream his head off, but h, they were not talking to each other. he had set the condition.

poor laad governor. 

and jhalli realised of course, what tripped him up. and jhalli couldn't stop the smile from sparking her eyes.

he threw a nice little tant. whacked the pillar, looked incredibly incredible and walked off.
 
but.

gahahahhahhhha, he could sense she was laughing at him.

so he turned around with that deadly look, i have a feeling one part of him could never quite process the craziness of her actions. not in his wildest could he imagine doing such things, or in fact, any adult doing such things.

and she adjusted her features, trying hard not to let rakshas see she was guffawing at his predicament. his defeat. the laad governor wasn't speaking to her, so... how could he yell and shout. even though he knew who was creating the racket while he did tycoonishly imp stuff.

and khussie bitiya of course couldn't let that mean chappie be. she had to get after him. oh, the complications of lau. and the sublime take on it by one tv serial.

look at these two... when episode started could i have ever imagined, we'd be going here soon?

or here?

and before you know it... here?

this intuitive, elegant writing about a relationship between two people... who were the way they were. this understanding of asr kkg's specific romance. this crazy graph of now irritated, angry, exasperated, now melting, needing, reaching. unimaginably powerful it was, and of course barun and sanaya just cracked it so sharp, you almost wept every time, even as you wanted to laugh with a peculiar joy.

the mix of emotions being tapped to reach the viewer was not unusual though. this being a soap, every episode had to have its prescribed balance of laughter, sadness, passion, humour, drama, villainy, etc., almost all serials have it. but ipk always mixed the potion so you would be left gasping slightly, positive seeing stars.


episode 122 the khanak of you
episode 122 design notes

i have lost count of the number of times i have watched 122 and many others. every time even now, and it's been almost five years since ipk ended, i see new things. thrilling things. and how my fingers itch to make caps, make edits. classic really this show and the feelings it brings about.

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episode 124 of faraq and zaroori

"yeh humari sagai ki angoothi hai"

his face lost all structure almost, all the hardness, the set jaw, the sharp gaze, the imperious lips, the utter certainty, the air of dominance. this is my engagement ring, she'd just said, and even if the echo hadn't been added to her voice, the music hadn't been tweaked, the slow (yet almost instant) wipe and falling away of all expression from a face, captured by a staggered pan would have told the tale and more. there was a crashing sound in it and it was picked up by my heart. i felt the draining of everything in him. a wind rose somewhere far away in a desert and blew across the wide expanse in seconds to sear through him; a howling, hot, merciless phenomenon of nature, swarming around, entering his heart carrying the dreaded words and tossing it everywhere, reaching his mind, his soul, his being. was there no escape from it.

 
i had been wondering for a couple of days, when i was forced to take a break, if indeed all was well in my ipk and barun world, or was my fantasy world crumbling. was the boy really the actor i thought he was? did i still feel the dhakdhak? yes, this too did happen, believe it or not. because not only were there the demands of family and ad, there were the mood swings of dailymotion. days went by without my watching anything. so many attempts to see 124, only to get stuck in the middle of backless choli scene. finally, the stars aligned and i saw the episode. again i realised, it is one thing to remember content, but another to actually watch the performers in action.

when this scene came, i knew the gold i thought i'd found was indeed that, no sign of dross in it. and i knew it straight in my heart as that expression hit it where it ticks. there are several brilliant actors in this world, many much more proven in their art and experienced than the young man i was staring at. but not one has reached my heart the way he does. every single time, har baar.

six months since we saw anything new from barun sobti. many rumours about the film he's made. no idea when it will be released. shooting for the 22 yards project pushed back by rain. sometimes a strange thought in my head. was it just a mirage? that shaking up of my reality by someone on a screen, that talent one could almost touch, that startling energy? 

all the doubts and worries gone in an instant. he will be back. would like to dedicate 124 to barun sobti, and pay tribute to his talent. this was his episode really.

 
his eyes seemed to bore into her, shocked yet entreating. tell me it's not true, they seemed to say. how could you do this, how could you... no. in episode 4, with glance icy cold he'd spoken of the world that was "bedard," heartless, where only money and power mattered. how hard he'd strived to give his heart this shell, this protection of material things, yet here was dard. again. she was engaged. she whom he couldn't fathom, who broke through his thick fortress walls every time, who got right under his skin, she whose every tear hurt him, with whom he could get angry, upset, completely besotted, bedazzled, but could never ever remain indifferent... what was this she just said.

the dhakdhak stayed long, rumbling quietly within, gradually melting through and becoming a part of heartbeat.

the day had begun with an altercation. they'd walked into each other, his papers had flown all over the place, he'd demanded an apology from her, she'd refused and said no way. of course, the argument had continued till she stomped off with a won't apologise, and to you... never. what was it with khushi. didn't she know that that's exactly the kind of thing he couldn't leave well alone? he'd find a way to retaliate. or maybe, one of her layers, that dupatta girl, wanted precisely that? oh, such lovely understanding of our contrary and striated characters by the writers.

curiously, and reflecting the same contrary thing in us, he'd dropped his phone in sheer surprise when he saw his nani dance to placate khushi, but he hadn't raved and snarled at the scene. instead a little quickening in his eyes when she reciprocated la's little flirtatious overture and decided to give in. got to say, sanaya was so fluid and lovely in that bit of oo la la swing, anyone would have succumbed. he'd actually gotten quite caught in the moment and smiled as he watched his fam go bonkers and so happy, also this exasperating woman do her loving giving thing. but of course, when their eyes met, he had to return to a closed look and walk off.

in the meantime, the ring is back with him... and he knows it's hers. she'd all trepidation walking into his room. he looks at her, remembers her yelling, "haan haan hume pata hai ki aap arnav singh raizada hain..." yes, yes i know you are asr, but i will not apologise to you, i will say sorry to anyone but never to you, "aur aap se toh bilkul nahin magenge." had he not remembered that, i have no idea what would have transpired. but he did. and the most wicked expression ever came into play. he was gonna have some fun.

a sweet smile planned revenge... "toh yeh tumhari angoothi hai." so this is your ring, he demurred, starting the game.

"ji, hume de dijiye." yes, give it to me, she returned not gauging mood, a little imperious in her choice of words.

not acceptable. "tumhe kya laga, tumhara jab man chahega tum iss kamre mein aaogi aur mujhe order dogi ke ring de do... aur main lauta doonga?" what did you think, you'd walk in whenever you like into this room and order me to hand over your ring and i'd do that?

this is asr, do not mess with him. whatever his feelings for her, he will not take that tone from anyone lying down, especially from her precisely because she matters; he so wants her to be his, hanging onto his every word, and there she goes defying him. unbearable. basic personality, hard for him to fight it. the duel begins in earnest. "kya kaha tha tumne, tum kissi se bhi mafi maang logi par mujh se nahi... socha arnav singh raizada se badtameezi se baat karke bach jaaogi? ring chahiye? sorry bolo." what had you said, you'd ask anyone for forgiveness but not me? thought you could be rude to asr and get away with it? want your ring? say sorry.

it was still somewhat playful, shards of the famous temper, but shades of naughty too. the little girl of 8 and boy of 14 never too far way when the two are together.

"sorry? kis baat ke liye?" sorry? for what? oh she's in no mood to give in.

how adroit the handling of escalation of war by writers, it's not in one jump ever that they reach a point of no return. always a to and fro, a provoke and attack and a rise of pace. i remembered the moment when he dropped her from his office... also had come on the back of this dueling they engage in no matter what when where. the only time they've both lost their heads and let it be what it longed to be was diwali night. but through many harsh words and hurtful encounters aren't they really always articulating just that very longing? that frantic desperate need for each other?

his anger pushes up. "sirf sorry nahin... kaan pakad kar maafi magogi." just sorry won't do, you'll hold your ears and apologise.

she storms off. keep waiting for that apology in which case. he'd said the ring was important to her. but it wasn't. not really.

the ring was important to them. it was meant to bring them to that moment in the rising hot sahara wind, when a man's world would fall apart and he'd make a connection that his tongue would not have the courage to utter, not because it lacked guts but because a heart had hurt too much and feared getting shattered again. and she would look into his eyes seeking answers to questions she'd not even asked herself yet knew they were there, she wanted them answered as though life itself depended on it.

he'd have thrown the ring... had it not been for the knock. beside himself with anger now, he was brusque, "kya hua, ab kyun ayee ho?" what happened, why have you come now?

"kya chahte hain aap?" what do you want. the tone has gone more tense now, thick... adults in place.

"main kya chahta hoon tum acchhi tarah jaanti ho... maafi mango." you know very well what i want... apologise. he is insistent, flint in his voice.

she begins to answer, but he cuts in, he wants his pound of flesh... "uh huh. kaan pakad ke..." uh huh, hold your ears.

devilish smirk... he's winning.

"sorry." she was humiliated but helpless, that ring she must get back. that ring not important to her.

and he was just settling down to enjoy his victory, when the tear in her voice caught his ears. he looked up... and in less than an instant, a shift in his eyes, so quick, the smile didn't have time to adjust. just the eyes... and a leap of emotion... a complete change.

"kitni baar bolna hai?" she was nearing hysteria in her pain...

"sorry sorry sorry sorry... sorry sorry sorry..."

"khushi?!"

he was up, and before her in a trice, holding back her hand from catching the other ear. he couldn't take that hurt in her voice, eyes, face, everything. the game had gone too far.

"sorry..." she went on like an automaton.

"shh."

he couldnt see her like this. how could he bring her to this state. that easily awakened gussa of his... he picked up the ring and returned it. rabba vey took note of the intensity, the remorse of the moment. a man and a woman in a place where nothing is as it should be.

then a beautiful thing happened. 

as she struggled to slip her ring on, hands trembling, unsteady, he took her hands in both his ever so tenderly to help her. she watched mesmerised. perhaps her heart wanted this moment, this putting of ring on her engagement finger by him to be true. but had he not said he was marrying another... so what could she do but agree to that alliance not of her heart... the one that meant nothing?

and she remembered, and pulled her hand away, "aap yeh angoothi nahin pahna sakte," you can't put on this ring.

he was surprised, taken aback at the vehemence in her voice. perhaps all he wanted to do was slip it on, on to her delicate finger, absorbed, engrossed, wanting just that. this was perhaps the first time ever he'd held a girl's hand like that and taken a ring in his to make her wear it. tenderly, patiently, lovingly. he hadn't even done it for the girl he said he'd marry.

but she said "yeh humari sagai ki angoothi hai," and the whole world blew away, leaving a deafening silence, a suffocating emptiness, a death almost of breath.

the ring slipped from his leaden fingers and plunged down. like his heart probably at that moment. the low angle shot transited to a close up of a club foot in black shoe under a lovely pink saree walking into frame exactly where the ring comes to rest, a delicate hand with manicured nails picked it up slowly. di had arrived.

perhaps someone had sent her to save him from this slow constriction of his senses. he returned to reality and walked away, she turned slowly toward di, numbed by all that had happened, emotions in turmoil, storm within.

a beautifully laid out scene.

anjali, with characteristic gentleness, put on the ring for khushi ji, admonishing her sweetly for dropping off this ring so valuable to her all over the place. khushi choked back tears as this whole world tumbled around in this crazy game of rings and engagements. rabba vey entered frame.

she looked at him, for her eyes just wanted to seek him now, now that she'd said the words and he was looking the way he was, what was happening to them her gaze seemed to ask as she watched him watching her. he turned away. no one was allowed to see him so vulnerable, he would hide all his pain, he would take care of it all. only the song seemed to know how far deep in he had been cut. 

we are not perfect... certainly asr is far from it. but the heart surely is pristine. haanh, nahin hai dil asr ke seene mein, he'd told her the day she had come trying to patch things up between him and la. but there was always that heart in the man. that heart that yearned, that longed, that wanted to fight with a girl and then wrap her in his arms and never let her go, kiss her by the poolside, lift her to his heart, never let her be hurt, yet tell her she meant nothing... didn't she know he said it because she did mean so much... some might say, she meant everything.

"lagta hai yeh ring aapke liye bahut his special hai... bataiye na iski khasiyat kya ha," di wants to know what makes the ring so special.

he looks at her as though asking her to break his heart again and again with those most hurtful words she has said... 6 words and his world reels, his heart aches... his breath stops... he can't focus... he can't...

"aapki shadi hone wali hai..." di is delighted, you're about to get married. he is struck by the meaning of sagai again, it means marriage...

two people, apparently not meant for each other, in fact now beholden to others, what is the thing that makes them ache so much for each other. does this have a name this intolerable feeling?

di leaves, and a long long moment in that difficult evening. two people stand looking at each other, pain and complaint in their eyes, yet who can say anything, now that they find themselves here in this forlorn juncture. rabba vey has never sounded more lost.

the phone rings, but...

"khushi," he needs to call her, he needs to be angry again. now.

"haan, buaji," she answers her phone, not him.

"khushi!!!"

"angoothi mil gayi," she's found the ring... he grabs her phone abruptly.

"yeh aap kya kar rahe hain.. hum baat kar rahe the..." what are you doing, i was speaking... she's angry, perhaps this time she too is using anger to mask the pain.

"main bhi baat kar raha tha..." i was speaking as well, his voice is throbbing with pent up something.

"aap kya kah rahe hain hume samajh mein nahin..." i don't understand what you're doing... he stands there, arm swung back holding her phone, face tilted looking at her with a question and something else in his eyes, just looking. an emotion enters his irises, his face begins to show things he rarely does, a pursing of lips, a flaring of nostrils, emotions he is trying hard to control but they will not listen. she is moved, confused, shaken by what she's seeing.  

soaked, salty voice, "kya kar rahi ho tum..." what are you doing. the edge of surf, white foam, touch of salinity, all guard down.

"humne kya kiya..." what have i done?

"tumhari sagai ho gayi... kaise... tumne mujhe batana zaroori nahin samjha? why... kissi ko pata kyun nahin hai ki tumhari..."

and it's all torn out of him, tide rising higher, gushing uncontrollable, submerging dry land, you are engaged... how? you didn't think you needed to tell me? why... how come no one knows that...

oh my sweet arnav singh raizada, "tumne mujhe batana zaroori nahin samjha" you ask. how is she to know that she needs to, even if she wanted to? didn't you tell her she means nothing to you? don't you understand she's too young, too inexperienced to know when you say that you mean the opposite. yet how you long for her to understand exactly this, don't you. someone to understand you as you are? someone to love you no matter what. and that someone is this girl right before you. khushi. the one whose name sounds different on your lips, the one you dream of, and fear losing. father betrayed you, maa went away, the world broke trust. you barricaded your fragile dil and said to h with it. yet something inside always wanted that one. the one who would release you. be yours. and you'll be hers forever. khushi. "tumne mujhe batana zaroori nahin samjha?" he'd ask her that on a ravaged bridge months later again. always that need to be important to her. mean something.

though she knew he hurt, she felt her own pain too keenly still. she flung back:

"aap ko isse kya faraq padta hai..."

angry, ferocious cry from a girl hurt by him too many times. what difference does it make to you? the classic question.

he caught her and jerked her close...

"mujhe kya faraq padta hai?!! mujhe faraq padta hai, dammit, kyunki ..."
i can translate the line all i like, but i'll never catch the tone, the texture, the velvet under the fire, the desperate wanting wrapped in violent words. what difference does it make to me... makes a difference, dammit, because -

and the struggle starts... to finish a sentence... to release the heart into the emotion... into this moment. faraq padta hai. makes a difference. he has said that at least. at last. and as she stares at him speechless and he holds her gaze but can't say a word, yet that slight swallow of his says it all, rabba vey now racing pounding insisting yearning loving submerging.

the ring had a job to do and it's kept its promise. brilliant writing. for asr to get to the point to say, yes damn you it makes a difference, one had to have a situation as harsh as this.

"khushi ji..." anjali came and took khushi away. she did look back of course, he quickly hid his face, but did she see it?

he stood there, aching. then his nostrils flared a bit, he tried to control himself, just the slightest swallow... yes, it was there... a tear in his heart.

rabba vey.

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out of my mind... a new vm

out of my mind

watch

sometimes i just get this mad desire to stare at asr kkg endlessly and without a single thought in my head, hyuk... that's when i find i need to make a vm. pity i don't have some high res episodes, but even pixelating and imperfect, ipk gives heartache of a serious kind.

out of my mind

watch

the song by john legend felt just right. the dialogues are in hindi and some of you may not understand, i will post the link to the subtitled version soon.






n i s h a n a   e p i s o d e s
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many thanks to all original owners of material. no copyright infringement is intended.  

 
 

episode 127 why does it make a difference

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

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

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

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

hard to explain, but there it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the duel continues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

kya faraq padta hai.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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rain 1

there was always the rain. this time it had come as a torrent, a sudden downpour, a battering drenching cascading thunderstorm. she had no cover, no defence. this time though she had no need for it... she could walk in the rain. she braced her body and stood straight against the onslaught, her hand gripped a frame. a door began to slide, corralling the raging thunder in its silence.

there may have been a drop of rain clouding her vision, there might have been lightning striking her heart. there was no doubt as she left, she had left the rain in him.

that soundless sliding of the door. reflections. eyes still crossing miles. a barrier that only joins and cleaves. no one could run for cover. not even the one on the outside, sitting and staring at a screen, feeling the sharp cut of raindrops on her skin.

episode 130

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rain 2

we kept waiting for the rain. but wasn't it always there? sanaya irani in this scene and that direction... a door closing. beauty. 

episode 130

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right where he breathes

still in that 124 mood, did a few edits. i don't think he realised till this moment what was at stake here. rammed into his breathing apparatus that mellifluous voice with tears drizzled, and twisted it sharply till he couldn't almost breathe, his mind emptied out. a slight echo was added by sound editor to that voice, making sure there is blood spilling somewhere inside, enough so you would know it makes a difference because.

episode 124 of faraq and zaroori

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