Chapter 17

Super long post Anyway, hope I'm tying up some loose ends from before, and bringing up some loose ends which will be tied up in future updates. Enjoy!!

Chapter Seventeen

'Khushi'.

He looked on as his wife froze, her hand suspended in the air, caught in the process of opening one of the cupboards mounted on the kitchen walls. A strange new thrill, which he was beginning to relate to moments he shared alone with Khushi, coursed through him like lightning. But before the smirk on his face could even materialise completely, before quiet assurance and self confidence could take their seats, an unwelcome voice tipped over his thought processes.

'Khushi, Nani is asking for you...she said she wants to see the bangles Akash gave you!'

It was Di. Her voice floated down from the dining room into the kitchen, slicing effortlessly through the invisible line that had shot through the air and caught Khushi in her tracks when Arnav said her name. With unnerving speed, Khushi abandoned the unopened cupboard door, rounded the kitchen counter and rushed past him, taking extra care to keep at least a foot of distance between herself and him the whole time. Before Arnav could come to grips with the situation, she was gone.

'Dammit!' Arnav growled in frustration, balling his hand into a fist and slamming it against the nearest wall. The rage which he felt grip him now was not one he had not encountered before; it was the same rage that had made numerous visits to him whenever Khushi blatantly ignored him, left him hanging, when he had specifically sought her out. Like when she had run away from him that day when she had slapped him in the process of killing a mosquito and then insisted that he slap her back so they were even. The memory caused his lips to twitch, as though an unwilling smile was debating whether or not to go ahead. It was the same rage, he noted, as he had felt standing in his glass cabin calling down to Khushi, that day when she had come to the office to pick up her Devi Maiyya ki murti, when she had simply disregarded his summons and walked off defiantly.

That was the same day she had told him that she was going to Lucknow forever, and he had been jerked out of a nightmare at the thought of never seeing her again.

Arnav realised that his fist, where had rammed against the wall in his frustration, was shaking. But this time it was not anger. Arnav closed his eyes as he opened the door cautiously, allowing the sharp shards of his memory to jab at him anew. Back then he had resolutely refused to listen to what his heart, dormant for so long and incoherent from being denied any say in his day to day existence, had been trying to point out to him- that he had grown fond of her, he liked having her in his life, that if she left, he would miss her. That if she left, he would somehow lose something important. Now those feelings came charging back with vengeance, needle-pointed and dipped in awareness. He let them perforate his skin, pierce straight into his soul, to remind himself, to give himself a taste, a mere ephemeral taste, of what it would be like if he let Khushi leave him one more time.

Resolve fed off pain and solidified like a brick wall. Arnav marched purposefully out of the kitchen in pursuit of Khushi once again.

He had already noted, earlier in the day, how he had attributed anger as the explanation for all those finer emotions he had failed to recognise, whether it was fear, concern, or simply the fact that he missed her. Even now, having Khushi slip out of his reach for a third time after their little encounter in the corridor had been interrupted by the ill timing of his phone, he knew that he was not angry at her, per se. He was not even sure he was angry. Maybe edgy, maybe impatient to be with her, maybe frustrated at not being able to be with her. But it was something else too.

As he strode straight into the living room, Arnav saw Khushi seated beside Nani, excitedly shaking her wrists in front of her, causing the whole host of bangles on them to clink and tinkle together in delight. Arnav felt an errant knot in his stomach, which had been furling and unfurling itself all this time, tighten painfully.

You're jealous.

Arnav was sure that if that annoying, nagging voice in his head belonged to a person, he would probably have been dead by now. It was bad enough that he was increasingly witnessing his mood going foul with every passing second, as Khushi fluttered to Nani, then Mamaji and then even Laxmi to show off her new bangles to them, clearly transported in joy. But the voice in his head had developed a most unwelcome habit of telling him the truth so plainly that Arnav had nothing in his arsenal to respond with, and was left standing pathetically with truth, bare and unrefined, staring him in the face.

So he was jealous.

Jealous of the fact that Akash had bought her the perfect bangles to go with her perfect, no, her gorgeous attire, making her look so wonderful words could not do her justice. Jealous that Akash had taken the lead in adorning those slender white hands that he had noted were bare but not done anything constructive to remedy the issue. Jealous that Akash's one sweet gesture had his wife completely beside herself in glee.

This time it was even worse than when NK had bought her those bangles after he himself had spent nearly five minutes shouting at her in the middle of the street, more painful than watching her expression turn from fury at his impertinence in demanding answers from her to gratitude at his cousin's sweet, caring act. Then, at least, he had reaped grim satisfaction, had almost gloated over the fact that the bangles had been the wrong size for Khushi. He had gloated, without as usual bothering to ask himself why, over the fact that he knew exactly what size bangles would fit Khushi, that anything he bought for her would be a 'perfect fit'.

That needling sensation which had been prodding away at the back of his mind now expanded and settled into place. That's why the thought of bangles, of Khushi and her bangles, kept ringing a bell in his mind. He could remember vividly the little black box containing red and gold circles of glass, ornamented and decorated, that had been his first gift ever for Khushi. Even now he could not understand what had compelled him to go out so late at night, and unearth a trader who would sell him what he wanted at such an hour, and spend a good deal of time choosing the perfect trinkets to accentuate Khushi's own exuberance.

He wondered where those bangles were now, as he watched, from a safe distance, Khushi settle back into her seat beside Nani, turning attentively towards Mamaji, who seemed to be narrating something amusing to her, judging by the grin that soon lit up her features.

He wondered whether she had thrown the bangles away.

He bitterly acknowledged that she could hardly be blamed if she had destroyed those bangles, burnt them outright, after what he had done to her, belying every possible sentiment he could have hoped to convey to her through such a superficial, simplistic gift. But he felt the ground lurch beneath his feet all the same; it was the same mixture of disappointment, hurt, which had spurred him on to follow Khushi the night of the havan, confront her about her claims to hate the first present he had selected especially for her, straight from the bottom of his heart.

He did not feel any better at the sight of the shimmering bands of blue glint mockingly at him, usurping the place that were reserved for the scarlet and gold that had put a genuine smile on her face, made her genuinely happy, touched her heart not simply because of the gift, but because of the thought with which it was given. Because he had given it to her.

He frowned as he realised that the prickling sensation persisted even after that thought, which had been pushing against his conscience to get to the fore, was out in the open. There was something else, something else that had to do with Khushi and with bangles that he needed to think about, to consider, to act on. He felt frustrated with himself for not being able to remember what it was, spiked with the knowledge that whatever it was, it was important.

'Bhai?'

Akash's voice broke into Arnav's train of thought, offering him some reprieve from the cycle of unease and consternation he had become caught up in the effort to catch his evasive memory. He looked up at his brother, slightly fazed.

Akash's well-natured smile brought him back to the present.

'Huh?'

Akash waved a sheaf of photographs in front him, 'Photographs, Bhai. I was saying the pictures from our honeymoon were just delivered...and I'm just taking them down to the family so we can all take a look. Aren't you coming?'

'Uh, yeah, yeah of course.' Arnav gave himself a mental shake as he followed Akash towards where everyone was seated. He noted, although the realisation did not make him feel any better, that Khushi did not even seem to notice his presence as he neared her. She was evidently hanging onto everything Mamaji was saying to her, which, it transpired as he came within earshot, happened to be a very elaborate story regarding his own honeymoon and the rather unorthodox events it had consisted of. Just as Arnav made to sit down, Mamaji made such a mock-sombre face, shaking his head in affected despair, that Khushi erupted into a peal of laughter. The silvery sound sent goosebumps up and down Arnav's arms, and he could not help but resent the fact that he could not make her laugh like that.    

And it wasn't just that. The sight of Khushi with his Di and Nani earlier had made his heart ache at the warmth the scene underlined, the flawlessness of watching Khushi blend into the family portrait so effortlessly. But it also ached for another, more agonising reason. In that family portrait, Arnav was nothing more than the admirer, the observer, the critic whose job was to watch, note, examine wonderful pieces of art, but never be part of them. He was aware, excruciatingly so, that he did not feature in that portrait.

And it hurt him badly.

There were whole other dimensions to Khushi's life that he just was not part of. All day today, he had been watching her explore her relations with other people with such ease, such effortlessness. With her Bauji, her Amma...and then with Di, Nani, his brother and his Mamaji. Heck, he'd even caught her having a full-fledged conversation with Laxmi today, complaining about Mamiji and her 'moods'.

While she barely ever shared a word with him.

It ripped a horrible hollow inside him, a dark vacuum that seemed recessed with shelves upon shelves recording his own misdeeds. Yet despite the certain knowledge that he did not deserve to expect even the tiniest modicum of importance in her life, he could not quell the desire of his heart to be part of her, to be the beginning of every aspect of her life, the essence of everything she held dear to herself. The hollow yawned open even wider, its eerie silence tethering his soul as he lifted his gaze to Khushi.

She did not turn to look at him. She hadn't turned to look at him even once, ever since that blasted, god-forsaken cell phone had ruined one of the most beautiful moments of his day. Every time he had tried to get closer to her after that she had escaped. In the garden because Hari Prakash came to inform her that her mother had called. In the living-room because Payal had caught up with her and ushered her off. And finally in the kitchen when he thought he had got her where he wanted her, his own Di, in an act almost bordering treachery, had whisked her off yet again.

You shouldn't be surprised, you know, the cynic told him, as he felt a wad of photographs thrust into his hands. He began to leaf through them, unseeing, the flashes of colour on them blurred and indiscernible.  All this time that you were ignoring her, she wasn't just sitting around at home moping...

His jaw tightened, his hands clenched onto the pictures in his hand, unaware that he was crumpling some of them pretty badly.

Yes, he should not be surprised. He could not grudge her the relations she had forged with others while he had excluded her completely from the place she had cleared for herself in his cluttered world. For him, everything had changed with the revelation that he had not been wronged by her; for her, though, it would change very little. It would not change the fact, for one thing, that he was the one who had wronged her.

And after a very long time, from out of the blue, he heard his mother's voice. In a memory. It caught him off-guard, startling him into dropping his shield, ever ready to keep out memories that only left pain in their wake.  Slightly muted and foggy from being retrieved from the attic of his mind, which he had kept locked up resolutely, but cleaving in now through the disorder he was submerged in.

Chote, always remember this...it's not a great thing to make mistakes. After all, we're only human, and to err is human.

What takes courage is to own up for one's mistake. To make up for it.

Because it is very hard, very hard indeed, to erase the memory of hurt and pain in someone else. And if you can do that, you should be proud of yourself. Because it takes bravery and strength to admit that one is wrong, and even more so to try and fix it.

And remember this also...the person who forgives who will be greater than everyone else- because it isn't easy to forget how much someone hurts you. So if they can...you should know...that they will be with you forever.

The drone of conversation in the background gained volume as he slowly returned to his senses. His gaze fell immediately on the stack of pictures that lay abandoned on his lap. The very first picture was one of Akash and Payal, standing outside a shrine of some sort. They were both laughing, but not only with their mouths. Their eyes, the way they had their arms around each other, the way they seemed to glow even in the picture, voiced without words the happiness, the fulfilment they derived from simply being together.

He knew what he wanted.

***

'Khushi'.

She nearly jumped a mile at the sound of his voice. He watched as she wheeled around to face him, one hand already clenched and placed above her heart.

A smirk blossomed on his face as he neared her. A surge of current crackled ever more insistently as he drew closer to her, watching his wife, looking like a deer caught in headlights, back herself straight into the wall.

They had just finished dinner, and Arnav, not even bothering to be discreet, had followed right on Khushi's heels when she had realised that she was supposed to call Amma to finalise their plans for tomorrow morning. It hadn't taken him long to find her standing in the middle of one of the corridors with a lost and faintly annoyed expression on her face, clearly unable to remember where she had dropped her phone.

She's so cute. The voice was almost fiercely possessive.

Now, as he inched closer to her, he could see her struggling to breathe, the flush in her skin luring him forward. The thrill he had felt earlier now hurtled through him again, his nerve endings going up in sparks. A bizarre anticipation seized him as he neared her, pressed against the wall, seeming petrified, her wonderful eyes widened as she waited with bated breath to see what he would do next.

At that point, Arnav himself was not completely aware of what he would do next. Although there had been no doubt in his mind when he had left the table, the sight of Khushi, alone, cornered, and looking so thoroughly delectable made something in him roar in delight. He had to remind himself austerely, the cynical voice even abandoning its sardonic tone to yell at him, that he could not succumb to these new, overpowering urges yet. Not only would that ruin what he had set out to do, he was pretty sure he would frighten the hell out of Khushi by the sheer force of what he was feeling.

He was half a foot away from her when he saw her gulp visibly, her eyelids fluttering, her lower lip quivering as she attempted to speak. Her voice, when it came out, was low and shaky.

'Um...I have to...go call Amma...I...'

'Khushi', his own hushed tones rumbled out, silencing her as she attempted to move back further, as though hoping a hole would open up in the wall that she could disappear into. He could almost see the thought of trying to escape by darting to his left coalesce in her mind, and before she could even lift a finger, both his arms had shot out, trapping her against the wall.

'Oh,' Khushi gasped, her eyes flying up to meet his.

'You've been ignoring me, Khushi' he whispered. The drum-roll started on cue in his ribcage as he watched his breath on her face causing her to blink successively, as though trying to clear her head.

'I...'

'I don't like it,' he sighed, steadily reducing the distance between them. The sight of Khushi, shrinking away from him, barely breathing, made whatever it was that had been roaring in him growl with pleasure. 'I don't like it when you stay away from me like that.'

Khushi's eyes closed briefly and Arnav could feel something change in her immediately. He waited.

'Aren't you', she muttered, through gritted teeth, her voice trembling, 'the one that told me...you never want to see-'

'I've told you before, Khushi', Arnav interrupted her softly, without warning closing the space remaining between them, resting his forehead against hers. He heard her sharp intake of breath, knew she was going to try to push him off, and without even thinking his own arms pinned hers to the wall, before continuing, 'that sometimes I say the exact opposite of what I really mean. I was lying'.

A heavy pause.

'How am I supposed to know you do mean what you're saying now?'

Arnav sighed heavily. Her words flogged him pitilessly, but like the stoic he had become, he accepted the hurt without flinching. He lifted his head to look into her eyes, only to find that she was looking indomitably over his shoulder.

'Maybe if you looked into my eyes...you would be able to tell if I mean what I'm saying now'.

Khushi took a deep breath. The rose in her cheeks had receded somewhat. She continued to stare at something over his shoulder.

'I need to call Amma', she told him in quiet, controlled tones. He felt her arms grow taut under his grip as she attempted to wrench herself free.

'I talking to you Khushi.'

'I need to find my phone.'

'I'm not done here.'

'Let me go!'

Khushi gave her limbs an almighty pull, nearly freeing herself from his grasp, but her respite was brief. He snatched up her wrists and pinioned her to the wall again.

'I'm talking to you!' Arnav heard himself snap, the beast in him rearing its head angrily. But as soon as he saw her wince, jerk slightly as she attempted to move away from him, the determination in her eyes now tinged with fear, he felt himself sober up abruptly.

'Dammit', he mumbled, leaning his head against the wall next to Khushi's head as he attempted to let off some steam. Slowly, his released the metal-tight grip he had on her wrists, lowering his arms until they rested on either side of Khushi against the wall.

'You were saying something', he heard Khushi speak quietly, her voice strained, very controlled.

He lifted his head, feeling his features mould themselves automatically to portray the remorse he felt, and did not make any attempt to control them. He wanted her to see, needed her to see, the sincerity of everything he did to her, said to her. There could be no holding back.

'I'm sorry', he murmured. She didn't look at him. He cupped her face, gently coaxing her to turn to him. But she was his stubborn little Khushi, and she didn't budge. He released his breath slowly, and with one hand, stroked her cheek.

'I'm really very sorry, Khushi. But what am I supposed to do? I've been waiting to show you something since morning and I've been trying to talk to you all day and now that I've finally got you, you're trying to get away from me'.

He would have been appalled at how pleading he sounded had he been speaking like this a few days back, but at this stage he could not care less. Especially as he felt her stance soften discernibly against him. Felt the fine lines of stress between the single inch separating them slacken.

***

His fingers laced themselves into hers, and tightened reassuringly as he pushed open his- no, their- bedroom door. Anticipation pounded bodily against him, his heart crashing against his chest, creating so much ruckus Arnav could barely hear himself think. The fact that he could get so wound up in hope, in expectancy, in nervous exhilaration, left him stupefied.

The room was dark. Khushi tried to pry her fingers from his, but he held on tight, tugging her along into the darkness. He pulled her into the dim interior of the room, more sombre than usual because the heavy curtains were drawn across the glass door leading to the poolside, blocking out the beams that usually filtered through in the evening. He could hear Khushi's breathing become irregular- it was darker than it usually was in here, and his heart twanged at having to put her through those few seconds of ordeal. Almost holding his breath, he reached out for the wall, feeling around for a switch that he knew was there.

And with one touch, light blinked and flickered alive into the room. Not lighting it up completely. But lighting it up enough to make Khushi glance upwards.

***

Lights. Tiny little beads of light. Twinkling and blinking down at them from above.

Arnav lifted his eyes up to the ceiling, and felt satisfaction descend upon him. His hard work had paid off.

Against the shadows shrouding the ceiling, little dew drops of gold and silver and white sparkled down at them cheerily. Tiny droplets glittering and winking down at them, dozens and dozens of little globules scattered against the shadowy ceiling, haphazardly.

Like a starry night sky.

Arnav felt proud. He felt he was perfectly justified in feeling proud. He had worked painstakingly hard all morning, first turning the storage room upside down as he uprooted all the fairy-lights his Di had stocked the place up with for the numerous celebrations and festivities that seemed to happen all year round. But none of them were to his liking, and he had shaken Delhi out of its morning stupor by calling up every contact he had to do with event planning, or decorators' businesses, or anything remotely similar. Within a half hour, a whole entourage of boxes containing fairy-lights of all imaginable shapes and sizes turned up on the doorstep. Within another half hour, Arnav had managed to strew his entire room with strings of bulbs he rejected, before finally finding very fine strings of little bulbs, like miniscule drops of water, the wires very thin and pale. With Hari Prakash's help, who had been sworn to secrecy with one deadly look from Arnav, the lights had been mounted on the ceiling first with tape, which had failed dismally, and then with adhesive glue.

The fairy-lights were strong enough to blink down welcomingly at them now, but not bright enough to illuminate the off-white wires which criss-crossed the ceiling, still dowsed in shadows. They glimmered and sparkled against the blackness, as though someone had ripped the roof off of the room, and they were now gazing straight into the heavens.

The silence in the room was for once not oppressive, not suffocating. Arnav felt peace steal over him as he watched his own personal starry sky beam down over him.

'This way', he murmured softly, 'you won't be in the dark, and you'll feel closer to my in-laws.'

He vigorously hoped that she noticed that the lights formed a canopy only above the bed. Their bed. He hoped she would read the meaning into that. That he expected her to sleep on the bed. With him. Under their own starlit sky.

Finally tearing his eyes off of his handiwork, Arnav turned, hesitating, towards Khushi.

The sight of her took his breath away.

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