Life was getting cumbersome for Arnav Singh Raizada. The Milan storefront inauguration was in just eight weeks, and here he was giving Khushi the opportunity of a lifetime to be part of such a big project. This experience would take her to unimaginable heights in her career. But instead of focussing on how to improve her career, she was more keen on dancing to Bollywood tunes with Bansal.
That was not entirely true, Arnav admitted to himself. Khushi was a dedicated and diligent worker, and it would be extremely unfair if he took that away from her. Wasn't that the reason why he had employed her in the first place?
"Sure, you employed her because she was a really good designer," his conscience mocked.
"Of course I did," his rational brain responded.
Ever since Khushi had "fallen into his life", his conscience had suddenly discovered a voice. And it was proving to be the most annoying thing, as far as he was concerned.
He looked at the huge parcel lying on his table. Despite the hectic work surrounding her sister's engagement, Khushi had managed to complete all the designs he had asked her to, in two days. Not just that, she had also sent him sample materials and colour swatches and indicated her preferences using small colour coded Post-It notes.
The designs were innovative, an absolute breath of fresh air. Sure they would all have to be reworked, but at least the skeleton was there. His designers would do the rest. He carefully caressed the swatches. Fabrics. They reminded him of his mother and her endless sarees and dupattas. She had one in every colour and he loved them. He often spent a lot of time in his mother's room playing with her clothes.
"Chhote", his mother would call him from afar. Knowing that his mother was making her way towards his room, he would hurriedly stuff all her clothes into her cupboard. Then he would rush to his room and hurriedly open his books pretending to read. His father would not be very pleased if he found out. There was only one time his father had caught him playing with his mother's clothes. That day, not only had his father told him what he thought about boys who like sarees, but he also sent Arnav to bed without dinner. Hunger had not allowed him to sleep. Tiptoeing his way to the kitchen to find leftovers, he had overheard the conversation between his mother and father.
"What's wrong with Arnav? Boys don't play with clothes. I can understand cars, trains, even guns, but clothes?"
"He's just a kid."
"He's not just any kid, he is my son, my heir. One day he will take over all my business. What work he has with sarees and dupattas."
"Don't get angry, I will talk to him."
He had dared to take a peek. His father was sitting erect on the chair and his mother was gently massaging his shoulders.
"You better," his father had told his mother, the veiled threat unmistakeable. "Otherwise I will have to talk to him, and he won't like the way I do it."
The Raizadas were traditional zamindars in that part of the country. They owned huge farmlands and had all their wealth invested in real estate. But AR was the brainchild of Arnav. His passion for beautiful clothes, his love affair with fabrics and his expertise with motifs and handlooms is what helped make the brand the best in the country today.
Reminiscing his childhood, Arnav slowly made his way to the small cottage that was located a short walk from Sheesh Mahal. When he had bought the property, he had been surprised to find out that the house he grew up in had been untouched. It was exactly the way he last remembered it, albeit covered in a lot of dust - huge chandeliers that hung from its ceilings, winding staircases leading to the bedrooms, and vast lands that served as Arnav and Anjali's personal play area. He had walked in, touching the balustrades, reminiscing old times. Then he had abruptly walked out and ordered that the cottage be closed, again, forever. Arnav Singh Raizada didn't believe in fond memories, he focused on harsh realities. But somehow, seeing Khushi's work today, he was reminded of his mother's wardrobe.
He walked into their room, dust having settled everyone, and gently opened the cupboard. Her clothes still lay in there, the dupattas and sarees, untouched for the last 15 years. He gently took some of them out, when a beautiful photograph of the entire family fell out. Underneath the writing sparkled - Thakur Arjan Singh Raizada, Ratna Raizada, Anjali Raizada and Arnav Singh Raizada, June 21, 1988.
His mother was wearing a traditional saree with gota embroidery on it. The motifs, the designs were unmistakeably royal. After all, so was his mother. Smilingly, he picked the dusty pink saree with silver thread work on it to keep. He would let Khushi take a look at it, he decided. There could be some design elements she could inspire herself from. And just as he was leaving, he decided to keep the photograph as well. He would make a copy of it and gift it to Anjali on her birthday.
****
At the Gupta house, Khushi was in one of her rare spirits. Knowing Shashi very well, Madhumati had decided to convince Khushi about the practicality of her suggestion before Shashi had a chance to broach the subject with his daughter. And so, when Khushi got up the next morning, she was not just greeted with a huge plate of jalebis but was also encouraged to go for a really long walk with her aunt.
"Bitiya, you know I love you, right?" began Madhumati, treading gently lest her suggestion meet with reluctance.
"Of course Buaji," chirped Khushi. "Why would you suddenly want to remind me about it?"
"Because I have something to say to you that I want you to think really carefully about."
That made Khushi wary. Anything that required her to think really carefully about was never good. The last time it had happened, she had ended up in Law School instead of Design school.
"Khushi," began Madhumati, "with Payaliya now engaged, I thought it would be good to fix your marriage as well. After all, you and Payal are only a year apart. Moreover, it will be nice to do it before you go to Italy."
"But Buaji..," interrupted Khushi.
"Hear me out first Khushi. Then say what you have to."
"I am not asking you to get engaged to a stranger, although in India most marriages happen that way. What I want to know is how you feel about your colleague Aman Bansal."
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions, please tell me."
"Aman is a nice man, Buaji. He is kind, he is considerate, caring and helpful. He comes along every now and then to check if I'm doing okay or if I need any help, and when I do ask him for help, he always manages to find time to help me. He is also a very fun loving person, who always manages to make me smile."
Her Buaji smiled listening to what Khushi said. Clearly the two had feelings for each other, if only they figured that out themselves. But she didn't have all the time to wait for them to come to the same conclusion. So she said: "I am so happy to hear what you just said. That means Aman is a nice man and will make a great life partner for you. I had already told Shashi babua but he still insisted on asking you about it.
"I am so glad you said yes. I can now tell him that."
"But when did I say yes? And for what? Buaji, Aman is just a friend. I've never thought about him..."
Madhumati cut her off: "You just said Aman was a nice, kind-hearted, caring man."
"Yes I did. But I didn't say that I wanted to marry him.
"Titaliya," sighed Buaji. "Romance and love, both sound really good in books. But in real life it is these qualities that you just mentioned - care, friendship and compassion - that make a marriage work in the long term."
"But..."
"No buts, Titaliya. If I don't take care of your happiness then what will I answer Rishi when I meet him up there?"
And while Khushi was busy pondering about what was said, Madhumati made her way back to the Gupta House to give Shashi the good news. There was one more marriage to be finalized before the 10 days were up!
****
"Amma, this is so beautiful," 8-year old Khushi exclaimed, fondly caressing a beautiful purple and pink bandhani duppatta in the street market. "Can we please take this home?"
Her chocolate brown eyes were filled with anticipation.
"Didi, this will cost 500 Rs," the shopkeeper told Hema, eagerly looking forward to the sale.
Hema's face fell. "Khushi, this is very expensive, we cannot afford this. Amma will make jalebis for you at home to make up for this. Okay beta?" she said, her frustration evident at not being able to buy things that her daughter liked.
Khushi's face fell momentarily, only for her eyes to sparkle, the indication that she had thought of a plan.
"Uncle, do you make these here?" she asked the shopkeeper.
"Yes beta," the man answered, inspired by the girl's zest. "My wife makes them in that room at the back there and I sell them out here."
"How long does it take for your wife to make one?" Khushi prodded.
"Two days."
"So if I help her for a week, then can I have one of these for free?"
The shopkeeper smiled. Surely the kid couldn't do much but he was still impressed with her ingenuity.
"Of course. But you will have to come everyday for four hours."
"I will."
For the next week, Khushi helped at the tie and dye shop in the afternoon hours, after her school.
At the end of one week, she had earned her beautiful dupatta. The dupatta would be her mother's birthday gift. Even at the young age of 8, Khushi had found a way to get what she wanted. But what she didn't know at that time was, she would never get to give the dupatta to her mother.
****
The major part of the Sheesh Mahal's South Wing had been turned into office spaces for AR Designs. The remaining rooms had been set aside as a Guest House for AR Employees. The North Wing had been turned into a hotel. Renovations were underway and as soon as they were completed, visitors would be able to experience royal splendour during their journey.
A lot of the paint had been chipped and faded over time but Arnav had decided to preserve as much of the palace as possible, to give visitors that authentic feel. And Aman Bansal was overseeing the project.
It was during his tour of the North Wing that Aman received a call from an unknown landline number.
"Hello," he smiled into his phone.
"Aman this is Khushi," she whispered.
"Khushi where are you calling from? Why are you not using your cell phone?"
"Shhh, listen to me. I don't have much time. I am calling from a paybooth and the phone will disconnect in three minutes."
"Why are you using a payphone?"
"I said listen, not ask questions. There is a possibility that my family thinks we both like each other and they may find a way to contact you for a marriage proposal. If they do, please say no."
"Aman, you're a great friend and I have really come to love and respect you, but I never thought of you like that. You have to help me Aman, PLEAASEEE."
Her exaggerated please drew a smile from his lips.
"Okay, okay Khushi, calm down..." began Aman, "but how and when did you family get the idea..."
The rest of Aman's words were lost in the loud knock from the next person waiting in the line to use the booth.
And then he heard Khushi tell someone, "Yes Bhaiyaji, just one more minute."
"Aman, I will have to go, but please take care. Thank you."
And she hung up, making her way home.
****
Khushi's crazy antics always made Aman smile. She had called him from a payphone. Seriously, who uses a payphone in today's day and age. Doesn't everyone have a mobile phone? And what was she talking about getting married? Where did her family get that idea? Aman smiled some more. Clearly, they were just as crazy as her.
And just as he was walking into his office, the smile threatening to turn into a chuckle thinking about the antics of one Khushi Kumari Gupta, he bumped into ASR.
"Anything special Bansal that I should know about?" asked Arnav, looking at the smile gracing Aman's lips.
"Nothing ASR. Nothing that is not in the day of Khushi Kumari Gupta."
ASR frowned.
"What did Gupta do that is so amusing," he asked curtly.
Aman noticed the sudden change in tone, but brushed it off.
"She just called me from a payphone to tell me that her family is thinking of arranging her wedding with me. Crazy girl."
Nonchalantly shaking his head he walked away, smiling a bit more.
The green-eyed monster let out a big growl. It was high time this "friendly affair" between Khushi Kumari Gupta and Aman Bansal came to an end.
Chapter 39: https://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=4807996&TPN=36
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