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Hi everyone.
Happy New Year to you all. I am back from my trip but still jet lagged and trying to catch up with my routine. I will start this ff in a few days. Thanks for your patience guys :)
IT HAD TO BE YOU
[quote=annu]
ARMAAN.. .
RIDDHIMA..
😆
PART 1
ME- The attention seeker, drama king, nautanki-baaz, mischief number one, rascal, badmash, 'na jaane kya khaakar paida kiya tha isko?' Yes, that was me! Was? Okay, still am. Since I can remember, these labels have always been tagged to my real name, Armaan Malik. At first, I didn't understand what those titles meant. Later, I started relishing those names - the attention seeker that I was, and now I don't really care. Why? Because I don't need to attract attention anymore. It's taken me 28 years to realize that all these years, it was your attention that I was seeking; your approval that I was craving for and your nod that I aspired for.
YOU- The perfect child, angel, genius, one of a kind, teacher's pet, mama's pet, daddy's pet, aunty's pet, uncle's pet, everyone's dream child, 'aapne kya khaakar paida kiya tha isko?' Yes, that was you! You were every desi-parent-in-New York's ideal child- specially mine. I remember when mom was expecting her second child, my little sister, Muskaan, she followed your mom, Padma auntie for a whole week to emulate her eating, reading and sleep habits! My poor mom- she was so nave in those days. The more she tried to mould herself or her children in someone else's shoes, the more disgruntled she would get. Dad tried on several occasions to ease her fears that her kids would one day grow up to be losers, waiting on tables or flipping burgers at MacDonald's unlike the other desi kids with six figure salaries.
"Chill Shivani! So what if Riddhima knows all multiplication tables in first grade? Armaan koi kam nahin hai! He can jump higher than any other kid of his age!" Dad would defend me, "chalo Armaan, let's shoot some baskets."
"Yes, that's what I have been saying all these years," mom would slap her forehead in frustration, "maybe he can be a stand by for the monkeys at the zoo when they are on vacation. Baaki sab bachche aage nikal jaayenge Armaan se! Armaan sirf kood ta reh jaayega!"
"SLAM DUNK!" I screamed as dad cheered at my athletic skills, "okay Armaan, I think it's time to move that hoop higher. You are amazing son. Where did you learn how to jump so high?"
"At Riddhima's birthday party!"
"Riddhima's birthday party?" Dad chuckled.
Yes, I remember your fourth birthday party well. Who says I am forgetful? I distinctly remember that day when mom, Muskaan, my one year old sister and I, who had just turned five, walked into your house. The pristine dcor with a princess theme, the living room decorated as a castle, colorful balloons, matching confetti, coordinated table cloth, plates and napkins and you dressed in a pink, lacy princess dress with a tiara on your head reminded me of all the boring Disney movies mom always dragged me to see with her.
"YUCK! I HATE PINK!" I announced as soon as we stepped into the make believe Grimm-land after the legendary Grimm brothers, who in my opinion should be 'grim brothers' as they are responsible for why so many women in this country are always depressed and unhappy about their lives!
"Sshh! Armaan!" Mom reprimanded me, "it's Ridz's birthday today. Be nice for once."
"I am always nice," I pouted and then kicked a sleepy looking dwarf cut out in the corner.
"ARMAAAAN! DO YOU WANT TIMEOUT?" Mom gnashed her teeth while little Muskaan laughed at the unconscious dwarf lying face down after my assault.
"NO! I WANT CAKE!" I ran into the kitchen and hugged Padma auntie, who for some reason adored me like her own son, "I want cake auntie. I am hungry!"
"Arre beta Armaan tum aa gaye?" She lifted me in her arms and planted a kiss on my cheek, "you look so handsome in this Knicks (New York's basketball team) jersey." I gave her an ear to ear grin and slid down her arms. Having forgotten my craving for cake, I ran towards all the kids in the living room. For obvious reasons, you were the center of all the attention that day. The other little girls admired your tiara, pink dress, matching shoes and bracelet. There were a handful of boys huddled in a corner with some of your toys. Sorry, not real toys, but puzzles, magnets, coloring books and blocks- mind stimulating toys as our parents usually called them. You, of all kids, had a large collection of them.
"Armaan beta, did you wish Riddhima a Happy Birthday?" Mom walked towards me.
By now, I was busy converting the blocks and puzzles into missiles, guns and cars with full blown sound effects of "grrrr'..boooom''zoooom'..drrrr'..Happy Birthday'.grrr'.boooom'..zoooom'."
Of course, you didn't hear me wish you Happy Birthday thanks to the drowning, guttural sounds that the other boys had joined me in also. Dad, who was away at work that afternoon, would have been proud of his son's leadership skills. Five year old boys can be pretty loud when given a chance. Not only did we all take over the acoustics of the room, your toys were mishandled to such an extent that for a short while, you stood frozen, stunned at the mayhem in your dreamland. Unable to take it anymore, you let out a squeal so loud that all the boys came to a standstill.
"My toys'..bah'bah," a tearful you finally gave me the attention I was craving for, "mama'Armaan is throwing all my blocks and puzzles." Frantically, you started picking all the pieces scattered on the floor.
Padma auntie came to our rescue, "come on kids. Let's all sit down in a circle and play passing the parcel. We will clean up later beta Riddhima."
Your dad, Shashank uncle wiped your face gently and picked you in his arms, "chalo beta'.let's all sit down. Riddhima beta, remember that poem you recited in the class the other day? Kya sab ko sunaogi wo poem?" You nodded with a big smile on your face.
"I hate poems!" I made a disgusting face but relented as mom gave me the glare- that glare which meant all your toys, video games and TV would be banished from your life for the next however many days.
With music resonating in the background, all the kids started passing the parcel in a circle. No one wanted the parcel to end up on their lap as that meant some form of 'punishment' or rather performance in front of the group. In my opinion this lame game should be banned from all birthday parties as it's the spectators, who have to endure endless recitations of poems, songs and dances, that are punished rather than the performer.
As expected, yours was the first lap where the parcel was conveniently laid to rest at . Shashank uncle was of course in charge of music and displaying his daughter's talents in front of all the desi parents and kids always brought a smile on his face. That peculiar smile on his face- a mixture of pride and glee- would become so familiar to me in the coming years as you would continue to win accolades and awards all your life.
After neatly pressing your dress with your little palms, you stood up and recited a poem for all of us:
Caterpillar
~Christina Rossetti
Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry,
Take your walk
To the shady leaf, or stalk,
Or what not,
Which may be the chosen spot.
No toad spy you,
Hovering bird of prey pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.
The applause and appreciation from the other kids and parents made up for the chaos I had created in the living room a few minutes ago. With a big smile you bowed to us all and sat down in your place. A big smile- yes your smile, which to my chagrin you seldom flashed at me, had me mesmerized for a few moments. I remember I smiled back but then suddenly remembered that I was too cool to appreciate poetry.
"BORING!!!" I yelled out. Shocked and stunned, the other parents tried to shush me and not upset the little princess once again. Out of embarrassment, my mother was almost about to bury her head in the couch, but Padma aunty eased the tension in the air.
"Armaan beta, everyone will get a chance'Shashank, please play the music again."
A visibly upset Shashank uncle tried to fake a smile and turned the music on. Shashank uncle, always the competitive man, paused the music as the parcel felon my lap.
"YAY ARMAAN'S TURN!" My friends cheered for me.
"Ok now Armaan beta will show us something very very interesting'.kyun beta? Something NOT BORING?" That almost-wicked smile on his face had me all charged up.
"I don't want to," I was defiant at first.
"Ok, then we will have to skip your turn. Looks like Armaan cannot do anything interesting for us," your dad mocked at me. The other adults were a little stunned at the mini battle of words between a 30 year old man and five year old boy.
"Beta Armaan, I am sure there is something you are good at'.dikhao beta'.every kid has some talent'.what do you love to do?" your mom as always tried to smoothen the wrinkles. My mom was too embarrassed to say anything; she retired to the laundry room to change Muskaan's diaper- her escape from reality when her son's behavior was too much for her to handle.
"I love to jump!" I sprang up from my seat and before anyone could stop me, I had converted the couch into a trampoline and jumped so high that the balloons on the wall adjacent to the couch brushed against my hair creating a static noise that had everyone gasping. Elated by the audience response, I went a step further and pulled a balloon off the wall as I soared higher.
"KABOOM!" Off went the balloon bursting in mid air. As the kids cheered and applauded the jumping- jack-bursting-balloons act, the adults tried to calm me down. I was on a high and no one could stop me now. A number of kids left the circle and joined me in couch-turned-trampoline. With balloons going off like fireworks on Diwali, the princess dreamland had once again been raided by the devil in your life- ME!
Yes, me the devil in your life, cherished every moment of the attention I received that afternoon.
"I HATE ARMAAN! I HATE HIM!" You shouted at the top of your lungs. The words echoed between the four walls of your living room. Words that would continue to echo for many years to come- all through our school days, prom nights, college days, after college days- till one day, maybe they would suddenly vanish from your vocabulary and be replaced by those three wonderful words that keeps this world going, which now when I think back, I have been yearning to hear all these 28 years of my life and even if I have to wait another 28 years, I will never give up hope.
'''..to be contd'''''''.
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