Chapter Nine
Maan stared at Geet as she fidgeted around, trying to absorb what he had just said into her already cluttered mind.
"He's crazy," she thought to herself, "me and in his outhouse? My cramped flat is better than this shabby hut he wants to keep me in. Seriously, he's treating me like a stray dog who he picked up from the street! Well, this kennel is not going to suit me."
Before she could voice her displeasure, they pulled up outside an imposing marble structure that rivalled the Greek architechture.
"You built this," she asked, in a trance.
"No," he snorted, "I run a food processing company."
She shook her head. Such a fairytale palace couldn't be Maan's house. She had made up her mind that he lived in some grey-coloured Gothic style building with depressing paintings stuck on the wall. Instead, as she was reluctantly led inside, she gasped at the potraits of imposing men wearing clothes fit only for royalty and life-size marble statues that looked like they had been stolen from a musuem.
"Welcome to the outhouse," Maan said grumpily. How could he have been so foolish to let a lowly employee of his stay in the outhouse? He shook his head, trying to remember what could have possibly led him to take such a drastic step. All he remembered was fighting the goons, and getting injured, and Geet crying-
Yes, that was it. Geet's tears. He had never been one for bowing down to a woman's tears, but then Geet seemed to be some different specimen altogether. A new species of woman. Bella Stubbornsapiens. And she seemed to be the last surviving member of that annoying race.
Well, he might as well as preserve it, considering he did not like to see a single flaw on Geet's face, be it a physical injury or a mental one.
He snapped back to reality from his ramblings and noticed that he had subconsciously taken Geet's hand in his. He let go immediately, breaking her trance too.
"I'm supposed to live here?" she asked in wonderment.
"You can go outside and sleep on the road," he said, shrugging. She frowned. "Very funny."
She opened the door of Maan's room. He reached out as if to stop her, but it was too late. She had already stepped inside. And what she saw shocked her.
There were photos of Maan. And each photo was different from the sulking Maan standing outside the door. Photos of Maan as a baby, playing with a rattle in his cradle. Then as a toddler, on his first day to school, nervous-to think Maan Singh Khurana could ever have been frightened astounded Geet. And there was one last photo of Maan around seven or eight years of age, in the lap of a kindly looking elderly woman whose face was identical to the portrait in Maan's office. But there were no photos of him beyond that age.
"Why no more photos?" she asked.
"I don't feel it my duty to answer you," he said in a crabby tone. "And this is not your room. Your room is that on the left side."
Geet felt like questioning him, but his glare silenced her. With curiousity eating away at her sides, she went to the room on the left, which was a simple room with a king-size bed and an old LG tv. There was a wooden cupboard. Geet looked at herself. Her clothes were stained with dirt. Maan noticed how uncomfortable she was feeling, and he felt awkward himself. Having no option left, he removed his jacket and gave it to her.
"Wear it," he said.
She accepted it, nodding her head in gratitude.
Maan Sir itne bhi bure nahin the.
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
98