Bigg Boss 19- Daily Discussion Thread- 9th September, 2025
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai Sept 9, 2025 Episode Discussion Thread
🏏T20 Asia Cup 2025- AFG vs HK 1st Match, Group B, Abu Dhabi🏏
SUPER HEROO 9.9
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai Sep 10, 2025 EDT
Karan Nandini Kids are here
MAIRA AGAYI 10.9
20 years of Salaam Namaste
3 Years Of Brahmāstra
Sidharth Malhotra is just the same as Arjun Kapoor, just with looks!
Happy Birthday Akshay Kumar
How many more chances for Janhvi Kapoor!!?
Karisma Kapoor's Kids Move Delhi HC
🏏T20 Asia Cup 2025- Ind vs UAE 2nd Match, Group A, Dubai 🏏
Chapter 3: The nanny.
He remembered that day, 4 and half years ago, as vividly as if it had happened yesterday. He remembered walking carefully up the stairs of that rundown building, trying to avoid knocking over the local kids who seemed to be running up and down the stairs at the speed of lightening, laughing, uncaring of danger. The parent in him wanted to shout at them to be careful but then he had remembered that these weren't his kids. In fact, these smiling boys looked so much different then his Shahid: his son barely acted his age, in fact he scarcely smiled, especially nowadays. But this wasn't exactly true. Not anymore anyways. For a brief period of time, he had seen Shahid smile and act so much more like a happy child then he had ever. And it had been all because of one person. And it was the same person that had brought him here today to this part of town, to this very building, to these rickety stairs. As he finally reached the third landing, he hesitantly knocked on the blue door baring the much-faded number 5.
After a few seconds wait he had heard a faint "who is it?" from within.
- It's Dr. Rahul Kapoor, Khushi ji. Can you open the door? I… euh… I want to talk to you.
And he had waited with bated breath for her to door to open, which she had, cautiously and slowly.
- What are you doing here?
- Khushi ji can I talk to you for a moment. Please? he had pleaded, hoping that she could see the desperation in his eyes and hear it in his voice.
He saw hesitation and wariness pass in her eyes, but she had nodded curtly and opened the door wider to let him in.
She had been living in a one-room studio: the room had been well kept but it had been bare. A room in such contrast to the girl who lived in it: or rather from what he had seen of the girl as she interacted with his son. Her energy and mischievousness seem to energize all those around her, including his forlorn and anti-social son.
She gestured him to sit on the makeshift sofa that clearly also served as the bed. A sofa, a table on which lay the murti of devi-maiya, and a chair were all that constituted as furniture. And in a corner, a gas stove that clearly formed the kitchen.
- Would you like some tea or water? she asked nervously. He shook his head in refusal.
He watched as she walked to the opposite side of the room, as far away from him as possible, to stare out from the single window that opened into the room, her back turned towards him.
His mouth had suddenly turned very dry. He had regretted not accepting her offer of water.
- You wanted to talk to me about something?
- Yes… Will you come back Khushi ji? Will you come back to take care of Shahid? He misses you a lot. He keeps asking for you. You… you make him happy. He needs someone to make him happy right now. And I want to see him happy. I don't think he will be able to tolerate another per… he had hesitated, the pain had still been so raw, the wound still bleeding… another person leaving him right now.
She had not turned around during his plea; she had not uttered one word. She had kept staring out of the window. He had waited for another second before saying what he had truly come to say.
- I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day and, he continued when no response came from the girl standing 5 feet away from him, about Asha.
He had winced, remembering how in a moment of weakness and despair and, yes, drunkenness, he had questioned the paternity of Asha; how Khushi had overheard his tirade towards a 2 month year old baby and given him a talking-to of a lifetime, reminding him that he could not take out his anger and his guilt on a mere innocent; how he had retaliated by reminding her that she was nothing but a paid servant in his house and that she had no right to get involved in his life and then had promptly fired her, asking her never to show her face in his household ever again. That had been 2 days ago. And since he had regained his senses, guilt had been gnawing at his insides: he knew that this girl had been right and that he had been unforgivably wrong.
She had had finally turned towards him, her face inexpressive.
- Believe me, he pleaded; it was a moment of weakness. I shouldn't have said what I did about Asha. I can't believe I said what I did. I can't believe I thought what I did. It's not her fault. It's no ones' fault. It's MY fault, MY entire fault.
The quiet look of understanding and pity with which she looked at him through her big doe like eyes had been the metaphorical crack that broke the dam of his carefully cultivated calm. He had finally given into his feelings, feelings he had not showed in front of any of his loved ones, feelings which had escaped him only once since this 2 month ordeal, in a drunken stupor 2 days ago. He gave into the tears that spoke of his hurt, his anger, and his pain in front of her, in front of the-then stranger, in front of that speck of a girl who had been the nanny to his 5-year-old son for the past 4 months. He knew now that it had been easier for him to cry in front of a stranger then his loved ones because he had been afraid to cause them more pain when they were already hurting so much,
He had cried his heart out that afternoon; he had let go of all he had bottled up inside him for months maybe years as he had sobbed uncontrollably in that small room. And he had finally mourned and made peace with his past and a future that he realised would no longer be his.
He had mourned the loss of a relationship, of a past, of a wife; a wife he had not lost to death but to years of, now he realised, indifference and distance. They had married young but time, or rather their lack of time for each other, and their chosen paths, his becoming a doctor, her a lawyer, had driven them to become strangers to each.
She had left him for another man, a better man he imagined, leaving him and a family shocked and shattered. A family which had barely risen out of the depths of pain from having lost abruptly two members – or rather two pillars- of their much beloved and close knit group – his father and his older brother had died not even 5 months ago in a car accident.
Rahul had grown up in a happy and prosperous home. He had had two parents who loved and nurtured and supported each other and their 4 sons exceedingly. He, and his family had remained untouched by pain and suffering for such a long time, that these events had nearly crippled them with grief.
She had left him 2 months ago after giving birth to their daughter; a daughter he had named Asha – meaning hope- in the hopes that she would help them rekindle what they had lost. But it had not been enough. Their kids had not been enough for her to stay. And he did not, could no longer bring himself to blame her. In fact, his wife had unknowingly handed them the balm to the wound she had inflicted: she had brought Khushi into their lives by hiring her to care after Shahid, a neglected son. How could he blame her when she had given them the means to heal what had already been broken? But himself, he could never forgive; he blamed himself, still.
As he had cried for what had been and could have been, on that fateful afternoon 4 and half years ago, he had become aware of a light pressure on his shoulder. It had been Khushi's hand, offering comfort. He didn't know why but that little gesture had offered him more solace then all the words that his friends and family had poured onto him.
When he had finally stopped crying, she had quietly let go of his shoulder, and had moved to the kitchen corner of his room, leaving him time and privacy to recover.
When she had come back, she had quietly handed him his tea, and smiled that 100 watts smile he had heard his dadi describe. However, even in his emotionally boggled state of mind, he had realised that that smile did not completely reach her eyes. And as he had stared into those eyes, eyes that looked older than the girl who stood before him, he had known at that moment that this girl of 19 had probably seen and felt more than her share of her pain in this world.
- So will you come back to look after Shahid?
She had nodded, her head moving up and down energetically, that 100 watts smile still on her face.
- Yes, but only on one condition.
Before he could ask her what it was, that smile had turned mischievous and she had replied: "Only if you increase my salary."
And he had smiled and nodded, all sense of awkwardness gone.
A simple thank you was all he had been able to say to her as he left her that day. But he knew that she had understood that it was for more than just agreeing to come back to take care of Shahid.
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As everyone in the living room of the Kapoor's Delhi townhouse continued to talk and laugh, oblivious to the emotions that stirred within their much beloved Khushi's heart, Dr. Rahul Kapoor sighed. He shook his head in amazement and shock, not for the first time, at how little people saw and how much they didn't: his family were satisfied by what they saw because that is what delighted them and kept them happy. They saw a happy and content Khushi hence they were happy and content. No one bothered to look deep enough to understand what happened beneath that cool exterior of hers; No one that is except his son and his mother.
Rahul planted a kiss on his daughter's head, handed her to her chachu (uncle) and walked to the kitchen. Even before he reached it, he knew what she would be doing. His suspicions were confirmed by the smell of freshly made jalebis that met him in the corridor leading up to the kitchen.
He sighed again. He would have to get Shahid home soon. His mother being away to France and not returning till next week. His son was now his only hope in bringing Khushi out of her distressing thoughts today.
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Let me know what you guys think. Should I continue or is it a bore? N who, thanks for the read!
Can you add translations to any Hindi conversations please
Chapter 4: Resurrected
If a stranger were to enter Shantivan at this moment, they would have been met with nothing but silence: a silence not uncommon to a house at such a late hour of the night- or rather- early morning. This stranger would have declared that all was Shanti- peaceful- within the walls of this grandiose house. However, if the walls of Shantivan could talk, they would have cleared this stranger of his misunderstanding: the eerily quietness of the house was so opposite to the storm that roared within the hearts and minds of its occupants. However, the walls of Shantivan could not talk. And hence, they bore witness, alone, to the inner turmoil of each of its inhabitants: each locked away in their corner of the majestic house, lost within their torturous thoughts.
Devyani Raizada, the strong matriarch of this ill-fated family, sat quietly in the house mandir, reciting prayers in which she sought comfort as much as distraction from painful memories of a girl. A girl who had been wiser beyond her years, of a smile that could light up a room, of an innocent girl who sought nothing but happiness for others but who had fallen victim because of her innocence. These memories, which Devyani Raizada had long ago repressed, had reawakened within her when she had seen their main actor today and they now refused to be forgotten.
Madhumati Raizada and her husband sat together in shocked silence within the confines of their room. They sat together, sharing a rare moment of affection, united as husband and wife, seeking comfort from and providing comfort to each other. Mrs Raizada's head lay on the strong shoulder of her husband, his arm wrapped affectionately around her shoulders, silently offering support and understanding as feelings of guilt – for how she had acted- and pain – pain for all her children- wrecked her soul.
Aakash Raizada sat silently on his side of the bed: his eyes staring dejectedly into the gloominess that covered his room. They moved from time to time to look longingly at the woman who lay next to him, her back to him. He could feel the little tremors, the only sign of the silent tears she was shedding, that raked her small body.
- Payal, don't cry like this. It's not good for the baby, he whispered into the night, hoping, praying for a reaction.
When none came, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, wanting to offer love, comfort and support, knowing very well that this little gesture may be 5 years too late. However, his hand was promptly wrenched from her shoulder, a clear refusal to anything he had to offer.
And at that moment, Aakash cursed himself, not for the first time, and he cursed how his self-righteousness had caused him to blame an innocent creature, how instead of protecting his sister-in-law, he had blamed her wrongly. And of how fate had punished him by turning him into an unforgivable sinner in the eyes of his wife.
Payal Raizada lay in bed crying: Crying for a sister she had failed and wronged. She had failed to protect a sister who had forsaken her own happiness for her, Payal. She cried and she prayed: she prayed to be once again united with her sister. And now that DM had given her a second chance to atone for her sins and her failings as a sister, she swore, she would never again fail her Khushi.
Anjali Singh Raizada also lay crying in her room. She cried for a future that never materialised, for the empty shell that had become her brother, after Khushi ji's absence- her presumed death. Not that he wasn't the same attentive, caring and loving chote towards her, but there was now an automaticity to his actions which had never been present before; it was true his shoulder was always there for her to lean on, but his eyes and thoughts were always miles away.
However, Anjali Raizada also cried tears of joy. Her bhagwan had blessed her with a second chance to make everything right. Her sobs quietened as she made plans for the future: now that they knew Khushi ji was alive, her chote would find her and bring her back. Anjali could finally reassure Khushi ji that all was well now, that everyone knew the truth and that she could come back to them. And once Khushi ji came back into their lives, life would become better. And they could all go back to being how they were before, a happy family. And thus comforted by her happy thoughts, Anjali Singh Raizada fell asleep, her arm protectively wrapped around her son.
Arnav Singh Raizada lay quietly on his bed, staring into emptiness. The outer calmness that he had portrayed since the incident this morning at the temple, since he had seen her this morning, was a sharp contrast to the feelings that raged within him. He hadn't felt this alive for a long time, in fact since that day, 5 years ago, when he had heard of her disappearance and then presumed death. But now, he could feel his heart coming back to life, his sansein taking flight once again. She was alive. He had seen her. She wasn't dead. She was alive. She was here in Delhi. He had seen her smile. She was alive.
A frenzied energy suddenly took control of his body: He jumped off his bed and paced the length of his room.
She was alive. She was here. He had to find her. Yes, he would find her and then…
And then what asked an inquisitive voice in his mind. What would he ask, what would he say, what would he do? If she had wanted to be found wouldn't she have sent them a sign long ago? If she wanted to come back, wouldn't she have come back a long time ago? It had been 5 years.
Maybe she doesn't want to be found. Maybe… she doesn't want to come back, continued that little voice.
No, he replied. It was Khushi they were talking about. Khushi could never stay away from her loved ones. She would have come back. Something must have prevented her from doing so.
And subconsciously, the image of that man and little girl and Khushi flashed clearly into his mind.
She had to come back. She had to answer his questions: Where had she been, how had she been, and who was that man and child she had been?
What if she refused?
When he would drag her back. Who was she to take decisions about their life, to play with their lives?
Their life? asked that voice again. There was no longer a 'their' where he and Khushi were concerned, there hadn't been one even before she had disappeared. He had no right over her. She was not his friend, not his lover, not his wife. She was simply the sister-in-law of his cousin bhai. Or had he forgotten that fateful trip to the mandir with her- the same mandir where he had forcefully married her.
How could he forget the day his marriage had broken? His heart still ached whenever his tortured mind conjured up the image of her wiping the sindoor – his mark- off her maang and throwing his mangulsutra back into his hands in front of her DM. It had been befitting, now that he thought about it, that DM had been their sole witness. She had been the only one there at the beginning, it was befitting that she had been there at the end.
But he knew his Khushi. He had known that she loved him and that whatever she was doing was because she believed it was the only way for him to be happy. She had blamed herself for what had happened. But her leaving had done nothing but make everything worse. And after the news of Khushi's death came… But she wasn't dead. She was alive. And he wanted answers.
Maybe, began a hopeful voice within him, she has stayed away because she still blames herself. Maybe his innocent, pagli, Khushi still believes that his family members blame her; maybe she has stayed away for so long to make sure his sister remained happy.
Yes. He would find her and explain to the silly chit that all was well. That everything was out into the open. His family would ask for her forgiveness and all would return back to how it had been. They would once again become one, and they would once again live happily together as a family.
Arnav picked up his phone.
- Hello. Commissioner? It's Arnav Singh Raizada. How are you? … I'm sorry to disturb you at such a late hour but I have an urgent favour to ask of you. I was hoping you could track down the owner of a car for me…
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Arnav was in the office when the call came from the commissioner, two days later. Not that he could concentrate long enough to get any work done but he had wanted to escape Raizada house and its inhabitants for a while. Life at Shantivan had changed drastically in the past two days. A sort of a palatable energy and impatience could be felt in the air- leaving a person feeling on the edge.
As soon as he hung up, after impatiently exchanging pleasantries and offering reassurances to the commissioner that nothing was wrong, he buzzed his personal secretary to his office.
- Aman, I need you to do something for me. I want you to find out everything about a certain Raj B. Kapoor. I want to know everything about this man. And I want you to find out how he looks. And I want this done ASAP but discretely.
_____________________________________________________
A week later, Aman entered his boss's office, ready to relay all the information the private investigator, that he had hired on his boss's behalf, had collected on Raj. B Kapoor.
- Sir, Mr. Raj B. Kapoor, is the second eldest surviving son of a Balraj B. Kapoor. He is 29 years old. His family is the owner of an indian food exporting company. He is in fact currently the CEO of this company. They are essentially established in Mumbai. But they have offices in Delhi also.
- What about any other family? Is he married? Does he have children?
The voice was neutral. But Aman wasn't deceived. He knew something was up and it had something to do with this Raj B. Kapoor. Arnav Singh Raizada had been distracted for the past 12 days. And that was unnatural. Only something apocalyptic would keep the great ASR from his work. Hadn't the man come to work the next day after he had been kidnapped for 15 days? But ASR was not a man to share his feelings. Ever since Aman had entered the office, his boss had swirled his chair to face the opposite window, leaving Aman facing the leather-covered dossier of the chair.
- Unfortunately, the Kapoors, despite being a very influential family, are also a very private one. And since they are mostly established in Mumbai, it was hard for the investigator to find much about them in such a short time. However, he did find out that Mr Raj Kapoor's father passed away in a car accident that also killed his oldest brother approximately 5 and half years ago. He has two other brothers: An older one, a Dr Rahul Kapoor, and a younger one, Javeed Kapoor. In fact, the investigator found out that Dr Rahul Kapoor owns a familial mansion in Delhi named Bhuvi. When he went there to check the place out, he found out that the whole family was in fact in Delhi and had been here for the past month or so. They are currently busy preparing for Mr. Raj Kapoor's engagement that will take place at Bhuvi next week.
- He also managed to take a couple of snapshots of the family as they came and left the house as well as some newspaper clippings concerning Mr. Raj Kapoor.
- Thank you Aman. You can get back to your work now.
Only after he had heard the soft click of the door closing did Arnav Singh Raizada swing his chair around and open the file that his very efficient personal assistant had placed on his desk.
He quickly skimmed the report the investigator had typed up for him. It contained no additional information than what Aman had summarized for him. Impatiently, he turned to the other documents in the file. The first was a clipping from a magazine article describing the youngest CEOs to watch out for in the future: and at number 39 was Mr. Raj Kapoor. As Arnav stared at the picture of the man, mixed feelings of impatience and dread filled him. This wasn't the man he had seen Khushi with. Feeling restless, he turned towards the pictures. They all showed various people arriving or leaving in cars from within the gates of a house. He scanned each one of them, looking for a familiar face, anxiety building within him, when he finally stopped at the seventh picture of the bundle. With shaking fingers, he turned the picture around.
Behind the picture, was written, in clear black felt pen: Dr. Rahul Kapoor and Khushi Kapoor?
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Ah well this was Chapter 4. I don't know how i feel about it honestly. But lemme know what you think. Click the like button if you liked it and/or comment to let me know your thoughts. I love your feed back.
And if some of you want to get pm's for the update, or no longer want pm's lemme know also.
N who enjoy!
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