Arhi SS|New Year's Resolutions|LastPart- B&C p130 *complete!* - Page 7

Firstly, thank you so much for this! I really needed a dose of ASR, been missing him terribly. loved the concept. The whole thing was so spot on! It was as if ASR is writing it himself. too good! waiting to read what lies ahead!! please update as soon as u can!

😭😭I kind of made a really, really stupid mistake- by turning off my laptop before saving the documents I was working on. Thanks to my own clumsiness, I lost both the chapters for this fic and Fortunate Events (since I never remember to save) and wound up losing both and having to start from scratch. So I really hope frustration and impatience didn't mess this up :( Insomnia was me in a full-on writing mode, so maybe I'll be able to make up for my folly

A few things...

1) I am totally ignoring Shyam in this fic. He's giving me (and Arhi) enough trouble in all the other fics :P

2) Please take note of the date and time references which serve as subheadings within this fic, because the story will actually flit back and forth through time, and sometimes fastforward

3) Things are getting a bit serious from here on...I'm aiming to touch on some of the things that went disappointingly untouched in the show, and praying that I do them justice. Also intending to add meat to all the characters, not just Arhi

4) To everyone who read and reviewed this fic- thank you so much!! I love reading your comments and feedback and I am thrilled that you guys liked it so far! Fingers crossed for the next one...

*EDIT* 5) Yes, this is a love story :P We just have two stubborn people who refuse to believe they're in love, but give them some time😛

Part 2:

New Year's Eve, 2011, 11.47 p.m.

His name, written there on that page in her handwriting.

Even before he could fully process what was happening, the iron curtain between the part of his mind he had conquered and the wilder lands he kept at bay had been whisked off. Arnav, heedless of the fact that it was against even his unorthodox principles to pry into someone's personal thoughts, zeroed in to the contents of the diary with an almost unhealthy curiosity.

In retrospect, Arnav might never have succumbed like a weakling to the crippling inquisitiveness, even after he had spied his name in her diary. No matter how unscrupulous he was when it came to getting his way, he was also a man of uncompromising principles, whether he showed it or not. Prying into someone's private, innermost thoughts, simply to assuage his burning curiosity, would not have gelled well with him, constituting an almost heinous, lowly, ego-wounding act.

But the fact of the matter was, Arnav's mindset was already warped. Unsettled by the turbulence of first his irate fury at Akash, then at himself for repeatedly allowing his thoughts to stray (in unapproved ways, at that) to Khushi, then the self-recriminating haste with which he attempted to suppress said thoughts, the fitful switches between emotions that wrangled his self-control had left him an unwitting slave to instinct.

And that was why Arnav found himself poring intently over the scribbled lines in the diary, rotating himself so that the pages would catch the faint gleams drifting in from streetlamps outside, fully expecting to glean an insight into the ridiculous workings of Khushi's brain, certain that her resolutions would consist of different ways to prank him, needle him, nag him, along with several other half-crazed plans regarding jalebis, Salman Khan and 'biscoot'.

And that was why he was caught well and truly off-guard by what he found instead.

After all, as the saying went- curiosity did kill the cat.

New Year's Eve, 2011, 10.32 p.m. (More than an hour ago)

Khushi bit down hard on her tongue, hoping the sharp self-inflicted pain would help clear her head and dissipate some of the provocative nervous tension nagging her continuously. Seated in the living room with her mother and aunt (who were busy drawing up a list of names of those who were to receive wedding invitations), and her sister (deftly working her way through a pile of laundry as she folded them up), only Khushi knew the immense willpower she had to harness not to transform into a jalebi-making machine and unleash a marathon session in the kitchen.

Throwing around a pseudo-casual glance to ensure that everyone was occupied in their own spheres, Khushi decided that the moment was ripe. Rising from her seat as nonchalantly as she could manage, she sternly schooled her legs to tiptoe over to the bedroom door, resisting the urge to break into a run while reverently hoping that the dam would not burst within the full view of her family.

Because, quite frankly, Khushi had reached the end of her tether. Exhaling heavily as she clicked the door shut behind her, Khushi leant back against the smooth wooden surface and let her eyes close, grateful for once for the privacy and the solitude (both things she normally dreaded and tended to avoid). At least here, sheathed in partial shadow (oh irony of ironies), Khushi could finally face the bleak, forlorn depression that had been nipping at her all day.

Huffing with fatigue, Khushi's feet began to trail a dragging path up and down the room of their own accord. Honestly, she ought to be happy today. New Year's Eve was one of those occasions that she had celebrated with gusto every single year, an especial day that had pegged itself right within the ranks of festivals like Holi or Diwali. For a lively, bubbly, vivacious spirit like Khushi, this day was simply yet another entirely-too-welcome excuse to spread cheer and goodwill and to feed off its heady pleasure.

But this year, no matter how infectious the festive mood was on the streets, within the house, this inexplicable sorrow hovered like a raincloud over her, dampening her spirits, refusing to let that revelling spark ignite.

Khushi could, perhaps, pinpoint some of the reasons why that was.

Up until last year, Khushi would have approached the beginning of a new era with the ever optimistic view that it was the beginning of bigger, better things to come. It would bring all over again another slew of birthdays, festivals, weddings, anniversaries, and would accommodate space perhaps for new reasons to hitch a smile onto one's face. New Year's Eve, celebrated in the cosy familial confines of their home in Lucknow, bundled in woollen cardigans knitted by Amma as they defied the wintry chill of December, proudly distributing hand-made sweets, had always seemed a positive thing, a hearty welcome to better times.

But that comforting misconception had been torn brutally asunder this year, and Khushi's make-believe world, where only good things happened, had been finally crushed as one calamity followed fast upon the footsteps of the other, sparing no time to recuperate. Tragedy seemed to have a penchant for impressing its presence, and it had certainly done so as one lightning bolt after another struck their humble contentment- Jiji's broken wedding, her public humiliation in her hometown, losing their home and shop, Buaji's saree business shutting down, the financial pressures, Bauji's heart attack and resultant paralysis, and Khushi's engagement to that awful, awful man...

All these misfortunes, no matter how hard Khushi had tried to ignore them, belittle them in her mind, had left lasting impressions, lingering repercussions that now weighed in her mind like heavy tomes stacked into a too-small bookcase. Articulate, factual, and very, very real. Several problems still existed, and they marred her view of the horizon, meddling with her intense longing to begin afresh, scavenge some happiness for herself and her family, and would definitely persist, New Year or not.

And then there other things...recent things, words which were possibly the catalyst that had triggered this fountain of remorse...words which bubbled just beneath the surface...to do with...him.

Khushi's mind clamped shut. She wouldn't think about that. That had nothing to do with her. Nothing at all.

Right?

It was infuriating, this feeling- this helplessness, this impatience, this conviction that there were very urgent issues to resolve but not being able to resolve them- it coagulated like steam trapped in a pressure cooker, building and building until Khushi felt her bones ache with the effort of keeping it all in. She dared not let her family members catch her inner anguish- they had only just managed to clasp onto a modicum of hope, a glimmer of happiness, and she would not burden them and dent their joy with her belated epiphany.

That New Year's Eve officially marked time running out.

But Khushi was not one to wallow in self-pity. She was not a martyr. She was born fighter, bred from an early age to meet difficulty face up, head held high, to battle tooth and nail for what she believed in, and have the courage to get up again when she fell.

And within a nanosecond, as though driven by a need to validate her intentions, to commit them to something tangible, immutable, something which lent permanency and would cement her resolve, Khushi found herself seated at her desk, diary open, pen in hand, flipping through pages upon pages of nonsensical rambling until she reached a fresh page.

'My New Year's Resolutions- 2012

*Get a job. A good, serious job, one that pays well.

*Save up money. No more pointless spending on useless things like cinema tickets or ice-cream simply because I happened to see one on the street

*Contact the estate-holders in Lucknow. I know I won't be able to buy back our halvai dukaan just like that...but I will. Eventually. This would be a step in the right direction, at least.

*Find the pawnbroker who took Buaji's jewellery. Save enough to pay him off, have the jewellery polished and return them to Buaji. I know I'll never be able to repay her for the faith she placed in me, giving away her jewellery for that fiasco of a sweet shop venture- but I also know that I will never be able to forgive myself if I let all her love and belief in me go in vain'

Khushi's pen had picked up a momentum of its own as it danced fluidly across paper, the stock of her archived memories, her undying regrets, using her arm as a tool to set down one commandment after the next. And as she saw the characters bloom into life before her eyes, Khushi was grateful for the clarity of the moment, evaluating each individual fact for what it was worth. True, there was no denying the grave financial difficulties stacked against them- but at least acknowledging them in this way fortified, brick by brick, the wall of her purpose.

'*Find a way to restart Buaji's saree business. We must be a burden to her now, even though she'd never say it. Even when she had her small business going, it was hard to make ends meet and she was living by herself. Now, with four more people to cater for and all the expenses of a wedding- we will be in debt for sure. But if I can persuade her to recommence her trade, then maybe it'll be worth it. She would be able to occupy herself with business and fret less about not being able to keep us better. Maybe tomorrow I will call our cousins in Kanpur- they have connections with the Lucknowi shadow-embroiderers...'

Khushi did not even notice when the staid, succinct statements morphed into full-blown meditations committed to paper, a discourse that she held with herself, the drug of her newfound honesty to herself restocking her dwindling optimism as she reached deeper into the untouched corners of her mind, where she had inadvertently hidden less savoury thoughts, plucking them out to address them upfront. It was so much easier to be frank, to speak the truth to herself, without worrying about hurting someone else's feelings with blunt and all too often unpleasant facts. So much easier not to hide behind a sanguine, never-say-die smile to bolster the spirits of others while her own sputtered against a gusting wind.

'*Visit Devi Maiyya's temple faithfully at every possible opportunity, fast and pray in gratitude. I can't keep snivelling up to her every time I face a problem, expecting her to solve them for me. Like Bauji says, she only helps those who help themselves. And besides, I do not wish to be ungrateful- I shall be eternally thankful to her for helping us survive such hard times, for keeping us together in the face of hardship, for helping us weather the storm, for seeing us through to the end of the year and for letting us have something worth being happy about- Jiji's wedding'

And, under the hypnotic trance of her own candour, her wrist aching to keep up with the velocity of her innermost wishes, fingers locked about her pen, Khushi was not altogether aware when her rediscovered bravado had pealed back the covering from other predicaments, fraught with riddles that she agonised over but never seemed to solve, ones which she buried deep alongside her darkest, forbidden musings, fearing that facing them would irrevocably disarm all her defences.

'*No matter what happens, no matter what whims crop up in my head, no matter how terribly I miss Jiji, no matter how hard Anjaliji or Naniji or Nanheji plead with me, I must avoid Shantivan at all cost. It is now my sister's sasuraal, and frequenting it would offend both our families' sense of propriety. Besides, the reason I used to go there is over and done with. I no longer have to teach Lavanyaji. And also-' here her hand began to shake, her neat, precise script growing increasingly illegible as the unstoppable deluge of her deepest secrets began pouring out, before she could latch the floodgates shut again- 'also, whenever I get in Arnavji's way, something always goes wrong. I always end up meddling with his affairs and make him angry.' ...uncontrollable quivers were making it difficult to hold the pen up... 'And I can't afford to make him angry now. He is Jiji's brother-in-law, a member of her new family, and I should show him that respect.'

Sucking in a huge gulp of air, which left her more breathless and parched than before, Khushi's lashes twitched involuntarily from the effort of keeping open, knowing that the tears that had been gathering at the rims of her eyes would spill over the minute they dropped shut. Blindly obeying the reflexes embedded into the human body, instinctively skirting the edges of pain, be it to her body or her psyche, Khushi feebly tried to grasp the runaway thoughts galloping freely through her mind and direct them to a safer direction. Her pen had faltered for just a second.

*Grow up. Act more mature. Be more serious. Buaji is right- it is about time I let go of this childishness. After Jiji leaves, the sole responsibility of looking after my family will be on me. And I can't fulfil my duty, let alone accomplish half the things I plan to, if I keep giving in to my vagaries and fancies. No one is going to take me seriously if I keep making light of every situation, no one will want to hire me. I'm not a child anymore. I do more harm than good acting like that...no wonder Arnavji gets so mad at me. I have always, always gotten in his way, always sticking my nose in his business, whether it was at HIS office, or HIS relationships. Who am I to interfere in his world, his life, preaching my views on morality and marriage and who knows what else to him? I must have been such a nuisance. He likes order and calm and quiet and minding his own business, and I always do the exact opposite. No wonder he hates me.'

Khushi tried. She really did. She exercised every bit of control she possessed to swerve clear of a topic that was taboo even in the covert chambers of her mind. A topic that was bound to leave the recent wounds upon herself bleeding again.

But just as the contusions the man had left upon her soul, nothing she did would dispel him from her mind- she might forget him, as she would forget a bruise, but the sharp, excruciating pain would manifest at the lightest of touches.

The tears flowed in unison with the flow of ink across paper, both as unstoppable as a river in spate, jetting and meandering about obstructions.

'*Maybe I should apologise. All this enmity, all this antagonism, all of it started with me ruining his fashion show, even though it was an accident, even though those hapless employees of his can't tell the difference between a middle-class Lucknowi girl and one of their posh models. If I apologised for that, would it end all this? All this hatred? All this animosity? But Devi Maiyya, how am I supposed to apologise to him? Nine chances out of ten, he will just throw insults back at me, and I will retaliate, and we'll be back to square one and-'

The pen slipped out of her hand then- but she snatched it furiously up again, an incongruously fiery glint in her eyes, two deep patches of rose-pink glaring out against the powder white of her skin...no. She had to keep going. She had to let the poison seep out of her system if she was ever to walk away from this, whatever this was. She didn't know, and she would be inviting madness if she tried to find out, and perhaps her own destruction.

'-and I just CAN'T take it anymore. I can't stand it. I can't stand being hurt by him again and again. I give up. I don't want to fight him anymore. I am tired. I don't even know what we are fighting about now. I just' Scratched out. 'I only want' Scratched out. 'I can't figure him out. I know he loves his sister, I know he'll forever protect his family and make them his priority- for that, I respect him, and I can only hope that he accepts Jiji as part of his herd and takes care of her too. He helped secure her rishta with the man he loves, even though he can't stand me, and for that I will be forever indebted. But-' Again inapt words written, vehemently scratched out, '-every time I think I've seen a gentler, kinder part of him that I could like, and maybe become friends with' The nib dug into the paper, leaving its indent in several of the leaves beneath the page it accosted, 'he's lashed out at me. I know that there were times I deserved his anger but...but some of the things he has said, some of the things he has done...no matter how much I want to pretend I don't care, I do! No matter how much I try not to think about them, I can't help myself! No matter how much I ignore it, it still hurts. I wish I knew why he despises me so much...is it really because of my aukaat? Because I don't have his wealth or his position or his fame? So what if I don't? I am proud to be the daughter of a respectable, hardworking halvai from a respectable hardworking family. And yes, I am a thousand times happier without all these things that matter to him- because this world wasn't so obsessed with money, then my family would never have to face the grief they have, and my family's happiness is everything to me.'

She was panting, the raw, short bursts of air abrasive against the thirst-roughened inner wall of her throat. Renegade teardrops had escaped and now traced the delicate curves of her face before dripping off her chin, onto her diary, blotting the ink a little where it landed.

'And so, I am going to avoid him. I will no longer get in his way, I will no longer challenge his claims, no longer pick fights.

Besides- he's already made clear that he doesn't want to foul up his new year by seeing my face anyway.'

This time when the pen dropped out of her loose grip, Khushi barely noticed. Instead, all the exhaustion that she had tried to bottle away for an entire year succeeded in unscrewing the cork, bubbling and fizzing over, inundating her. She felt spent. Empty. That continual buzzing, droning, the unintelligible sounds overlapping one another in their quest to be heard, had vanished.

Leaving behind an unnerving quiet. Leaving her numb.

But at least numbness was better than pain. At least numbness was durable.

In the absence of her own laboured breaths, the scratch of her ball-point, or the previous dissonance of conflict in her mind, the ticking of the clock rang out louder, hailing Khushi's attention, looping about her and pulling her back into the present.

Time was ticking away, and there was very little left of 2011.

So Khushi rose, snapped the diary shut, and (after carefully wiping away from her face all incriminating evidence that hinted at the battle she just fought) bounded out to drag her sister to the kitchen and help establish a quota on the jalebis she intended to give out, so she could escape her melancholia for a while, and lose herself in the festivities of the neighbourhood.

So...Arnav read Khushi's diary...and all her most covert inhibitions. Any guesses what will happen next? I know a lot of you expected Khushi's resolutions to be comical, but I've always felt that the tomfoolery she gets up to is often to hide how sensitive and vulnerable she is. I've been pretty mad whenever they butchered the depth of her character by portraying her as some sort of insensible, silly schoolgirl. She's childish, yes, but a cute kind, not an annoying kind. At least that's how I see her...please let me know what you think!

I reserve all rights over this work of fiction and request that readers do not reproduce/copy/modify it elsewhere, and/or claim credit.

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I loved how Khushi penned down her thoughts. Please continue!

Awesome update. Khushi's new year resolutions are just mind blowing. It shows how matured she is despite being childish. Since Arnav read her dairy I hope he will think how he lashes out on her and find a solution for his feelings before he looses her forever.

aww what a brilliant ss, loved both chapters.
i always thought khushi is very mature for her age, all her childish antics are a way of hiding her pain.
you have captured her thoughts beautifully and i would love to see arnav's reaction now that he has read her deepest thoughts.
i hope he sees her in a different light now, hope he realises the pain he has given her. i really love this ss so please update soon and thanx for the pm.

Curious Arnav!! 😉

Hey!