Posted:
Since the serial GEET highlights social issues and current issues, I thought to RECREATE the MODEL VIVEKA BABAJEE's SUICIDE in this serial.
CVs, here we go.
Maan Singh Khurana's past holds a special place. A woman who was part of his life. A woman he met only once. Her name was Vini.
He was just entering into the world of construction and had just then taken over the mantle of Khurana Constructions from his Dadima after completing his MS in Architecture from the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Arschitecture at Pittsburgh, USA.
He was a happy go lucky guy back then.
The day after his return to India, his friends from back school threw a party in his honor.
There were plenty of unknown faces there, some beautiful and some real tedious to look at. He was bored and at his wit's end.
Nursing his drink, he was half-heartedly hearing some other story about the tanking stock of one of his buddies in the stock market.
Then she walked in, all dressed in white, angelic and breathtaking. He was enthralled with that first look. She smiled and it seemed like the whole room was touched by lightening.
Some guy just walked up to her and shook her hand. He felt sucker punched. Almost like that random guy was trodding on something precious to him.
He stood watching. She turned to him and both their gazes were stuck together and by some invisible pull they came together. The music came on, softly playing. He held her in his arms and they danced the night away, both lost in each other's arms. It seemed like forever.
They ate together, chatted with each other and while she was leaving they walked in the gardens for a while. He draped his coat around her when she was shivering in the winter cold.
While they parted for the night, it was with a view that they would be seeing more of each other in future. They did not have to articulate it, they just knew.
And next day, he woke up with reporters at his door, the police at his door. He was taken for questioning. They asked him if he knew Vini and that she was a famous model and that she left a note mentioning my name along with my coat. She had committed suicide by hanging herself from the ceiling fan.
The police and investigators violated my home, checked every nook and corner, my email conversations, my bills from the time I set foot in India, they even questioned my colleagues from my Architectural School regarding my girl friends in US and all that. They did not find any sort of proof to connect me to Vini except for that one stolen night of promise.
I fought the whole damn thing for a few months before the notoriety died down and I stopped being news. There were no charges to file against me and the CBI and police apologized to me.
But the damage was done to my psyche.
I was angry, damn angry and humiliated. That is why I don't trust women ever.
CVs, here we go.
Maan Singh Khurana's past holds a special place. A woman who was part of his life. A woman he met only once. Her name was Vini.
He was just entering into the world of construction and had just then taken over the mantle of Khurana Constructions from his Dadima after completing his MS in Architecture from the Frank Lloyd Wright School of Arschitecture at Pittsburgh, USA.
He was a happy go lucky guy back then.
The day after his return to India, his friends from back school threw a party in his honor.
There were plenty of unknown faces there, some beautiful and some real tedious to look at. He was bored and at his wit's end.
Nursing his drink, he was half-heartedly hearing some other story about the tanking stock of one of his buddies in the stock market.
Then she walked in, all dressed in white, angelic and breathtaking. He was enthralled with that first look. She smiled and it seemed like the whole room was touched by lightening.
Some guy just walked up to her and shook her hand. He felt sucker punched. Almost like that random guy was trodding on something precious to him.
He stood watching. She turned to him and both their gazes were stuck together and by some invisible pull they came together. The music came on, softly playing. He held her in his arms and they danced the night away, both lost in each other's arms. It seemed like forever.
They ate together, chatted with each other and while she was leaving they walked in the gardens for a while. He draped his coat around her when she was shivering in the winter cold.
While they parted for the night, it was with a view that they would be seeing more of each other in future. They did not have to articulate it, they just knew.
And next day, he woke up with reporters at his door, the police at his door. He was taken for questioning. They asked him if he knew Vini and that she was a famous model and that she left a note mentioning my name along with my coat. She had committed suicide by hanging herself from the ceiling fan.
The police and investigators violated my home, checked every nook and corner, my email conversations, my bills from the time I set foot in India, they even questioned my colleagues from my Architectural School regarding my girl friends in US and all that. They did not find any sort of proof to connect me to Vini except for that one stolen night of promise.
I fought the whole damn thing for a few months before the notoriety died down and I stopped being news. There were no charges to file against me and the CBI and police apologized to me.
But the damage was done to my psyche.
I was angry, damn angry and humiliated. That is why I don't trust women ever.
Debate Mansion
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
Book Talk
661