Creative Thrd2:U can only be Mine,Just mine 145/6 - Page 18

She took Suhana into her arms and said over the little, puff-sleeved shoulder with a long-absent sparkle in her eyes, "Apni pyari Suhana se kuch sikhiye. Mujhe sab sahi sahi jawab de dijiye. Bas"

"Main intezaar karungi"

Maan watched her in a trance as she headed towards Suhana's playroom, with the young girl held snugly in her arms, a hint smile playing on her lips, went inside and closed the door gently. What had happened to Geet? She who had been so cold and indifferent to him was suddenly directing mischievous glances his way, unaffected by his rage. More than anything else, this petrified him. If Geet wasn't afraid of him then how would he keep his secret? All these years he had used fear as his shield, repelling people from him with harsh words and cruel actions so they wouldn't get too close to him, wouldn't know his pain and his weakness.

His father had confined him to the house the moment he found out. It wouldn't do for Maan to try and mix with other children and try to be normal while malicious whispers follow him every where he went. It would be social suicide for the Khurana family's status and position and Vikrant and Mona Singh Khurana would not risk that for anything, not even their own son. Maan had been born with a congenital spinal disorder which had caused him to wear a full body brace from the day he started walking. He spent his life, locked in the house, where all his physical activity was restricted to the indoor swimming pool and gym, and had jealously looked on as his younger brother Yash ran outside daily to meet and play cricket with his friends on the street. Maan would watch them from the window, longing to join them, to run and jump, carefree as they did but he knew that he was trapped in a metal cage. Anger would rage inside him and he would take it out in his physio therapy sessions, following each instruction to the most minute detail. He would escape this metal cage. He would be like other boys.

When Maan was 15 years old, what he thought would be the best day of his life arrived. The doctor said that the physio-therapy, operations and the treatments he had been receiving almost all his life were finally complete and his body was strong enough to function without the brace. Maan was elated. But when the brace came off, he didn't feel the liberation he expected. Instead he felt lost and vulnerable, suddenly exposed to the world. Before he had been alone, but he had always been surrounded by that protective metal. Now he was truly alone and would have to face the world that way.

For the first time, his father had him attend a business event that he was hosting. Maan put on his shirt, his new tie and slid his blazer over his shoulders. He wanted to look confident, like Yash always did, but all he saw in the mirror was a scrawny, pallid teenager. He sighed and joined his father in the car where neither talked while Yash rattled off about the recent inter-school cricket tournament in which he had taken 5 wickets in the last match. Maan didn't notice how much Yash was trying to catch his eye, trying to impress his intelligent older brother, only felt resentful that Yash had such a head start on him in life and in sports.

Finally they reached the venue and the press crowded around them, wanting to know how Maan felt about his first public appearance, did he think he would be able to take over Khurana Industries despite his illness, did he think he would ever have a girlfriend? Maan reeled at the shock of it all and looked to his father for guidance but his father was too busy greeting clients who had already begun to arrive. He felt his chest constrict as he realised his brace might be gone but that he was still identified by his illness. Nobody would ever see him as a normal boy. Even after being cured, his illness was his weakness. He took one look at the reporters expectant faces and felt his eyes filling with tears. He ran, ran so fast that he barely knew where he was going. "TAXI" he called, tears streaming down his face. He fumbled into the taxi and told the driver to take him home, home where he was comfortable, home where he belonged...alone.

Late at night his father came into his room. He regarded Maan who was sitting upright in a chair facing the window and addressed him sternly. "Maan the way you left the party today was unacceptable. Do you know how much damage control I had to do with the press? If you want to be a Khurana, you have to learn to be stronger. You are weak and do not know the ways of the world but remember this. You have money, money is power and power can create fear. Make people fear you. Then they will never see you as weak. Whatever shortcomings you have in your life you can fill with money and power."

The words echoed in Maan's head to this day. Words that he had followed, words that had protected him from the pity and malice people wanted to throw his way. He didn't need either. He was best left to himself, following his strict schedule going out only to work and coming home to his books and his excercise. He strove tirelessly to sculpt his body and sharpen his intellect, but every day when he looked in the mirror he saw only that scrawny, pallid 15 year old looking back at him, vulnerable to the world, still feeling the conspicuous absence of the metal cage.

But to the world he was the fearsome Maan Singh Khurana, capable of ending a career in one look, capable of cutting someone down with one single remark. When he needed companions, he paid whoever he wanted to accompany him to this event or the other. Most of the girls didn't even have to be paid, they literally threw themselves at him which is why Geet's behaviour had bewildered him from their first meeting. He knew then, there was something different about her, something he needed in his life. Of course she had been immune to his money, immune to his power and now she seemed immune to his anger too.

How long would it be before she could see what he saw in the mirror everyday?

He looked down at the now crumpled sheet of paper in his hand and thought of the trust he had seen in Geet's eyes when she handed it to him, trust he had seen for the first time since that night, at the island mansion. But for Suhana's timely entry, he might have lost that tiny sapling of trust all over again. He looked down at the questions. He knew what would happen when he answered them truthfully, but he owed Geet that much, even if it meant losing her forever.

He sat down at his desk, picked up his fountain pen and began to write on the crumpled sheet.