Gehraiyan: New Thread Link Posted Page 141 - Page 75

Reserved and this time I will slap myself with my own chappal if I don't edit this. I've re read the chapter a few times, just want to add my own thoughts and connotations to some of your fantastic lines, Queen Z :)

Take your time, Avi ji and take care too. Refried bheja does not taste very good 😉

Missing you!

Originally posted by: dqno1

Missing you!

Can Zarin resist coming out after seeing this picture? 😳

Not at all, Mariam! :) Miss you all too. The picture reminds me of Dr. Khurana

I'm back, ladies! (And hopefully, it stays that way! (Okay, don't count on it 100%)) I hope the sheer length of the next chapter is enough to make up for the lack of activity on this thread lately. I know that there are a few loose ends and questions to tie up from the previous chapter and I'll do that tomorrow. Currently, I am too tired to even proof read, so anything requiring even more brain power than that is just a stretch too far right now.

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading and commenting - we've finally made it past 100! :) Now sit back and enjoy the latest offering from my bakwaas platter ;)

- Zarin

P.S. I am putting links up for character photos on the first page but they are only links so anyone who doesn't want to see them is still safe to visit page one. But they are being linked from TheBrat's old 'Web of Love' thread so if you don't want to see, steer clear of page 123! :)

"Maan, what time are you coming home today?"

"I don't know."

She frowned at his clipped tone. "Uh, well, could you give me an estimate at least? You see, I'm "

"No, Geet, I told you, I don't know! Look, I'm busy now. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"But Maan " She began, stopping when she heard the dial tone. Huh. Pati parmeshwar, she grumbled to herself.

Setting the timer on the oven, she ran to her study, where the phone had been crying for her attention for the past ten minutes.

* * *

"No. No, I'm sorry Mr. Talwar, I can't. I told Maira in advance a month ago, in fact that I absolutely cannot work today. The best I can do is fax over the materials for tomorrow's meeting." She paused and waited for his reply. "Yes, Tuesday's fine. Alright. I'll see you on Tuesday. Yes, thank you. Goodbye."

She put the phone back into its receiver, glad to finally give her arm some relief after the half hour long conversation. There were quite a few perks to working as a freelancer but the blurred boundary between personal and professional lives was not one of them.

The timer rang and she quickly left to take the souffles out of the oven. Maan would deny it if asked but chocolate was the one guilty pleasure he could never resist. She often teased him, telling him that if this chocolate addiction caused his hips to grow any wider, she would have to start looking elsewhere for some sugar.

Laughing at the memory, she stirred a pot of wonton soup her favourite. She wanted tonight to be about them. A little of him, a little of her. Geet and Maan. Maan and Geet.

Three more hours passed in this way. She finished preparing the dishes, surprising herself every time the final result was actually edible, cleaned the house for the third time that day and finally left to get dressed.

Standing in front of her wardrobe, she knew there was no question of what she would wear. Her hand reached for a green chiffon saree, simple in design and her favourite by quite a stretch. Maan had given it to her on the day of his first promotion, the day his foot had found a place on the ladder of success. The day she saw in his eyes the belief she had in her heart that together, they would make their dreams come true. This belief that she saw in his eyes was finally free from the glimmers of doubt she had often seen him try to hide. But not any more. From here on in, they would face their future with courage and certainty.

She draped the saree around herself now, tucking the pleats in at her waist and leaving the end unpinned. Long, spiralled tendrils of her hair escaped to frame her face and on impulse, she undid her bun and pulled the rest of her curls free too. Smiling, she returned downstairs.

Putting on a pair of oven mitts, she carried the soup to the table. Its heat was such that she felt her face would erupt in blisters when it came in contact with the rising steam. She heard the front door unlock and put the soup on the corner of the table before moving to greet her husband.

"Maan, you're early!"

"Geet," he replied excitedly. "You'll never believe what just happened."

"Wait, wait, wait. You stand here and tell me while I go and finish... er, something. Do not come into the dining room, okay?" She ran back to the table, putting the final touches on their meal.

"Can you hear me?" He called out.

"Yes, go on." She picked up the glasses and began arranging them around their plates.

"Mr Bulani's associates from London are here and they want to have dinner with me tonight!" His voice could barely contain his excitement and it was only then that she noticed what a hurry he seemed to be in.

The glass slipped from her hand and she caught it just as its end hit the table's surface. "Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Their car is waiting for me outside. I just came in here to tell you not to wait up for me." As if on cue, she heard a car horn beep outside, pressing Maan to leave.

"But Maan, tonight is"

"I know. I know, Geet, I know." His voice grew fainter as he moved towards the front door. "I'll make it up to you, pakka promise. But for now I have to go. Bye Geet. I love you."

"Maan!" She called after him but the door had opened and already closed again by the time she found her voice.

That is how he did not hear her as she ran to find him. That is how he did not hear her call out his name. And that is how, when she hit her right hip with a pot placed on the edge of the table and the hot soup inside it poured onto her bare waist, he did not hear her screams of agony.

* * *

She sat on a rocky cliff top now and looked down at the sea below her feet. The waves were roaring furiously, eager to destroy everything they came into contact with. An old fear of being washed away into nothingness - into becoming just another speck that once was - crept back into her heart. She tried to focus on letting it grow and pervade her mind until every other thought, every unwanted memory returned to the darkness she had enclosed them in. But alas, her mind was a fighter and the memory of her fourth wedding anniversary remained stubbornly before her eyes.

After she had cried aloud until her throat became raw, after she had wrenched the saree from its folds and torn it away from herself, after she had clutched desperately at the crystal water jug and poured its contents onto her shivering body, after the burning had become so violent that she fell to the floor, limp and dizzy, after she half heard Heer's voice from the answering machine asking her why her husband was in the same restaurant as her on the night of their wedding anniversary, after the tears rolling to her lips made her mouth so salty she thought she would vomit, after she blearily saw her best friend's face crumple at the sight of her in a drenched blouse and petticoat, after all this, her eyes had finally found the mercy to close.

When she awoke, she had found herself in Heer's guest room, propped up against a pillow and watched anxiously by the steel lady herself. With a strict no-nonsense look, Heer had raised a glass of water to her lips and explained that she had been asleep for twelve hours, courtesy of the relaxants and pain meds the doctors had mercifully slipped her. In that time, Heer had packed Geet's overnight bag, driven to the local hospital with the food Geet had prepared but had no desire to see again and had left Maan a message, explaining that she wanted to spend some time with Geet and so had kidnapped her for the night. The latter had been to buy Geet some time. She needed to think of what was next, of where they went from there.

Where they went from there, she snorted now. Where they went was straight to hell. The real descent of their marriage began after that night. What had been broken before was then shredded to tatters. It wasn't intentional. It just... happened. Cold words became stony stares, stony stares became grave silences and eventually, grave silences became a habit.

They worked harder and more often, conscious that they were driving each other further away.

He tried in the beginning. Perhaps he had sensed that she was giving up. He brought her flowers, made her smile, asked her on lunch dates on the days she worked in offices near him. But then she stopped responding to these tokens because at the end of the day, that's all they were. The lunch dates were promises he did not once keep, the smiles gradually turned to frowns of disappointment and many of her nights passed alone in that empty house, watching the flowers that were wilting in their vase.

And strangely, sadly, through the dreams they allowed to grow bigger than themselves, through the egos that were too precious to hurt, through the pain they both saw but were not willing to acknowledge, they still knew that they loved one another.

Until now, it seemed...

She laid back, her head resting on a cluster of small, jagged rocks. Pulling at her creased shirt, she freed it from her pencil skirt. Her fingers lifted the hem and traced the skin of her waist until they found the small, silken scar.

She hadn't been the one to tell him about what had happened that night. Heer had. After a particularly venomous fight back in the days when they still fought Geet met with Heer and recounted to her the poisonous words that had been exchanged. That afternoon, Heer had marched into Maan's office, demanded to see that Khurana a**hole and, in a bout of murderous rage, let slip about the burn his wife - too proud and wounded to show him her pain - was secretly carrying with her. That night, with remorse in his eyes, he had asked her about it but it was a moment that came far, far too late. What was the use in showing him now? What would it possibly change?

A raindrop landed on her forehead then, a comforting touch that ran from the tip of her hairline to her crown. It stroked her scalp, telling her nothing and still soothing her just the same. More water landed on her face until soon, her clothes were soaked and her hair was sticking to the grainy floor.

Darjeeling is an unforgiving world and even more so to the uninitiated. I suggest you do not leave the haveli tonight.

"Shit!" She exclaimed. It was as if the rain had finally breathed some sense into her. She was dead. No, wait, he was going to kill her.

Gathering her heels in her hand, she bolted across the cliff floor, surprising herself with her speed and energy. Soon, the cliff became mud and then the mud became high, jewelled hills. The hills curved and she continued to run up and along the wet grass until the distant haveli came into her sight. The rain picked up its pace, slicing into the ground like small shredded pieces of blades. She propelled herself forward, willing her body to move against the wishes of the fierce wind and her own aching bones.

She ran upwards and manoeuvred deftly around a series of blasted tree stumps until finally, the haveli was near. She could see its old stone walls and the side of its sheltered veranda and the steps leading up to it and... oh, wait...

"Shit!" She said again, this time adding a stream of more satisfying curses and running a hand through her tangled hair. She was running towards the entrance to the haveli, not the hidden door in her bedroom. There was no way in hell that Kaka would not see her return now.

Speaking of...

She gulped at the figure standing at the veranda. The rain had made it almost impossible to see but as she squinted nervously, the blurred form unmistakably took the shape of a man. Oh crap...

She slowed down now, finding herself in no hurry to receive the scolding session Kaka was no doubt itching to deliver. She walked with small, hasty steps, dreading the forthcoming speech.

Looking up anxiously, the confusion at what she saw caused her to halt her movements entirely. She paused. Taking a few uncertain steps forward, she squinted again to test her eyesight against her thoughts. They were, apparently, in perfect harmony.

Edging backwards, she let the whisper fall from her lips, a forbidden word that had fought desperately to rise from some hidden part of her soul.

"Maan..."

Realised why it is titled 'Gehraiyan', but then I look back, the title was apt then too,and the effect was the same!

Have nothing in my mind to describe how it is, phir bhi the word is CLASSIC! Baaki Maan aur Geet toh suljha hi lenge, moral of the story is love and care is above anything else :).