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Reliving IPK ...
Episode 217
Iss pyar ko kya naam doon ...
The last time he had presented his hand to her, it had been lightly cupped, ready to receive hers. This time, his Mama had to prompt, Arnav bitwa, apni missus ka haat toh pakar liyo, he had advised, a little surprised that his worldly nephew needs lessons in romancing his lovely bride.
He shifts on his feet, his eyes averted; he extends his left hand forward. It is purposefully unyieldingly stiff. Slowly, she glides her fingers over his and in an instance, even before the rest of his body can, his fingers relent. Immediately responsive, they curls over hers, locking her hand within his palm. It is as if just the mere touch of her fingers pacifies him. Their gaze shifts from their clenched hand to their faces.
Her eyes are large with a melancholic apprehension. Her breath seems stalled. She seems to be waiting for him to lead her. Tonight, she will not push him, just quietly follow him. He blinks, accepting the charge.
It is time to dance, his Di invites. Holding them both by their hands, she leads them to the center of the room. For the second time in a few short minutes, he once again extends his hand. It is, again, stretched taut, rock solidly resistive.
What ? He questions fractiously as she hesitates. Belligerence sparking from his eyes, he tugs his head adversarialily.
The last time she had hesitated, unsure of what to do, he had leaned over and grasped her hand. She tries to remind him of the time she followed his lead. Har cheez kasay karni hai,voh aap batayay hai, aadat si ho gai hai. Aur aab aap kuch pooch rahay hai aur hum kya karay, humay pata nahin.
She reads him with clarity, but is still confused. Even in his anger, his eyes easily give him away. His body however speaks a different tongue. A language of resistance ... He is determined to not let himself fall into her trap. His rigid hand speaks of a flagrantly defiant, self-willed obstinacy. I will not fall under your spell ... Your bewitchery ...
She does see his battle ... She does see anger ... What is it ... What should she name this ? Is It love that speaks a harsh vocabulary or is it hate that struggles to keep love at bay ? What is it that you want me to do ... Should I believe your silently voluble eyes or should I trust the stiffness of your stance ... What should I do Arnavji ...
She trust his eyes.
Her eyes looking deeply into his, she slides her hand into his. Her fingers skim over the fleshy mound at the base of his thumb. The mound of Venus ... She touches it lightly, almost like rubbing a talisman, hoping for a reversal of fortune and just like that ... Like moments ago, a lighting quick reversal ...
It is his eyes now that he duels with ... He fights, knowing that he has already lost ... His body is abruptly, feverishly out of his control ... Immediately captivated, fully enslaved. Her spell works like it always does. With the gentlest touch of her fingers, his resolve shatters instantaneously. She caresses his palm, her fingers glide, lingering. His follow immediately ... A lovemaking in the midst of a heated battle.
He slides his fingers over hers, gripping them, he tugs her hard. She collides into his chest. His head lowered, he cautions grimly, Sapnay dekhnay maat bayath jana. How can she tie any of her dreams to him, she parries with an equal animus.
They dance. She follows, but with a hesitant reluctance. Her eyes averted from his, she stares at the ground. He may have given in but he has not surrendered. He sees her averted gaze and knows that she has no clue that she is being watched by lustful jaundiced eyes.
Ferociously, deliberately theatrical, he leads her in a tango ... She follows, trusting him. The last time they had danced he had surrendered completely to her, to his own feelings ...It was his heart that he had led her with. This time it is a combustive possession ... A feudal proprietary ... A full bodied ownership ... A darkly instructive warning.
Two people, who language has failed miserably ... Who have lost the will to speak, find a way to communicate. The vocabulary of seductive dance that was employed as warning, as a deliberate challenge, quickly transforms into an immediate intimacy ... The world once again dims and they enter a private space ...
Their eyes locked, theirs limbs entangled, their bodies plastered they speak an age old language of passion. What words should have done, their bodies do ... He speaks, she listens, she takes, he receives, he waits, she arrives ...
Like a pennant she is pulled, gracefully slicing the air. She follows him will less, mirroring, completely trusting him. He leads forcefully, but always engaged. He times, he adjusts, he alters, and he yields ... Like he will for the rest of their lives.
He tugs her to him in a final flourish. She collides, coming to an abrupt stop, her head resting against his shoulders, her hands gripping him. His head lowered into her hair, his eyes dart in awakening confusion, as though his actions surprise him ... As though waking from a trance ...
A fanatically private man, he is confounded by his own actions ... By his inability to disguise or control conflicting, diametrically opposing emotions he is feeling. The last time too he had been shaken by his own uncharacteristic behavior and how unforced, how intrinsically deliberate his actions had been. It is as though his will has been subverted, but subverted by none other than himself.
The romantically decorated bedroom does nothing to soften his mood and ends in only making him more irritable and boorishly recalcitrant. His head lowered over his laptop, he attempts to distract himself, but fails miserably.
She can't see him in the candle light, but he can. He fumes disagreeably. Even with his head lowered, he can ... Every beautiful, irritating inch of her lovely face. Angrily pigheaded, he blows out that candles and ends up exactly in the situation he had been trying so desperately to not think about.
A burning match in his hand, he falls on top of her. Her face aglow, her breath catching in her chest, she peeks from under her lowered lids. His breathing stilled, he brings the match closer. His bride ... Her flawless face shines like burnished gold, her eyes blink and dart in apprehension, her lips are softly inviting. His heart arrested, he is caught in a spell.
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