phhandooh at: a phhandooh-of-my-own, pg.89

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...Nikhita...

@...Nikhita...

Inactive

Posted: 15 years ago

#531

wow estee.....the one where prem comes home to heer was marvellous..... 👏

do write moreeeeeeeeee!!!!

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PurplePantsuit

@PurplePantsuit

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#532

i'm heeeeere! *jumping in like a wide-eyed kid on christmas day expecting lots and lots of presen... phhandooh! 😆* gimme!

Originally posted by: -vandy-
estee!!! wats this.....it was a start of u know.....so many nice things....and u ended it just on a phandoooooooohhhhh????????

thios is not done! i demand more!

😆 my dearest vandy-ki-bachchi-ki-ma, i demand at least one! from you! 😆 yeah, and you can continue that one. i mean, in my head, they phhandoooh-ed a bit more -- and obviously kissed. more than just once! 😃 -- and then? after prem had a shower *by himself!* they went down to dinner.

why? what did you think it was a start of?? *innocent muh* 🤣

nikhita! i'm not a very good writer either. but you read what i wrote. *personally, i thought it was ... scatterbrained. i'm glad you liked it though.* and i'll read yours. after all, any *and every* phhandooh is worth it. 😍 it's the ... uh ... imagination that counts. 😃 now write?

aashifa!!! you are here! welcome. and you're gonna write one, aren't you?

'kay, while you guys post yours, below is another from me. a little differnet from a classical phhandooh, i think -- there's no accompanying pheyeooh. which we all know is totally part of the classic phhandooh. no? like this one was... 😍

ain't they just wunnnerful?? 😍

cap-credit: khushi's rtm#6:

http://www.india-forums.com/forum_posts.asp?TID=1041433

Edited by estee - 15 years ago

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PurplePantsuit

@PurplePantsuit

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#533

phhandooh-of-my-own: ''lazy mornings''

he woke up to the sensation of her fingers playing with his. she had this habit of playing with his hand when she was with him, and was concentrating on something else. he heard the rustle of papers, and a tinkle of china on the sidetable. she was reading the morning papers in bed, nestled against his side as he sprawled on their bed on his stomach. he could see her in his mind's eye, that graceful body bent over her long legs, crossed and bent under her, her chin resting on one of her hands, her hair falling along her face. and her other hand reaching out to his hand, lying palm facing upwards.

it always started the same. her fingers would always first slide along his arm, along his wrist. and then would start what he privately called her ''play of hands''.

her finger tips would first smooth along his palm, and spend a long while softly searching out the lines there. as if braille-learning his lifeline to hold it in her heart.

when she decided that she knew it well enough, next would come the play of fingers. hers would go in and out among his, matching finger to finger first, and then sliding in between.

that would happen for a few minutes, before she would start sliding her palm up. it was a mirror motion of what she had been doing with his palm earlier. it was as if she was teaching him what was written on her palm. but the motion was always a curiously similar one each time. a stroke up, a curl away, more strokes, followed by curls. once he had tried to concentrate on what she was doing, but couldn't figure it out. so he had asked her. she had been most defensive, saying he would tease her mercilessly if she told him. finally, with a sheepish face, she had confessed that she was moving her palm against his fingers so that they would trace his name out on her skin. he, on the other hand, didn't know why she thought he'd tease her about something like that. 'cause he never had.

another thing that was curiously constant about her playing with his hand -- it was always palm against palm. sure, her fingers could curl around the back of his hand. but all sensation was concentrated on the soft skin of the palm, where she seemed to just know that he could feel her movements the most.

very often, he was the one stopping her game because the tactile sensation would drive him crazy sooner or later, no matter what he happened to be concentrating on. just like now, for instance. no matter how much he happened to be craving one more hour, minute, second of sleep, he could not keep apart from her when she was playing her little unconscious game.

she had just begun her next iteration of his name on her palm, when suddenly his fingers curled fiercely around hers. she turned to look at that tousled leonine head emerging out of the whiteness of their pillows. how well she knew that face, even thought most of it was buried in the soft cloth. the dusky jawline, shadowed by the night's growth of hair, stark and bold, just as was the beginning of the smile that was pulling the corner of his mouth up.

she had once spent an entire afternoon gazing at his sleeping face just to figure out which was the stronger angle: the line of his nose, or the line of his jaw. and in the end, she had figured she couldn't really chose -- both of them were just the right combination for his face. but she knew what she loved the most on that face -- it was the look in those deep, dark eyes when they looked at her. especially the way the one she could see looked her just now, drowsy with sleep, saturated with desire.

his breath caught in his throat at the sweetness of the smile that brightened her face at seeing he was awake.

she lost hers completely when he pulled her palm to his lips, and captured her with a kiss.

as she went down blindly to him to claim more, the newspapers that she had spread out to read, fell off the side of the bed, rustling down to the floor. where they would lie untouched for the time that it took for prem and heer to finish what was started as her play of hands.

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vandana

@VandyP

Trailblazer

+ 6

Posted: 15 years ago

#534

wat do i call it estee????

divine????....i just visualised the whole thing infront of my eyes!😍

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vandana

@VandyP

Trailblazer

+ 6

Posted: 15 years ago

#535

Originally posted by: estee
i'm heeeeere! *jumping in like a wide-eyed kid on christmas day expecting lots and lots of presen... phhandooh! 😆* gimme!

😆 my dearest vandy-ki-bachchi-ki-ma, i demand at least one! from you! 😆 yeah, and you can continue that one. i mean, in my head, they phhandoooh-ed a bit more -- and obviously kissed. more than just once! 😃 -- and then? after prem had a shower *by himself!* they went down to dinner.

why? what did you think it was a start of?? *innocent muh* 🤣

christmas is months away estee....have some sabar...kyunki sabar ka fal"hot handsome adashing aur rocking hota hai"🤣

you demand wat from me😲😲😲😲

i knew wat happened in ur head estee.....its just that some of us think alike😉...this wasn't just a phandoooooh thing....prem back after soooo many days......do u think he'll setlle with just a phandooooh....no ways....that would be sooo unlike prem🤣

u naughty girl....."by himself"😲😲😲

now thats sooo not like us to imagine🤣

why? what did you think it was a start of?? *innocent muh* 🤣

u really want me to answer that???/😳😉😉😉

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AASUS

@AASUS

Stunner

+ 3

Posted: 15 years ago

#536

"lazy mornings" was wow! Thanks estee. 😊

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Aradhna

@Anhdara13

Rocker

+ 3

Posted: 15 years ago

#537

*unitelligble gugle*

I come home from a self-imposed internet exile of two/three days - to this? to this??? How am I supposed to study for my exams (which are on Thursday, mind you!) with this playing in my head? How?

*bangs head on keyboard*

the images aren't leaving. the PremHeer demons are back. argh, if I fail, it's on your head. XP

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441240

Suspended

Posted: 15 years ago

#538

phantabulous.....⭐️

i like i like it.....=D

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...Nikhita...

@...Nikhita...

Inactive

Posted: 15 years ago

#539

*sigh* estee.....whyyyyy did you have to end it there??????

i could go on and on and on....

spectacular one!

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PurplePantsuit

@PurplePantsuit

Rocker

Posted: 15 years ago

#540

oye!

where is everyone-else's phhandooh-of-our-own?? ❓ me wants!

'cause i still keep dreaming 'em up, y'know? one way or the other?

*sigh*

am i really the only one who is that diseased?? 😕

'cause here's another one. 🤔

--------------------------------------------------------------

phhandooh
in
the mysterious case of the paint that could move by itself

''waaaaaaaah!''

the sound was a advance warning for the arrival of the projectile of a boy who came flying down the stairs and launched himself into his grandmother's lap, startling all the adults who were sitting at the table, and chatting about the day that got done.

gayatri's arms wrapped around the precious round bundle clinging to her legs and pulled him into her lap. she cradled the hot little head against her shoulder, patting down the thick straight black hair that was going all directions. so like his father's when he was that age.

''what happened, munna? why are you crying?'' she asked soothingly, blowing at the strands stuck on his forehead, in a vain attempt to dry them.

preet, whose knee jerk response to the cry of a child ever since his second daughter was born was to offer food as a pacifier, whipped up a banana, peeling it with a speed unseen in human history. ''here, brattu. eat this. and the hurt will go away. trust preet maamu, no?''

he earned much derision from his father who snorted before saying, ''preet, not all child problems can be solved by bouncing a stuffed baby to sleep.''

''anand, beta,'' the grandfather peered at the little face sobbing on his wife's shoulder. ''come to daadu. i need to go check if the mangoes in the backyard are ripe enough to be picked. we will call maali-kaka to come with the big poles and you can pick all the ones that he drops. come?''

''dad. distraction is distraction, one way or the other. you do it with activity. i do it with food. big deal.''

''preet! you are now the father of two. and still you don't know anything about respect from the younger generation to the elder.'' the elder juneja sighed in loud pity.

both knew that it was a good strategy to get a child calm enough to stop crying and start talking.

but it was not working on anand. those big eyes, the long almond shape inherited from his mother and deep brown pupils from his father, were wet with tears that were still spilling off the lids.

this was not some trivial matter that could be settled quickly with distraction. much pacification was going to be called for.

one good thing about the child was that he was not one to keep his misery to himself, one area where he was completely unlike his parents. the rosy lips trembled, and the childish voice wailed. ''mama scolded me. she scolded me badly, daaaaa...duu.''

more tears poured out, making gayatri's heart twinge.

''darling!'' her arms went tight around the chubby form.

prem, who had just walked in carrying the salad platter, shook his head wryly at how the 70 year old grandmother would dance to the demands of a three and a half year old.

he walked around the crowd of concerned adults and placed the platter carefully in the center of the table, before turning a quizzical eye on his sniffling son.

he presented quite an artful picture. in the white kurta pajama that was his nightwear, his hands and feet scrubbed squeaky clean, he had to admit that his son looked delicious enough for even him to want to take a bite out of.

but first, there was a hurt look in those big eyes that he had to deal with. because even at this young age, nothing could put that look there other than the very rare reprimand from his mother.

he squatted so that he was at eye-level with his son. his fingers went feather light along the wet and rosy cheeks. ''hello, beta. why these tears? didn't papa tell you they were forbidden? what hurts my son so?''

he nearly unbalanced as his son, the projectile, launched off his grandmother's lap onto his shoulders. steadying himself, he rose cradling the warm bundle in his arms.

''papa.'' the little voice sniffled into his ear, making him wince. the boy was taking time to understand the idea of lower volume at lower distance. ''mama told me i was a naughty boy. am i naughty, papa? am i?''

''beta.'' the grandfather cut in. his role as peace-maker between parent and child was legendary in the house. ''anand? look at me?'' from the height advantage that his father's shoulder gave him, the child looked down at his grandfather, still sniffling for impact.

''munna, you know your mama never scolds you unless she has a very good reason. this time, also, she must have had a good reason?''

''ya, brat. this is true. mama may be stubborn but she is never unfair.'' preet leant down, trying to tickle his nephew into a better humour. ''c'mon, come to me. we know your daada is your mama's chamcha. you can tell your unca preet what's wrong.''

but this time the child's arms tightened around his father's neck in a strangle-hold, making all adult eyebrows go up. this was serious. anand might be a brat, but he was always fair about owning up to guilt when there was guilt to own up to.

an incredulous silence fell around the group. could his mother have actually been unfair to him this time?

''beta.'' his father's voice was sounding strangled. ''look at me. please.'' there was no response other than a louder sniffling. ''anand, papa is beginning to feel hurt by your arms. please let go?''

reluctantly, his arms loosened around his father's neck.

prem took advantage of the action to lift the little rounded chin off his shoulder to look into his son's eyes.

''thank you. that feels much better. now.'' his voice moved into the tone of dealing with practical matters. ''tell me what happened. what did you do?''

''but i didn't, papa.'' the little fellow's voice turned indignant from hurt. ''i didn't do it.''

''okay,'' prem stifled the sigh that was threatening to break out, ''what did you not do, then?''

'''member how mama and i were painting, papa?'' the child snuggled closer into his arms, with the air of sharing confidences making the adults grin at the cute picture the father and son presented. gayatri thought her heart would burst from loving the two of them so much.

''we made the mountain and lotsa trees and big big apples on them?''

''yes. i liked what you did with the rainbow over the mountain.'' prem nodded, remembering.

''and'', his child rubbed his face into his shoulder, liberally smearing snot all over the shirt, ''chahat-di and gugu-di helped me make birds. when mama came back, she said they were really 'pecial.''

prem nodded, remembering that meher had come in asking heer for help with something.

he had stepped out to take his call then. chahat, who had just finished with her bath, and gungun had been giving anand critical comments on his painting. if he remembered correctly, the atmosphere had been calm and cordial then. he certainly hadn't heard any crisis as he had run down to the kitchen with meher when she and the girls had asked him for help with dinner.

''anand,'' preet's voice had a long-suffering note in it, ''all this is good-good stuff, baby. why are you crying then?'' and earned a mirror look of long-suffering from his nephew.

''preet mamu,'' his little voice was plaintive and sounded alarmingly like his grandfather's for a minute when he said ''why you are always so impatient? why you can't wait for me to tell?'' preet mamu subsided, chastised, under the mournful look.

prem controlled his laughter with difficulty. his son would melt into tears again if he thought his father was not taking this seriously.

''beta, preet does have a point. why does any of this make my son cry?'' his head bent over the sweat drenched mass of black, his fingers smoothed over the chubby cheeks, wiping away the dampness.

anand settled back into his father's arms, snuggling into the familiarity of his smell, his warmth. his sanctuary. his knight in shining armour. just like for mama. she had told anand that papa was her knight in shining armour. the child remembered his mother, her flashing eyes as she had accused him and his lower mouth moved into a pout.

''mama said that paint can't move by itself, papa. that's not true, no?''

prem stared at the puzzled eyes of the other adults over the head his son's head and wondered what the heck was coming up next.

''say again?''

''paint can move from one place to another by itself, no? just like light can move. or sound can move. paint can also move, no?''

prem looked down into his son's eyes, their lenght the one inheritance from his mother, and thought that he would agree to anything those eyes asked for. but then he would have to answer to the other pair of eyes that had given birth to these. so he took the path of sanity instead.

''no, beta. paint is a liquid, a substance. something would have to make it move.'' he held anand back in his arms to look at him eye to eye.

''yes,'' he nodded in response when anand violently shook his head no, ''that is fact. paint must have some force to make it move.''

and as things suddenly became clear, ''anand, did you get paint on the bedsheets again?'' he said, trying to fully mask the sympathy in his voice with sternness.

''no, papa.'' the little fellow was emphatic. ''mama had asked once, and i said i wouldn't, no? the paint was on the curtains. only mama and i had paint on our hands. and mama said she had been very careful about not putting paint anywhere else. then she said that i had not taken care, papa. mama said i was naughty to have got them there. but i was on the floor painting birds, papa. the paint moved by itself.''

''ah, but you had wanted to pull chahat-di's kite string from the window, no? and you two were doing masti then? maybe you got paint on the curtains then. purely by accident, of course! then mama is not wrong, no, beta? you should've taken more care. because curtains and bedsheets we use everyday. we should keep them clean if we can. accidents can happen, of course. but,'' prem hastened to add. ''that just means that we should try extra hard.''

''haan, papa. maybe that happened. 'cause chahat-di also got paint on her hands afterwards.''

''and what did she do about it?''

''she went to wash them.'' the boy said brightly.

''see! she took care. she knew she would get the curtains messed up. but you didn't wash, so by accident you might have got paint on the curtains.'' prem and his son beamed at each other, in pleasure that they were in agreement of the situation.

preet sighed, watching the conversation, and muttered so that everyone but the contemplative child could hear. ''great, pb. make sure that anand becomes prem juneja the second. couldn't you just have left it at 'accidents can happen.' and that they can happen to some people more often than others?'' but all he earned was a stern look from his brother, and a slap on the upside of his head from his father.

but anand was not done.

when his father made to let him down, murmuring that he should go choose whose lap to have dinner from, anand kept his arms around his father's neck.

when he saw that he had his father's quizzical attention, he continued, ''but papa, paint does move. by itself.''

prem resettled his child in his arms, before pulling out a chair for them both, joining the rest of his family at the table. he settled his boy in his lap, as meher and maya brought out the last dishes to set. he could hear meher calling out for heer to come to dinner before starting to serve everyone.

he asked, ''why do you say the paint moves, beta?''

anand was contemplative, his eyes trained on his father's face, but focussed in the distance, as if he was remembering from before. '''member when you came from office, and mama and i showed you our painting of the mango tree, papa? 'member?''

''haan, beta.'' prem gently swiveled him to face the plate that was being loaded with rice in front of them.

''you were sitting with mama in front of me, 'member? and you said the leaves should be darker? 'member?''

''haan, beta.'' prem was preoccupied with mixing the rice and curd with salt that anand liked to eat at the start of every meal.

''and then when you pointed out where it should be dark 'reen, and where it should be light 'reen, you had paint on your fingers, papa.''

''haan, bet... huh..uh''

at the sound of the abrupt break in prem's voice, everyone looked up. prem's head was still turned down towards the plate. anand's face was similarly turned to the place, but he was frowning as if trying to puzzle something out. from where they sat, they could see that the tips of prem's ears were turning a fascinating shade of red.

''yes, papa. when you came and pinched my cheeks before sitting down, your hands had no paint. and my cheeks had no paint, so they did not mess your hands. and mama had put away our paints. and you didn't touch my painting. and you didn't touch my hands. no, papa? and then, when i came back after getting my school bag, there are paint in your hair, papa. i told you, and mama said that you would have to wash it out before dinner. 'member, papa?''

anand tried to turn in his father's lap to look at him, but prem held him in place as he fed him some curd-rice. prem sighed in relief at the silence that came with a happily munching little son. but then he realised that the silence was a little too loud.

he looked up to see the gaze of every single member of his family trained on him. and each gaze was filled with a wicked mirth. of course, it had to be preet who would extract the maximum price.

''yes, papa. tell anand. how did that paint get on your hands? when you didn't touch anand's hands. and anand's cheeks were clean. and you didn't touch anand's painting. how did that paint get on your hands and your hair. how, papa?''

preet saw anand's little face with the bulging cheeks beam at him in approval, and couldn't help bursting out with laughter at how the sunshine of the little face was at complete contrast with the dark red of the adult version above.

''what's so funny, preet? why is everyone laughing? prem.. what's wrong?''

preet turned mirthful eyes to his sister-in-law who had come to stand behind him, her hair wet from the shower, the innocence in her face, highlighted by the simple white cotton sari she wore, and said, ''hi, heer bhabhi. come and join us. i think that you might owe your little beta a bit of an apology.''

heer turned to look at her son, cheerfully opening his mouth for more, and the very red face of his father who was doing his best to avoid her gaze. and heer felt a premonition of the very bad teasing to come.

''apology?'' her face crumpled in puzzlment. ''apology for .. scolding him about the paint on the curtains?'' she turned a frown at him.

''it was not so much that he managed to get the paint on the curtain. he kept saying that the paint moved there by itself.''

''mistakes happen,'' she walked around to her son, who looked up at her, innocence personified. ''but we should not try to pretend they didn't happen because of us, no? paint doesn't move by itself, beta.''

''er... heer bhabhi?'' preet's face was wicked. ''i think that what anand taught us today is that around you and prem bhaiyya, apparently paint does. right, pb?''

prem looked at the frown on his beloved's face and the army of laughing faces of the grown-up juneja's in front of them, and wondered what god he had upset that day for having landed up in the spot that he was in just then.

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*one of the things that i seriously loved was how prem-heer always called their daughter ''beta'' on the show. and i was wondering how to work that into a phhandooh. and this is what came out. hmmm...did it work? 😆*

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phhandooh at: a phhandooh-of-my-own, pg.89 - Page 54

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