Oh my dearies, lovelies. 🤗
First, I am really really This update got delayed for reasons beyond me, but the biggest one being a post hiatus creative block. I sat staring for hours unable to decide what to write, trust me writing WABMM is a lot easier than writing AHF, there I just spew random junk in rhetoric, here I need to think sensibly and that alone is the most daunting task for yours truly. But now that my block has cleared, I promise regular weekly updates.
Thank you so much all of you for your patience and perseverance and love. And the absolutely lovely comments you left for AHF. All of them so heartening.
Now that it's high time I shut up, I leave you with Epoch. The chapter isn't dramatic but is all about perceptions that the characters believe in.
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Chapter 37: Epoch
Words- a hundred words whose etymology could only be traced
to Urban Dictionary sat restlessly over her tongue waiting for their release as
she saw the older woman leaving her door with slightly slumped shoulders. But
the release never came. She did not care about the other, the plumper of the
two hurrying out nor did she notice the slump in the former, she merely stood
there staring at their retreating backs while waiting for Payal to shut the
door as the Raizadas moved out. It suddenly felt like losing a dear relative,
she did not understand why. Her acquaintance with Anjali had been short, Khushi
had hoped only for fond memories out of it; this hope too now lay trampled upon
along with many others.
----~---
She mechanically got the clothes off the drying line and
dumped them on her bed. Payal picked each and folded and made out separate piles,
the kind of mundane things she did with panache. She muttered about never
having expected this from Anjali and how all the Raizadas were alike,
delivering the harangue that generally had the younger sister's stamp over it. And
hence Khushi quietly dropped herself on the bed over the piles of folded
clothes that Payal had just made, earning a severe glare from her elder sister
but she was far from caring. She thought of the condition that she had lain
before Anjali upon agreeing to take the job offered. "You'd make sure I never have to cross paths with your brother."
It was somewhat an unrealistic demand, Khushi knew it but at
least it could buy her a few days' time. Maybe she'd be saved from coming under
his scrutiny on the very first day of her job and hand him gift wrapped another
opportunity to poke at her pride. She puzzled over this uncanny game of fate to
drop her time and again under his radar, no matter how hard she tried to avoid
him. She had heard Shah Rukh Khan say in his movie about Universe conspiring to
give you that one thing you desired with all your heart, she also remembered
Payal telling her that the dialogue was ripped from some bestselling book, she
wanted to ring them both and tell them they were fundamentally wrong while
endorsing such wishful optimism, that in her life the Universe seemed to
conspire against her and land her at the mercy of one man she despised with all
her heart. Or did she?
She immediately turned the switch off from that stray thought
and instead tried to remember the name of that something-chemist book whose
author apparently had many Os in his name. For rest of the day, she kept
switching between thoughts. Her talent of making excessive use of her mouth
went on a vacation for once.
****
The morning after...
She studied the woman
with seemingly infinite length of toned legs that rested on the table in front
of her. Her head thrown back and expensively glossed lips curled in severe
reproof. Her perfectness was intimidating. She was everything, Khushi was not.
It gave Khushi a certain sense of triumph this morning that
Lavanya Kashyap possibly lacked in a department that she veritably headed. And
this was the very reason she was standing here, trying to make her see things
her way as part of her new job. Her blazing attire complete with thirteen
pompoms looked sprightlier as she put forth eloquently, "If you touch her feet
every morning seeking her blessings instead of a curt good morning, she'd like
it better." She explained.
"What makes you think that good mornings are curt?" Lavanya
argued, her brows scrunching together.
"I think they are too formal." Khushi supplied.
"And touching feet isn't? Why not just hug her every
morning?" Lavanya continued filing her nails, the notion of this chit of a girl
monitoring her actions seemed more unsavory with every passing minute. "Do you
touch your parents' feet every day?" she said as though it aroused revulsion.
"No, only occasionally." Khushi replied tentatively, trying
hard to remember the last time she had, "We share hugs more often. Every day,
when we are together." Lavanya looked at her strangely, as if expecting her to
elaborate.
"You know, every family works in a different way." She
supplied as an explanation.
"You mean Naniji is the kind to appreciate touching feet more
than a warm hug? Isn't it a little conceited?" She wanted to stretch the
argument, poke holes into theories and basically tell Khushi that she was not
required here.
"Have you ever given her that? I mean a warm hug." Khushi
asked innocently.
Lavanya appeared flustered, "No...never saw anybody here do
that."
"Why don't you be the first then?" she said excitedly making
a single jump. Lavanya eyed the younger
woman's changed demeanor quizzically then shrugged maybe'.
****
She eyed the
mix with derision, it smelled of desi ghee, saffron and cardamom. It smelled of
calories. It smelled delicious. She stared absently at the expert hands working
on the mix in the vessel, the spatula roving around and spreading it over and
over, she was admittedly lost in the metaphor of sundry ingredients in crumbs
put together and forming one uniform concoction.
"Thanks
Khushi, but you didn't have to do this." Anjali's soft voice from another
corner of the kitchen made her spring forward from her sitting position on the
kitchen counter. Lavanya hadn't realized when she had gotten herself perched on
it while watching Khushi just like she used to as an eight year old watch her
nanny cook. When nanny died, her interest in watching someone cook died with
her.
"It's okay
Anjaliji, I like making laddus for occasions." She replied in a strained but
polite voice. An expression that summed to remorse crossed Anjali's face.
"I am sorry
Khushi, for yesterday. For
pressurizing you the way I did." She spoke tentatively.
Khushi turned
off the stove and held the Kadhai from its handles using a cloth, placing it on
the kitchen island. "It's okay, really, don't embarrass me with your apology."
Anjali came
forward and cupped her cheeks in her palms, "If you have forgiven me then come
to Nani's room when you both are done. I'll be there, waiting for the two of
you." She said smiling kindly and left.
"What do we
do with this?" Lavanya asked pointing the cooling mixture that Khushi had
transferred to a large platter, once Anjali had left the two.
"We roll them
into balls, wait I'll show you, it's pretty simple, take as much mixture as
about fills half of your fist then bring your fingers together..." she was
excited all over again.
"No thanks. I
am not interested." The laddu instruction set was dismissed with a churlish
snort as she fixated her eyes back on her phone screen.
"You can at
least try." Khushi urged obstinately, "Everyone would feel nice if you try to
participate in..., you know, customs, and this is for Rakhsha Bandhan
tomorrow." Lavanya rolled her eyes.
"Why do you
hate traditional things so much?" Khushi couldn't stop the question roll out of
her tongue.
"I don't hate
them, not at all. They are just cumbersome." She said nonchalantly not caring
to look up from her phone screen.
Khushi balled
the first laddu in her fist and placed it carefully towards the outer side of
the dish clearing space for more. "There is no harm in going out of our way a
couple of times for the happiness of those we love. I can't be thinking about
myself and my likes all the time." She said, the last line being more of a
retort.
Lavanya looked
up from the screen with a jerk and narrowed her eyes on Khushi, "Why else do
you think Ms. Glitters I am putting up with you?" she said breathing out
harshly, loftily shrugging back the black curls falling on her shoulders.
*****
She was
reminded of her mother and the folding cot put out under the Neem tree where
lazy winter afternoons slipped into memories full of fairy tales her mother
spun daily for her, empty peanut shells littering the bricked ground of the
courtyard, the taste of peanuts, five at a time in her mouth and the cooing
pigeons laboring for a badly put together nest; at the sight of Anjali sitting
with folded knees on a plush Kashmiri carpet and her head resting in her
grandmother's lap just as her would in her mother's. Devyani's fingers combed
her hair soothingly, something her mother too did, quite often.
The anomaly being,
in place of strewn empty peanut shells, laid vibrant, colorful silken threads -
Amaranth red, saffron and yellow along with miscellany of shiny beads.
"Come Khushi,
Lavanya we were waiting for you two." Anjali's head sprung from her position at
their sight and her voice brought Khushi back from Lucknow to Delhi in a
millisecond. She turned and saw Lavanya behind her, her eyes hesitant and
questioning.
"Namaste
Naniji." She smiled folding her palms as she walked inside and bent to touch
her feet as "student's" eyes followed her. She motioned Lavanya to do the same.
Devyani's smile disappeared behind a little frown. Lavanya came to her timidly
and gave her an awkward side hug. Devyani tilted her head upwards to see her
first in surprise and then gave her an equally awkward smile, the frown between
her eyes intact.
Baby Steps. Anjali's heart cheered.
Khushi's eyes
came back to the objects lying near Anjali's lap as she sat cross legged on the
carpet, from the corner of her eye she saw Lavanya, sighing, pulling her dress
and sitting beside her in again, an awkward position, she stifled a chuckle and
sobered immediately upon meeting a glare thrown her way from her left.
"Anjali
bitiya never buys Rakhis, she makes her own." The eldest woman told, patting
her granddaughters head affectionately and with a hint of pride. Khushi found
it surprising, especially after the let down of day before, she had surmised
Anjali as an elite socialite and perhaps as pragmatic and shrewd as her brother
in reality. That the endearment she had shown for her primarily was the general
way she behaved with people and that for her, festivals and celebrations were
nothing beyond clicking pictures and uploading them on Twitter. Watching her
work intricately with silken threads, and a totally unpretentious smile on her
lips, tugged at her heart and forced her to throw the recently formed opinions
to the nearest dustbin and revert to feel the same way she felt when she had
met Anjali first.
"The laddus
smell really nice bitiya, you made them?" Asked Devyani reminding Khushi about the
platter she had brought along, and her unfinished task of balling laddus. "Ji
Naniji." She smiled.
"They remind
me of a time long ago, of my youth when I was in Lucknow, there was a little
shop in a narrow lane behind my house, called Ram Asrey, my Babuji brought the
same motichoor ke laddu for all festive occasions." The old woman recalled
staring at nothing particular on the ceiling, "Last I heard, Ram Asrey is a
huge sellar of sweets now, with several branches over many cities." She laughed
shaking her head; "how time flies..." she said the last part almost to herself,
the light in her eyes giving way to sudden emptiness.
Time did fly for the next couple of hours,
Khushi realized as her hands, ears and mouth worked tirelessly. She heard
stories, from Devyani, from Anjali, of many the Raksha Bandhans passed, there
were several mentions of Arnav...
"He would
keep his pocket money aside, in that piggy bank mama had brought him. He
wouldn't let any of us near it, not even me." Anjali said between her laughs
animatedly pointing her index finger at her chest, "you know even his Di, such
a money minded little nipper, we all teased him, called him skinflint and all."
She waved her hand in air, "but you know all this while he'd be saving all his
pocket money to buy me a gift for Rakhi. He wouldn't spend a single penny on
himself, such is my Chotte." She declared in adoration.
"I envy you
Di." Lavanya averred, "You get all his attention." She added giggling making
light of it.
"Well, well."
Anjali shrugged in mock conceit and then grinned widely, "seems like someone is
having a hard time believing it, Khushi sweet heart, close your mouth." Khushi
shut her mouth immediately feeling a little embarrassed and acutely confused,
Arnav Singh Raizada served with altruism? An unpalatable dish!
She hadn't
realized when the focus had shifted to her from Anjali, she never had a
brother. Buaji was the closest kin and
she had no children, and then there was Durga Mausi with three daughters:
Lakshmi, Saraswati and Parvati, she couldn't possibly tie them Rakhis. So it
had been the helpers at Satvik Mishtaan Bhandaar, together she and Payal would buy
a dozen Rakhis and tie them on all the helpers, they'd in turn give the girls
coins of one, two and five ruppees and sometimes the crispiest note. But Khushi
preferred coins, she'll put them in a steel container and shake it rejoicing in
the sonorous ringing sound they made while she lay in the folding cot. The next
day, she'd roam around the Bazaar buying churan golis, chanas, tiny glass
bangles and other trinkets till she'd run out of money. Then she'd go to her
sister pouting making the most pitiable face and Payal would give her, her own
share knowing well that the bangles that Khushi bought were always a size
larger than what fit her. They were bought for Payal.
Had she
said all that, she thought as she found the three others listening to her with
rapt attention. And just like that all the gazes were transferred to Lavanya,
expecting her to recount her share of Rakhi memories. She looked reluctant,
"Well, I don't have much to share. I am the only child of my parents but had a
few cousins. They used to come over and Mom and Dad made me tie them Rakhis,
later we lost touch. I don't know where they are now." She shrugged. She looked
up at Devyani and sighed, a frown enhancing her wrinkles was there on her face
again. She shifted her gaze to the platter; atop the perfectly round spheres of
motichoor sat one deformed, misshaped ball of laddu that seemed to fall apart,
she grimaced, it was the one her hands had involuntarily made.
*****
"Crackerjack Raizada", "Jackass
Raizada." "Smart-arse". "Asshole". Unsurprising branding judgments albeit murmured
surreptitiously fell on impervious ears; the media questionnaire was rewarded
with his terse and Aman's adroit replies. Arnav made it clear that he just
about tolerated the press conference for it could be grist to his mill. The
world ought to know that AR had overtaken its greatest rival of two years,
Babylons, Inc. and clear the air about the belligerent last meeting of
shareholders.
After the
stakes and equity purchases had been evaluated, he was found walking back
towards his cabin, his gait that of the assertive achiever, his face bored of
expression, his heart that of a restless kid who had broken his lucky bat
before the final match. The excited voice of the bespectacled intern played in
his head again, "I can learn many things
from ASR, but how will I emulate his passion for work?"
Passion for work? He let out a humorless
chuckle, Passion for sovereignty was more like it, lust for dominance, even
better. The bottom line being lust, for passion had been killed and its corpse
callously disposed with the camera that showed world in optimistic colors and
its sticky hopeful reel. When Business journals and stock market figures
supplanted Shelly, Keats and Wordsworth.
He ran his
long, lean fingers along the spine of one such specimen on his bookshelf with
cold detachment and then thumbed for the remote control, upon lightly pressing
a switch, door to a wooden shelf slid open revealing paper stalagmites. He
reached for the one he was looking for but drawing it out accompanied an old
file dropping to ground in its wake. He raked through its contents and winced.
The old newspaper cuttings that he had kept stared at him.
Sushil Kumar
Mishra, as resoundingly clear the name was, the face of its bearer seemed
equally blurred by the mist of intervening years. But he remembered smiling
lips beneath a thin moustache. He also remembered Shanti, a woman with kind
eyes and a tiny tot that accompanied her whenever she came to visit his mother.
What did they call her? He felt his mind strain to recall the child's name and
before he could stop, the siege of memories rendered him helpless in face of
it.
"Chutki, is that even a name?" the
nine year old boy sneered above the open book standing in his hands. The three
year old subject of his amusement squared her shoulders bravely. It was then he
noticed the bright florescent pink frock, he must have seen sometime in his sister's
cupboard. He wasn't surprised though, he just grinned, he would not tell this
to her and break her heart. She appeared besotted with the dress, he could make
out from the way she had held the sides of the hemline daintily like a baby
Disney princess and twirled showing it to his mother in the morning. He had
been a quiet and amused witness.
"Because I am small, but you are so
big! What sort of a name is Chotayyye." She sqeaked.
That snapped him, "You won't speak to
me like that, I am bigger than you."
She stuck out her tongue.
"By the way, the frock you are wearing
is Anjali Di's old stuff that she no longer uses." He couldn't stop from
letting it out, but regretted immediately as he saw her shoulders droop and
eyes widen with sadness.
"No, Amma got it for me, you lying."
She said quietly.
"What? Why would I lie?"
She opened her mouth to say something
but her mother's anguished sound stopped her, "Chutki, you are here! Hey Devi
Maiyya I searched you everywhere in the house." She took the child in her arms,
"Oh Arnav, I hope my blabber mouth did not disturb you, you were reading
weren't you?"
"Oh Shanti Chotte loves to flaunt, but
I know how much he really studies." His mother said laughing as she entered his
room.
"Ma, this is not true." he shot back,
pretending to be hurt. "I am in fourth standard; I get a lot of homework."
"Oh and that's why you tore pages
where your hindi teacher had put a note of your illegible handwriting from your
notebook and made paper planes of them?"
"Haww" the little girl said. Arnav
glared, turning red with embarrassment.
"Anyway. Shanti let's go and since
Anjali is out for her friend's birthday, I am sure Arnav will take care of
Chutki."
"No." Arnav protested against the
idea.
"Yes, you will, you will show Chutki
all your toys and share your candies with her. Mama and Shati aunty will be
back in two hours."
"Beta, please don't allow her to go
out of your room, Sheesh Mahal is too big for her, she'll get lost again and
hurt herself." Said Shanti.
"Do you like candies?" he asked her
when the women had left.
"Umm I like jelaybee more." She said
thoughtfully.
"What's jee-lay-bee?" he asked
curiously.
The
recollection of straggly drawn spirals with an orange crayon at the last page
of his notebook ruffled time's freshly fallen moments.
"Now don't ask me what this is.
These are called jalebis Mr. Raizada." She had said as part of her jabber while
offering him the dish.
Arnav turned
splenetic at the footling parallels between that obscure Chutki and Khushi
Kumari Gupta, his brain had drawn. The
old file was shut with force and placed among the confidential documents
rendered useless by time and to be burned. Why he had even maintained such a
file in first place, certainly in his vengeful fits, he decided. He didn't want
any of those now, old memories were a flotsam, he'd rather have them submerged.
And new ones
made. He checked his watch, 6: 40 PM, the party to celebrate the acquisition of
Babylons. Inc was scheduled at 8:00 at Hyatt Regency , he had to inform Lavanya
and pick her up from home. Her phone went unanswered, as he dialed impatiently
about three times while walking over to the parking lot. And now she'd have cheesy kinks of the sorts, Ooh ASR why didn't you tell
me before, you had planned to surprise me! He suppressed the urge to mimic
her as he sat in the driving seat, he was that bored.
"Where's Lavanya", he inquired handing his bag and coat to
the servant.
"Kitchen."
Was the surprising response.
He sauntered
with a precise step and reached the place where she was expected. He still did
not understand her need to comply with his grandmother's expectations, she
wasn't his wife. But he wouldn't deny, her attempts had made him witness a new
side altogether of Lavanya Kashyap, not that it had changed his entire
perception of her, but it had certainly made him respect her a bit more than he
formerly did. He would be lying if he claimed to be serious about her, but he
won't be lying if he said he'd prefer Kashyap over a thousand other women if he
were ever to be serious about a relationship.
He found her,
not quite clearly as her silhouette seemed to bend in a dark corner. But who
else could it be, not Di of course, she was engrossed with her tab and
twitteratti. "Lavanya." He said softly and felt the woman stiffen. In two steps
he was right behind her and could hear her inhale deeply, he snaked his arms
around her waist, "I called y..." He felt electricity jolt through his body. The
lithe form was not that of his girlfriend. This one felt just like he had imagined... he heard a suppressed
squeal of surprise and immediately withdrew his hands and reached for the light
switch he knew just above.
It blinded
her with consternation.
He turned
rigid. "You." He exclaimed in absolute amazement.
*****
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Remember Promo 4 anyone? 😉
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