KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 011)
FOLLOWING LUNCH, THE LADIES OF THE HOUSE settled in the upstairs study. Nani and Mami were watching the wedding dvd for the fortieth time. Payal was being industrious, attaching new buttons to her husband's kurta. Anjali was struggling to teach Khushi how to knit.
Anjali finally gave up. "Bhabhi, your mind is elsewhere!"
Khushi was startled out of her thoughts, and exclaimed, "no, it isn't!"
"Are you thinking of Chotte?"
"Nahin!" Khushi protested, far too strongly---and then felt herself colouring at the teasing smile she received from Anjali.
We, of course, know she had been thinking of her husband. She had been thinking about Arnav's cryptic message: Be ready at 4.' Why was she so aflutter at the prospect of seeing him this afternoon? What did she expect would happen? Don't be ridiculous, Khushi. Nothing exciting happens at four in the afternoon. Yet Khushi felt with all the surety of a woman's intuitive heart that something significant was going to occur. And, with this knowledge, her mind and heart continued to wage a territorial war over the rights to her body. Had she made a tactical error in revealing to Arnav that she desired him? Should she have expressed outrage at his proposition to enter a physical relationship? Perhaps that would have been the proper thing---but propriety didn't address why every time she was near him she felt utterly vanquished.
What were the rules of conduct for a six-month marriage? How was she supposed to know? But it was pointless to mull over the same question again and again. Her dispirited sigh did not go unnoticed by Payal and Anjali, who exchanged bemused looks.
She managed to stay with the ladies until the clock struck three, and then excused herself to go and change. She washed and slipped into the new saree blouse and petticoat. After applying some makeup, she sorted through her growing jewellery collection. She decided on a narrow gold choker paired with matching earrings, but left her arms bare (except for the kangans, which she never removed). Her hair was brushed to a sheen and tied neatly to the side to rest over one shoulder. Khushi twisted this way and that in front of the mirror to examine how much of her back was left exposed if she wore her hair thus.
IT WAS THIS SIGHT which greeted Mr Raizada when he entered their bedroom. Khushi must have sensed a movement. She looked up. Her eyes darted to the wall clock.
"You're early!" she cried.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know---I think my timing is perfect," Arnav replied. He had an exceptional view---Khushi from behind---and his eyes enjoyed the journey down her form, lingering at the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. Khushi turned to face him but with a well-positioned mirror behind her, this did little to impede his pleasure. He saw Khushi's eyes searching the room. They landed on the recliner, where her saree waited. He walked to the recliner, picked up the saree and sat.
She bit into her bottom lip. She had no concept of how alluring she was, he realized. Especially when harried.
With fluid grace she moved towards him, and with an outstretched hand, she demanded, "I need that."
His hands wanted to circle that tiny waist and pull her down onto his lap. But he restrained himself. He gave her the saree and she returned to the mirror and began to drape it around her hips.
Arnav couldn't help teasing her. "Although I prefer you disrobing for me, Khushi---" he said, languidly, "this too has its pleasures."
The careful pleats she had just managed to make slipped out of her fingers at his words. She met his eyes in the mirror's reflection, and he saw briefly---just before her eyes became guarded again---a woman more than curious about the topic of pleasure.
Arnav Singh Raizada had long suspected that although Khushi was naturally bashful, she was very much alive to her own sensuality. She felt deeply, but didn't quite know whether it was acceptable to feel as she did. But he knew from the countless times they had accidentally touched---and especially when they had danced---that Khushi was more woman than those women who knew how to articulate their desires. This excited him no small degree. Especially now that the pertinent question of how to keep Khushi with him forever had been resolved. And resolved in a way that was really of Khushi's own doing.
As a business man, Arnav knew that every man had his sine qua non---his essential condition. For Khushi, it was her deeply ingrained understanding of what a wife was. And what confused her most was the concept of a pretend-six-month wife. It was this quandary of hers that he intended to eliminate today.
"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" Khushi asked her husband as they drove away from Raizada House.
"Wait and watch."
"Does it involve cake?" she smiled.
He chuckled, and threw her a you-are-pagal look. When Arnav Singh Raizada laughed, Khushi could forgive him anything. There was a charming boyishness about his laughter that was so incongruous with his usual Laad Governor persona. Moreover, he laughed so rarely that when she was the source of his laughter---such as at the sangeet---she felt personally victorious. She wanted to make him laugh again and again.
Arnav parked in front of an elegant shopping plaza. He helped her out of the car and led her to a jewellery boutique. The door was buzzed open. They were greeted and welcomed into an inner room. The man behind the counter seemed on familiar terms with her husband and the Raizada family, as he asked about all the ladies. Especially Mami.
Arnav introduced him to Khushi. She smiled a namaste and the man congratulated them on their wedding.
"Do you have the item I specified?" Arnav asked.
A second man approached with a dark velvet tray and placed it directly in front of her. There was one lone item resting on the tray.
A ring. A gold band supporting a significant solitaire diamond, around which were many tiny diamonds forming a floating circle.
Khushi's hands remained clasped on her lap.
"Please try the ring for size, Mrs Raizada," the first man urged.
Khushi didn't move. She couldn't move. She didn't understand the meaning of this. Why a ring?---and one so much like an engagement ring---now?
"Khushi?" Arnav prompted.
She met his eyes, unable to voice her confusion, but nevertheless hoping he would offer an explanation. He didn't explain. He simply indicated with his eyes that she try the ring. Yet still she couldn't move. It was not a challenge to try on a ring. More so when the ring was so stunning.
But what she saw on the tray was not a ring, Sisters. Not really.
She saw everything as it ought to have been: Tender Love. Exciting Courtship. Joyous Engagement. (THEN a Ring!) Grand Wedding. Finally Intimacy. But for them it was all inverted and reversed.
Khushi felt Arnav's fingers unclasp her hands, and then lifting her left hand, he slipped the ring on her ring finger. It fit. It fit perfectly. Of course, it would have, wouldn't it? When the gods want to punish you they give you what you want.
Khushi wasn't aware that she released a shaky breath---which made the man on the other side of the counter ask cautiously, "is the ring to your liking, Mrs Raizada?"
This Mrs Raizada wanted to say, NO! No! Stop asking me silly questions, silly man! This is not to my liking. Don't you know? I'm a six-month bride. I'm not permitted to like any of this!' But, instead of saying all this to the innocent man, she smiled approvingly. No need to start a rumour in the city that Mr Raizada had married a woman certifiably insane.
ARNAV PERFORMED THE NECESSARY transactions, lifted Khushi out of the seat and guided her back to the car. And we can imagine, Sisters, she was grateful for the assistance as her mind was a tornado. Once inside the car, Khushi stared at him voicelessly. He knew she was waiting for an explanation. The unspoken questions spun like an aura above her confused face.
"Show me your hand, Khushi," he asked.
She lifted it so it was in his sightline.
He looked at the substantial ring on her delicate hand. Both flawless. It had surprised him---that rush he had felt in the shop when he saw his ring on her finger. He had never understood until he began selecting Khushi's wardrobe and her jewellery what a primitive but real pleasure a man might receive from all of this. Taking a woman was the work of a moment; possessing a woman was done in layers. And each layer enhanced the next. There was one more thing to do this afternoon before he could take her home.
Jalebi Jane