KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 054)
THOUGH HIS PHONE WAS ON SILENT Arnav's eyes were drawn to where it rested on the small table. Next to his coffee cup. His eyes waited. One second. Two. It flashed: Mrs ASR.
He took the call. A greeting was unnecessary.
"Where are you?" his wife asked.
The slight tremble in her voice told him she was disturbed.
"Tum theek ho?"
"I don't know where you are," was her reply.
"I'm out."
"Where? You're not at the poolside. I checked the grounds---"
"---Out. Away from Raizada House."
"No, you are not!" she accused.
Though he was not seated alone at the table, he couldn't help smiling at Khushi's assertion. Only Khushi would see nothing incongruous in telling a man that he wasn't where he thought he was.
"Then where am I?" he asked.
"You tell me. But don't tell me you are out because I checked the carport. Your car is there. All the vehicles are there."
Interesting. She had actually been concerned enough to check the cars. He knew he should return to his meeting, but the unconventional pathways of his wife's mind had him enthralled, as always.
She was still speaking, "And you never take one of the chauffered cars because you hate to be driven around."
"You are turning into quite the detective," he said. The man opposite him started at this comment and looked up. "I'll speak to you when I get home," Arnav said to Khushi, indicating that he was ending the call.
"Are you upset with me?" she asked, her voice soft.
Arnav came to his feet, signalling to his guest that he needed a moment. He stepped away from the table. "No, Khushi. I had a late meeting."
"You didn't say."
"I never do."
"I prefer you did." There was a pause. "It makes me tense when you disappear, Arnav."
When she dropped the -ji- from his name, he knew she was overcome with emotion. It happened when she was upset or angry---or aroused. He felt his own heart clench at the thought that he had needlessly worried her.
"I saw you were helping Di pack; I thought I would be gone and back before you even noticed," he explained. There was another pause. This one longer. "Khushi?" he asked. "Are you there?"
She replied, her voice impassioned, "I'm aware of your absence even more than I'm aware of your presence. And you know precisely how aware I am of your presence."
"I know," was all Arnav could manage. He repeated it to convey the fullness of what it held. "I know."
"I'll see you soon?" she asked.
"Shortly," he replied, and ended the call---and then decided to immediately call her back. The line connected and he said, "next time, check the garage, Detective Raizada."
"Kya?"
Arnav smiled, "---I took the bike."
MR CHOPRA WAITED AT THE TABLE. "Continue," Arnav said, as he returned to his seat.
"Since your call this afternoon, I've only been able to confirm that the information you provided on the target agrees with my findings."
"How is that useful?" Arnav uttered with frustration.
"I beg your pardon, Sir, but it is valuable to know what part of the story is accurate before I dig deeper," Mr Chopra replied.
"Mr Chopra, just because you are able to confirm that Dr Yash Malhotra is who he says he is, doesn't mean it is accurate. It only means he is thorough in making the false appear true."
This seemed to throw Mr Chopra off. He nodded slowly as though this had never occurred to him.
Once again, Arnav questioned whether this man was right for the task. With Shyam he had been equally disappointing at the beginning; yet, ultimately he had proved himself highly effective. And according to Mr Rao, Mr Chopra was continuing to be helpful in assembling evidence for the forthcoming trial. Of course, he could engage another detective, but he wanted to limit Anjali's exposure---Mr Chopra worked alone.
There was also the other matter: Mr Chopra amused Arnav.
He stopped a waiter, requested two more cups of coffe, rolled up his sleeves and said, "let's review what we have so far."
WE HAVE SEEN, SISTERS, how it sometimes happens that a girl raised in the most conservative and modest environment will bloom into the most radical and audacious flower when planted in the right soil.
This was the story of Khushi.
Nothing in her history could have foreshadowed the woman who now stood in front of the full-length mirror to tighten the ribbon on her ridiculously short negligee. To say it in delicate and refined language would not convey the reality of it. It has to be stated bluntly: Khushi had developed an insatiable appetite for the brand of sex Arnav Singh Raizada provided. Like the man himself, his brand bordered on extremes. It would shift very suddenly from playful to aggressive; tender to tormenting---and Khushi thrived on it. She had agreed to travel ahead to Lucknow, but it was only at the dinner table that she absorbed the reality of what that entailed.
Five days and four nights without him.
Unbearable.
Even on the days when he plagued her with his autocratic imperious conduct, she could hardly wait for him to tear her clothes off at the end of the day. Their daily skirmishes and disputes only heightened her pleasure. She knew innately that what they shared was not common-place---he had said so---but she sometimes wondered if her behaviour bordered on the indecent.
She reached for her hairbrush and absent-mindedly brushed her hair.
Ought I exercise more modesty, more restraint, more self-discipline? Ought I not be so eager for his touch? Will I ultimately put him off by my uhm...enthusiasm?
She placed the brush on the vanity table and looked at herself in the mirror. When she dressed to tease him, did he find her beautiful or did he see a tart? How was a woman to know? What were the boundaries? Were there boundaries between husband and wife? She recalled this afternoon's ice-cream incident and blushed. Arnav didn't seem to exercise any limits. And she always took her cue from his words, his prompts, his guidance. She had been emboldened directly by him. How then could her behaviour be deemed inappropriate?
Dejectedly, she dropped down on the stool, and with a tissue wiped away her lipgloss. What did she know of appropriateness? Her sudden wedding had meant that she had not benefitted from that mysterious preparatory talk Payal had received from Amma and Buaji. The talk from which she had been excluded, and Payal had refused to share details of. She couldn't go to Amma and Buaji and ask for the talk retroactively, could she? In any case, her question was not about mechanics, it was about propriety---how could she ask without compromising her and her husband's privacy?
She was alone in this.
But not entirely alone. Her family had inculcated in her the general rule that one always knew in one's heart when participating in any wrongdoing. She didn't feel wrong, but she did often feel naughty. Was that the same?
Confused and flustered, she decided to not be in this negligee when he returned. To err on the side of caution was not her usual stance, but her love for Arnav was too great a matter to risk for the sake of pleasure. She knew that he had in the past been embarrassed and offended by her high spirits---should he feel the same about this area of their life, she would never again be comfortable with him. It was best to remain on the safe side of gentility until she knew more. She stepped towards the wardrobe to fetch her night suit.
Yes! she was disappointed because she had really wanted him to see her in this piece. She slid the wardrobe door open. Yes! she was dispirited because she would not see him for another four nights.
"Khushi?"
She turned around. It was her husband. Standing at the door to their bedroom. His eyes tracing her form from top to toe, taking in the frilly negligee and everything it refused to conceal.
It was fair to say that Khushi panicked.
She hadn't heard the bedroom door open. Her judgments had left her in such a crisis of self-doubt that all her usual confidence when deliberately seducing Arnav now wilted. It was too late to change. She ran towards the bed, scrambled under the duvet and pulled it up to her chin. She knew she had exposed her legs and the tiny knickers in her dash to the bed, but at least she was decently covered now.
He entered the room, latching the door behind him. He was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt.
She reached for a plausible excuse, and said, "I was just trying something on for fit."
To her discomfort, he approached the bed. He placed his phone, keys and wallet on the bedside table. "From what I saw," he said, his mouth curved into a smile, "it fits you perfectly." Khushi lifted her eyes to attempt to read his. She couldn't tell whether he was amused or aroused. Or both. "Is it from the lingerie boutique? Pearl?"
She shook her head.
"Where is it from?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I had it made by Buaji's tailor," she confessed, her eyes focusing on the duvet.
Her words garnered a rather strong reaction. He dropped his arms and took a step forward, "you what?"
She repeated herself, "I had it made---"
He held up his hand to stop her. "I heard you the first time. When? How? Why?"
The series of questions came at stunning speed. She attempted to answer them in the order they were put. "When Jiji and I spent the day at home earlier in the week. The tailor came to drop a kurta for Bauji. I told him what I wanted made. He made it. Dropped it off yesterday. Buaji gave it to me today."
"You allowed him to measure you for that!?"
"No," she replied. "He has my measurements. From before."
"He can't have those measurements!" Arnav said angrily.
She frowned at his disbelief. "Of course he does. Who do you think made my saree blouses before ARGroup designers began to supply them?"
Arnav ran his fingers through his hair, and exhaled deeply. He reached to lift the duvet off her and she tightened her grasp on it. "Show me, Khushi," he said, his voice now without anger.
Khushi shook her head, and lied, "it didn't turn out well."
"I beg to differ." He had a good grasp on the duvet, and with his superior strength Khushi felt it leaving her body in increments. Rather than be caught on the bed in an inelegant position, she gave up the fight, moved the duvet aside and came to her feet. Her nervous hands smoothed the folds of the chiffon.
Arnav caught her hands and lifted her arms so he could have an unimpeded view.
"Not bad," he said.
She knew from her earlier mirror posing that it was rather short at the back, so she backed up against the wall.
He moved forward as she moved back, but he didn't touch her. "Did you make a sketch for the tailor?"
"No," she replied, "with my hands I said like-this-like-that." Khushi showed Arnav what she did with her hands to convey design and draping to the tailor.
He smiled. "That tailor should be working for ARGroup."
"He should be. He's so talented," Khushi said, taking his hands in hers, forgetting her self-consciousness for a minute and thinking more about the tailors career prospects.
Arnav replied, "you are talented. This is stunning." Their eyes met. "You are stunning," he added.
Khushi felt her dhak-dhak unite with his. Her breath quickened as he reached out to touch one end of the ribbon.
"Does this ribbon have---a purpose?" he asked, his voice had deepened to a soft growl.
"Yes," she said, "it makes------" She stopped her sentence. She was about to explain to her husband that the ribbon was designed to lift the breasts to make the neckline more provocative. The smile on his lips told her that it was unnecessary to explain design to the owner of a fashion house.
He lifted his arms and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it carelessly on the floor. "Will you do something for me, Khushi?" he asked. He didn't wait for her reply. "Turn around."
By Jalebi Jane
KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 055)
IF ONE DID NOT HAVE an intimate knowledge of Arnav Singh Raizada's married life, one would expect that such a commanding formidable man was never refused anything by his wife. The reality, however, was far from that. Sometimes Khushi complied readily to his requests, matching his vigour with equal zeal; sometimes she resisted like an innocent, until he persuaded her by guiding touches and tender language---and quite often, he simply overwhelmed her senses, ravishing her, so she had no say in the matter. The one thing always in his favour was that she had a voracious appetite. He not only prepared for her caprice, but actually relished it. It made their play exciting.
Which was it to be tonight? Would she be bold or coy?---
It was neither. It was indifference!
"I'm a bit tired," she said.
Admittedly, he had not expected those particular words from her. Fatigue had never before been a factor. He lifted her chin so he could read her eyes. They revealed nothing concrete. He asked her outright: "Have I upset you?"
"No," she assured him.
Arnav knew Khushi well enough to know that she would have taken this opportunity to speak if she had something to reproach him with.
A thought occurred. It made sense. They had enjoyed uninterrupted intimacy for almost two weeks---it could simply be nature intruding? But if that was so, why would she dress so alluringly? This frilly confection signalled quite the opposite of I'm indisposed.'
Unless.
Unless she really had been trying it on for fit, as she said. That would explain why she bolted to the bed when he entered the room.
Oh, I know what you are thinking, dear Sisters, but Our Hero had no precedent for this in his life. He had not been involved with any woman in a prolonged way for this to be a factor. He asked as delicately as he could. "Are you unwell?"
She shook her head, "just tired."
Perhaps that was the established euphemism. He asked, "Is there anything I can get for you---for your comfort?" She looked at him as though she didn't quite understand, but then shook her head. He adjusted the pillows for her as she climbed into bed. After tucking the duvet around her, he dimmed the lights and kissed her mouth. He kept the kiss chaste so as to not alarm her that he had intentions she couldn't fulfill---but she surprised him with a passionate kiss, confusing his body with mixed signals.
"I'll be right back," he said, breaking the kiss and stepping away from the bed. He picked the t-shirt off the floor and went to the bathroom for a long sobering shower.
SHE HAD LEFT THE BED by the time he woke the next morning. He had not slept, only managing a few hours in the early hours before dawn. As always, during the night she had curved against him, laying across his torso, her thigh resting intimately on him, her hand on his abdomen---this paired with the visual of Khushi in that tiny bit of chiffon had played havoc with his body. Never was arousal so doleful. Because he could tell his body that the hiatus was brief, but he could not quell his mind of the knowledge that she would be out of his sight for five days and four nights.
There was also the other matter.
He and Khushi had to communicate better about these physical realities. It wouldn't do to say she was tired, for how was he to know which tiredness she meant. Was it the sort of tiredness where he urged her to take a nap, or was it this extended tiredness? Surely she should feel comfortable enough with him by now to be less ambiguous.
However, what seemed ambiguous became dubious later.
He skipped his morning run and went down early for breakfast where he found her leading the aarti. This surprised him. Wasn't there some sort of embargo on religious activity at such a time? Was Khushi truly indisposed? Or had she created that impression? But why would she do so? His doubts were confirmed when he heard her and Anjali plan a visit to the mandir before their flight to Lucknow.
It left only one explanation---Khushi had withheld herself from him, and had done so on the night before she was going away for a week.
NEVER HAD A WOMAN been more painfully hoisted by her own petard. The decision to exercise bedroom gentility had resulted in Arnav keeping entirely away from her. Saying she was tired had clearly been the wrong approach. She had realized that almost immediately after she said so. And, in vain, she had tried to rectify it. She had kissed him invitingly, but he had walked away to shower. She had reached for him during the night, but he had behaved like a corpse.
I always go too far! she muttered, carelessly tossing random items into her suitcase for Lucknow. Foolish, foolish girl! She had to scold herself, as there was nobody present to take on that duty. Self-contempt made her even more clumsy than usual, and as she was closing the case, she slammed the lid directly on her thumb.
"EOWww!" she shrieked.
"Khushi!"
It was Arnav.
He had just entered the room and saw her flicking her hand back and forth in an effort to dull the pain. He grabbed her hand, and examined the sore thumb. "Dammit Khushi! Why are you so heedless?" He pressed against the knuckle, and said, "It's like living with a bloody child."
"Ouch!" she cried, pulling away. His words were more painful than the injury.
What could be more humiliating than being criticized by the very person whom she never wanted to disappoint? After all, it was that impulse to not disappoint that had led to her hare-brained actions last night. He was right. She was a child! She was not fit to be wife to such a man. Scalding tears of shame and self-pity rushed to her eyes. She dropped to the edge of the bed, closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. She felt him leave her side and in the next moment, she heard him shout from the upper landing to someone on the main floor. "Bring ice. Khushi's hurt!" Soon he was back by her side again. When he saw her tear-stained face, he pulled her to her feet by her shoulders. "We're going to the hospital!"
"I'm fine," she insisted.
"Don't fight me. Clearly, you're in pain!" he exclaimed.
She shook her head. "It's nothing." Hariprakash came racing in with a bowl of ice. Payal was just behind him with the first-aid box. From the jug on the bedside table, Arnav poured some water into the bowl creating an ice bath and plunged her thumb into it.
"Cold," she whispered.
"Sorry," he said.
Khushi eyes roamed over her husband who was concentrating on drowning her thumb. What had he to be sorry for? She was the imbecile. What kind of woman rebuffed such a beautiful man? She recalled how tenderly he had tucked her into bed last night; accepting her excuse of fatigue without question. Khushi remembered that he had once asked her to trust him that their physical life was a rare and precious gift. Yesterday when she had been engulfed by self-doubt, she ought to have trusted their relationship. How unjust she had been to herself---and to him---to believe that something outside her heart could instruct her on how to make her husband happy. The inward relief that came with this understanding filled her with sweet contentment. To consult her heart was to consult his heart and that would from now on be her compass.
But was it too late? Had she damaged matters irrevocably?
WITH HER NEATLY bandaged thumb and her untidily packed suitcase, Khushi, along with Anjali, arrived at the airport just in time. The thumb emergency and the temple stop had delayed them, yet Arnav had managed to deliver them to the gate on time. He embraced his sister, and Anjali had the elegance to go through first so they could say goodbye privately.
Khushi turned to face him. There was so much she needed to explain. But there was no time. She heard a final call to board.
"Go," he urged.
She nodded and they both turned in opposite directions---without touch, without word---and began to walk away. She looked over her shoulder as she walked through the gate. He looked back at the same time, and continued walking but his eyes remained on her. Until he walked around the corner and could no longer be seen.
THE TIME IT TOOK for the two Raizada women (the wife and the sister) to fly to Lucknow and settle into Sheesh Mahal was coincidentally the same amount of time it took for Arnav Singh Raizada to become entrenched in the belief that his wife had fabricated an excuse to make herself sexually unavailable to him. Imagine, Sisters, the effect of this conclusion on the mind of a man such as him. We would wish to say to him, chill, Arnie!---and remind him of the universal law that a man may make an overture but the right of refusal always remains with the woman. And that too with full impunity.
Mr Raizada would then argue that he was cool with that. He respected that there would be times when their appetites might not be equally aligned. However, she ought to have been clear. To dress provocatively and then refuse his natural interest bordered on trickery. And to imply she was indisposed when she was clearly not was dishonest. The former he could forgive; the latter he could not.
We could then point out that he had concluded she was indisposed; she had simply claimed fatigue. Mr Raizada could not argue with that. And it was upon that slim hope that he called his wife that evening.
THAT OUR HEROINE found Sheesh Mahal enchanting was an understatement. She had never seen an unoccupied house so beautifully preserved; it was a jewel box with each chamber more attractive than the next. What she loved best was that the rooms were dressed with beauty and comfort in mind, not ostentation. It was not simply a place to admire; it was a place to live. To raise a family, dare she hope? She was not so indifferent when the staff addressed her as Mistress of the Mahal. She felt a curious pride in the title. A proper tour of the grounds and the gardens would have to wait for daylight---but from what she saw through the windows, she wondered how Arnav, who loved greenery, could keep himself from such a place.
Arnav.
She glanced at the phone she had carried in her hand all afternoon and evening. Why had he not called? Not even a text. She could send him a text, but his abrupt go at the airport told her that she ought to wait for his opening. She knew her behaviour last night called for an explanation, but she also knew that Arnav Singh Raizada received explanations best when he asked for them.
Would he ask her to account for her aloofness last night? That was the material question.
By Jalebi Jane
KHUSHI by Jalebi Jane (EPISODE 056)
WE HAVE HEARD IT SAID that those who are waiting are bad judges of time. A minute seems like five. An hour, an age. This was Khushi's predicament. It was nine o'clock and she had not heard from Arnav. She knew the awkwardness between them stemmed from her actions last night. Nothing had been right since she had said, I'm tired. She had dared not ask Anjali at dinner whether she had heard from her brother; it was unnecessary. She knew he would have called Anjali, confirmed their arrival, enquired as to their comfort---and probably asked about his wife and his wife's fat thumb. Other wives may bristle at this snub, but she knew her husband: the more he felt; the less he spoke.
She would make contact. The fault was hers, and so must the remedy be. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, braided her hair and now sat cross-legged on the large bed with the phone placed upon the pillow opposite her.
She sent a text message: About Last Night...
His reply came instantly as though he too was seated cross-legged on their bed with brushed teeth, washed face and braided hair:
---Yes?
I wasn't tired.
---Continue.
I was keen.
---So what was the problem?
I am always keen.
---I repeat. I don't see the problem.
Shouldn't I be less keen?
---Is that a serious question?
Yes.
---Let me call you.
Nahin! I can't speak about this.
---No.
Kya?
---Answer is NO. Don't ever change. Remain keen.
It doesn't put men off?
---What men?!
You. You are not put off?
---The opposite.
Keen?
---Beyond keen.
Promise 1 thing.
---Only 1?
Work on your airport goodbye.
---Promise 2 things.
Only 2?
---Don't doubt what's good between us.
Agreed.
---Don't do anything to make me doubt you.
That's impossible!
---I'm ASR. I ask for the impossible.
F**k Off.
---You seem to enjoy saying that.
Teach me more bad words.
---I will.
Tomorrow?
---Yes. Must go. Meeting.
Phir? So late?
---Yes. Go to sleep.
Goodnight, Uncleji.
THE RAIZADAS HAD INVITED the Guptas to stay at Sheesh Mahal until their Lucknow house was made comfortable again, but Buaji had politely declined, citing that it would be more convenient to stay with the Malhotras who lived two doors down. Like many, the Guptas believed that to stay at their daughters' sasural was best avoided. It was understood; nobody had been offended.
But Anjali's plans were slightly affected.
Anjali had an important question to place before Dr Yash Malhotra but knowing that his home was teeming with guests, she was reluctant to telephone so late in the evening. She could wait until morning, but she didn't wish to wait. She was like her brother---once a decision was reached, she wanted it executed immediately. She sent a text message:
She wrote: This is Anjali Raizada.
Yash replied: Hello Anjali Raizada
I'm in Lucknow.
---I heard. Welcome.
Can we speak?
---Are we not?
By phone?
---This number?
Yes.
---Now?
Please.
WE ARE ALL HUMAN and we are all fallible---yes, even a man of science with five excellent reasons to not further an acquaintance which attracted him more than he liked to admit.
"Hi," he said, when she answered his call.
"Thank you for calling. How are you? How is Little Khushi?" she asked pleasantly.
"We're both well."
"How was your train journey? Everything went well?" she enquired politely.
"You wanted me to call so we could discuss the train journey?" he asked, his tone humorous.
She defended herself with a laugh. "I was being cordial."
"Were you? Or are you priming me?"
There was a pause. Anjali asked, "Am I that transparent?"
"Let's check, shall we? You were calling to arrange to spend time with Little Khushi this week while you are in Lucknow."
"I am transparent," she sighed.
"Not you. Your love is. That is---your love for her is crystal-clear."
"I'll speak clearly then: Can she stay with Bhabhi and I at Sheesh Mahal until the party on the weekend?" and then quickly added, "don't tell me I'm being greedy!"
Her excitement made Yash recall an evening last week at Raizada House when Anjali had offered to give Little Khushi her bath. He had watched the two from the doorway, and for the first time he had seen where he fell short as a parent. He saw what it meant for a girl to have a mother. His daughter had seemed perfectly content and trusting, leaning her head back, having her hair shampooed by this woman she had known for less than four days.
"I have no problem with greed, except when it interferes with mine." he said with mock seriousness.
"Sorry?" she laughed.
He clarified, "she can spend the days with you while I'm at the hospital. In fact, I would be grateful to you, if you could have her. But I have a rule that Khushi and I share the same roof at night."
"That's a beautiful rule." Anjali said. "And thank you, Yash. You can't know what this means to me."
He experienced disappointment when she did not continue the conversation beyond the reason for her call. "I'll drop her off tomorrow morning on my way to the hospital."
"Goodnight."
By Jalebi Jane
| topics | author | replies | views | reply |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| reflorated | 5 | 1210 | ||
| pearl96 | 425 | 47230 | ||
| Mysticaldivine | 141 | 2046 | ||
| Mysticaldivine | 838 | 33089 | ||
| Mysticaldivine | 205 | 4622 |
comment:
p_commentcount