OS: The Bitter Truth

This was supposed to be a drabble. But...never mind😆

| The Bitter Truth |

He found them in the kitchen, cooking and laughing, lost in their own world. He had banked on her being there alone-since she usually was at this time of the day- before heading towards the kitchen on the pretext of eating something. He had hoped that with him at the office, he would be able to corner her in the kitchen or wherever in the house she was, maybe pretend to be concerned about her troubles, or try to coax her into sharing a cup of tea; an almost impossible task as he had come to realize after his previous failed attempts, for she was always wary and skittish around him. He hadn’t known that he was at home today, hovering over her as he was always wont to do. He could feel all his plans for today going down the drain, all the restless excitement seeping out of him. His face fell, a strange kind of numbness washing over him, threatening to drown him under its weight. It was a new feeling, unfamiliar, for he had faced disappointment a lot of times before, but never with such intensity that it almost threatened to debilitate him and pull him under. He didn’t understand the feeling, nor did he like it. It made him feel weak, and vulnerable, and he absolutely loathed feeling weak and vulnerable. He had worked very hard to not feel that way ever again. To not let failures- the almost constant fixtures in his life- to affect him for long. But, here he was, feeling like a loser again, ironically by the same man who has always been the source of all the miseries in his life. The man who never failed to make him feel small and pitiful without even trying.

He moved away a little to attend to an incoming call, while she continued with her cooking, peering into the hot kadhai to check the consistency of the stew. He could tell she was making something especially for him, as the servants had already prepared the lunch for the entire household before. She checked the salt and seasoning with a spoon, gave him a bite with the same spoon to get his opinion, and beamed with pride when he whole-heartedly approved of the taste with a vigorous nod of his head, still clutching the phone to his ear. His throat convulsed seeing the homely montage before him- his worst nightmare, and biggest yearning playing out before his very eyes. His gut twisted uncontrollably, and something clawed at his innards like a wild, savage animal trying to rip and shred its kill for a meal, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, lifeless carcass of bones and half-teared flesh, drained of all blood, and life, and vitality. He knew what he was feeling, was self-aware enough to name all the feelings and emotions that were licking his insides like fiery flames of fire engulfing a house, charring everything it housed, burning everything to the ground, and turning everything to ashes. Jealousy. Envy. Resentment. Rage. Anger. Hurt. Yearning. A potpourri of similar emotions swirled in his gut, beckoning him to fall into their outstretched, waiting arms. He gave into their familiarity easily, not even trying to resist their temptation. It was a comfortable place to be, warm like home, and he embraced these feelings like one does a beloved, old friend. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t felt this way. When he hadn’t felt the heavy tendrils of envy, resentment, and rage for the man before him. In fact, he had deliberately and consciously nurtured these feelings, watered their roots with painstaking, single-minded focus till they sprouted and grew into a tree that only held and shackled him in it’s branches tightly, regularly feeding him the poisonous fruits it bore. He felt it was justified- this bitterness, this revulsion for this man. After all, it was him who was responsible for his pathetic state, for all his heartbreak, and hardships, and sufferings. For his loss of identity. For never having a home, or never knowing a family. His so-called brother, he thought with a snarl. The greatest bane of his existence. His biggest enemy, his biggest competitor, the man who had everything he had ever desired, while he had nothing. While he was nothing, lower than the scum of the earth in his eyes, more insignificant than one of the numerous furniture pieces in the house. A fact that never failed to burn him from inside-out.

He finished his call, and came to stand behind her- his chest to her back, a large hand encircling her tiny waist, almost towering over her in a way that would have been intimidating if not for the gentle lines of his tall frame positioned more as a protective shield than a threat. She melted into him almost instantly, as if her legs had suddenly turned into jelly, leaning all her weight against the solidity of his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. He bent down and whispered something in her ear that made her blush and pout, a low laughter rumbling in his chest at her comical expression. The fire inside him grew exponentially, the flames now reaching every extremity of his body like blood-laden arteries and veins, igniting every nerve-ending, burning his already blackened soul. Why, why,why? He thought. Why her too? Why couldn’t he have left her alone? The one person who had belonged to him, and only him, and he snatched her away too. Mine! She was mine! Give her back to me! He wanted to scream, his mouth almost twisted in a snarl. It straightened his spine-this feeling of self-righteousness, and validated all his actions till now, justified the path he had chosen to take in life. Didn’t he deserve to feel this way for him? Wasn’t he right in coveting all that he had? A house, a name, a family, siblings, wife, identity? He wanted all of this too. He deserved all of this too, and if he has done some awful things- maimed and killed some people, hurt them, hurt her, in a quest to find his own happiness, how was he wrong?!! How was he the bad guy, while he, who has done as many terrible, and repulsive things as him- if not more, crossed more moral and human limits than him, hurt her as terribly many a times as him-the good, upstanding one? Why was he reviled and shunned, while he accepted, loved, even worshipped? He remembered saying to him once-gloating almost-how unlucky he was to have never known a woman’s love. He had taunted him gleefully- high on the hurt and defeat clearly etched on his face-how first his mother, then Ragini, and now her, all of them had never loved him, never picked him, always choosing to betray him in lieu of his love and affection. He had laughed in his face, basking in his triumph, rejoicing in his heartbreak. Had taken extraordinary pleasure in twisting the knife in his heart, kicking him when he was down. Now, he saw how wrong he had been that day, how atrociously mistaken. He wasn’t the unlucky one, he himself was. No woman had rejected his love, but they all had rejected his. His mother had rejected him at birth, much too helpless and cowardly to face the shame of being an unwed mother, choosing instead to give her time, and love to him. Choosing to make a family for him, be a mother to him. He understood why she did what she did, but it still hurt. It had hurt when he had to spend birthdays alone, while his mother baked a cake for some other kid. It had hurt to not have his only parent for PTAs, for sports days, for examinations, for when he was bullied, and when he had high temperatures. He had never known his father, and he had been deliberately, viciously deprived of his mother. Then she had come. He had been so sure of her affections, her loyalty, her unwavering support. He had been sure she would be his downfall, his doom, the reason for his ultimate victory. And, look where it got him. Standing on the sidelines again, while he snatched another woman from him. While one more woman blatantly preferred him. Even that Ahaana had picked him, choosing to participate in his concocted ruse, over their fake engagement. Even a fake-fiance had dumped him, he thought with a sardonic laugh. Wasn’t it just great? He was the perpetual reject, the misfit, the pariah. The unwanted one. His whole life was just a big, fat joke, a never-ending series of one misfortune after another. This could be the title of his autobiography, he thought with a bitter twist of his mouth. A Series of Unfortunate Events. Wasn’t it just great? So, how was he wrong in demanding reparations for all his sorrows, his woes, and his tragedies? For craving his position, his possessions. He wanted to end this game too, this one-sided battle of one-upmanship, where he was the only player, and the only loser. Still, always the loser, and never the winner.

They now leaned against the counter, bowl in hand, taking turns feeding each other. There was occasional whispering between the two, but most of the process was just a silent clashing of eyes, and exchange of secrets, the sound of spoon clinking against the bowl reverberating in the otherwise quiet kitchen. Despite the innocence of the scene, there was something so passionate about it, so closely intimate, that even he- who had shed any layer of morality or decency he may have had a long time back- was forced to look away from their private moment. He leaned down a bit, pulling her close by the waist to reach her lips, half-eaten bowl of the dish forgotten on the side. As their lips clashed in a kiss-in a veritable resemblance of a match-stick striking a match-box and igniting fiercely- he clearly saw what he had refused to acknowledge till now. This was a woman who was so irrevocably, so madly in love with her husband, she wouldn’t even look at any other man-including him. Riddhima was lost to him forever, and it was nobody’s fault but his own. Vansh Raisinghania had defeated him once again-this time in the biggest gamble of his life. And, as Kabir stood there in the shadows, watching Vansh and Riddhima engaged in a heated kiss, he finally accepted the most bitter, harshest truth of his life- he had completely and irreversibly lost this war to the man before him. And, there was no turning back the hands of time.

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