RiAnsh OS: Baby, Will You Love Me Tonight?

Just because it's my birthday, today😊 Happy reading!

RiAnsh OS | Baby, Will You Love Me Tonight? |

The minute Vansh had been born, the corridor outside the private ward of one of the most renowned hospitals of the country had echoed with a wail so mighty and piercing, it had shocked the medical staff, and the entire Raisinghania clan waiting outside the room for one long minute. The vast team of doctors and nurses attending to the tired, and almost comatose mother, who was also the wife of the head of one of the biggest conglomerates of the country, had been pleasantly surprised by the power behind the cry of the little baby who had come to this world after a difficult pregnancy, and an even difficult labor, that had nearly proven to be too much for his mother. There had been much skepticism amongst the doctors if the baby would even survive this difficult birth, and numerous discussions were held about how to go about the whole process- for the case concerned a high-profile family and no one wanted a medical lawsuit on their hands or the curtailing of the crores of rupees that the Raisinghanias donated annually to the hospital. Nonetheless, the family had been duly informed beforehand about the complications that could arise, and were reassured that their best, and the most competent team would do everything in their power to facilitate a safe delivery. So, when a healthy baby boy had come out of his mother’s womb- red, splotchy, covered in blood and goop, but fiercely flailing his tiny fists and letting out wails that could wake the dead- the doctors and nurses had been amazed at the sheer vitality and resilience of the boy, and heaved a collective sigh of relief both for the mother and son, and their jobs. They might even get a bonus, and another hefty donation- they had thought happily, looking at the absolute joy on the faces of the whole family. The boy had clearly been a blessing for the family as well as the hospital. Little did they know that this day of joy would also bring one of the biggest tragedies of his young life.

To say that Vansh didn’t like celebrating his birthdays would be quite an understatement.That he wished the date would somehow be removed from the yearly calendar, and its associated memories wiped from everyone’s minds would probably come a little closer to expressing his feelings about this day. This day when he had received as a birthday present, his father’s mutilated body packed in a body bag, and dumped outside the mansion’s gates, a big, decorative bow tied around his neck, and a birthday card with Happy Birthday Vansh written on it, glued to his forehead. Needless to say, it had forever ruined the joy and happiness of this day for him. His birthday was not an occasion to celebrate. It was a day to mourn and forget, never to talk about. And, that is what he had always done, and forced others to do. Until the year he turned 40.

Vansh’s 40th birthday had- to his great displeasure- been made into some kind of a big deal by his family. He hadn’t wanted it to be- as was his norm- and so was immensely surprised when his wishes, and very vocal protests against any kind of celebration had been royally ignored by everyone, thus ruining all his plans for the wretched day. Yes, he had had plans. And, no, they hadn’t involved some grand party thrown in his honour at his home, or exclusive invitations to hundreds of people from across the country, half of whom he didn’t ever remember meeting. Vansh’s plans had included an intimate celebration with his wife, at a place far away from this house and country, where he could spend some moments of peace without feeling the need to drown his sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. He had planned to take a couple weeks off around this time of the year, and whisk Riddhima off to Maldives to check-out the room service at the newest resort of the VR Residencies and hotels chain. They would foist off their four year old son on his great-grandmother and aunts, and spend some private moments away from the monotony of their daily lives. No interruptions. No business deals, or crying baby. Just him, and Riddhima poured in some vintage style maillots, and barely there French lingerie. Chanel. Victoria’s Secret. La Perla. Versace. Vansh would never admit it, but ever since his marriage to Riddhima he had come to know a great deal about different kinds of lingerie, and had in fact many a times- happily, and willingly- accompanied his wife for some lingerie shopping. He had been looking forward to seeing her dressed in some of those lace and silk pieces they had bought, but which she had never had the chance to wear- and then slowly peeling those off of her on their private beach or in their beach villa. There would have been some snorkeling, and paragliding, jet skiing and deep-water diving. Open-air Jacuzzis. Sand and sea. Chilled beer. Vintage wine. Violins and pianos. Stars. Moonlight. Sex on the beach. They hadn’t had a proper vacation ever since their son had been born, and just the thought of him and Riddhima alone in Maldives had made Vansh unbelievably giddy. Then his youngest sister had announced one day that turning forty was no small feat in their world, and therefore, there was to be a big celebration on the occasion.They all deserved it, and especially him. He would just have to get over his issues and participate, because they were all tired of his never-ending brooding around this day. Whatever had to happen, happened, and there’s nothing anyone could do about it. It was high time they all moved on, because they all deserved happiness. Vansh had made to protest, but was shockingly shut up by his generally genteel, soft, and obedient sister who had taken that opportunity to remind everyone that she was as much a Raisinghania as her other siblings, and could be just as stubborn and mulish as them. Vansh would have been impressed by her steely, take-charge attitude, had it not been against him. And, one look at his wife had told him that he wouldn’t find an ally there too. Riddhima had almost been jumping in joy, and excitement, already starting to make plans with his sister. Vansh would have pulled a no-show, but something told him that that wouldn’t bode well for him, especially with Riddhima onboard, and he really didn’t want to be in the doghouse with her, if he ever wanted that Maldives vacation. So, Vansh had decided to bite the bullet, and endure his birthday party (he couldn’t even think of it without scowling), if it made his family happy. They could go to Maldives the week after, he thought. He just had to get through the party.

They had gone all-out, with all their guns blazing.

Expensive invites in cream and lavender with luxurious silk finish, and gold lettering embossed on them had been sent out to the crème de la crème of the business world across the country. The mansion had been decked up like a new bride, every small inch done up with fairy lights, and LED bulbs. Scented tea light candles had been strategically placed in various locations across the mansion, their scents mingling and wafting through the air. Floating lanterns had been brought in to be lit and flown at the end of the night. Huge tents tastefully decorated with gauzy billowing curtains in shades of blues, cream, and gold had been set up in the backyard, their canopies carrying more lights, Persian rugs covering every inch of their surface. The seating arrangement had been done inside the tents for people who wanted to sit, and enjoy the music bands that had been arranged to play Indian classical, oldies Bollywood, as well as western Jazz. There was a dance floor and synchronized fountains. There had been people sitting on diwans under a gazebo, dressed in traditional Lucknowi attire, spritzing ittr in various flowery scents on the arriving guests. Exotic flowers like calla lilies, hydrangeas, tulips, and orchids in an astonishing riot of colours had been imported, and elegantly bunched together in various crystal vases, or in the form of wreaths hung from the pillars and every other vertical structure. There were native blooms too- marigolds, roses, dahlias, and even lotuses- floating in copper water bowls, and twined through the fences and poles, perfuming the air with their sweet fragrances. Too sweet, Vansh had thought with a wrinkle of his nose. Almost nauseatingly cloying, he had said to Riddhima when he had finally managed to corner her in their bedroom one afternoon. The proud gleam in her eyes had dimmed a little at his complaint, and Vansh had immediately backtracked, quickly reassuring her that while he loved the flowers and everything, he was just worried about her overtaxing herself supervising all the arrangements. Riddhima had laid her head on his chest, and smilingly replied that she didn’t mind at all, and that she wanted everything to be perfect for him. She had then promptly thrust the stack of bills from the florists and caterers in his hands, asking him to clear them at his earliest, before whizzing past him and out the door in a blur of wind. Vansh had taken one look at the receipts, shuddered at the unnecessary extravagance, and had decided to take a long nap to avoid a mental breakdown. The far he stayed away from all this, the better it was for his well-being.

Though Vansh had witnessed with his own eyes the massive transformation his home had undergone in the weeks preceding his birthday, and therefore wasn’t surprised by the outcome, there still had been one thing that had stunned him speechless. Riddhima had been a revelation, overshadowing everything and everyone. While other women slithered around in heavy sarees, or slinky gowns, Riddhima had dressed in a traditional hand-woven Kanchipuram silk saree belonging to her mother-in-law. It was in the shades of pink, starting from the palest salmon shade that darkened to deep magenta around the edges. Heavily embellished border depicted the temple motifs and paisley structures in delicate shades of gold. But, the piece de resistance was the aanchal that was hand embroidered in threads of antique gold, with tiny mirrors embellished into it. The rest of the saree was deceptively simple, with a ruched blouse done in the same antique gold thread. Her jewellery had again been picked from her mother-in-law’s collection, a simple choker and matching danglers studded with uncut diamonds and Swarovski pearls. Her silky, black tresses had been left open in a tacit nod to her husband’s preference for her unbound mane. She had completed her look by wearing her wedding ring, and some innocuous looking red glass bangles on both her hands- that had raised a few eyebrows, and some hushed whispers. People had wondered why the beautiful Mrs. Raisinghania, who was dripping in priceless family heirlooms from head-to-toe, had chosen to wear such unmatched, and common bangles with her otherwise millions of worth of jewels. But, when Vansh had seen them adorning Riddhima’s wrists, he had understood- they were the same ones he had gifted her on the night of their sangeet during their second wedding. Others would not realize, but Riddhima was wearing her tribute to her husband. There had been pictures of the stunning couple in the city tabloids the next day, with the news of the coveted party, exclusive guest list and the photos of spotted celebrities even earning some column space in various national newspapers. The fashion pundits had dissected the looks of both the husband and wife with great delight, pointing out how the main man himself had complemented his wife with his tie and pocket square in the same shades of pink, worn over stark black pinstriped suit and pure white shirt perfectly tailored to fit his long, lean frame like a glove. There were articles listing the cuisines served, the music played, and the designers worn by the attendees, and how the Raisinghanias had made sure that the flower arrangements would be donated to various orphanages, hospitals, and old-age homes, the trash recycled ecologically, and surplus food donated to the needy through local NGOs. Mr. Raisinghania’s 40th birthday party had been unanimously proclaimed as the trendsetter for other industry giants- a rare mix of class, elegance, indulgence, and luxury, coupled with environmental consciousness.

They had mingled with their guests, hand-in-hand, greeting everyone with polite exuberance. They had danced locked in an embrace, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, giving a chance to the assembled guests to admire the sheer compatibility of them. Then, during one such twirl about the floor, Vansh had covertly herded Riddhima up the floor, and to their room, tired of the excess of people that wouldn’t give them a moment alone. Finally, he had muttered, shutting the door behind him, his mouth planted on her neck, long fingers roving across her waist. Riddhima had just laughed, tipping her head back to give him more access to her flesh. “Do you know how beautiful you looked tonight? How utterly gorgeous, in my mother’s saree, and jewels? Do you know what it does to me, seeing you wear the bangles I gave to you, even after all these years? Every person out there was wondering what a nymph like you is doing with an old man like me. You were every man’s fantasy, and every woman’s envy Mrs. Raisinghania.” Vansh had continued against her ear, sucking her earlobe, and placing hard bites against her neck. He had turned her around, finally placing his mouth on hers, kissing her hard like he wanted to devour her. His fingers had impatiently tugged at her saree, nimble fingers uncommonly clumsy, the pleats unravelling to pool around her ankles. His heart had stuttered, looking at her standing half-naked, bathed in the silvery moonlight streaming in through the open window, her ebony hair tumbling around her shoulders, her lush body flushed red. Glowing. Luminescent. Vansh had been enchanted, drunk on her, and the love shining in her eyes. Riddhima had held his wrist, lifting it to her mouth to kiss his pulse. “No they were wondering how some poor orphan like me turned out to be so lucky.” She had whispered, shushing his vehement protests with a shake of her head, and a finger against his lips. She had  wound his tie around her palm, using it to lower his mouth to her own lush one. Had then whispered against his lips, “Happy birthday, Mr. Raisinghania,” before finally kissing him fully. And, the only sounds that were heard after were those of their collective moans and sighs.