SS:Bongbala (Ch8 THE END pg 38) - Page 7

*sighs sadly* At least u hv time to court ur 'new love'. Der is a bitch called 'board exams' running behind me wid a red-hot saucepan...so I hv no time to romance wid a new love. Lol...I think 'wipeout' is d only thing I watch now-a-days. Pathetic life. Anyways cya. I shud probably go b4 I end up turning dis page into a long chat!

RES!

Originally posted by: -ForeverYours-

BRING BONGBALA BACK

Originally posted by: DonnaHarvey

I can't take you seriously with the Kajol dp😆

Originally posted by: PrittB

RES!

It's an OS!

Caramel onions...you make onions sound so good. I hate them, but now I want them.

Wait! I know. This OS is not about onions.

Aw, she wants him home for dinner. GO HOME FOR DINNER RK. It's RK right?

I guess I shall continue to read.

WOW! Your reason behind the forced marriage! Kudos to you! I can never think of a reason for a forced marriage. I like yours! It's totally RK style.

Lemuela Yvette. What. I laughed. 😆 Sorry! But I wasn't expecting such a random name!

Ahahha! Loved how you included his famous 'Aahaan'.

Aw...the way she heard 'live' instead of 'leave'. Wow Jassu. I honestly wish you'd try writing a novel or something. The way you write could make you millions. I'm not kidding when I say this, you're super talented. Don't let this talent go to waste. Do something about it! I know you've started a blog, it's a good start! I'm glad you're not only sticking to the forums and are getting your talented self out there.

It's amazing the amount of knowledge you have. I had to search up trousseau and Shabbat.

Hypochondriac. My sisters call me that all the time...

Can I change my vote on your poll now? Actually can I add a vote? I want this too! Ah!

Loved it Jassu!

Wow! so many demands for Bongbala. I am sooo happy.

Originally posted by: SHINYSHREYA

Wow! so many demands for Bongbala. I am sooo happy.

A few things to note before we get started:

1. My characters are flawed. I am less than perfect so, I cannot stand plain goodness in the people I conjure up.
2. Please, DO NOT, I beg of you, DO NOT use this as your guide to relationships. Love/ companionship/ hell, any kind of human contact, should not hurt. If it does, there is something very wrong.
3. I have an eye for picking scenarios that may go wrong. Do not always take what I write at face value, I often do not mean it that way. The seemingly calm dynamics could be clashing under the surface.
4. I am, by no means, an expert on Judaism. Whatever customs and beliefs I describe are a mix of my (limited) research on the ever-changing community of Kolkata's Jews.
5. TL;DR: Madhu and Rishabh are not the ideal of marital love.
6. Pesach is the festival of Passover (read: exodus, or just google it).
7. During Passover, an observant is not allowed to eat or even possess biologically fermented products (with the exception of some non-grain wines, these wines are actually required). So, a month before Passover, the people beginning house cleaning, to clean out all the fermented goods out of the house. The dishes used in passover must be either separate from the other dishes or boiled to clean out the traces of leavening agents from the other months of the year.

Lemuela Yvette was used to turning heads when she stepped foot outdoors. Her sharp features could be picked out from a crowd of thousands, her attire distinct from the fad following sheep. But the month of preparations before Pesach was her time to shine. The Israelite Diaspora celebrated the journey of Exodus in the Passover festival, lasting eight days in the Hebrew month of Nisan. Yvette always had her dresses picked out months in advance, with precious jewellery and a long, snow silver wig to protect her own lush hair from the sun, as she went galloping around the Culcutta bazaar, searching for simple amenities that would put everyone in her busy family at ease. Her gestures of inclusive kindness made her the favourite daughter of their tight knit community.

This year, however, was different. Her ancestral home had a scent of unfamiliarity about it. Even as it stood erect in the heart of her hometown, like centuries ago, and decades more to come, it was no longer her own. It now belonged to a certain Rishabh Kundra and his wife, Madhubala, who were too far away to experience its beauty. To another ear, Madhu was just an alias, an extension of Yvette's personality. To Yvette, it was a brutal killing and then, a re-birth. Yvette was no longer alive, no longer a person. Yet, she wasn't dead either. A purgatory existed for her kind, she was stuck in a forever with no way out. She could never truly be a whole again- not a Yvette, never a Madhubala.

The old wall calendar read: the 15th of Adar II; 14 days till the new year, 29 till Pesach. That time of the year again, the colorful dresses still fresh in her closet, the silver wig sitting pretty in a corner. But, he'd dragged her miles away from Kolkata. Her last visit there had been a week ago. If only she had remembered the dates, pleaded him to stay a little longer, she would not be trapped in a foreign land, regretting marrying this materialist.

Come to think of it, she wasn't one to live without her clothes so, she was a hypocrite for calling Rishabh out, even if in her head.

He wouldn't mind a little house cleaning, would he? All she had to do was remove every leavening agents from the house before the nightfall of the first day of Passover. Easy-peasy, not! This meant all the yeast, bread, bagels, pizza, fried crumbs of anything fermented, possibly wheat-containing-alcohol needed to be thrown out. For an observant Jew, this was an act of faith and joy- replacing rising bread with the flat kind. A luxury only experienced one month a year.

But, to the outsider eye of her husband, this came close to a death sentence. How could a man survive without his bread and butter at sunrise, a little night pizza order for cravings, and additional carb cravings for good measure? Already, she had put him through enough, banning all non-kosher food from the kitchen. Add this, and he might just vow to hate her for the rest of her living days.

Speaking of the devil. Not the devil, she bit her tongue. He was all to accommodating for her to complain or, name call. Plus, his nearness made her quiver in an unplaced attraction. She could rehearse a speech worth a thousand words but, one look at his questioning eyes and she would blank.




He caught her in a fix, boiling the special glassware to safe-keep for Passover. For some reason, Rishabh thought it would be a good idea to sneak up on his wife busy playing with hot water and equally hot utensils. Naturally, it was not. He placed his hand on the flesh peeking out of her waist. RK had no idea why he did that. Madhu and him, did not share anything remotely close to intimacy. Their marriage, if one could even call the arrangement that, was strictly platonic. He gave her material goods and she, well, her father to be specific, signed off her ancestral estate in his name. But, the porcelain skin visible from the cut of her sari was too bright to resist. He had to slip his arm there, it belonged. No, he belonged there.

Apparently, she didn't think so. Or, know so. His fingers caused such a shock on her nerves, her gloved hand pushed back, spilling the soppy, boiling liquid on his neck. He jolted back into a cabinet and dropped squirming in pain. She thought nothing of her next action, setting the dish washing hose at the very cold setting and spraying him down with closed eyes for a good five minutes. The force of the water was so strong, Rishabh was basically pinned in to position, barely getting words out in between consuming streaks and bubbles of Pamolive water.

"Madhu bb.b..b...b f**k...stahp...bb...bb...okay, don't...bb...bbb...don't spray on my...bbb...face...bbb. Eeerrr...I...bbb...give...up..."

Madhubala simply responded with a long recital of, "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I am really sorry. Please, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. I know this must hurt, a lot. I am so unfocused. I should have known it was you. I am really sorry...please, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry", all while not opening her eyes to peak at the victim, inhale a breath or, worry about the kitchen flooding.

"The floor is..bbb...stop...please...bbb...gah...". After a few minutes, RK had had enough. He managed to block the freezing water spray with cupped palms and walked toward the tap to turn it off. When the flow stopped, Madhu opened her eyes to examine his wound.

"I don't think it will scar".

"No shit!" He all but screamed at her.

"If I hadn't done that, it would leave a scar", she tried justifying her now ridiculous looking decision of flooding the kitchen.

"You didn't have to flood the floors. We could have done this in the shower".

She hung her head in shame. Although Madhu knew getting to the bathroom would have been too late, applying this logic with a raging man was not the best idea.

He signed toward the shower to finish spraying his wound. She motioned in agreement and followed him in to a closed off glass shower, not worrying about her precious gown soaking wet in the aftermath of the kitchen disaster.

He took off his shirt, exposing his wide shoulders, sculpted chest, with the chiseled abs, which, under different circumstances, would have caused a mini heart attack inside her. But now, were the least of her concerns. She focused on the slightly reddened skin of his neck and collar bone, dabbing a soaked washcloth on the affected area. He was still under her touch, displaying a sly smile throughout the next few minutes of her dressing his injury.

"I did not mean for that to happen. I hope you forgive me".

"I am just a foul mouth is all. I don't have a filter. I should be mindful of what I say. I mean, you were only trying to help and you did. The money maker", he pointed to his face, "is doing well and I won't have constant reminders of the incident marking my skin. Thank you, really. And, I am sorry for losing my temper earlier".

The realization of a tight space, with nowhere to run, was dawning on Madhu. She had seen him steal glances at her wet breasts. This could go downhill fast.

"Yes, okay. We're okay. I am going to change into fresh clothes. Again, sorry about all of this".

She could not have gotten out of the room fast enough.

Res!!

A/N: can't add it to the chapter cause my other a/n is friggin long as is.