Chapter 4
"What now?"
Arnav hissed into the mouthpiece with annoyance as he entered the foyer, turning his way to the plight of stairs. It had been rather busy day with lined up meetings with the clients and then on-site inspection before he had given a presentation on the budget issue to Mr. Bose. Hyderabad had an impact on him, and he was not so impressed with the atmosphere. It was yet another developing metropolitan city, with people running for their livelihood without a care about others around them. The once pearl city' was nowhere to be seen. Whatever his mother had said about the place, when she visited in her early twenties - it was nothing at present.
Aman had been calling him more than he ever did, instructing him about the developments of his projects over there in Mumbai. Never had he been tired by the end of a working day like he was now. He loved his work. He loved creating spaces and playing with them. He loved meeting new people every day and he loved site visits. To add to his irritation, he had no vehicle for his own transportation. The service person had called and informed that his car would deliver by tomorrow, and that made him wait for a cab for more than one hour, as the cab had been stuck in the traffic, while the downpour continued the whole day, blocking few roads, which resulted him to use a long route.
"Can't I call my friend without any reason?"
He heard Aman complaining and shook his head, letting the droplets escape his hair, as he climbed the stairs, two at a time. He glanced at the house on his way and noted the lights were off, indicating no one inside. "After instructing all day with work load of thirty people to me," Arnav asked sarcastically, "do you expect me to speak to you without irritation?" he halted at the last step, narrowing his eyes at the girl in front of him, "you tell me how to react, Aman?"
He saw her turning around and noticed something in her hands which she hid behind her. "God, you scared me," she complained, sighing in relief, "Can't you come like normal person?"
"Excuse me," Arnav stepped forward, "you stood in dark in a downpour with white clothes on, and you think I scared you?" He demanded her, "What do you mean by normal person?"
"Arnav?" he heard Aman calling him, "whom are you talking with?"
"I will talk to you later," he disconnected the call and switched on the porch light as he fished out keys. "What are you doing here?" he asked her and turned, his brow rose in amusement as he smirked at her, "you missed me?"
"What?" She asked with her eyes widened and then laughed at her, bringing her hands to her front, walking towards him, under the shelter of the porch. Arnav stared at her hands holding chocolates in disbelief. "Not at all, Suriya," she continued, stressing his middle name, "I am missing my place and thought to embrace it while you are not here."
"Puh...lease," he stretched the word, rolling his eyes, as he opened the door and then faced her. "It's Arnav, Khushi. By the way, where is your family? And your place...?"
Khushi nodded, having a bite. "Bindu is with Kiran, some kind of family get together and his parents want to introduce her to some relatives. My parents accompanied them as they extended their invitation. You know, they can't send their daughter to her in-laws place before wedding."
"And they knew better than to invite a crazy little girl to such gatherings," Arnav completed her sentence with a chuckle, walking in as she dropped her chin.
"Am I a crazy little girl?" she shouted at him, pulling by his arm, "how dare you say such thing about me? You know what, it is waste of time to speak to men like you."
"It is funny to speak to girls like you," he commented, enjoying her antics all the while, "you didn't answer, Khushi. Is this your place?" He asked again, now pointing at the room.
She nodded, staring at her chocolate. "When are you leaving?" She asked directly, "I don't like sharing things with anyone, let alone a stranger." She sat on the bed, folding her legs and pulled a pillow on her lap in a typical Indian style.
"How can a family pamper anyone in the way your family does to you?" He asked with a slight shake, chuckling in amusement. "I have never met anyone like you before, Khushi. Who will have ice creams at midnight and chocolates in rain?"
"Special people are rare to find," she said in mock serious before giggling. "You are lucky you met me now," she pointed out, "take care of my room, or else I will not think for a second but murder you. Plain and simple. Now, come downstairs and help me woven dinner Mom had prepared for us."
"Dinner sounds great," Arnav nodded, walking with her out of the room and to the stairs, "I will be in fifteen. Don't miss me, okay."
Khushi looked at him thoughtfully before nodding. "Okay," she said battling her lashes, "Suriya..."
"You"
He stepped forward but laughed as she ran down the stairs and disappeared in to the house for her dear life. Shaking at her craziness, he walked back to his room and had a quick shower. With a pair of sweat shirt and tracks, he made his way out only to be interrupted with the shrill ring. "Hello," he spoke into the mobile, making his way to her house and halted at the middle of stairs when he heard Mr. Yalavarti.
"Khushi isn't troubling you, right?" he heard the elder man asking in concern and smiled, knocking the door.
"Not at all, Sir," he replied politely, narrowing at her as she let him come in, "don't worry about her, I am fine."
"How can I not worry, Arnav?" Mr. Yalavarti asked gently, "she insisted on staying back and we will take at least three more hours here. She is scared of being alone." He hesitated but asked, "Can you do me a favor and take care of her, Arnav?"
Arnav heard the underlying concern a father had for her daughter when she was alone with a stranger staying as a PG. "Sir," he called softly, watching Khushi arranging their dinner on the table, walking from kitchen to the dining area. "If this helps you reducing your worry for her," he said slowly, "I have a sister, Sir. I understand and I will never do anything that disrespects my sister." He smiled when she asked him to join. "I will take care of her," he added.
"Thank you, Arnav," he heard the elder man saying in relief, "we will come as soon as we can. Just stay with her."
Disconnecting the call, he took a seat and looked at her setting his plate and then hers, before running back to the front room and switching on the TV with remote bringing over to them. "You did not answer me," he asked, watching her tuning channels before settling for one, "why did you not join your family in the gathering?"
"I hate such gatherings," she stated simply, "they will irritate me with their never ending questions. Oh Khushi, when will you get married? How long are you going to study? Will it be arranged or love?" Khushi rolled her eyes, "that is sheer torture. I am 21, not 41, to get married."
"Really!" He asked her in mock surprise, "if my memory serves good, I happened to hear you complaining your father to send you off to your sasural. Am I wrong, Khushi?"
"I hate people mocking at me," she glared at him and turned her eyes onto the television and Arnav groaned inwardly at the daily soap his sister was so addicted to. "Not a fan of serials, I guess," Khushi said, chuckling at his expression.
"Come on, what is so special in these serials?" He shook his head disapprovingly, "I mean, a man falls for a woman but does not accept it for half year, and when accepted, does not confess it for another half year. When he gathered courage to confess, some unbelievable misunderstanding is created and they parted ways. Same old story from the time my Dadi stopped changing diapers for my father. Grow up, Khushi."
"How rude?" She almost shouted at him, throwing a hand cloth on his face in anger, "and how unromantic? These serials are a platform for us to look into different people and their personalities and for wonderful actors to make their way in to Bollywood. Wait, let me guess... you prefer action, thriller and horror movies, right."
"No," he plainly disagreed with her, "I prefer some of Govinda's movies over some cheesy romantic movies. He is better actor than most of the superstars who, in the age of forty, still chases the girl of twenty in some of student oriented stories."
"You and Govinda's movies?" Khushi stared at him, as if he had grown a tail behind him and burst into laughter. "I can't believe someone like you watches his movies, Arnav. That is really funny."
"Look at this," he said, pointing towards the TV, as some hero of the serial stared at a supposedly his lady love, who crossed her hands over her chest, her dupatta in his hands. Arnav watched in horror when the man handed it to the woman and she, very embarrassedly, placed that around her neck securely. "This is one thing I never understand in any cheesy romantic scenes," he asked her, making her turn towards him, "that woman had her dupatta around her neck and that piece of cloth really does not cover her anything. Then how come she always cross her hands, desperately hiding herself, whenever that piece fell due to wind only God knows from where it made its way all of the sudden just because a hero enters the place? What she is really trying to do is, attract his attention to her in that action."
Khushi dropped her chin in a perfect pout, blinking her eyes at his brutal boldness. "You are unbelievable," she snapped at him, hating herself that a small part of her agreed with his logic but the bigger part of her and her ego did not allow her to accept it and his words. "It is a natural reaction any girl has whenever a man is present near her," she defended herself and the women in a whole.
"Really," he asked leaning forward, "because, I don't see you doing the same."
"I have no dupatta, you idiot," she shouted now.
"What is the difference, Khushi?" He demanded her, "there is no difference between having and not having a dupatta as it covers hardly two inches around your neck. I fail to see the point, or the difference between them. Please enlighten me."
"I don't see a point to have such a conversation with you in the first place," she snapped, glaring at him, "and I really hate you now more than I hated you this morning."
"You mean you love me more?" He asked with a smirk, "I can read silence behind your words, you know."
"Argh," she gave up, fixing her gaze on the television, "I just hate you, Arnav... oops, Suriya."
Arnav groaned at the mention of his middle name, hating himself for even introducing with his full name in the first place.
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Anupamaa
Seher Hone Ko Hai
52