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Tonight, the CVs played Santa and gave us a white Christmas and Valentine's Day all rolled into one in an episode that snowed and scorched romance all at the same time.
She'd said he'd give her the Mangalsutra at the right time when he was ready. And now that time had come. He was ready.
As was the place. He'd created a haven of candles, petals, hearts, sometimes a mix of all three in a private space enclosed by vivid, fluttering drapes. He took her by the hand and led her to the right place.
And while she gazed wonder-struck he sat down to explain away his anger. Watching the little diya wick flame into life as he touched it with his lit candle, he spelled it out for her: That day when she'd fed him when Maasa had returned and he'd refused to be wooed into a better temper, he hadn't really been angry. Nor when she'd descended the stairs in Jaipur and apologised for coming to the party. He hadn't even been angry when she'd glugged down the alcohol at the Ball and chattered non-stop. Unlike that day when she'd dismissed her injured eyes as of no consequence, and he'd raised his voice. That day he had been angry.
He could see that she needed one more example to make the difference crystal clear. A more recent one. Like this morning. This morning when she'd, he moistened his lips and tried to ease the words out. But ground to a halt. So he touched his fingers to his cheek. And she understood. When she'd kissed him, he hadn't been angry. Absolutely not angry, he impressed on her.
And turned around to catch her laughing. His brows drew in at that and her smile died away. Was he angry, she wanted to know. So he assured her that he wasn't. Frustrated, he cupped her shoulders and sat down with her to make her understand. He knew he was angry a lot, he told her, more than normal. But it wasn't at her. He was angry with himself. But he took it out on her, she interjected. And he agreed. Wrong thing to do he realised the moment he said it and tried to take it back, but made a muff of it.
And remembered the Mangalsutra in his pocket. Forget the explanations. He needed to just give it to her. So he asked her to close her eyes. A last ditch effort at creating some romance, because he was not a poet or good with words. But she refused. And then asked him if her refusal would make him angry.
So he gave up. He much preferred action anyway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black and gold beads that he had taken such pains to select. Then opened his fist and extended his palm out to her with the Mangalsutra resting on it.
He heard her reaction first in the gasp, and when he raised his eyes to hers saw them wide with emotion and a question. So he explained. He'd overheard her telling Mythili that she expected him to give her the Mangalsutra when the time was right. Well this was the right time.
He knew it was the right time because the red thread around her neck was hurting his eyes. So he stepped in to her with practiced ease and tilted his head at that angle he had perfected to better navigate his fingers across the softness of her skin, under the silken fall of her hair, to the knot nestled against the nape of her neck. His nimble fingers working it in the time it took to squeeze her eyes closed against the brush of his fingertips; in the time it took to breathe in her essence; in the time it took to cloud their eyes with the weight of the moment.
"So much pain," he told her, his voice roughened with that emotion as he drew the thread off her neck. "I gave you so much pain, didn't I?" And looked into eyes that reflected the emotion in his. "Those eight pheras; God knows what kind of vows. Completely monstrous!" He flayed himself with the memory, as he had so often ever since he'd made them.
But she wouldn't see him hurt. And reassured him with a smile. Because he hadn't been able to fulfil even one vow had he? And managed to pull an answering smile from him, a tiny one, as he agreed that he couldn't fulfil even one vow. Hadn't wanted to. He didn't know about the seven wedding vows, he told her, they didn't matter a whit. But today he wanted to make a promise.
He raised the Mangalsutra to her neck, and lifted her hair out of the way as he guided the hook and eye into place on her nape. And as she pressed her lids tight, overcome by the moment, he clasped the ends together and pulled the black beads to before letting the necklace fall into place. Only then did he draw his hands away, brushing them over her shoulders as he swallowed the obstruction in his throat. Then brought his lips to her ear to breathe out the vow, the only vow he intended to, wanted to, honour: "Me. You. Forever."
It was as he pulled back that he saw the glimmer on her cheek. A shimmering track that burnt straight into his heart. He couldn't stand to see her cry, she needed to stop crying. Because if she didn't he wouldn't get angry at her he'd do something else. Something that he'd been longing to do for ages. Something that would not be held back any more. Not now. It was the right time.
He reached for her. To cup her face and slant his head. But she had other ideas. The timing wasn't right, she countered with a smile. And it wouldn't be until he did something magnificent for her, like...like showering her with snow. There was no chance of making that wish come true, he scoffed. And bent to pick up the pillow she'd almost fallen on in her exuberance. That's when cotton escaped from the open seam to drift down on her head like snow from the heavens.
Even the heavens were with him tonight. He smiled and threw handfuls of cotton up into the skies until she was caught in a veritable white flurry that swirled around her as she danced in delight in her own snow world. Playing with the snow, catching drifts, blowing it off her hands towards him. Until she saw him looking at her.
That was when he'd had enough...of looking on. So he reached for her hand and pulled her to him. His eyes intent on her face he moved in close and lifted a hand to her cheek. Then bent and brushed his mouth against the sensitive cord on the side of her neck so that she closed her eyes. For long, endless moments they stayed that way locked in their first proper kiss. His lips lingering on the softness of her skin that was finally his to touch in the way he had dreamt of for so long. She the unmoving recipient of his ardour. Except that she wasn't unmoved. On the contrary, her emotions writ clearly in the heat of the eyes she raised to his when he broke it off finally.
But the pause was only to cup her cheek with his other hand as he aligned his mouth to hers. That's when she pushed him away and ran down the corridor laughing in exhileration until he caught up with her and backed her against a wall.
"Why are you laughing?" He asked, his breath coming fast. "Because today I've found out what's in your heart." She was vivid, glowing, alive - infinitely beautiful. He could feel his face heat and leaned in to her, bracketing her in with his arms against the wall. "What's in my heart?" He smiled. His senses perfectly attuned to hers. Ears charting the rhythm of her breaths, skin sensing the flare of heat, nose breathing in her own special fragrance heightened now, eyes noting every nuance of her expression, and the wisp of hair stuck to a mouth that begged to be tasted.
Strands that remained in place even when she opened her mouth to gasp out her answer. That's when he caught that silken distraction between thumb and forefinger and pulled it. Dragged it over the plump pad of her lower lip. Choking off her words. So that, all playfulness gone, her eyes flicked up to his with an expression that tightened the muscles in his throat..
He had to swallow before he could speak. And even then his voice was hoarse. "What about me?" He pressed. And without waiting for her answer drew the side of his hand down her shoulder, trailing the backs of his fingers down her arms even as she struggled to get the words past trembling lips that he noted with satisfaction through the screen of his lashes.
She couldn't control the words, or the moan that slipped out. And then all coherent thought evaporated as his fingertips made contact with the skin of her waist on either side of the chain that graced it. And those callused tips walked, trailed, jumped, stroked twin tracks of fire all along that uncovered expanse making her untried skin jump in response.
Her eyes lifted to his uncertain, dark with new sensations. His kindled as he bobbed his head encouraging. So she tried again. But only got as far as "I". Because his wicked fingers were now stroking back from her navel, ever so slowly to pause when they reached her side. And then continued on around her back in a hold she'd felt once before in Jaipur on the dance floor.
And then, just like at the Ball, he jerked her in close to him leaving her off balance. "What happened?" the devil asked. " You were saying something weren't you?" So she tried harder, fighting against the quicksand that she was sinking into. "I just...my voice...how will I say it...?"
So he helped her along, returning his fingers to the side of her waist while his thumb idly stroked the underside of her choli-clad breast. And which, dissatisfied by the barrier, he slid down to sweep over the bare skin of her midriff.
It took more than he could ever guess for her to squeeze her eyes shut against the lick of flame, the spurt of pleasure, the slug in her veins, for her to shove him away. So that she could blurt it out in a rush, her eyes, body closed against any stimulus from him. "You also like me. Meaning there is love in your heart for me."
His only reaction was the tender smile on his lips. And then the dance started all over again. He clasped her hands where they rested on his chest and stepped up to her. She eyed him with apprehension laced thickly with desire. But let him imprison her wrists behind her back as he had once before when she'd been his captive. She was free now. except that even when he let go her wrists, they stayed put in the small of her back, tilting her body even closer to his.
"When you come close," she cleared her throat and he nodded his encouragement. "My voice just disintegrates." She managed to breathe out. "That's why you should learn to be quiet," he admonished her. And as an electric silence descended he moved in closer etching every feature of her face in his mind for eternity. Her closed eyes, quick breaths, the soft trembling lips, the nostrils flaring with his scent, with desire. He brought his face in by fractions, cupping hers to press a kiss ever so gently on one beautiful closed eyelid. And then moved unhurriedly to the brow bone of the other to kiss it harder, longer, until she jerked against him yet again.
She followed his lead effortlessly, returning the favour. Cradling his face in her hands, stroking her thumb down the bristles of his moustache, resting it for just a moment by his mouth, so that he couldn't resist turning his mouth into that tender, inquisitive caress.
Then rose on her toes to kiss him on his forehead, hard, with all her heart and passion. His turn now to close his eyes and deal with the fire that raged inside. He held his face still, but couldn't stop his hand from trailing along the side of her mid-riff or his thumb from grazing the underside of her choli.
She lost her balance. But he held her tight at an angle much like in their tango in Jaipur. And when she was back safely on her feet, he set about unsettling her once more. Stroking the backs of his fingers down her cheek into her hair, he lifted a swathe off one shoulder. And then bending, put his mouth to her Mangalsutra where it nestled below her collarbone and dragged it all the way up the length of that necklace to her neck in a moist, open-mouthed kiss that burnt her control and inhibition to ashes.
So that all she could think about was getting closer to him. Feeling his body against the length of hers. She climbed on to his feet as she had at the Ball and grabbed tight on to the neck of his kurta for balance. And he, needing to feel her skin against his skin just as much as she did, rubbed his cheek against hers. They reveled in the touch for a beat. Until the rough arousal became too much for her, and complaining about his stubble, she turned her face away.
At that he smiled. And lifted his cheek from hers. Then turned her face towards him as he had at the close of their Tango and held it in place for the slow descent of his mouth on hers. In Jaipur, it was the applause that had burst their bubble, shattering the mood and bringing them back to their senses. Tonight it was the crash that came from his mother's room. Now, as then, the time wasn't right for anything more.
A beautiful, poignant, scorching hot episode that needs no analysis, only to be savoured. The Mangalsutra is finally around Paro's neck, and Rudra has revoked the eight (non-starter) vows out loud. He may not be good with words (except when he's drunk) but he's got them when they count. His single vow was wow enough to bring tears to Paro's eyes. And when the words don't count, he's got the actions - plenty of them that tell us that his moves are as good off the dance floor as they are on it.
Ashish and Sanaya sizzled on the screen tonight in umm rousing, đ just about perfect, truly professional performances that effortlessly brought PaRud to life. If there was one quibble it was with the BG score that intruded into my enjoyment of tonight's romance. But that pales before the Channel's breathtaking lack of consideration of its viewers' enjoyment by running promos that ate up close to half the screen. And of all days today!!
As far as the episode is concerned loud applause đđđđ for giving us hot romance with class.
P.S. sorry for such a long post - but I couldn't do justice to this episode in less.
Bollywood
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
