Chapter 2: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/90301304�
Chapter 3: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/90441945�
Chapter 4: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/90599029�
Chapter 5: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/90855070�
Chapter 6: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/91137478
Chapter 7: Page 34
Chapter 8: https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/105051747
"Hello"
"Hey, what is that sound? Everything okay?"
His deep commanding voice was greeted by a sizzling of caramel onions on the stove. She was weeping from the sulfonic fumes and the attentiveness he was giving her.
Regaining control of the butter melting on the wok and her heart melting in her chest, she spoke softly.
"I am cooking".
His next question was a mix of annoyance and surprise.
"Don't we have people for that?"
She pursed her lips together and wafted the delicious scent toward her in hopes that he could witness the skill of her hands. Alas, the telephone could only do so much.
"I keep kosher", she reminded him of her distinct religious beliefs. He never understood her ways and he was not about start trying now.
"Okay, what are you making?"
"Prime rib", she supplied with pride. "Will you be home for dinner?"
"No, I got a couple of shots left". Her spirits were dwindling down and he sensed this shift in mood.
"I will be back by ten", something in him just had to care for her emotions.
Great! Now, how am I supposed to convince a Hollywood director to postpone dinner just so I can eat the prime rib she made? He pondered over his stupidity and unexpected sympathy for a woman he was taught to hate. Well, he had taught himself.
After her father refused to rent his heritage ancestral property, the only way RK's production house could use it as a shooting location was if Rishabh owned it. His creative mind cooked up a convoluted plan to marry the only heir of this Jewish family. That way, he could own what he wanted without much damage.
But, the real damage had been done. Lemuela Yvette became Madhubala Rishabh Kundra. She had fought hard to keep her identity. However, after two nights of Rishabh butchering her name, she caved in. She could not stand her another Jaavet, Laameela or, and this irked her the most, the Jew.
"Call me what you want", she almost sulked.
He thought, not too long or too hard and decided on "Madhubala aahaaan".
Thus began the never ending tale of a Bong girl stepping in to the shoes of a superstar's wife. She had an old world charm about her. The ambience of the mansion only added to her emptiness, giving an illusion of royalty. As if she was sculpted for a life time of living in the shadows, she accepted her duties with grace. All she had to do was look presentable for when people showed up. He did not take her outside or let her explore the surroundings.
"Mumbai is a city for those well-versed in street smarts. You are a beginner. Don't leave the house unsupervised. Better yet, don't live at all. If you want something, just say the word".
Leave, he had said leave but she heard live. As he asked her not to live at all. She complied. She did not have much choice. She was never bright in academics so, earning an income in the metro was out of the question. Her family discouraged her skill in the arts on the grounds that decent girls do not paint. So, she had to marry well and live off her husband. She loathed the idea but, she was living the reality.
That presented another problem. In her mother's dreams of packing a trousseau, she had left out the bare essentials. She had to ask her husband for those little embarrassing gifts. This was not going to be easy.
So, she set on an elaborate foreplay with her wired skill of storytelling. She would charm and lure him in with the mood, the lighting, the setup and her dress. Yes, for Lemuela, I mean Madhubala, the dress was key to decent presentation. A jet black sari with a full coverage blouse; all the pearls she owned and some kundan here and there made the perfect combination. Shabbat gave her all the more reason to look nice.
Today would be her first Shabbat in her marital home and already she was a couple of hours late with the dinner. Now, she was going to become a sinner by asking him for you know what.
He rushed in throwing the keys on an ottoman and shoes wherever they wished to land.
"Go freshen up, I shall serve dinner". She mentally scolded herself for being formal when she had the chance to open up.
He dragged himself up the stairs and repeated the exact feat on his way down. He looked tired and unhappy. But, her problem was too pressing not to call attention. She could not survive on paper towels much longer.
"Rishabh", she whispered after short intervals until he responded in a startled voice. "Haan, you were so quiet, I didn't realize you said anything".
"I need to go out".
"We will bring the stuff here. What is that you want?"
She swallowed her nervousness down and spoke in one breath, "my boob hurts".
He let out the loudest laugh she had heard, as if he was waiting to be entertained.
"You are probably only hypochondriac. There is no way you could have a lump".
"Not that, I ...need intimates".
"Ahem", he bit on his words. "Yes, how foolish of me. I will call someone tomorrow".
"Is it okay if I drink wine?" Now she was only milking her privileges. "Only because it is Sabbath".
"Shabbath is every week, isn't it?"
He caught her. He knew she was a wine fanatic or, she looked like one from the extensive collection he had seen in her Kolkata cellar. But, he was amused by her excuses.
"Yes, please?"
Her pleadings made him forget about the terrible time he had at work. What was that again? That idiotic Hollywood hotshot who did not show up. Who needed him anyway?
"I am kidding. Of course you can have wine. The bar is right over there. Anytime my lady".
She pulled out the brightest of smiles and served his plate. He had never seen her happy before. How could she smile when she had nothing to look forward to? And, how could he not when he had a bright career ahead?
"Your phone is ringing", she brought him out of his trance.
She would rather not have him answer the phone but, she could not impose her beliefs on him just yet. Shabbat alone was difficult to take in. Then, keeping kosher and her prayer times, he had been mostly silent and non-intrusive. But, she could not take advantage.
"The director wants to meet for dinner".
"Bring 'em here". She just did not want to let him go, not tonight.
Lucky for her, the director turned out to be a Joshua. And you know what Joshuas are? They are Jewish.
"Shabbat Shalom", she raised her glass.
"Shabbat Shalom", said Joshua.
"Shabbrat Shamon??", Rishabh attempted.
"You're getting there", the trio ate with laughter serving for seasoning and eye contact for garnishes.
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