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Hello, remember me? Here's a Diwali surprise for you all :) Hope you like it
Pune,
1989
"Dadi", Khushi shrieked, "You're pulling too hard. Give my comb back. I can do it myself".
All she received was a sharp tap on the back of her head and an admonition to stay still, not even breathe if she had to.
As Khushi pouted and knitted her silky eyebrows together, Devyani ran the tortoise shell comb down her long, unruly hair again, ruthlessly easing the many tangles out.The most soft hearted of creatures, there were certain mundane tasks that brought a comical ruthless gleam to her eyes. Hunting lizards, their old bungalow was overpopulated with, with slippers was one of them and making her granddaughters' hair tangle free was another.
After thoroughly combing it out, Devyani ignored her protests again and rubbed it lightly with coconut oil.
"This makes hair thick and strong, Choti. Long too", she said, "When I was your age, my hair was so long I could sit on it".
Although Khushi didn't see any advantage to the dubious feat of being able to sit on one's hair, she held her tongue prudently, watching as a sparrow came flying to perch on a rusted iron tap. Her grandmother shook and squeezed some more sun warmed oil onto her palm, the blue plastic bottle making obscene noises.
Khushi was sure those shriveled fingers, hard, bony, soft all at once, had magic in them. She was convinced she would easily be able to spend her whole life under their ministrations if she were allowed to. She closed her eyes as they teased her scalp in little circles.
With winter sunshine like a shawl around her shoulders, she sat cross legged on a mat on the terrace floor, allowing the beautiful day to soak into her skin and consciousness. The sun was out after a seemingly endless spate fog shrouded days. She'd just enjoyed her favorite poori-subzi breakfast cooked by Ma.Two weeks' break from college stretched ahead of her in a lazy blur. She had been successful in cajoling their strict grandfather, whose word was law in their household, to watch a movie in a movie theatre with a friend.
And it wasn't just any movie. It was his movie.
As a million butterflies fluttered in her suddenly giddy heart, she held her breath.
"Which film are you going to watch?, her Dadi asked, parting her hair into three neat parts before weaving into a long braid.
"Awaara Dil", she cleared her throat and said, trying to make her voice as nonchalant as possible. To her dismay her voice sounded a little squeaky towards the end. She hoped fervently that her very shrewd grandmother wouldn't read too much into it. She was glad she had her back to her.
Her grandmother snorted and embarked on a rant about the corrupting influence of cinema on young impressionable minds.
After a pause, she asked with a veiled spark of interest in her eyes, "Who is the heroine?
"Juhi Chawla", her granddaughter effused, "She's new and she is gorgeous. She acts really well too. Do you want to see her picture?
Khushi was disappointed when Devyani didn't express any interest, not knowing it was only because she knew very well what Juhi Chawla looked like.
Silence weaved around them and the raucous cry of road peddler selling roasted peanuts rose uncontested to a pale blue sky dotted with cotton wool clouds.
Khushi swallowed in anticipation of her next question, her heart beating loudly in her ears.
"Who is the hero?
"Arnav Singh", she said, surprised to find her voice sounding cool and collected. She never knew she was such a good actress herself. Or maybe she did...
"Arnav?, she said, "His second film released already?".
Her eyes were pensive before she added caustically, "I'm sure he's having a great time prancing around with those beautiful women".
With her words weighing her heart down, Khushi took her braid's end from her and silently looped a rubber band around it. Her mind splintered into many pieces, each flying like a firefly to rest on a stilled page of life.
She rose and walked to edge of the terrace, her eyes gravitating towards their neighbor's front lawn, the fence that separated them, it's tiny hinged gate that connected them.
She could hear their voices, high pitched and excited, piercing the shimmering summer air. Anjali Di, Aakash Bhai, Arnav and her~ spending long afternoons under a metallic sky, their bodies smelling sweetly of talcum powder, outdoors and summer.
Di's voice, bossy and loud, the voice of a natural born leader, the one who always decided what they would play next. Aakash Bhai's quiet and at times resentful voice, the voice of a younger brother who was also an unwilling man Friday. And Arnav's voice, high spirited and boisterous, someone who already had an unbound imagination and a wicked sense of humor at that age.
She remembered when Anjali Di first thought of their first make-relief or role play game which soon went on to become their favorite thing to do. Anjali Di takes full credit for Arnav's blockbuster debut in Hindi cinema now, regaling anyone who cares to listen with a detailed account of these childhood games, forgetting to mention that they hadn't been in touch for six years.
But what fun they used to have, Khushi thought, her eyes soft, her lips widening into a smile. Their joint imaginations would carry them to magical lands where kings and queens, fairies and princesses dwelled alongside with demons, pirates, superheroes and undefined bad guys.
Anjali Di would always...always...make herself the main hero because- hello, she was the tallest- she would say to anyone who dared to question, and poor Aakash Bhai would always be cast as her helper, the side hero. That meant the onus of being the bad guy always fell on Arnav, the boy- the only child- from next door.
And he always seemed to relish his roles too, she thought with a grin, because it gave him a chance to yell loud, run fast and contort his features into the wickedness that his roles demanded.
Although she was the same age as Arnav, she was the smallest in size so somehow she always ended up in roles that involved being kidnapped or killed by their residential bad guy...Arnav.
And while he was the sweetest bad guy ever, sharing half melted chocolate bars and candies with her, Khushi was a most cooperative damsel in distress, smothering her giggles with both hands as they hid together - crouching behind the water tank on the terrace, perched on a stout branch of a guava tree or dissolving in the the shadows of an old shed at the back of the house...
And it was atop one such guava tree that they'd experienced a split second of awareness of themselves and each other. It was undefined and elusive, slipping out from their hands like a silken scarf before they could fully grasp it. They were both thirteen and it was their last summer before the one that saw them moving to Bombay, leaving the neighboring house locked, bolted and steeped in melancholy.
Under the same tree on the afternoon of their moving day a year later, he'd surprised her with a bashful hug and a plastic ring he'd found inside a meethi supari packet.
Even as he quickly slipped it on her ring finger, her eyes had rounded, first staring at the ring and then at his bowed head. When he'd raised his head to look at her, his lips were curved with mischief but his eyes were somber with something undefined. Before she could read them, he was gone.
.
.
.
The feeling that had engulfed her at the hour of their separation six years ago came rushing back to her as the opening strains of his introductory song filled the small single screen theater.
While the camera focussed on his quintessential mischievous smile, Khushi cried in the dark quietly.
[YOUTUBE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCuhzjK11iA[/YOUTUBE]
Pune,
1989
"Dadi", Khushi shrieked, "You're pulling too hard. Give my comb back. I can do it myself".
All she received was a sharp tap on the back of her head and an admonition to stay still, not even breathe if she had to.
As Khushi pouted and knitted her silky eyebrows together, Devyani ran the tortoise shell comb down her long, unruly hair again, ruthlessly easing the many tangles out.The most soft hearted of creatures, there were certain mundane tasks that brought a comical ruthless gleam to her eyes. Hunting lizards, their old bungalow was overpopulated with, with slippers was one of them and making her granddaughters' hair tangle free was another.
After thoroughly combing it out, Devyani ignored her protests again and rubbed it lightly with coconut oil.
"This makes hair thick and strong, Choti. Long too", she said, "When I was your age, my hair was so long I could sit on it".
Although Khushi didn't see any advantage to the dubious feat of being able to sit on one's hair, she held her tongue prudently, watching as a sparrow came flying to perch on a rusted iron tap. Her grandmother shook and squeezed some more sun warmed oil onto her palm, the blue plastic bottle making obscene noises.
Khushi was sure those shriveled fingers, hard, bony, soft all at once, had magic in them. She was convinced she would easily be able to spend her whole life under their ministrations if she were allowed to. She closed her eyes as they teased her scalp in little circles.
With winter sunshine like a shawl around her shoulders, she sat cross legged on a mat on the terrace floor, allowing the beautiful day to soak into her skin and consciousness. The sun was out after a seemingly endless spate fog shrouded days. She'd just enjoyed her favorite poori-subzi breakfast cooked by Ma.Two weeks' break from college stretched ahead of her in a lazy blur. She had been successful in cajoling their strict grandfather, whose word was law in their household, to watch a movie in a movie theatre with a friend.
And it wasn't just any movie. It was his movie.
As a million butterflies fluttered in her suddenly giddy heart, she held her breath.
"Which film are you going to watch?, her Dadi asked, parting her hair into three neat parts before weaving into a long braid.
"Awaara Dil", she cleared her throat and said, trying to make her voice as nonchalant as possible. To her dismay her voice sounded a little squeaky towards the end. She hoped fervently that her very shrewd grandmother wouldn't read too much into it. She was glad she had her back to her.
Her grandmother snorted and embarked on a rant about the corrupting influence of cinema on young impressionable minds.
After a pause, she asked with a veiled spark of interest in her eyes, "Who is the heroine?
"Juhi Chawla", her granddaughter effused, "She's new and she is gorgeous. She acts really well too. Do you want to see her picture?
Khushi was disappointed when Devyani didn't express any interest, not knowing it was only because she knew very well what Juhi Chawla looked like.
Silence weaved around them and the raucous cry of road peddler selling roasted peanuts rose uncontested to a pale blue sky dotted with cotton wool clouds.
Khushi swallowed in anticipation of her next question, her heart beating loudly in her ears.
"Who is the hero?
"Arnav Singh", she said, surprised to find her voice sounding cool and collected. She never knew she was such a good actress herself. Or maybe she did...
"Arnav?, she said, "His second film released already?".
Her eyes were pensive before she added caustically, "I'm sure he's having a great time prancing around with those beautiful women".
With her words weighing her heart down, Khushi took her braid's end from her and silently looped a rubber band around it. Her mind splintered into many pieces, each flying like a firefly to rest on a stilled page of life.
She rose and walked to edge of the terrace, her eyes gravitating towards their neighbor's front lawn, the fence that separated them, it's tiny hinged gate that connected them.
She could hear their voices, high pitched and excited, piercing the shimmering summer air. Anjali Di, Aakash Bhai, Arnav and her~ spending long afternoons under a metallic sky, their bodies smelling sweetly of talcum powder, outdoors and summer.
Di's voice, bossy and loud, the voice of a natural born leader, the one who always decided what they would play next. Aakash Bhai's quiet and at times resentful voice, the voice of a younger brother who was also an unwilling man Friday. And Arnav's voice, high spirited and boisterous, someone who already had an unbound imagination and a wicked sense of humor at that age.
She remembered when Anjali Di first thought of their first make-relief or role play game which soon went on to become their favorite thing to do. Anjali Di takes full credit for Arnav's blockbuster debut in Hindi cinema now, regaling anyone who cares to listen with a detailed account of these childhood games, forgetting to mention that they hadn't been in touch for six years.
But what fun they used to have, Khushi thought, her eyes soft, her lips widening into a smile. Their joint imaginations would carry them to magical lands where kings and queens, fairies and princesses dwelled alongside with demons, pirates, superheroes and undefined bad guys.
Anjali Di would always...always...make herself the main hero because- hello, she was the tallest- she would say to anyone who dared to question, and poor Aakash Bhai would always be cast as her helper, the side hero. That meant the onus of being the bad guy always fell on Arnav, the boy- the only child- from next door.
And he always seemed to relish his roles too, she thought with a grin, because it gave him a chance to yell loud, run fast and contort his features into the wickedness that his roles demanded.
Although she was the same age as Arnav, she was the smallest in size so somehow she always ended up in roles that involved being kidnapped or killed by their residential bad guy...Arnav.
And while he was the sweetest bad guy ever, sharing half melted chocolate bars and candies with her, Khushi was a most cooperative damsel in distress, smothering her giggles with both hands as they hid together - crouching behind the water tank on the terrace, perched on a stout branch of a guava tree or dissolving in the the shadows of an old shed at the back of the house...
And it was atop one such guava tree that they'd experienced a split second of awareness of themselves and each other. It was undefined and elusive, slipping out from their hands like a silken scarf before they could fully grasp it. They were both thirteen and it was their last summer before the one that saw them moving to Bombay, leaving the neighboring house locked, bolted and steeped in melancholy.
Under the same tree on the afternoon of their moving day a year later, he'd surprised her with a bashful hug and a plastic ring he'd found inside a meethi supari packet.
Even as he quickly slipped it on her ring finger, her eyes had rounded, first staring at the ring and then at his bowed head. When he'd raised his head to look at her, his lips were curved with mischief but his eyes were somber with something undefined. Before she could read them, he was gone.
.
.
.
The feeling that had engulfed her at the hour of their separation six years ago came rushing back to her as the opening strains of his introductory song filled the small single screen theater.
While the camera focussed on his quintessential mischievous smile, Khushi cried in the dark quietly.
[YOUTUBE]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YCuhzjK11iA[/YOUTUBE]
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