So, Heaven knows I did not want to write this story. However, considering all of us deal with stress caused by the upcoming track in different ways, here it is. Please read and review and leave your comments. This is my first attempt at any kind of fictional writing. Please comment and state your opinions. If my story gets any love then I might continue and turn the OS into a short story or even an FF; but that depends on what you guys think.
And if you hate it let me know, also.
P.S. Dear caramel akhiyaan, NEVER EVER have I ever, written a story to get over the angst that an ITV daily soap caused me. How dare you do this do me??!❤️😆
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APSHAKUN kardiya, manhoos kahin ki!!!
Abir Rajvansh glared at the lady in the mandir who had said that to his little niece. The 4-year-old had run off, tripped, and knocked the aarti thali out of the lady’s hands. His glare turned rather stony, as if warning not just her but anyone else to NEVER, EVER utter such words in the vicinity of this precious little girl. The lady turned her gaze away, embarrassed. He would not let his precious little Khushi think that she was unwanted, no she was a gift to him, a gift from Ambe Ma, a gift that his wife’s Kanhaji had sent him when he had brutally taken his wife away from him. A gift that was the ray of sunshine in his rather dark life.
He hated the word manhoos. He remembered how it stung even back then. How it was uttered to make his wife feel like she was ill-fated. How she had convinced herself that it was true. How it made her feel that everyone would reject her. How the word broke her heart. He remembered how desperately he had tried to make his wife feel special and make sure she knew that she was anything but ill-fated.
He still remembered the day Mishti had left him, the day his mother had convinced her that leaving him would make it easier on him to accept someone else. He had searched for her everywhere. Then someone had said to his brother that a car had been found on the outskirts of the town, overturned. They thought a tyre had burst, and the car had spun around and turned onto its roof.When Abir and his brother had reached there, the police mentioned that it had been a taxi with one passenger who was a lady. Abir tried to get past them;shouted that his wife was in the car, but they did not let him go. And just like that the car had gone up in flames. And Abir had gone numb.
He did not even remember if anyone had held a prayer meet for her soul to be at peace. He did not remember anything from then. How was this possible, he had asked himself; how was she gone and he still alive. Did she not say that they were 2 halves of the same heart? So how could she go and leave him on his own; without her; did she not know how lonely he would be. Most importantly, how was his heart still beating?
Abir Rajvansh had changed that day. He had buried his goodness in a dark corner of his heart somewhere. It stayed there with her memories and her love. They would meet again and one day he would smile again,be carefree, take the road trips, paint, write poetry, be kind again but until then he would not let anyone see that side of him. That day Abir had turned into a cold hearted, stoic, no nonsense person. He had asked his sister, who had wanted to join his NGO if she would take over from him. She had agreed and he had gone to work. With his brother. That was all he did. He worked, and worked, and then worked some more. It was as if he wanted to fill his mind with work so that he did not think about her. He was never home. Kunal would usually see him at the office working late. Uma Patel would try and stay late but then Abir told her she needed to go home on time in a stern voice and that is what she did. Abir would stay all alone, in that office, working.
He did not speak to anyone; he would come home late when everyone was asleep and leave before anyone could see him. He did this for an entire year. In all this while their company became the top 10 travel companies in Asia. All because of Abir Rajvansh’s hard work. At times he would wonder if his mother was happy. She got what she wanted. Albeit at the cost of her son’s happiness. He did not care any more though. He had not looked at her or spoken to her since that fateful day. .
He knew Kunal was about to be a father. His sister-in-law was pregnant. Good for them, he thought. He did not let himself think about whether it would be a girl or a boy; he did not let himself think whether the little one would look like Kuhu or Kunal. He did not want to think, or feel, or care.
Then one day his brother had come to his room, at 6am in the morning, with a little baby in his arms. She was crying rather loudly for such a little tiny creature, he thought. Who was this little person? “Bhai, this is my daughter, your niece. She will not stop crying. Please help me bhai. Kuhu is refusing to get up.”
And Abir had looked at the little baby in Kunal’s arms and something had tugged at his heart. He had taken the little girl in his arms and she had stared at him and stopped crying. She had stopped but tears had rolled down Abir’s cheeks. The little girl has held his finger in her tiny hand and Abir was floored. Khushi, he had said to Kunal. We will call her Khushi.
He had distributed mithai to everyone at his NGO and in the office. Abir bhai ko kya ho gaya, everyone had thought. His mother had watched him from far, happy to see that somewhere that day her son had returned. Maybe,he would speak to her one day. If even to argue with her, maybe he would not be so cruel in his disdain.
It had been four years, and this little girl had become Abir’s world. When she was a baby, he would make sure he saw her before he went to work, come home early and play with her, look after her if Kuhu needed some time to herself, and as she grew older she became his shadow. He was the first person she would run to see when she woke up “Abir papa” she would scream running from Kunal’s room to his every morning. She would sit by him when he would work and colour in her colouring books and draw. She would bring her toys to his room and whilst he worked on his laptop, talked on the phone or just stared out of the window she would sit by him and chatter incessantly or play with her toys. She would make him build things with her lego pieces and make him do it all over again if she was not happy with it. She would call him when she was back from nursery and talk nonsense on the phone. Nonsense that was music to his ears. She would sit on his back when he did push ups. This little girl was Abir Rajvansh’s lifeline. His reason for existing.
Kunal would watch them together and smile at Kuhu, and he would thank his mother’s Krishnaji that his little daughter had somewhere,brought his bhai back. Kunal had never forgiven Meenakshi Rajvansh for what she had done to his brother. He did not completely ignore her like his brother did but the day his Bhabhi had left them was the day he gave up trying to be Meenu ka munna. His family was his real mother, his wife, his brother and Khushi.
“Abir papa, laddoo”, the voice broke into his thoughts and Abir turned towards his niece. The offering she had in her hand was squished now. So Khushi’s lower lip quivered as her eyes filled with tears, because the laddoo she had brought for her favourite person in the world was now just mush in her hand, and Abir felt a sharp pain in his heart. As he rubbed his fist over his chest, where his heart was, his little niece’s attention turned to some heart shaped balloons in the street. “Abir papa, balloon!!” she happily squealed, forgetting as children often do, that she was upset about the mushy laddoo in her hand.
And as always, holding his finger in her little hand, she pulled him towards the balloon seller.
Somewhere in Kochi, in the South of India, many miles away from Gujarat, her little cousin Mihir, pulled his mother towards the seafront where a balloon seller was selling heart shaped balloons at the pier. “Mamma, hurry up” and as he turned to look at her, Mishti found herself staring into the face that was a replica of her Abir.
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