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Saturday, March 22, 2014

Arhi SS: Untouched. Part 3.

                                      
AN: Hi guys! So I am finally back with another update of Untouched. The reason I am writing this note is that I have decided to convert Untouched into an SS, though earlier I had intended it to be a TS. Well, the thing is when I start writing as in actually start typing at my system, the story gets out of my hand and starts weaving itself and so it very often happens that my stories start as something but end up being something very different. So, my apologies,  but try and bear with this one for a bit longer. I promise, it won't be very long.

                           Untouched
                               Part 3

He didn’t know how he ended up there, right by her side… her angelic face just a touch away, the temptation growing stronger with every heartbeat. And as the rhythm of his heart pulsed beyond control, so did his fingers, now feathering the contours of her face, both past any rhyme or reason. As he felt the silk of her skin under the tip of his fingers he was reminded of Coleridge’s immortal verse, “Water, water, everywhere,/ Nor any drop to drink.” He could finally relate to the Mariner and all those sailors… dying of lack of something that was in abundance and at an arm’s length… thirsting for water… while being surrounded by it. Ah! The mockery life makes of us mere mortals. Here he was less than a breath separating him from all he desired, all he thirsted for, all he was dying for… and yet he knew he was destined to die with parched lips and scorched soul. Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the slight frown lines marring the smoothness of her forehead and the next moment he was looking deep into those shining pools of hazel. And once again he was thrown back in time…
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Arnav Singh Raizada was known for his very and at times dangerously practical approach towards everyone and everything in life. Every single idea that he conceived took months of mulling over before any real action happened. Every complexity and contraction; adversary and adversity had to be taken in account. In fact, at times it seemed like he was challenging fate by taking his life in his own hands, disregarding the presence of anything external and unrelated. And that was his mistake, for don’t they say, ‘don’t tempt fate’. Well, fate retaliated and in the last few hours he found himself desiring the woman he couldn’t have; breaking his relationship with the woman he could have but didn’t want, not anymore and probably never had; willingly occupying the spot that had been vacated… nah, rejected not too long ago; and willingly taking the woman who had very recently fallen from the state of societal grace for no fault of her own. And right now he stood waiting for her… waiting to hold her in his arms… to finally touch her and claim her… mark her as his territory. And that was how Khushi found him when she entered the room, leaning against the window, his posture calm as ocean but a tsunami stirring in his eyes…Waiting… Waiting for their wedding night to finally begin.



She had all but stumbled inside, as if someone had forced her in… as if she would be anywhere but here at that moment. She had looked at him once and then turned around moving towards the door; the door had been shut the very next moment and locked from outside it seemed. And so she stood frozen. Her back was turned towards him and so he could not see her face. But the stiffness of her posture screamed her displeasure, her discomfort at being forced to share her intimate space with him. Discomfort and displeasure were very very mild terms to express what Khushi was feeling at the moment and Arnav was to discover that soon. He took a step towards her and then stopped as she had turned towards him, alarm evident in her big innocent eyes. The way she had clutched the sides of her very ornate lehenga and stumbled taking a few hurried steps back towards the closed door had nothing to do with the nervousness of a bashful new bride. No, it was the naked fear of being chased by a predator or worse, being trapped with one… for the next seven lives.



The fear that came with the realization that tonight she was a dish that would soon be devoured by her husband… a dish… that is what she was, to be traded for fortune and served for honor and devoured for pleasure. And all this for others, after all who ever gave a single thought to the dish, or showed any concern about how it might feel… for dishes were not supposed to feel. Not the deer satiating the hunger of a lion, not the chicken kabab gracing a nawabs banquet and not the meager serving of mashed potatoes in front of a tired rag-picker. She saw a similar hunger stirring in the eyes of her husband of a few hours, a man she hadn’t even known existed before tonight.
_______________________

Khushi looked at her husband of one year. The hunger was there again, the hunger that made her feel like she was some exotic foreign dish that her husband ate with so much relish at those numerous parties. What was it called? Ah, Lazania, yes that was what he loved. She had tried learning the recipe from Miss Julie, her English tutor but the final product had been a little to dry at first and a little too gooey finally and so she had just dumped it in the dustbin, never letting her husband get even a whiff of her adventure with the foreign delicacy. She remembered seeing that hunger in his eyes when their eyes had first met, while she was sitting beside Shyam on their wedding alter… She remembered seeing it when she had first entered her room that night as an unrecognizable outsider, as Mrs. Khushi Singh Raizada… The hunger was still there and she would get a glimpse of it every now and then, sometimes when he was lost in his thoughts and sometimes when he thought she wasn’t looking. But it was too strong, too tangible to go unnotice. And it was in those moments, those scarce stolen moments when she thought, nah, she knew that she still existed in his world, that she was an actual tangible part of it. Mostly it just felt like no one really noticed her.

She saw a flicker of sudden realization in his eyes and then he had straightened, distanced himself from her. Taking her cue from it she too stood up and then turned towards the kitchen to heat up the food. The heat between them hung there, unmentioned, untampered, and untouched… but there. He saw her toe as she turned towards the kitchen and noticed that she had painted it red today. It was the first thing he had noticed about her, well the only thing that he could have seen of a woman who was another man’s intended, a red painted toe peeking at him invitingly from under her bridal ensemble and he knew it then that he was a goner. But then, fate had played its twisted game and the next he saw her toes playing peek-a-boo with him was when he had already marked her his, well at least according to the societal conventions he had. Arnav, however, believed in the more primal system of markings…
_________________

The slight shivering of her fragile form and the naked horror of hopelessness in her eyes pierced through the shroud of madness that had engulfed him for the night and for the very first time that night Arnav saw Khushi for what she really was, a lost terrified child. A sixteen year old, who was not even considered eligible for giving her consent to the silliest of decisions like whether or not Congress should form the central government, no, she’d have to wait another two years to cast her vote and yet, she was married. Everyone but her, had been involved in taking the biggest decision of her life, a life that was still getting accustomed to the rhythm of breathing… and was now reduced to the bare mechanics of it.
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Her whispery movements brought him back to the huge antique oak-wood dining-table, that looked like it could belong no where else but in that huge antique Raizada           drawing-room. She was busy arranging the various smaller bowls in his plate and then serving liberal portions of curry, dal and sugar-free kheer in them, alongside plain rice and ghee-less rotis. He knew that she knew he would be removing a lot of it from his plate to the extra plate she had kept near his (which he was sure she had kept there for the same reason). And somehow the fact that she always served him the formal liberal quota of food despite being aware of his appetite clearly pronounced the distance in their socially approved and assumed intimacy. She sat beside him and started serving food on her plate. The Raizadas didn’t approve of this sort of companionship and camaraderie between husbands and wives, but Arnav had remained adamant and Khushi had bowed… she anyway had to bow, this way or that. Just like she had had to that night… their wedding night…  

To be continued...
Hope to see your reactions on this one, any and all forms of it are more than welcome.

Love,
Srija Singh :)




Saturday, March 15, 2014

Very Important Notice!

Hey Guys!
Okay, so I personally hate it when some very awesome story writers wake up one morning and decide to make their blogs private or semi-private, as in open to some select people only and half the time I have no idea about how to approach these very talened and equally elusive authors and I have to give-up very unwillingly on some of these fantastic stories. Now, I know that I already put my readers through a lot of trouble with my very late updates and then recently by moving from India Forums to this blog exclusively. And so, I wanted to give all my lovely readers a prior notice that there is a very high cahnce that I might be turning my blog into a semi-private thing as well. So, if you want to continue reading my stories please send me your email ids and I'll invite you to the blog once I make it private. You can mail me your ids or PM it to me on IF or just post it under this notice.

Okay, now I do owe you guys an explaination about these changes. The thing is that recently I got to know that one of my stories, 'Shahib, Biwi aur Dusri Aurat' has been published in a bengali newsletter called 'Ebela'. Now, though it has been published under my name, yet, the happening has opened my eyes to the risks of plagerism and these things are just some precautionary and protective measures that I should have taken a long time ago.

Now, a little request (especially to my Bengali readers, I am assuming there are a few.), if you do happen to find the copy of Ebela with my story under my name on it, please let me know. Also, apparently the names of the characters have been changed, so just keep this little thing in mind. Guys, this is a big deal for me and I am desperately trying to find the newsletter but have not been successful yet. So, need some help here. Please help me out.

Loads of love,
Srija Singh.

PS: Just keep a look-out for my other stories as well, if you happen to come across these anywhere but on IF or my blog, just inform me, that would be a great help.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Arhi SS: Highway to Hell. Part 2.


                                  Highway to Hell
                                    
                                   Part 2
                                                         

It took her another few seconds to realize that his hand still rested on the curve of her waist and staring in her eyes he seemed completely oblivious to it. She gave another smile and then moved her hitherto fixed on him gaze to the conjunction where his slightly dark hand was molded around her olive colored waist. Following hers, his gaze also came to stop at the erotic sight and enamored by it, his brain took a few seconds longer to register the inappropriateness of it, at which point he finally took his hand off her, a little too reluctantly though.
“I am sorry.” He said in a straight voice.
“Why?” she asked in a husky tone, a loop-sided smile and the quirk of an eyebrow followed. Her eyes twinkling like a novice’s who had just had his first taste to heroin.
He frowned at her and she wondered if she glimpsed anger mixed with slight discomfort in his eyes. ‘Was he judging her? Did he belong to the group of men who believe that sensuality was a whorish trait and than only sluts smiled at strangers? Well, she had to admit that it was a possibility for such men were in majority in… well everywhere. Did he know her father?’ Her thoughts were running at the speed of infinity per second but it was at the last thought that she finally panicked. ‘For god’s sake what the hell was wrong with her? She was at her house, at her sister’s engagement and was blatantly flirting with a stranger. She needed to do some damage control right that moment.’
“I… I mean you saved me, I should be thanking you for that and here you are apologizing for no reason.” she offered him a shy smile. When he still seemed off, she wondered if the damage done was irreversible. ‘What if he discloses their little adventure to her dad? Will she be forced to get married to some mamma’s boy in the same mandap as her Jiji? Will she do it?’ It was a fact universally acknowledged that Khushi’s imagination competed with light for a speed championship and that no clear winner had been announced in the last twenty-two years. Was that about to change now, for in the next moment she pictured her self wrapped in a red saree, sitting demurely next to a faceless man, while Payal sat adjacent to her in a similar red saree and with a similar faceless man.
“I… I was wondering if you are from the bride’s side or the groom’s side?” she tried to initiate small talk once again but her slight stammering gave away her obvious nervousness… well, obvious to him at least. He was a smug smart man, the two titles often competing for precedence. And finally he bestowed a loop-sided smirk on her.

“Well, neither actually, miss?”
“Khushi. Khushi Gupta.” She replied, trying to reign in her frayed nerves. He smiled in acknowledgement and gaining a little courage from that she continued,
“Yes, actually I am the bride’s sister. But you never introduced your self.”
“I am the manager of the firm that is catering for the event.” He smiled in a polite manner and Khushi let out a sigh of relief. And of course, nothing went unnoticed by him.

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying just now. He must be a terrible person whoever he is, I am sure. And I am not sure, but I thought you were referring to your sister’s fiancé. I was just wondering that if he is so wrong for her then how and why exactly is this wedding happening?” His voice laced with sincerity… over flowing with it in fact.

Khushi belonged to that sub species of humans who weaved stories… Nah, she loved to weave stories around anyone and anything that had the misfortune of crossing paths with her. Nothing out of ordinary there! The crazy bit was, she also belonged to that little sub-sub-section who voiced… nah, loved to voice their crazy stories. And so when the opportunity presented itself, she decided to go for one of her crazy rides and take the deliciously handsome stranger with her. This was going to be fun. But, of course she had no idea how much.

“You see Mr.?”
“Singh.”
“Yeah, so you see Mr. Singh, I should not be telling you this but then there is absolutely no one with whom I can talk about this and keeping it inside is getting just so difficult, in fact impossible with every passing day.” Khushi turned away from him and then sighed dramatically before continuing further.
“But for some reason I just cannot hold it back anymore and don’t they say that at times it is so much better to talk to strangers, to open yourself up to someone distant for those who know you just don’t care or even want to understand.” She added a slight sniff as a prelude to her story.
“Mr. Raizada.” He arched his brow at her in question. Khushi wondered if she had seen some shock there initially. But not giving it a second thought, she just continued without missing a beat.
“Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada, my Jiji’s fiancé.” She said in a way of expaination.
“Oh, right!”
“He saw my Jiji at a golgappa stall last week and lost his mind.” Khushi gave a dramatic pause, expecting the handsome stranger to say something. But the fact that he didn’t did nothing to dishearten her and she continued,
“I don’t blame him, my Jiji is exceptionally beautiful and anyone can fall for her. But there is a limit to any kind of madness and this man… he has crossed every limit imaginable. First, he pursued my Jiji and asked her out, but she politely denied him. Then, he went to my parents and asked for her hand in marriage and my Jiji begged him to leave her alone and that she was in a relationship with Jai and yet, this stone of a man pursued her relentlessly. He even went to the extent of purchasing majority shares in my Dad’s firm and then blackmailed my family with it.” She once again halted, stifling a little sniff in her duppatta and then turned her back to him.
“What choice did she have? She, in fact all of us had to bend to the manipulations of that vile man. Bloody uncleji!” At that she once again turned towards her singular and singularly handsome audience. Her voice laced with anger and yet, the mischievous twinkle didn’t escape Mr. Singh’s sharp eyes.
“I offer my condolences, Miss Gupta. I am sure he must be a very despicable man, your Jiji’s fiancé, your Brother-in-law. What did you say his name was?”
“ASR” Arnav… Khushi was unable to finish as another voice overlapped with hers.
“Arnavji!”

Payal came to stand right beside her and Khushi took a moment to comprehend that Payal had taken the name of ‘he who shouldn’t be named’… well at least not with such respect and tenderness. And where was he anyway? Payal was not the shouting types, she was very soft spoken, so Khushi craned her neck and looked around nearby, analyzing every face in the vicinity and yet, no one seemed to fit the image that she had created and so she looked at her sister for some hint when she saw her looking at someone. And following her gaze… her eyes finally met his… for the second time that evening… a hazy barrier between hazel greens and chocolate browns… the haze cleared and realization dawned… 

Loads of love,
Srija :)