This drabble may not be everyone’s cup of tea and I completely understand that. I thought I should forewarn you before you read… 


She kissed him gently. Her lips clinging to his smooth forehead as her hands caressed his face. The cloying smell of roses and sandalwood filling her. She traced the small scar below his left eyebrow, its origin a mystery to her.


Tumhare har sawaal ka jawaab dena jaroori nahi hain. 


Laad Governor.


Her hand came to rest over his heart. Almost as if it had a mind of its own. Homing in to where her own heart lay.


Jab tum mere paas hoti ho… hamari dhadkanein ek ho jaati hain.


Her fingers curled tightly, bunching his kurta, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Drowning out the sound of grief that echoed all around her. Her entire being focused on the beloved face in front of her even while drowning in the well of tears that lay pooled inside her.


Hamari aankhon mein se ek bhi aansoo aapke dil ko hazaar baar chhot pahuchata hain. 


Har baar…


Hum jaante hain  


Her glazed eyes remained hauntingly dry.


She looked ahead blankly as Naniji ran distraught hands over her head, her shoulders, her face, murmuring words she couldn’t hear, a mother’s love pouring in rivulets down her lined face. The empty floor lay strewn with rose petals, a pall of incense smoke hovering over them. She was incognisant of how she came to be seated on the sofa.




His husky whisper quelled all other sounds in the room. Feeling the need to be away from the oppressive weight of the numerous eyes surrounding her, she stood up suddenly. She turned beseeching eyes towards Naniji. Imploring her to let her go.


The wise eyes had seen more than their fair share of suffering over the years. Who knew better than her of the moments when the only place to look for solace was within yourself.


She stood by the french doors of their bedroom. Looking out blankly at the dancing shadows cast by the late afternoon sun, as it peeked through the swaying branches of the tree by the poolside. A soft breeze sashayed along the surface of the pool, gently urging the still water into ripples that glistened with a million rainbow coloured flecks. Vivid bright petals from the gulmohar trees that bloomed riotously in the Shantivan garden floated in with the breeze. Settling themselves on the carefully pruned plants that ran along the walls surrounding the pool. His plants.


A sudden gust blew one end of her dupatta across her face. Caressing her face gently before billowing out. She uncrossed her slender arms slowly to reach out for the dupatta as memories arose of another face it had swathed in a storeroom months ago. His face.


A heaviness settled inside her even as a strange sense of calm enveloped her. She turned to walk into the room that lived and breathed him in every inch of space. Her feet carrying her to the recliner of their own accord. She bent to pick up the book lying there. Its pages fluttered in the soft breeze that followed her in.


Lowering herself on the chaise, she lay back holding the book against her heart. The words contained in it swirling in her mind’s eye as they tossed random memories of her life at her. Each time the kaleidoscope paused, his melting brown eyes would be there, calming the storm inside her. In those earthy hues was his soul, a heaven she was a part of. Carefully opening the book, she took out the red rose that lay lovingly preserved between its pages.


I wish ki tumko duniya ki saari khushiyan mile.


She held the rose to her heart as a deep quietude filled her. She felt an immense sense of peace in that moment.


Khushi mujhse vaada karo ki mujhe kabhi chhod kar nahin jaaogi. Main tumhare bina nahin jee paaonga.


A promise she fulfilled. Hamesha.



The doctor pronounced the time of death as between 5 and 5:30pm.


“5:12” he was corrected somberly.


It was when his pyre was lit.






This drabble came about when I was wondering what would happen if Arnav did die after being shot in the show. The producers had planned to introduce a new love interest for Khushi, but, I feel that in such a scenario, she would simply cease to exist. I have always visualised their love, their connection as being almost otherworldly. 


Not the best of times to write of ArHi dying, but the images wouldn’t leave me. So, here we are. Thank you for reading. Stay sane and stay sanitised! 





Iss Ajeeb Khwaab Ko Kya Naam Doon

Iss Ajeeb Khwaab Ko Kya Naam Doon-2

Banner credit my dearest Jignasha ❤



Shyam Manohar Jha was a worried man. A very worried man. And worry wasn’t something that sat easily on him. He had always been a doer rather than a worrier. His finely trained legal mind automatically started looking for solutions often even before problems fully surfaced. Now you may argue that the outcome of his solutions were quite often at odds with his intentions, but such is life. And no one could accuse him of not dealing with the cards life dealt him with. Be what they may. Because in his view of the world, each problem hid a possibility to be exploited.


So his current state of worry was even more of a concern for him. He closed his eyes in frustration as he ran his fingers through his lush mane to clasp his hands behind his head while leaning back on the recliner by the Shantivan poolside. Involuntary twitches having a field day on his face.


The architects of Shantivan had taken inspiration from the Palace of Illusions in the Mahabharat it seemed, so his privacy was guaranteed. Each room had access to the pool, yet by some marvel of construction, no one could see anyone else unless it was by design. It even had a flight of stairs adjoining it which went nowhere or everywhere depending on the time of day. Sometimes a bedroom lay behind the bank of french doors on one side, and sometimes behind them lay a vista of the universe with specially twinkling stars. Some of which, strangely,  promptly toppled over when glanced at by the resident Laad Governor of the house. In fact, all in all, he had yet to figure out if there was really just one pool or a multitude of identical ones!


Groaning at the absurdity of his thoughts, he forced his mind back to the matter at hand. Signs that had been staring him in the face for months flashed before him mockingly. How in the name of all that’s Lucknowi had he missed them!


The dwindling numbers in the retinue of staff at Shantivan which was now down to just one Prakash brother and the ever faithful Mohan. And they remained  probably because they wouldn’t go even if they were asked to. Serving the Raizadas was a tradition that went back to their great, great, great… whatever. Service before self was an outdated notion in today’s world, according to Shyam. There now remained a solitary watchman at the gate where once had stood a minimum of two fully armed guards at any given time. The fleet of cars that had dotted the imposing driveway were down to just two. And one of those two survivors literally took each day at a time in the hands of  the scion of the house.


The silver that once graced the dining table of Shantivan was replaced with steel and pyrex. The array of cuisines that had the table groaning in previous years was replaced with simple, basic fare. The mango juice twinning with the orange juice, with both tracing their origins to Frooti rather than fruit.


The lush gardens surrounding the house were silently wilting, with the only plants to smile were the ones by the poolside which were tended to by Arnav Singh Raizada himself. Shyam looked around trying to spot any new exotic saplings. They used to be planted in twos he recalled. One for nurturing and one for Laxmi to nibble on. Nani liked to indulge her darling Laxmi and Arnav liked to indulge his dear Nani. Unbelievable!


But the one thing that brought this parlous state to a head in Shyam’s mind was Arnav’s wallet. The one which he had deliberately knocked down from his hand earlier today, looking for the key to Arnav’s safe. The Raksha dhaga had been a mere ruse which Nani had lapped up blindly. He knew Arnav would give in to the emotional blackmail and would compromise by carrying it in his wallet. Far from procuring it from a wise sage, Shyam had sneaked it from the temple in Shantivan itself. But, the tattered state of the wallet had left him horrified. As had the state of Arnav’s worn out shoes which he saw up close when he bent down to retrieve the wallet. He was well aware that despite the famous H on them and on Arnav’s belt, they did not even have a passing acquaintance with the well known store on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore. After all, he was the one who had bought them on behalf of his gullible wife for her beloved brother. Pocketing the difference. A very large difference thanks to his judiciously compiled Chandni Chowk contact book.


Thinking of the money focused his mind on the grave situation at hand. Seems like he wasn’t going to need the key after all. What was the point of trying to alter a Will if there was nothing left to will! His heart skipped several beats as it went into freefall at the thought of an unkempt ASR struggling to make ends meet. Visions of Arnav in a dhobi’s garb hauling a sackful of unwashed laundry popped up in his eyes, vying with images of him driving an auto on the streets of Delhi. And then it dove off into the murky waters of the pool at the thought of being saddled with a clingy Anjali forever. A hamesha that had endless puja and vrat and aap bhi na on loop. Shudder. Her brother would insist his Di went to her marital house for a better life with her husband.


He saw his master plan begin to unravel before his eyes. Anjali had only ever been a means to an end. He had played her like a string and she had hummed every note obediently. Life had been going along smoothly with him being able to take frequent time-out under the pretext of work when it all got too much. Astonishing how words can be deployed so effectively to conquer minds with no blood being spilt.


They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but in the case of Arnav Singh Raizada, the way to his heart was through his sister. And that is exactly what Shyam Manohar Jha aspired to. Yup. You heard it right. Shyam’s heart beat for the one and only ASR. From the moment he had seen him in a courtroom all those years back, giving evidence against a fraudulent employee, his eyes flashing fire, he had been a goner. He was practical enough to know that there was no way in hell this uber sexy god would give him a second look, so he had begun to devise a plan to keep him in his life in whichever way he could. And marrying his sister was the best one. Sure she was easy on the eyes, but Arnav Singh Raizada was that much easier on the eyes. Breakfasts had been the best time of day at Shantivan. Pranam and undying gratitude to Nani for insisting everyone be present together for that one meal.


The worry gnawing at him receded slightly as Shyam traced the watch around his wrist lovingly. It was one Arnav had given him. Well, to him and Anjali. Looking down it struck him that he hadn’t seen Arnav wear a watch in ages. Things were truly dire it seemed. The last time he had seen him wearing one was on New Year’s Eve. Shyam had been hanging around in the shadows waiting to catch a glimpse of him in the first hours of the new year, when he had seen him stride in with Akash in his usual heart stopping way, railing against NK and Khushi. It seemed Arnav had gone with Akash to Laxminagar.


Khushiji. Dejection hit him with force as he leaned forward, sinking his head in his hands.


The bigger hindrance in his path than Anjali ever was. He had seen the way Arnav and she had looked at each other at the fashion show in Lucknow, and saw what neither of them saw. The shattering of his dream. He winced as the pain hit him again. He had tried his best to lure her away from Arnav, ingratiating himself with Buaji, slumming it in Laxminagar, but all to no avail. The pair of them actually went and got married and he had nary an inkling of it all.


Of course, he had instantly questioned the veracity of their announcement. But a mini stroll through the pages of IF, that bastion of truth,  and that thought, well hope, was summarily dismissed. They were man and wife. Those rabid fangirls kept a tight grip on the minutiae of ASR’s life. Their madness and obsession with him was second only to his own. One of the comments by one Arshi67 had him rolling his eyes at the paagalpan that had engulfed the lot of them at the news.


That night the bells tolled in agony while the heavens wept. The susurration of the restless wind whispered of the travesty that was being heaped upon the innocent. The rising moon hid behind the darkened clouds, unable to bear witness to two hearts being torn asunder. Each step they took up those temple steps left behind shattered pieces of a nascent hope…”


And they have the temerity to call me manic!


But he knew Arnav and Khush’s marriage was the beginning of the end for his dreams. He could see that. Khushiji was not the sort to run away when times get tough. He knew that much about the dratted girl. She wouldn’t abandon Arnav, wealth or no wealth. She would be right there by his side like an albatross around his, Shyam’s, plans.


The idea to doctor the Will had always been part of his master plan to keep Arnav with him. Getting rid of Anjali would unite them in grief, and with him having a controlling share in AR, he would forever be in Arnav’s life.  But, this plan also seemed to have slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. And now the ruins of his dreams were staring at him like that stain on Arnav’s carpet. The diligently cultivated patience of years, fed with the promise of sweet rewards now meant nothing.


They say some dreams remain just that, dreams. Ajeeb to some maybe. Hopes and Ambitions for some maybe. A Temptation to get Entangled in the wistful desires of whispering souls for some maybe…


He let out a howl of agony as his finely tuned devious mind made a valiant last ditch attempt to shake off the thoughts those crazy fangirls were stuffing in, messing with his fine mind, holding his hand and making him write this stuff.


It was no wonder that Shyam Manohar Jha was a worried man.






A bit out there I know, but if Shyamji can’t be out there then who can, right?! Karela or Jalebi, you tell me. This came about because of a comment I’d made on Listed! As always, Jignasha is uppermost in my mind when I write, but a special shout out to @Sherya and @Bookworm for their comments leading to mine in the first place 🙂 




To Jignasha, with love



A quiet silence surrounded Madhumati as she sat at her dining table, gazing unseeingly at the bottles of achars kept there. A gentle early morning breeze fluttered by as it meandered lazily through the open windows and doors of her house in Laxminagar. Occasionally teasing the ends of the red bandana tied tightly around her head. Bringing with it whiffs of the slowly awakening outside world. The sun had only just begun to tinge the edges of the late monsoon clouds which hovered over the city. Ready to stamp its superiority over them, even as it played an indulgent game of peek a boo with them.


A sudden burst of a motorcycle being revved rent the silence, startling  Madhumati. It must be that Mooa Bedi, was the first thought that crossed her mind. She was convinced he’d made it his mission in life to ruin her peace, one way or another. Forever turning up at her doorstep with random requests and offers of assistance. Even going as far as roping in his assistant, Happy Singh, to do the honours when he himself was out and about. All her threats falling on deaf ears, his benign smile never seeming to slip an inch.


All of which had been a source of great mirth for her niece, Khushi, who had spent many an hour chortling away at imagined scenarios of her Buaji and Bediji whizzing around the streets of Delhi on his scooter. Her steeped in Bollywood, khurafati mind had never been short of ideas, and years of marriage had done nothing to change that.


A soft smile made its way to Madhumati’s face as she thought of her niece. She epitomised her name. Spreading happiness wherever she went. Racking her brains, she tried to remember the parody Khushi used to keep teasing her with…  Ah, yes!


Wah, wah  Ramji

Jodi kya banayi

Buaji aur Bediji ko

Badhai hai Badhai


Not to mention chirping to that blushing idiot each time she saw him near the house,


Mere saamne wali khidki mein 

Ek chand ka tukda rehta hai

Afsos ye hai ki woh Bediji se

Kuch ukhda ukhda rehta hai


When she well knew ki main ukhad na loon uss Bedi mooe ko if he steps out of line! None of my remonstrations ever had any effect on her though. Sanka devi that she was. Is, even now. As irrepressible as ever.


Madhumati remembered how the younger Khushi used to flit about the haveli in Lucknow chattering away non-stop with the quiet Payal in tow. Forever planning new pranks and giggling away wickedly. One of her favourite ones used to be to steal her parandis (plaits) and use them as reins of imaginary horses. Neighing and going clippity clop around the house as she swung them wildly. Sometimes she used to cut them up and plait her doll’s hair with them. Hiding behind her father when her mother tried to whack her. And her indulgent father always took her side, pacifying his sister with, “Jiji, bachhi hai, let her play. I’ll bring you more tomorrow.”


At that, Khushi used to sidle up to Madhumati and give her a bear hug from behind.


Acchi Buaji, Pyaari Buaji

Rusa Rusi chhod de

Jaldi se ek hansi de de

Tu gussa gussi chhod de


Eliciting a reluctant smile from the adults around her. It had been impossible to stay cross with her for any length of time.


Khushi often reminded Madhumati of her own younger self. Maybe that’s why she had been stricter with her growing up. Her innocence, her selflessness often scared Madhumati. Life is not all roses and jalebis, and who knew that better than her. After her husband’s untimely death, everything had changed in a heartbeat. He had been a quiet man who had adored his larger than life wife. The quiet sparrow to her preening macaw. Content to spend evenings out on their verandah listening to old songs on his transistor radio, with half an ear on his wife’s ramblings.


He had been her rock solid shield against the taunts of their family about her childlessness. Initially they used to affect her, but as time wore on she became inured to them. Especially after her husband had insisted on moving out of the family home to their own small rented place in Laxminagar. It was he who had encouraged her to start her chikan kari sari business, to channel her free time usefully. Teaching her how to manage her finances, “Life doesn’t come with guarantees, Madhu”, he used to say when she complained that that was his department. They had been happy together in their own little world. Until it all came to an end with his sudden demise. Shashi babua had been a pillar of support, had wanted her to come live with them in Lucknow. But, Madhumati had refused, not wanting to be a burden on anyone. Her self respect hadn’t allowed her to do that. She had somehow made ends meet with the moral support of empathetic neighbours, and the understanding landlord, Shukla.


When, years later, Shashi babua had sent Payal and Khushi to stay with her in Delhi, her house had once again felt alive, despite the circumstances under which they had to come. The two girls had eased into her home so easily, filling it with sound and colour and activity.


But, it had also brought into her life Shyam. Shyam Manohar Jha. The lying, cheating, scoundrel. Madhumati’s thoughts faltered as memories of the past flooded in. How easily had that man ingratiated himself into their life and made a gullible fool of her. With his constant, “Buaji, let me make you some tea… buaji, let me look at your pension case for you… buaji, I have no one here and your home feels like a home away from home… buaji… buaji.” And she had basked in his phony flattery and concern. Lapping it up unquestioningly.


Not a day went by when she didn’t thank Devi Maiya for pulling her family back from the brink of devastation. She shuddered thinking about what could have happened, and of her own part in nearly ruining her niece’s life. How could she ever begin to forgive herself for that. Not that Khushi had ever by word or gesture made her feel guilty. It was her own conscience that clawed away at her.




And just like that the melancholia dissipated. Flooding the house with sunshine once again. Khushi bounded inside the house and hugged Madhumati tightly from behind.


“How are you Buaji? What thoughts were you lost in? Why have you left the door open? And you used to complain about me being forgetful! Hmph!”


“Let me breathe and you take a deep breath as well!” A delighted Madhumati heaved her ample self up from the table to turn around in her niece’s embrace.


“Where is my aloo puri? And my jalebis? You’ve forgotten what today is, haven’t you?” A miffed Khushi pouted looking at the dining table.


“You think I could ever forget this special day, parmeshwari?! Janamdin mubarak ho bitiya. Hamesha khush raho.” She kissed her niece’s forehead tenderly, framing her face in her hands.


“Your aloo puri and jalebis are waiting for you in the kitchen. Hamesha ki tarah. Don’t forget to offer them to Devi Maiya first.” she shouted to Khushi’s back, shaking her head at her eagerness. No one looking at her would guess she was a mother of three children. But, for Madhumati, she would always be that child who would rush to hug her on her visits to Lucknow, despite getting scolded for her naughtiness. As loving and large hearted as ever.


Moments later an adorable 8 yr old boy, Ishaan, rushed in. Followed by his harried father shepherding in five year old twins. A boy and a girl, Aryan and Ariya, who were a charming replica of their father.


“Where’s Amma?” the children chorused, looking around curiously.


“In the kitchen, I’m guessing.” their father replied wryly as he bent to take Madhumati’s blessings.


“Jeeyat raho, babua.” Madhumati stroked his head lovingly. Arnav was the apple of her eye. Her favourite of all the Raizadas. She still recalled how he had stunned her by asking her to tie the raksha dhaga to him on his engagement. When he does something, he does it wholeheartedly. She admired how his young shoulders carried his responsibilities effortlessly and without any fanfare. Quietly making the Guptas part of his own family. Above all, she loved the love he had for her Khushi. As she had once said, “He too was a sanki, and just what her maha sanka devi needed!”


He understood what Khushi meant to her Buaji and made sure that each year her birthday celebrations started here in Laxminagar. With Buaji’s aashirwaad. Arnav and Khushi had made sure that the children were well acquainted with their Nani bua. Bringing them over at least once a week to spend time with her. Giving her the most precious commodity of all. Time and love.


As Madhumati bustled about setting the table for breakfast, Ishaan kept up a steady chatter as he rushed around after her. Regaling her with blow by blow details of his many three pointers in the previous day’s basketball game, before going on to update her on his latest level reached in his favourite Fortnite, and the new game his father had bought him, some K something. Her incomprehension no bar to either of them.


The twins were busy helping their Amma carry the food from the kitchen to the dining table. Keeping up a constant flow of questions as their young minds jumped from one topic to another. Wanting to know from their Nani bua about all the goings on in the neighbourhood since their last visit. Aryan sneaking in two jalebi from the platter for his sister and him, much to Madhumati’s amusement. Haye re Nandkishore! Like mother, like children!


As Madhumati looked around her full table, her heart felt full to bursting with overwhelming love. Families don’t always have to be borne of you to be yours.






Madhumati’s character has been an interesting one. She tended to rush headlong into situations with her heart leading the way. Shades of Khushi I felt. Her larger than life persona was fierce in the protection of her loved ones. I loved the bond of mutual respect she shared with Arnav. So, I thought I’d try and look into her life a little. 


I wrote this OS as a birthday present for my dear friend, Jignasha. Do join me in wishing her on her special day. 


My dear Jignasha, 


You are so much more than a friend for me. You are family. Our Arnav said it best with his wish for Khushi, “I wish ki tumko duniya ki saari khushiyan milein.” And my wish for you is just as heartfelt <3, though sadly not in his uber sexy, husky voice 😉 May all your wishes and dreams always come true. May you live life to its fullest, in all its myriad hues, with each hue imbued with joy and laughter and the love of your near and dear ones.


Love always,
















“Mommy, what did you ask for?”


Jiji, tum ne kya maanga?
























Jee Payalji…


Jee Aakashji…










This is your Payal jiji, bitiya.




























Jiji, chalo na..




Khushi ki bachhi!”


“Daal daal kachhi!




And, as I know, “Bachhpan se.”
















Could it be?

















I would love to hear what you feel 🙂


Love always,




Nostalgia banner


This past week saw Children’s Day celebrated in India on November 14th, and it reminded me of a piece I had written after watching an episode of the serial, Yeh Un Dinon Ki Baat Hai, where the leads were celebrating their last day of school. Little knowing that they were celebrating the day that separates childhood from adulthood. Which is what it feels like to me when I look back.


That episode had evoked a plethora of nostalgic memories for me. The excited, yet nervous, anticipation of the life that lies ahead. Taking the first tentative step towards adulthood, while still largely clueless about what it really entails. Our mind’s eye visualising glorious days free from the shackles of rigorous discipline, little realising that the freedom will come steeped in responsibility.


School days had a charm all of their own.


The special thrill of a martinet of a teacher calling in sick. Free time never tastes as sweet now.


The untrammelled  joy of rains causing school to close for the day. Allowing us to spend the day with friends, playing tag with the waves on Marine drive while eating bhuttas. Why does walking there not feel the same anymore.


The piling into a car in unbelievable numbers because no one wanted to be the one left out of the fun en route. When did we start seeing that as being squashed.


The careful pooling of our monies to hang out at Sea Lounge with one bhel and two cold coffees with ice cream between ten of us. Just because we could.


And one day it all changes. Just like that.


It’s funny how literally overnight our mental equation with our school, our teachers, our friends, changes. Indulgence casts a halcyon glow over all perceived ills of the past years, as we laugh them away in the glow of hindsight and perspective.


The crazy fun of writing messages on uniforms, the running up and down of school corridors casting pitying glances at the juniors still slogging away, the persuading of the peon to divert the staff room chai to us, the mental bonfire of all the needlework we had been made to do (would have been literal if we could find all the pieces!), the pang of knowing we may now never see so many of the people who had been an intricate part of our lives since forever.


The last day of the best days of our life.


Sach mein, un dinon ki baat kuch alag hi thi…




I would love to hear of your special memories of your school days. Be they from the hazy distant past, or the not too long ago. They remain ensconced in a special corner of our hearts, don’t they? As Gulzar has written, “Ae Umr, kuch kaha maine, par shayad tu ne suna nahi, tu chheen sakti hai bachpan mera, par bachpana nahi.


~ Ruchi



Happy Birthday Jignasha!

Screen Shot 2018-09-08 at 7.34.00 PM


“I’m running away tonight.”


Khushi announced as she stormed into the room banging the door shut behind her.


“Anywhere nice, darling?”


Well used as she was to her friend’s dramatics, Lavanya didn’t bat an eyelid as she nonchalantly continued her stalking on India Forum.


“Lavvu, didn’t you hear what I said?! I said I’m running away, as in running away from home. For ever. I don’t mean just going round to Vimla chachi’s!”


“I’m sure that will be lovely, Chamkili”, Lavanya replied absently as she continued peering into her laptop. “I wonder if this woman is the MID for that other one who had insulted Barun in the IPK3 forum…hmm, I’ll have to have a word with…”


Before she could continue with her investigation, her laptop was summarily snatched from her and thrust aside. Wincing at the disrespect being meted out to her most favourite possession, she gave in and settled back in her chair to listen to yet another one of her friend’s tirades.


“This is serious, Lavvu. My life is finished. Finito. Amma wants me to get married! Me! It’s… it’s cradle snatching!”


“Well, not technically cradle snatching as you are nineteen, Khush, besides…”


But Khushi was in no mood for logic, as she continued with her ranting. She was incandescent at her parent’s decision. Well her mother more than her father, she opined, because Bauji would never have agreed to this had Amma not put pressure on him. Yup, no doubt about it. That can be the only reason why he would agree to a random rishta. There was no mistaking that Khushi was her Bauji’s girl through and through.


Making a mental note to speak to Garima aunty to get to the actual truth as opposed to Khushi’s version of it, Lavanya looked at her friend who was now pacing up and down. Shoving evermore fistfuls of channa in her mouth as she did so.


“Why don’t you come and sit here and tell me more, Khushi. Seeing you like this is making me dizzy. First of all, where did this fellow pop up from?”


She was convinced her friend must have misunderstood something somewhere along the line. Garima Aunty and Shashi Uncle loved their daughter to bits and would never just marry her off like this. But first she needed to get more information from Khushi.


“Some relative of Buaji’s, I’m sure. Amma Bauji are being so cagey about the details. All they’ve said is that the boy is coming to see me tomorrow. Bas. With Buaji adding her two bit… The rishta is too good to ignore, Sankadevi, hum kahi deyat hai.”


Khushi had always had imitating her aunt down to a T, much to Lavanya’s amusement. But, this did sound serious, especially given… as a thought suddenly struck her.


“I wonder, Chamkili, what if the mystery man is Arnav?! Maybe Shashi uncle has guessed how you feel about him.”


“What?! Him…that Laad Governor?!”


Ignoring Khushi’s outburst, Lavanya continued dreamily, warming up to her idea.


“Hayee, just imagine if it is Arnav. The one and only Arnav Singh Raizada. ASR. Gosh Khushi wouldn’t that be amazing? Waking up to that view every morning… staring at that perfect profile… losing yourself in those pools of melting chocolate when he opens those eyes…”

“Will you stop with your fangirling already, Lavanya! And if that turns out to be the case, you can marry him!”

Ignoring the slight lurch in her heart at Lavanya’s words, Khushi tried to ignore the images her words evoked, quelling the pang in her heart at the thought of Arnav with anyone else.


“Sigh, if only I could… but sadly ASR has eyes only for you. Have you seen the way those caramel eyes melt into limpid pools of honey when he stares at you? I could be one of Buaji’s achar ki barnis for all the notice he takes of me.”


“That’s because he’s plotting of more ways to irritate me. I bet he’s got a whole diary filled with ideas, How to annoy Khushi Kumari Gupta in seven simple steps. Wait, not a diary, he’s probably got a spreadsheet all neatly laid out. Complete with instructions for Aman as well!”


She had known Arnav since she was three years old, her family having moved from Lucknow to Delhi to a house adjoining the  opulent Shantivan. While the Guptas were not quite in the league of the Raizadas, her parent’s Lucknowi background had endeared them to the Raizada matriarch, Devyani Raizada, who was a Lucknowi herself before marriage. And the tiny, chatterbox of their daughter, Khushi, had instantly captured her heart as she flitted about giggling and spreading happiness wherever she went.


Soon, all the inhabitants of Shantivan had come to dote on the little girl. All that is except Arnav. The eight year old had been used to ruling the roost and lording it over everyone until she turned up. Nudging him from his perch as the sole and whole in the clan’s hearts.


Everything about her had annoyed him. Not that it seemed to bother her as she never failed to rush up to hug him each time she saw him. Even as the adults oohed and aahed at her cuteness, he would stomp away grumpily, muttering, Unbelievable, as he did so.


The most galling times for him, he had told her in later years, were when his Ma made jalebis for her, or for little Miss Sunshine, as he had nicknamed her. She had been his Ma, damnit. And then to make matters worse, he would see his Di personally sit and feed her those blasted orange coils. Yuck, he would mouth! Her squeals of pleasure and shining eyes had made him want to smash everything in sight.


As time went on, he took to playing pranks on her at every opportunity he got. The first few times she had gone crying to Ma and Di, and got him a few punishments in the process. But, as she grew older, she started giving back as good as she got. Not that she got hauled up for any of it! Of course not. Their Titaliya could do no wrong. The injustice of it all had maddened him.


Khushi grinned wickedly as she thought back to those times. Such fun it was. Although, he did used to get his own back.


She remembered the times Arnav had been forced to wait for her at school. Unable to refuse his Mom, he used to retaliate by making her run to keep up with him, laden with her heavy bag in the heat. He used to come back and push her along even, shouting at her scowlingly!


With the passing of the years, they had both became busy in their different schools and with their different interests. Khushi’s visits to Shantivan became more infrequent and she made it a point to come when she knew he wouldn’t be around. Perversely, this seemed to irritate him more. He had a sixth sense where she was concerned, Di used to tell her laughingly. Knowing she had been before anyone could say anything.


The only times they met now was at festivals and birthdays, which were always celebrated with much fanfare at Shantivan. Those days would find her rushing all over the place, trying to do everything for everyone. Her lehenga spilling with gotas and pom poms, her anklets tinkling merrily, her bangles jingling non stop as she gesticulated animatedly. Vocalising the words had never been enough for her, oh no… her entire being had to be involved.


Despite her best efforts, her eyes would seek him constantly. She would peek at him from the corner of her eyes when she thought he was otherwise occupied, looking away hurriedly when her eyes snagged with his.  Each time that happened a strange sensation would consume her. What_the! This was that stupid Laad Governor, not her favourite Sallu, damnit! But her heart seemed determined not to listen to her.


And then he went off to study abroad. She could never forget that summer. Her heart had felt so heavy and restive and she just couldn’t understand why. Helping Anjali di as she did his packing, it was all she could do to not burst into tears.


The few times he had come home for his holidays, he had seemed so remote from the boy she had come to know. She had felt awkward and gauche in front of him. Answering in monosyllables to anything he asked. Until the days leading up to her sixteenth birthday, when everything had changed.


Arnav had graduated and had decided to travel before beginning work at a company in New York. Nani and Ratna aunty had put their foot down and insisted he come to Delhi for at least a couple of weeks. Not being able to refuse, he had come towards the end of August, reaching late at night. By the time he had woken the next morning, it had been quite late. Shouting for Hari Prakash as he walked in the kitchen looking for coffee, he startled Khushi who had been told by HP that no one was home. She had been standing on a ladder just about to reach for the flour to make samosas for Anjali di, when the unexpected shout made her miss a step. Bracing herself for a fall, she had instead found herself in Arnav’s arms. She had felt his husky, Hi, reverberate right down to her toes as he looked down at her. Forgetting to breathe, she had just stared up at him, unable to move, until his cell phone had gone off, breaking their trance.


Thinking back to that moment still made her shiver, as a warm blush swept her face. Those had been heady days when the burgeoning awareness between them had swept aside everything else. The feeling had been too special to even confide in Lavanya, her best friend.


On the day of her birthday, she had sought the blessings of her favourite deity, and was coming down the steps of the temple, when she had seen Arnav leaning against his car, his Aviators shielding his eyes. He had come up to her and silently led her to the square behind the temple. Hundreds of pigeons had been fluttering around there, pecking at the scattered grain. Sitting her down on a bench, he had knelt down and taken her hand in his. Brushing her knuckles softly with his lips, he had clasped a bracelet around her wrist.


“Happy Birthday, Khushi.”


The first time he had ever wished her. And the first time he had kissed her. Even just thinking of that moment suffused her heart with warmth, despite the fury fulminating in her at her parents autocratic behaviour.


Lavanya looked at her curiously as she saw the change in her friend. Sure of the reason, she decided to tease her a little.


“Or maybe it’s Bankelalji. Your favourite halwai. Maybe Aunty and Uncle know that the best way to Khushi’s heart is through her stomach.”


Ducking to avoid the chanas flying her way, she rolled on the bed in laughter.


“Or maybe it’s Happyji at the Kirana shop, so that you can have an endless supply of your favourite soda!”


Khushi jumped on her at that, attacking her with tickles. The two friends laughing hysterically as they collapsed on the bed. Relieved at having improved Khushi’s mood, Lavanya sat up and took her hand in hers.


“Have you spoken to Arnav about this?”


“Of course I have, but all he could say was, if that’s what your parents want, then what can we do. You must do as they say. After all parents will always have our best interests at heart. Unbelievable! Since when did SRK’s atma take residence in him?! Why do you think I’m so furious that I’m running away!”


“Hmmm, this sounds fishy. Or as Mamiji would say, something black in the dal… And not at all like ASR…”


“You are such a pankhi, Lavvu!”


“Woh toh I am, but I’m sure there’s more to this.”


“Whatever! You know what, I’m going to go with this rishta. Let’s see who this namoona is. Let’s see how Arnav likes seeing me with someone else. Maybe that will bring out SRK’s Vijay Agnihotri in him!”


“On that note let’s treat ourselves to your favourite Gol gappas and your Amma’s khichdi” Lavanya jumped up and held her hand out to Khushi. The two spending the rest of the evening chattering away, indulging in their favourite pastime of breaking into song at the strangest of prompts. Leaving Garima shaking her head at the mercurial mood swings of her daughter.


The next day, 9th September, Khushi woke to sunlight streaming in on her face. Blinking, she opened her eyes slowly savouring the warmth. Flinging aside the duvet, she sprang up. It’s my birthday! She looked around eagerly for her parent’s present. She tore open the wrapping to find a beautiful anarkali in the most exquisite shade of carmine. Even as she rushed to hold it against herself in front of the mirror, the previous day’s events came to mind. The random rishta…


She thought back to her birthday last year when Arnav had snuck in through the window at midnight to wish her. Her Laad Governor had to be the first to wish her. She remembered the kisses he brought her birthday in with… and also the silver wrapped other sweet kisses he had given her, making her promise to eat one of the tiny sweet delights every 15 mins for the whole day… telling her to think of him every time she did so.


Determinedly pushing aside her thoughts she went out to seek the blessings of her parents and Buaji.


“Tumko duniya ki saari khushiya mile” her Bauji kissed her tenderly on her forehead, before giving her a red velvet box.


“Another present, Bauji?”


“Another? I had wanted to see my bitiya’s face when she saw them, so I hadn’t kept it in your room this time.”


“But, the dress…”


Khushi paused as a small hope stirred in her. Maybe Arnav… nahi nahi Khushi. Stop with your wishful thinking, she remonstrated with herself as she opened the box to reveal the most beautiful pair of jhumkas.


Turning to hug her Amma in delight, she had just opened her mouth to ask her about the dress when Lavanya arrived, distracting her with her favourite flowers and a huge box of Tiramisu. Squeezing the life out of each other, the two went off to seek Devi Maiya’s blessings.


Khushi looked longingly over at Shantivan as they went out. Couldn’t he even be bothered to call, or even message, but that dress…


As the evening drew near, she grew more despondent. No one from Shantivan had called to wish her. This had never happened. Ratna aunty always made her favourite jalebis on this day. And Naniji herself made Mathura Aloo puri for her.Why was everyone being like that.


She changed into her new anarkali at Lavanya’s insistence, giving in reluctantly. The tiny kernel of hope in her still flickering exigently as she put the finishing touches to her make up before going down. Seeing the smiling faces and twinkling eyes of her family, contrarily had tears springing up in her eyes. Could they not see how unhappy she was. Just because she had made an effort this morning to be cheerful, did they think she was alright with all this. Did her wishes and dreams not mean anything to them.


Before she could venture further into the room, the doorbell rang. Frowning, she looked at the time. Wasn’t there another half hour before those rishta walas were due to arrive. How keen were they?!


She walked over and opened the door only to freeze in shock at the sight that awaited her. Naniji, Ratna aunty, Mamaji, Mamiji, Akash, Payal bhabhi, Anjali Di, all stood there, dressed in their finest, laden with covered trays in their hands.


Bringing up the rear was the Laad Governor himself looking drop dead gorgeous in a royal blue jodhpuri and sporting a devilish smirk.


“Will you not let us enter, bitiya?” Naniji’s amused words brought her out of her stupor as she hurriedly stepped aside to allow them in, bending to seek their blessings as they did so.


Arnav waited until the rest of the family had gone in before stepping forward.


“Hi… Happy Birthday, sweetheart.”


“You.. they…what…how…”


“Lost for words, Khushi Kumari Gupta?… soon to be… Singh Raizada…”




I have written this story for my dearest friend, Jignasha. It is her special day on 09/09. I hope you will join me in wishing her a Very Happy Birthday!


Jignasha, my darling, you transcend the word ‘friend’ for me. I actually don’t think I could vocalise what you mean to me. But, I know you will say, “main samajhti hoon”. You allow me to be me with you. You even put up with my random shayaris, patiently listening to me go on and on! The hours we spend chatting and laughing and discussing nothing and everything are special for me. I admire the way you approach life, giving your best in everything you do. The way you are able to look beyond the petty, life is too short to hold grudges. You are so very dear to me and I hope you know you will always remain close to my heart.


Love you hamesha.








Memories are such strange companions, aren’t they? The ones we yearn to envelop ourselves in are always somehow just beyond our grasp. Yet the ones we seek to suppress seem to spring up uninvited, catching us unaware. Making us relive old pain again and again.


I stand looking out as the dying rays of the setting sun cast a sublime golden light over the viridescent canopy of trees that lay spread out as far as the eye can see. Lighting the tops in elegant shades of oranges and yellows. Tingeing the slightly darkened clouds that lay sultrily above with a delicate halo. A goodbye before they forget their companion of the day, turning eagerly to their new companion of the night.


Even as I revel in the beauty of nature’s kaleidoscope of colours, the memory of that first bouquet of flowers she had painstakingly hunted and brought for me springs to mind unbidden. It had to be in just that shade, and it had to be just that those blooms, he remembered her saying. Because you like it, she had said with a shrug and a smile to my query. Each flower she ever gave me was carefully scrutinised. Always. Each arrangement spoke to me of her, her care, her love. And yet, she hated flowers. They come wrapped in memories of pain, she had said. But it makes me happy to see you happy she had countered my ongoing argument, handing me yet another exquisite arrangement.


Now all I have left in those hands are the tears that visit whenever their fancy strikes, toying with me as per their whims. Flashes of, I have to tell… I have to ask… I have to show… make me reach for my phone before I realise that I can’t. Not anymore. I have sat in a taxiing plane not even realising I had tears streaming down my face. She never let me get on one without a panoply of wishes for my safety, keeping me chatting until the very last second… and sometimes more.


The most mundane of things can spark innumerable memories of her making me laugh with her… veined marble sideboards, and pretty crochet placemats, posters of SRK in double collared shirts and undressed tables in restaurants, concessions in cinemas and closing time signs in cafes…


I keep her mementos locked away carefully. Each one a reminder of a moment, a conversation, a shared experience. But what do I do with the intangible memories that tease, spinning in front of my eyes like a silent film. Let’s ask someone to take our picture, she had said, smilingly persuading a passer-by to do the honours. Several minutes later we’re still there… of course that passer-by turned out to be from her town. Somehow, these things just happened with her. She stood chattering away animatedly while I waited for her.


I am still waiting today. Only now, it is a deathly silence that waits with me. A silence in which the only passersby are her memories which continue to sneak up at me.


I remember telling her how wonderful it was to have a great memory. Is it? She had countered quietly. I have my answer now.


Sochta hu mein kabse gumsum

Ke jabki mujhe bhi khabar hai

Ki tum nahi ho kahin nahi ho

Magar ye dil hai ki keh raha hai

Ki tum yahi ho yahin kahin ho






The lyrics above are taken from a song which I love, Yeh kahan aa gaye hum from Silsila. It embodies feelings of restlessness, of yearning, of hope, yet has an underlying acceptance of the inevitable. For me, this piece is a reflection of those feelings.



The Compelling Barun Sobti

Barun Sobti


There is so much opprobrium being heaped upon Advay right now, and understandably so. We the viewer are aware of the Dev hidden in Advay, of the machinations of Indrani to deceive the world about her role in the killing of Advay’s parents, but Chandni isn’t . So, if you look at it from her perspective, her life forthwith most certainly comprises of only a series of amavasyas.


Jakad liye hai chand ko kale ghanghor baadal

Reh gayi chandni unke girah mein hokar bebas


Intezaar hai uss samay ka

Jab kar na sakega baadal taghaful

Chandni ki shwaith sheetal roshni ko


Na chahkar bhi pighalna hoga usse

Toot kar bikharna hoga

Apne gham ko barasne dena hoga


Aur tab hoga Chandni ka imtihaan

Jab woh sametegi unn badalon ko

Apni roshni ki nirmalta mein baandhegi unko



The moon lies trapped by the dark tumultuous angry clouds

Helpless lies the moonlight obnubilated


I await the time when

The clouds can ignore no longer

The unblemished purity of the moonlight


Unwillingly the clouds will be forced to melt

Forced To break and scatter

Forced to pour out their grief


And then will be the time of Chandni’s trials

When she gathers those scattered clouds

And ties them together, enveloping them in her healing coolness



And through it all, Barun’s prowess as an actor keeps me gripped. He is both the predator and the victim. And seamlessly gets the viewer behind both these avatars. The nuances and shades of Advay that he portrays so effortlessly continue to compel me to vaar doon sab sense and sensibility uss par.



Ajeebo gareeb kapdein pehenkar bhi

Dikha toh dikha sirf usska chehra


Lal peele neele chaka chond roshni mein bhi

Dikhi toh dikhi sirf usski aankhein


Rote bilakte logon ke beech

Dikha toh dikha sirf usske Nani ki god mein behte ashk

Anginat hote anyay ke beech


Dikha toh dikha sirf phulon ki sage par usske pairon se behta lahu

Ab Kya naam doon iss paagalpan ko…



Amidst the stranger than strange costumes

The only thing I could see was your face


Amidst the glare of garish multi hued lights

The only thing I could see were your eyes


Amidst the crowds of weeping people

The only thing I could see were the tears flowing as you lay in Nani’s lap


Amidst the untold travesties being committed

The only thing I could see was the blood flowing from your feet on that sea of flowers


Now what should I name this madness…


That wall of framed photographs of his gorgeousness in Nani’s room is mine in my head 🙂

Fangirling much?! 😉

Advay Singh Raizada Ruminates

4KFCGwC - Imgur

I’d best start with a disclaimer because I understand that’s all the rage currently. And if there’s one thing I totally get peeps, it’s rage.


You may have noticed my penchant for a bit of random conflagration, ya? Although, I must apologise for the cheap lighters I’ve had to use. Between that wannabe Inspectress Clouseau (who can give him a run for his money in the deadpan staring stakes, btw) and that perma cheerful, I will state the blindingly obvious because  it is blindingly obvious, Tanatan one, my Dunhill ones have got misplaced. Well, either that or they’re somewhere beneath all the stuff haphazardly, but perfectly logically and artistically if I may say so, dotting my room near the pile of dried up noodles. Pot noodles are the thing where I grew up guys!


Coming back to the point at hand, I just want to clarify that these are my thoughts, and mine alone, and I felt I ought to share them with you because, you know, umm… uh… well… I just did, okay. I felt, so I did. Sorry? What was that? All those asides to the camera you ask? Of course they don’t count! All that generic stuff is for the general TRP contributors. You guys are special. So, special pyaar ka paigam toh banta hai.


Having got that out of the way, a bit of social niceties are always good, no? So,




I’ll just wait a bit, Shall I, while you’ll pick yourselves off the floor? 😉


Never fails to baffle me, this fondness you guys have for my voice. But, as it’s helping me here I’m not gonna complain. A soft, husky whisper in the vicinity of an ear, and voila. Goosebumps galore.


While we’re on the subject of getting affected, what’s with the constant blushing and hyperventilating every time I drink something?! Breathe people! Waise, you’ll are giving me more ideas here. I should use my secret stash to go after more people. Depending on my mood, whisky, tequila, vodka, and, of course, the more innocuous stuff for the under age ones. Nimbu pani anyone?


Shall we first address the elephant in the room and get it out of the way? The barrage of mutterings and rumblings that constantly hit me everytime I stand silhouetted in a doorway, is distressing. Let me ask you a question my darlings. Have you’ll seen the pantomime reject shop I’m having to infiltrate? Now could I dress any other way if I want to not stick out like a sore thumb? Now do you see why? I’m actually just the simple guy you’ll saw weeks back, who traipses across parched lands, carrying urns, blazing his own path in life, armed merely with a guitar strung across his back and a pair of killer glares, one of which being the literal sort. Oh, let’s not forget the vintage washed jeans, ya? Sigh, the good old days.


I am truly grateful for those glares though. The sheer amount of bling unrelentingly accosting my eyes in Allahabad is staggering. There’s odd and then there’s odd. That’s all I can say. I remain awed at people’s ability to even move with all the bits and bobs hanging off them.


And, I include Mausaji here. It’s not just the female of the species. You know, the one married to the Engish wali mausiji. The same mausiji who’s swallowed the Hindi to English dictionary wala shabd kosh. And can’t stop vomiting its contents. The one who needs to stop ogling me. It’s getting more than a little weird. Let’s hope her red wala laal lipashictek doesn’t come anywhere near me. Another reason why I’m okay with covering myself with lots and lots of fabric. Shudder.


The other Mausiji has illusions of being the descendent of The Riddler himself. Beats me how deluded people can be. Classic example here of a triumph of SKD over AD, don’t you think? Now, if ever there was a candidate for the personification of enigma, it would have to be Sasuma (not being presumptuous or anything, but I’m willing to bet 16… crores of course, PP baba ain’t gonna be the one calling her that) The aura of ruthlessness melded with gravitas that she exudes fascinates me utterly. The air fairly crackles around her. I must confess to a certain frisson with her around. Imperious and impervious describes her well I think. Saam daan dand bhed should be inscribed on her coat of arms! I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Chanakya Neeti is compulsory bedtime reading for her.


Coming to her three betis… what is this strange predilection for having all the women in sets of three? The senior jijjjis, the junior jijjjis, even the blondes who’d dropped in apropos of nothing during the aarti came in a set of three. And I’m the one called Ajeeb here!


The shat pratishat Vashisht warbling trio have some very peculiar set pieces I have to say. I was tempted to ask the ogling mausiji today, that if there can’t be fire without smoke, then how can her nieces create those little tufts of smoke without fire? Having said that, they are ever so easy to manipulate. Despite what old Wills had said, “though she be but little, she is fierce! It’s been such fun peeps. Getting Chandani all riled up and huffing and puffing has been a trifle too easy so far. Candy from a baby really (Just a heads up peeps. Candy stripes coming up soon. Be prepared – Yup you guessed it, I was in the Scouts back in Blighty).


Throwing the Bhole ke Sainik’s (as I had said earlier, just peculiar!) own words back at her feels so delish though. Much as she’d like to believe it to be so, my head is not the one jisme jamta hai dahi… My dimaag is the one jisme jalti hai badle ki aag


The one she provided the sparks for. The one she fanned. The one that burnt to ash my innocence. The one that killed my parents. The one that snatched my brother from me. The one that burns like an eternal flame in my eyes.
After all, jo sach hai woh sach hai.






Advay Singh Raizada came in the form of Barun Sobti. How could I do anything but watch?! All I can say is that, “Yeh ishq nahin asaan!”

Gif Credit: ..Bonanza.. (IF)

A Summer’s Day









My baby.

Why my baby, Devi Maiya?



