I Too Had a Love Story (8 page)

And few seconds later, both Pushkar and Ami di came in, wiping their shoes on the door-mat. Everyone stood up to welcome them, as if they were the ones for whom we all had assembled. Seeing them, I got up too.

‘Wow! Such a warm welcome for the second son-in-law of the house. Hmm … I’m the next. Tough competition, dude!’ I thought to myself.

In her black top and blue denim, Ami di looked like a professional, 21
^st
century lady. Her denim was in the latest, weird fashion—the one in which girls would fold up their jeans’ legs a few inches above their ankles, showing the light, inner colour of the denim. I don’t know what’s so exciting about it. We guys used to do that while playing soccer in mud, in our school days. Her glasses had a stylish frame, and she had a different style of tying her hair at the back—of course, a modern one.

Altogether, Ami di appeared a ‘Yo! Yo!’ girl.

A ‘Yo! Yo!’ girl, in our term means … a … a … Yo! Yo! kind of gal.

The thing which I liked most in her was the red and white bangles covering both her hands. Of course, they revealed that she got married that very year. According to custom, these bangles stayed on the hands of a newly-married girl for almost a year.

Pushkar appeared very simple to me.

After shaking hands and saying ‘hi’ and ‘hello,’ everybody settled down on the sofas and chairs. Conversation started again.

‘So how are you, Ravin?’ Pushkar asked.

‘I am fine, thanks. How are you guys doing?’ I asked, looking at both of them. ‘Pretty good. And how are your parents and brother back there?’

Ami di asked this time.

‘They are doing well,’ I replied with a smile.

And so we continued our chitchat on various topics: my office, their office, Khushi’s office; the different places we visited, which was a chance for me to boast about my trips abroad; Delhi traffic, CAT, the next Indian Idol and what not …

And, yes, there was a second round of snacks and, of course, I had to keep the new arrivals company. I felt like I was going to explode.

Meanwhile, Girish got another call on his cell and, the way he rushed out to his Qualis, we were sure it was his dad. All I could say to him was ‘thanks’—for helping me reach this place and, more importantly, for being the only other man with me, among those ladies till Pushkar arrived. He left.

The conversation really warmed up in a while, and it didn’t take me even half an hour to realize that Pushkar was a cool dude. He appeared to be very practical. And the entire female union kept boasting about his greatest asset—

‘
Pata hai, Jiju bahut achcha khaana banaate hain
. He has learnt the art of cooking,’ said Neeru proudly, as if her jiju was going to present another cookery show on Star Plus. But, well, a guy who cooks lovely food, knows how to garnish various dishes and how to place the forks and spoons on the dining table is a dream guy for 99.99% of the girls on this planet. (In fact, I’m sure it’s the same on other planets too … if there are girls on them.)

Neeru had just initiated this topic and it didn’t take even a couple of minutes for Pushkar’s great hobby to become a threat for me—Khushi’s mom threw me a bouncer.
‘Beta aap khaana bana lete ho?’
she asked politely and, unfortunately, with much expectation.

Silence. The sound of someone grinding cashew between their teeth could be heard.

Everyone was waiting for my response. It was as if, while following an India-Pakistan cricket match on the radio, they had just heard that

Tendulkar had hit the ball high in the air and were waiting for the commentator to reveal if it was a six or a catch.

Staring at the bubbles in my glass of Coke, I thought, ‘Now the next question you will ask me is ‘Will you be able to iron her
salwar kameez
?’ Or, ‘Do you sing?
Arey, kuch gaa ke sunao na
?’ See! This is what happens when you come to such places without your parents. The other party tries to validate you on different platforms so candidly, and you cannot say no to every question.’

I tried to come up with some answer, looking at my cellphone and wishing that it would ring so that I could escape the questions which I was going to face. But the damned gadget was meant to ring only at the worst times—like the evening before, with the kiss that could have been—but never when I needed it the most.

Finally, swallowing a few times in my nervousness, I went ahead and told them what they wanted to hear.

‘Ah, umm … Yes, I can. With most of the things, I am kind of OK. But I make good
paranthas
…’

I hadn’t even completed, when her sweet and innocent mother, delighted by my answer, asked me, ‘
Kaun kaun se paranthe
?’

‘Now this is too much!’ Well, I didn’t actually say that, but that’s what I was thinking and I wondered if I was supposed to recite a menu list, like Pappu uncle from the Punjabi dhaba at Burla.

But, interestingly, the next moment I had a smile on my face. I was amused at the kind of questions being put to a software engineer. I never thought I’d be facing such an interview, not even in my weirdest dreams. I was happy that, for a change, I was being asked such different questions. I told myself, ‘These were not bad questions but exciting ones. Be confident and go ahead.’

And I went ahead and said, ‘Mumma, I can prepare many—
aaloo ke, pyaaz ke
, occasionally
gobhi ke
and
mooli ke bhi
in the winters.’

‘Wow! Ravin, that’s good. When did you learn all this?’ Pushkar asked. He seemed to be quite interested.

And I told him, ‘When I was in Belgium for eight months. I lived there alone and had to cook for myself. Before that, I never did any cooking. Necessity is the mother of invention, you know …’

Keeping my glass of Coke back on the table, I told them the story of my first day in the kitchen, where I wanted to make a mixed-veg dish, but ended up preparing a hot pool of spicy, coloured water in which vegetables were swimming. Some of them were so over-boiled, they turned into paste and settled down at the bottom.

And, as was expected, everybody laughed at Day One of my Cookery Show. My Khushi, with a mouthful of soft-drink, was trying to, somehow, hold back her laughter. Pushkar laughed loudly and almost clapped his hands. It felt good.

And, soon, it was 2 p.m. No one realized how much time had passed—or, at least, I didn’t.

‘Lunch is ready,’ Neeru announced.

By now I had made a little space in my tummy for the
rajma
which Khushi said she had made for me. She knew it was my favorite.

We all moved towards the dining table, pulled out the chairs and sat. And she sat right in front of me. I was looking at my future wife, thinking, ‘A few months later, we will be having our lunch, dinner and breakfast together and, that too, in the same plate.’

Amused with the same thought, I opened the lid of the bowl in front me.

‘Neeru, you also come,’ said Ami di, taking some salad. The dining table was full of various dishes:
paneer, raita, aaloo
gobhi
, salad, a rice bowl along with a casserole of
chapattis
and my favorite
rajma
. The cutlery appeared new, the kind that was brought out for special occasions.

Everyone at the dining table was helping themselves and each other, passing the food stuff. I was trying to get a serving spoon from the other end of the table, when Khushi stopped me and silently said, ‘Wait, I will get it.’

She picked up the spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other and served me. Then, she placed some salad on my plate, and asked me, ‘
Chapatti
or rice?’

I was looking at my caring sweetheart, who was helping me with my lunch. I was smiling inside, maybe even outside, and in my heart I asked her, ‘You will always take care of me this way … Right?’

‘
Chapatti
or Rice?’ she again asked, raising her brows.

But who was hungry then? Her care and love for me had already filled me. Still, I said, ‘A … A …
Chapatti
.’

With her beautiful hands she opened the casserole and quickly moved her hand back to avoid the hot steam. Her bangles tinkled. Then, with three fingers she folded two chapattis in half and, very gracefully, placed them on my plate. She looked at me and smiled. I wanted her to feed me with her own hands so that I could lick her beautiful fingers … All of a sudden, I wanted to marry her and marry her very soon. So that I could lie down in her lap. So that I could have my meals from her hands.

Everyone went ahead with the lunch. The moment I had that bite I knew those anxious eyes were expecting a response from me. I looked up into her charming eyes and told her I loved what she had prepared for me. She smiled and felt so satisfied when she noticed that I had the
rajma
before anything else. She then took her first bite, after I did.

We got busy with our meal and the conversation reduced and narrowed down to the appreciation of the lunch and the
people who had prepared it. I believe it was quarter to three when we were through. I was all packed with delicious food, pudding and fruits (dessert, for which I struggled to make some space in my tummy).

Conversation resumed at the sofa and chairs again. This time it involved humor—good jokes, poor jokes, and jokes which were not jokes at all. Even her mother was laughing aloud, along with us youngsters. And, at times, I noticed a different smile. A smile which was not on her lips, but in her eyes. A smile which told me that she thought I was a nice guy. A smile which revealed that, soon, she would be prepared to give her daughter to me, for the rest of her life. A smile which was blessing me and her, for a bright future. And somewhere, silently, that smile also whispered in my ear the words from her heart, ‘With her, I will be giving you my heart. Take care of her … Always’

It was 4 o’clock in the evening when we had a cup of tea. ‘We’, meaning Pushkar and I, as rest of them did not drink tea. Yes, no one in that entire family drinks tea. Strange family—that’s what Pushkar and I feel.

Meanwhile, Khushi went to her room and, the very next moment, I was astonished to see her SMS on my cell. Wondering why she did that, I read the message.

I’ll cal u in 2 min. u go out
in the veranda 2 receive d cal.
Don’t let oders kno dat I m calin
.

And she called me up.

I acted as if it was one of my college friends and, talking to this college friend of mine, I went out into the veranda, and from its furthest corner asked her, ‘Where are you calling from?’

‘Bathroom,’ she replied.

‘Wow! What are you doing there …?’ I asked mischievously.

‘Shut up! Now listen to me,’ she said, trying to explain something to me.

And, for the next minute, this is what I said:

‘What!?’

‘Are you crazy?’

‘Wow!’

‘But are you sure you will be able to do this?’

‘Yes! Yes! I mean will WE be able to …?’

‘Oh Boy! I can’t believe this. You have such guts. I would love to do this …’

‘Thrilling! But what if we get caught?’

‘Neeru? She will help us? Great! Your little sister rocks
yaar
.’

‘All right, done. Let’s do this in half an hour. You can call my cab right now.’

Thrilled and anxious because of her (I mean my college friend’s) call, I returned to the drawing room. Everything was the same there—the environment, the talk and the people—but all of a sudden I wanted the time to pass quickly. I was excited about the plan (which also involved Neeru) that Khushi and I had just discussed. I kept wondering if we could really do it.

4.10 p.m.

To put our plan into action, we were waiting for Pushkar and Ami di’s departure.

Every now and then, one of us would look at the wall clock or a wristwatch. That and a few quiet moments made them realize they were getting late. And …

Bingo!

Pushkar got up and said, looking at Ami di, ‘I think we are getting late.’

Hearing that, Neeru looked at me with her twinkling eyes and I looked at Khushi. The three of us were ready for action.

4.12 p.m.

‘Mumma! I have to leave for IMS,’ Neeru said, like a kid who doesn’t really want to do something.

‘IMS?? Now? But you don’t have classes in the evening
na
?’ her mother asked.

‘There is a doubt-clarification session today. Khushi also has a class. Ask her …’

‘You also have to go?’ Mumma asked Khushi.

‘Class
to hai
, but I won’t go if you don’t want me to,’ Khushi replied.

Meanwhile, I rushed in with my lines, ‘No, no, I think you should go ahead with your class. Even I have to leave soon. A few minutes back, one of my college friends from Delhi called up and he wants to see me. I can’t ignore him.’

Pushkar asked, ‘How will you girls go then? Do you want me to drop you?’

Khushi replied immediately, ‘No, Pushkar. You guys go ahead. IMS is in a totally opposite direction from where you are going. We will manage.’

4.15 p.m.

Things were going as per plan when Pushkar asked me, ‘Ravin, how will you go back to Delhi?’

‘Oh, I had called up a cab. I think it’s there, outside,’ I answered him, walking towards the door and looking out to confirm.

Looking at her sisters, Ami di said, ‘Well, in that case, Ravin can drop you at IMS. It’s on his way.’

And this was what we wanted to hear.

Ami di looked at me and I pretended that I didn’t know. ‘Oh! IMS will be falling on my way? In that case I can drop you,’ I turned towards her sisters. It was getting hard to control our smiles, especially when everything was going as planned.

‘You won’t have any problem
na
?’ Neeru asked.

And in my heart, I said, ‘Come on! Don’t overdo it, dumbo.’ Aloud, I said, ‘Oh come on! What problem can I have, in giving a lift to two gorgeous ladies? The pleasure will be mine.’ I looked at everybody and smiled.

Khushi rushed to her room and came back in ten minutes, having changed. She looked stunning in her black top and white denim. She started moving from one room to another in search of her sandals. Still busy with her dressing up, she didn’t notice me.