'What? You haven't talked to your parents yet? Shona! You promised me you'd do that by now.'
If you are wondering who this new character, Shona, is—it's me. And the person shouting those
questions at me is my Khushi. Yes, she is mine now.
We are in love. For the first time … Sounds crazy?
So, did it happen when we were studying together in college?
Of course not. I am a thousand miles away from her.
Was it love at first sight?
Definitely not. We haven't even seen each other yet!
—The questions my friends would ask me, and the answers I gave them. (There were some dirty
ones too, which I can ignore.) But everyone's last question was the same.
Are you crazy?
I don't knnoooowwww …
Indeed, being in love with a person you haven't even met is a crazy thing. And deciding to marry
that person some day, even crazier. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought my love-life would be
like this. To be honest, I had never even thought of any love-life.
But, now, I had changed a lot and was no longer the person I used to be till some time ago.
A lot of things had changed, in me and around me. I had started slipping out of conversations with
my friends just to give her a call. I slept less and talked more. My phone bills led my monthly
spending chart, leaving the house rent miles behind in the race. I started noticing couples: the way
they sat together in gardens, hand in hand; the way a girl holds her boyfriend, on a motorbike. I started
worrying about the 'how do I look' factor. My status on Orkut changed from 'single' to 'committed'.
She became the password to my several Internet IDs. Sitting in my office alone, I used to smile,
talking to nobody.
Love was in the air.
Ours was such a different story. A 21
st century love story, whose foundation was modern-day
gadgetry. Thanks to Graham Bell for inventing telephones that helped me talk to her, know her better
and, finally, fall in love with her. Thanks to the Internet, the World Wide Web and sites like
Shaadi.com that helped me find her. I discovered myself to be a true software engineer in this hi-tech-
love phase. And whether this kind of love was good or bad, was no longer a point to ponder—we were
already in it.
Coming back to the reason she was shouting at me.
It was because I had broken a promise. No, not the boozing one. Something else.
Her family knew about me since our first call, but the case wasn't the same at my end. My family
did not know about her yet. In fact, they didn't even know that their son's profile was on some
matrimonial site. Naturally, she was concerned about this situation. That too, after we had finally
decided our destiny.
Her queries about this matter were growing everyday. Gradually, she started feeling uncomfortablebecause of this very reason. Therefore, a week earlier, I had promised her that I would talk to my
family on the coming weekend. But unfortunately, I could not, because of the weekend exam at IMS.
(IMS. Another interesting similarity between us was this MBA preparation center. We both were
preparing for MBA, and we had joined the same crash-course in the same institute in our respective
cities!)
'I could not travel to Burla last weekend because I had to appear for a test at IMS,' I said, trying to
calm her.
'But you promised me Shona …!'My shouting lady turned into an emotional one. She killed me
with that name. She loved to call me different names and the best among them all was Shona. And I
loved the way she used to say it. With such care and warmth.
'This weekend I will, for sure. I don't have any task more important than this one,' I told her.
And my Shonimoni was happy again. Shonimoni. The name I gave her. Punjabi for cute and sweet;
the feminine counterpart to Shona.
The next weekend arrived and I was panicking. After all, I was going to talk to my parents about my
marriage. This was definitely going to be a bolt from the blue, for them.
I was smart enough to take my younger brother, Tinku, into confidence the night before we left for
Burla. He already knew something was going on between me and some girl. My late night calls had
made that much clear. But he had never imagined that all this started at a matrimonial site. Being his
elder brother, I did not give him any option except to be on my side when I talked to mom and dad.
Since the moment we arrived at our home in Burla, I was doing strange things, moving here and
there, trying to bring the subject up, trying to find just the right moment. But I was not at all sure what
the perfect moment was.
I was thinking too much. More than my brain could handle. Should I say it now? Or should I wait
till the clock's minute hand has covered fifteen more minutes? But even after it had covered a hundred
and fifty minutes, I was still waiting.
Every time I was about to spill it out, something would happen: the telephone rang, somebody
knocked at the door and, if nothing else, the stupid pressure cooker's whistle dragged my mom back
into the kitchen. The one moment when no such thing happened, I just could not open my mouth.
'She's going to cry this time, if I don't do this,' I told myself.
After lunch, I somehow gathered enough courage to initiate the dreaded conversation. Even though I
thought it was quite bizarre to ask my parents how they met and married each other, I could not think
of a better way to bring up the subject.
'Mumma, tell me one thing. How did you guys find each other and end up marrying?' I asked.
Mom and dad looked at each other, then at me and smiled. Parents are smart, and what we don't
know is that they know what is going on in our minds. They had probably read, very easily, what the
marquee on my forehead was displaying.
Still, they narrated their story, and the moment that was over, Mumma asked, 'So how is yours
getting started?'
I wondered if I should hide my face in the cushions, or say, 'My story …? I don't have any,' before
my brain angrily told me, 'Come on, speak up, you fool!'
And, fortunately, gathering all my shy courage, I narrated my story so far. I even showed them herpicture. I was expecting a lot of ifs and buts from my parents, but to my surprise nothing of that sort
happened. Even Tinku had asked me more questions than my parents asked!
Mom was happy because, finally, her son was thinking about marriage. Dad was happy because the
toughest part—searching for a girl of his son's choice—was over. He was relieved, though he tried to
sound quite diplomatic. I was happy because, finally, I was able to get this thing out of my heart and
place it in front of everybody. And Tinku, he was observing everybody's reactions. He doesn't get
influenced easily, and that's something I both like and dislike in him.
A couple of questions from both mom and dad, which I answered with confidence, and that was it. I
had never thought that this toughest of hurdles would be over so quickly.
But before we left for Bhubaneswar, on Sunday night, at the bus stop, dad said, 'We will analyse
this, but it's good that you have become serious about your marriage.'
'No issues. I understand your point,' I said to him. Inside, though, I was thinking, 'Who cares Dad!'
Monday morning, I reached my other home in Bhubaneswar. Stretching out on my bed, I called
Khushi up.
'Mission accomplished,' I said, waking her up. Those two words conveyed everything to her. And
what did I get in response? A fusillade of kisses. The last ones were real passionate. That was the first
time she kissed me on phone.
'Oh boy! So loud? No one is around, haan?' I asked.
She didn't answer my question but said, 'I feel like pulling you into my bed right now and kissing
you madly.'
Wow! She was so happy, mad and comfortable, knowing that I had finally told my family about her.
Another milestone in our love story was crossed. Both our families now knew about our affair. And,
as usual, I was happy because my Shonimoni was happy. But, as they say, 'Love is a blend of different
emotions.' Soon an evening came when I made her cry. And then I cried because she was crying.
It was another weekend and I was in Burla, sitting in the verandah, busy with my Reading
Comprehension—RC—section. I was annoyed, having scored rather badly in my self-exam. I was
about to advance to the next passage when she called.
'Hey, hi …'I said in a depressed tone.
'What is my baby doing?' she asked. I loved it when she talked that way, when she called me 'baby'
in her cutest voice. It sounded so caring. As if she had taken over all the responsibility of looking after
me.
'RC is screwing up your baby and I'm in a very bad mood.'
'Then talk to me for a while and you'll be in a good mood again.'
'No dear. I want to start a new passage and score better this time. Only that will change my mood.
Can we talk at night … please?'
'Hmm … Ok. See you later. But at least say one good thing before hanging up.'
There were so many things specific to Khushi, the little things that were important to her. Like this
unique idea of listening to one good thing before we hung up. I liked it, most of the time, unless I was
too tired to think up something new and good for her.
'Khushi! Please understand. My mind isn't working. I can't think of anything good at this moment.
I'll tell you two good things at night. Ok?''Ok. You take care.'
'Bye.'
'Bye nahin, see you,' she corrected me again.
'Oh yes. See you,' and I hung up, still in a bad mood.
Hardly fifteen minutes had passed when I heard my cellphone ringing again. It was her.
'Now what?' My voice was a little loud.
'You know why I called you earlier?'
'Oho …! Why?' I was annoyed.
'Because it's raining here. And I feel like holding your hands and dancing in the rain.'
'Khushi!' My voice grew louder.
'Ok baba, I'm sorry. See you later,' she said, innocently.
She was about to hang up when I felt bad about how I behaved and said, 'Hey wait. We can talk for
a while. I needed a break from this damned RC thing.'
And she was happy again.
In a little while, the focus of our conversation changed from rain to our promises and priorities. The
things we wanted to accept and the things we wanted to give up, for each other. No boozing until she
was comfortable with it, preparing myself for a vegetarian environment (at least at home) and a few
others things were on my plate. And talking to me and my family in Punjabi was the most important
task I put on her plate. (Her family spoke Hindi and she was brought up in that atmosphere. Whereas,
my ears badly wanted to hear the language which I was brought up around.) None of our expectations
were forced upon each other, though. It was mutual understanding, an attempt to do the best we could
for each other. After all, we were supposed to live together for the rest of our lives.
That evening, I asked her mischievously, 'Hey! Do you mind talking in Punjabi? I never heard you
fulfilling my expectations. Or are you going to start after our marriage?'
'And if I say I won't do that even after our marriage, what will you do?' she teased me and laughed.
I imagined her jumping off her bed and running to the window to catch a few raindrops.
'Then I'll take you back to your home in Faridabad and leave you there.'
All she said was, 'Shona …?'I could hear the rain falling on the ground outside her window. I
realized what I landed up saying. My attempt at humor had badly failed. I did not know how to react.
Before I could say anything, she said, 'Shona, you carry on with the passage. See you later.' And she
hung up very quietly—something she never did.
I felt very uncomfortable, recalling the way I had reacted to her teasing. I could neither call her up
to tell her that I didn't mean what she thought I meant, nor could I concentrate on my RC passages.
All my answers for the next passage were incorrect.
Later that evening, around 7 p.m., I rode my bike to the nearest ATM to get some cash for my ticket
back to Bhubaneswar. It started drizzling—the first rain of the season. Now I could imagine how she
felt when she had called me earlier. I got out of the queue in front of the ATM and dialed her number.
'Hello?' she said. Her voice was shaking.
'Khushi,' I said.
'Yes, Shona,' she promptly responded. Then I heard a choking noise which was enough for anyone
to realize that she was crying.I could not say anything for a moment, during which her tears rolled down further. 'Hey dear!
Please … Please don't cry. I'm so sorry for having said those terrible words.'
She started sobbing loudly and I felt very ashamed for what I had done to the girl who wanted to
hold my hands and dance with me in the rain. I felt as if I had committed the greatest sin—making the
sweetest girl on earth, who was only meant for me, cry. How could I have done that? I hit the wall in
front of me very hard. The people in the queue looked at me. I moved down the street to where there
was no light.
'I am so sorry, Khushi. I am so sorry. Please don't cry because of my stupid mistake.'
Silence.
'Talk to me dear. Say something. Punish me but, for God's sake, talk to me,' and with that I too
started crying.
After a while she managed to say, 'Shona, you haven't even taken me to your home yet and you're
talking of sending me back.'
Her simple, innocent question left me speechless. She was crying, I was crying and the sky was
crying with us. It started raining heavily.
'It took you just a second to say that. But I am a girl. I will be leaving my parents, my brother and
sisters, people with whom I have lived my life so far, my home, which holds so many memories, just
to become yours. And you said that you will leave me.'
'I'm stupid, I'm terrible. I really am,' I shouted, hitting a pole on the side of the street, crying
loudly in that rain, not caring if anybody saw me. The clouds thundered. The rain came down hard and
noisy. And I kept hitting the pole and crying. There must have been something wrong with me, for I
had never cried that way.
And it's probably the nature of the feminine heart to stop others from crying. So she did what I
should have done for her. She wiped my tears first.
'Shona! Shona … Please! I can hear you crying. Please don't do that. Please … See, I'm talking to
you. And no matter what, I am yours, just yours and even now I am with you. And if you want to see
me happy, please don't cry, my dear.' The broken heart was comforting the heart that had broken it.
She even made me laugh a little, later.
Then I said, 'I feel sorry and I'm ashamed of myself for hurting you.'
'Shona, do you know that, just like you, I too want to be with my family for ever. But because of the
way our society and culture is, I have to leave them all. And I will do that, because I am in love with
you and the person I need the most for the rest of my life, to take care of me, is you.'
'I know that dear. I know that very well. I don't know how I landed up saying that. I never felt it
from my heart. You have all the right to punish me.'
'Punishment?' she asked in a cute voice.
'Yeah. It can be anything,' I said.
'Where are you?' she asked, and I felt her voice getting better.
'I came to get some cash from the ATM. It's two blocks away.'
'Are there people at the ATM?'
'Yeah, there is a long queue.'
'Go back to the ATM queue.''Why?'
'Just go there. It's part of your punishment.'
'All right,' I said and went back. 'Yes. I am there.'
'Ok. Now give me five kisses.'
'What!?'
'Shona!' she said sternly, reminding me that I could not back out.
I had made her cry, and now I had to do what she wanted. I steeled myself and, ignoring the people
around me, went ahead and gave her five loud kisses over the phone. I was the second last person in
the queue and I kept my head bent to avoid contact with the surprised eyes which were staring at me.
It was embarrassing, to say the least, but she just laughed. And despite my embarrassment, I was
happy to make her laugh again.
At the same time, I understood a girl's situation, the sacrifices she makes for the man of her
dreams. She leaves behind everything she possessed so far in life, to embrace him and his family. I
asked myself how I would have felt if I was to leave my family for her. Could I even think of leaving
my family? How do girls do it? And, more importantly, why do only they have to do it? I didn't have
any answers. In due course of time, Khushi taught me several such lessons. Gradually, she was
changing me and my mindset.
That evening, I did not withdraw any cash because the next moment, I noticed one of my neighbors
standing in the queue, right ahead of me. His face made it clear that he had caught me kissing my
phone.
It is midnight, the last Saturday of August. I have come back home after watching a movie. Khushi and
I had a quarrel in the afternoon and, because I couldn't stand not talking to her, I went to watch a
movie, thinking it would make me feel better. It did not.
Unable to stand it any longer, I call her up in the middle of the night.
She picks up my call with a laugh, making me realize that I couldn't stand by my tough words—I
said I would not be the first one to start talking again. Moments later, even I join in her laughter. We
are no longer quarreling. Later, she says something that touches my heart.
'Shona! Let's make this a rule for our life after marriage. If we are together at home, then we will
have dinner in the same plate, no matter what. Even if we had a terrible fight that day. We may not
speak to each other, but sitting together … waiting for our turns to break the next bite of chapatti …
the inadvertent touch of our hands as we eat … all this will calm our anger. Hai na?'
It was the beginning of October—almost three months since we knew each other. I had talked to her
entire family by then, and she had talked to mine.
In fact, she had become a good friend of my mother. Mumma always wanted to have a daughter.
Gradually, she started sharing her joys and sorrows with Khushi. She used to talk about my childhood,
my nature, my likes and dislikes, the things that made me angry. She also talked about her life in this
family, a family in which men outnumbered women by a ratio of 3:1 and where, unfortunately, the
majority dominated.
There were things about my mother which I had never known earlier. But Khushi would tell me
those things. Like any other son, I also love my mother, but the problem is that we never know when
we become part of this male dominant society. Khushi used to explain to me the nature of a womanand her expectations. She used to tell me what I should do for her when I went back home, on
weekends. She used to give me tips. At times, she also used to shout at me if I forgot them. I had one
more reason to be happy then, for Khushi understood the importance of relationships, she knew the
importance of family and how to care for it.
One more responsibility that I had given her was to neither call me up after 10 p.m., nor talk to me
if at all I happened to call her up after that time. The reason was that the CAT exam was close and I
wanted to devote three-four hours a day for preparation.
So, we took a vow, albeit reluctantly.
'Till the CAT is over, we will not talk to each other after 10 p.m.,' I said.
'… And this rule will only be followed on weekdays,' she added her clause, reasoning that on
weekends we have surplus time to prepare and didn't need to make our lives tougher by not talking to
each other.
'Ok baba. Now repeat after me,' I said.
'In the name of God, I, Ravin …' I paused for her to repeat after me.
'In the name of God my Shona and I, Khushi …' And I felt so good for the 'my Shona' in her
statement. Inside, I felt like kissing her one more time for these small but wonderful things she often
did for me. Outside, I went ahead with my vow.
'… take a vow that …' '… take a vow that …' '… we will not call each other on weekdays after 10
p.m., unless there is some kind of emergency …'
'… we will not call each other on weekdays after 10 p.m., unless there is some kind of emergency
… and even if there is no emergency but, somehow, I am not able to sleep, I will only call you for five
minutes,' she added another clause to the vow.
'What is this …?' I asked, and laughed. Not being able to hold back my love for her, I kissed her.
One after another, those kisses flew all the way to her place, bypassing so many mobile towers and
satellites.
Khushi made me enjoy every moment of my life: the good, the bad, the challenging. She made them
all simply wonderful.
The first week, it was quite tough to abide by our vow but, somehow, we managed. The truth was
that, because of this vow, the urge to talk to each other, especially after 10 at night, increased even
more—it is human tendency to desire what is prohibited. And during our morning calls, we realized
that night was such a beautiful time to talk to each other.
'Talking at night used to be so romantic na?' she asked in her cute, innocent voice one morning.
'I miss them so much. This decision makes me feel like I've struck my foot with an axe, by
mistake,' I said.
'No dear, it's not like you've struck your foot with an axe,' she started politely, then suddenly
shouted, 'Rather your foot wanted to lick that axe and, willingly, you jumped on a sharpened one, that
too barefoot! Now enjoy your wounds.' She was fuming.
But nothing could be done. Promises are meant to be kept, and we both knew we had to keep this
one.
Soon, the weekend night came and we were desperate to talk to each other.
Night! Night is really a beautiful time to talk, for love-birds. Parents are asleep by then. Siblings
understand why they should not disturb you. And you? Holding your cellphone, you are alone in yourbedroom, lying on your cosy bed in your shorts and a comfortable T-shirt, with the lights dimmed.
Which means, you are completely with the person you are talking to.
'Hi Shona,' she said.
There was something different in her 'hi' that night. Something passionate, something I'd rarely
felt before.
'Hi honey,' I responded calmly, and we began talking. I remember how good we felt talking to each
other at night after so long, though it had just been a week. A little later, she was telling me about her
friend's engagement and, in a short while, she was talking about what our engagement would be like.
'The engagement will be at our premises, and I will be wearing a sari that evening. You know, why?
Coz I look stunning in a sari,' she answered her question, before I could.
'Aha … Chalo, in that case, I want to see my Shonimoni in a sari that evening.'
'It will be one of the best evenings of my life. I will be standing beside my fiancée, amid so many
people. I can touch you, hold your hand in front of everyone and nobody will say anything,' she said.
'I am dying for that evening to come. Then I will hold your hand and we will dance to the music, in
front of everybody. I want my friends to be jealous because I possess you,' I said dreaming of that day
soon to come.
'And, in everybody's presence, our eyes will be talking to each other.
Those unsaid words which will be heard very clearly by them. When you will look into my eyes,
you will understand what I am feeling, that very moment, gazing at you.'
'And when the people will be busy helping themselves to the food, my eyes will ask you to come
upstairs, to the terrace. And I will make my way to the staircase and head upwards.'
'And my eyes will tell you to go on ahead, and at the first opportunity, I will soon escape, saying I
have to go to washroom,' she said, in that girlish, mischievous tone.
'I will be on the terrace, standing just behind the door where the staircase to the terrace ends.'
'You will hear my anklets and my bangles tinkling as I come up the stairs to the dark terrace,' she
said, slowly.
'But you won't know that I am standing behind the door,' I whispered.
'And I will push the door and go straight ahead,' she too started whispering.
'The moment you go two steps ahead, I will grab you from behind.'
I don't know what was happening to us. Was it the fruit of spending those weeknights without
talking to each other, or something else?
Outside, it had started raining, adding to the sensation of the moment. I could hear the rain
spattering on the ground, and the cold breeze blew open the windows and came into my room that
night.
'Shona!' she cried my name with pleasure.
'And grabbing you from behind, I will take you and lock you in my arms.' I closed my eyes. And
maybe she did the same when she said, 'Shona!' again, very slowly, full of love, taking a deep breath.
'And with my hand I will bring your long hair in front of your left shoulder and I will bring my face
very close to your neck on the right, with my other hand playing on your bare waist …'
I tried to keep my emotions in check because I did not want to scare my sweetheart too much, so
early. She didn't say anything for a while, but our breaths were getting louder. My own heart waspounding inside me with pleasure.
'And then?' she finally asked. I understood her state of mind, the ripples, the troughs and crests in
her heart. But, above all, she wanted to enjoy that moment with me.
And I answered her, 'And then you will feel my lips behind your right ear, on your neck.'
'Mmm,' she murmured, breathing heavily.
'I am feeling something so different at this moment. Are you?' I asked her very silently.
'Yes, something very different. What are you feeling?'
'With you in my arms, I am able to smell the cologne that you are wearing, your sweet feminine
fragrance. I feel my lips kissing your shoulder and going down your back, licking the slightest sweat
adhering to you …' By this time, even my voice had started shaking. I asked her, 'Tell me, what are
you feeling?'
'I feel …' she was struggling to complete her sentence and I could still hear her breath loud and
clear.
She hesitated. I waited.
'I … I feel,' she paused and then tried again, 'I feel as if you are hypnotizing me, casting a magic
spell that I don't want to come out of.'
She was breathing faster now, shivering. Her passionate voice was stimulating me further.
'Now my other hand is moving on your waist. And then …' I paused.
'And then …?' she insisted I go on.
'And then, all of a sudden, it has started raining,' I brought the rain from outside my window into
our sweet dream.
'Mmm … And then …?'
Very slowly, I whispered, 'And then, I have turned you towards me. We are wet from the rain. I am
watching you in your wet sari which is sticking to your body. I am seeing the raindrops falling on your
forehead, running down your nose and hanging on your lips for a while before running further down
your body. Strands of your wet hair are glued to your cheek.'
'And then …?' She started whispering again.
'You are looking down, somewhere on my shirt, too shy to look into my eyes. I am raising your
chin, to help you look into and read my eyes which are staring at you.'
'A … n … d … t … h … e … n …?' she was hardly able to speak any more and was losing her
words.
'With our heads tilted slightly, my lips feel the raindrops sticking to your lips, swallowing them,
further discovering the softness of your lips …' And that passionate kiss which I described to her
lasted for quite a while. That was the first time, I felt, she allowed me to cross a few boundaries. Miles
apart from each other, we felt each and every shiver of that moment.
We were lost in each other when, suddenly, she turned mischievous. 'Hey! People down there will
be looking for us. I have to rush before my parents come upstairs, searching for me,' she shouted.
I wonder how she collected her energy and, more than that, how she remembered the fake people in
the fake rain, on that fake engagement night (though it was to come true, in a few months).
'Aah! The people down there will be happy with their food,' I tried to convince her.
'Nah … please. Come on dear, now open your arms. We have to go and change our clothes before
they see us,' she urged, laughing at the virtual reality we were in.'Ok. But on one condition.'
'And what's that?'
'I want to see you while you change.'
'Oh … ho … ho … tumhe ungli kya pakdaai, tum to pura haath pakdna chahte ho. Zyaada galat
fehmiyaan mat paalo,' she warned me with a little laugh.
'Haath pakdna? Not just the hand, I want to hold all of you!' I responded. I tried hard to convince
her, but she didn't allow me, even though it was only make believe.
That night, we slept quite late. No, it wasn't night. I guess it was close to sunrise when we finally
hung up.
I stared at my cellphone and, rising from my bed, I walked to the window. I noticed that the rain had
stopped by then. I was tired and hungry, so I picked up an apple from the kitchen and, munching on it,
I lay down on my bed. Then I went over our conversation again, over all that had happened, every
detail … I don't know when I fell asleep and started dreaming …
The next morning was beautiful, with the sunrays bouncing into my room through the window. The
mornings after a rainy night are really pleasant. With my eyes partially open, I smiled to myself,
recalling the previous night. I managed to pull myself up, sat on the bed and turned to see myself in
the mirror, still smiling. Then I asked my reflection, 'Still in her hangover, haan?'
And what a night it was. If a hypothetical kiss could give so much a pleasure, what would a
practical one be like, I wondered. Then I decided to call her up—to tease her for all she ended up
doing the night before.
She picked up the phone in her sleep and asked, 'Mera baby uth gaya?'
'Aah … You kill me when you talk so sweet.'
'Really?'
'Hmm …'
'But I am still sleepy and want to return to my dreams again,' she said.
Mischievously, I shouted at her, 'Sleep? I am here to wake you up! Do you even remember what all
you said to a guy last night? I mean, I wonder how you could be so open and bold, forcing me to say
all that. You know, I was struggling to get over the embarrassment. I never thought you would cross
all the boundaries of shyness, ethical values …'
I had not yet finished my speech when she woke up completely and shouted back at me, 'Aaye-haye
… haye … You guys! How cunning you are, my God! All you boys are alike. The lines you said just
now should be mine actually. You stole my lines just because I was sleepy. You crossed all your
boundaries and pulled me to the other side as well. How could you do that? You guys play so smart
with innocent girls like me …'
'Hey,' I said, interrupting, trying to calm her down. But she kept going like an opposition party's
representative on NDTV's Big Fight.
'… All you guys are like chameleons, changing your colour when required … You …'
And I was trying to recall where I had heard about chameleons.
Probably in Biology. Was it some kind of flower which changed colour at night and returned to its
original colour in the morning? I think it was something else. I wasn't that good with Bio.
Keeping the chameleon at bay, I tried to interrupt again, 'Achcha baba, listen to me.''… And only you boys want to talk like this, we girls never …' She was not through yet.
'Hey, Khushi …'I said, but she was completely ignoring me. '… And you know what? All you boys
…'
'OK ENOUGH!' I shouted, 'YOU KNOW WHAT? THAT HALF AN HOUR LAST NIGHT IS SO
PRECIOUS TO ME, THAT I AM READY TO DIE A HUNDRED DEATHS TO ENJOY THAT
AGAIN WITH YOU … AND JUST YOU.' This time, she heard every word loud and clear. I
continued, 'Because it was so sweet, so loving, and so beautiful. And I am so happy that you trust me
enough to allow me to get so close toy ou. And I want to say that … I love you so much.'
And she melted like an ice-cream in summer.
'Sachhi?' Her innocent, sweet voice was calm now.
'Muchhi. I will wait for our engagement evening to come true this way. Just make sure that you
don't put on a lot of lipstick.'
'Shut up,' she said shyly.
All day I waited for the confirmation of news which would have been good, if it had been at another
time. Unfortunately, I got the confirmation and I had to tell her and my family too. I wondered if she
would be happy when she found out, or sad.
Still, without thinking any further, I called her up to tell her. When she did not pick her phone, I got
back to my studies. Five minutes later, I heard my cellphone ringing. I could see her name flashing on
the screen.
I picked up the phone and said, 'Hi, Jaaaaaaaaaan,' very romantically, with a small kiss.
'Uh … Hi.'
Damn! It was Neeru, her younger sister. What a blunder. What should I say now? Should I talk or
should I just disconnect? I was panicking. With the kind of image I had projected to her family, that
first line would have been a shock for sure.
'How are you?' Neeru asked me, breaking the silence.
'Uh … I am fine. How are you? And how come you called up from her cell,' I asked, scratching my
head and wondering whether she hadn't heard my previous line because of some chamatkaar or due to
some fault in the phone or the network.
'I am fine. Actually, Khushi was in the washroom and I was about to take your call when the ring
stopped. So I dialed the missed-call number. Well, here she is, back in this room. And now she is
struggling with me to snatch her cellphone …' and her voice faded into the background.
Finally, Khushi said, 'Haan … Hello,' defending herself from her sister's punches. Neeru wanted to
talk to me, and it was probably the only time when I felt uncomfortable talking to her, just because of
the way the call started.
'Hey, thank God you came,' I said to her.
'Shona, ek minute,' she paused with that sentence to hear something which Neeru was trying to tell
her at the other end. That 'ek minute' lasted for five minutes and I realized how wrong I was to think
of any chamatkaar.
'What?' Khushi shouted, amused, and laughed crazily.
'Hi, meri jaan!' Neeru shouted from behind and joined her sister's laughter.
'OH MY GOD!' I thought, feeling very embarrassed.But Khushi didn't come to my defence. Rather, she joined her sister in celebrating that moment.
'Damn!' I thought. 'Her little sister talked to me as if she didn't hear anything and look at her now.
Girls!' I now remembered what a chameleon was, and thought the analogy suited girls even better—
they change colours so fast.
So that was how I became a joke for the two sisters.
I almost forgot the reason I had called her, when Khushi came back at last, taking a break from her
laughter.
'Yeah … Tell me now. She's gone to another room.'
'Your sister is so cunning. She behaved as if she did not hear anything.'
'After all, she's my sister!'
'Now I won't be able to face her for the next few days.'
'Oh come on! After all you are her jiju, and such things keep happening between jiju and saali.'
'But, the next time, I won't begin with romantic lines, unless I make sure it's you on phone.'
'Ok baba, now tell me. What were you going to say?'
After a small pause, I said in a single go, 'I need to go to the US for four weeks, for my project.'
'What?' Actually it was more like, 'W-H-A-T?????' A single word with a thousand thoughts
running through it, all in different directions.
'Yes.'
'Why so suddenly?' she asked impatiently.
'I knew that this thing was in the pipeline. But I was trying to avert it for the CAT in November.
There isn't any escape from this now.'
'But … you can make any high priority excuse, right?'
'Hmm … But it's going to matter for my career too, dear. Listen. Please don't get angry. At this
point, I am a little confused about how I will do this. I mean, leaving the IMS classes, the mock-tests.
I need your support.'
'IMS, mock-tests, career … You remember everything, but what about me? Busy in our office,
career and IMS classes, we have not even seen each other yet. Ours is such a different story … And
now you're saying you are going to the States …' She was about to cry.
'Hey … But I have something to cheer you up.'
'What is it?'
'I will be boarding my plane from New Delhi. I'll take a day's leave so that I can spend an entire
day with you. We'll finally be seeing each other! Isn't that something to cheer up about?'
Even I knew that it wasn't the perfect way to cheer her up—spending an entire day with her and
then leaving the country for more than a month. But the fact that we would get to spend an entire day
with each other gave some comfort to our hearts. It was not as if we had any option other than eagerly
waiting for that day to arrive and then trying to make it last as long as a year.
What was surprising, though, was that an official, on-site trip was giving us the opportunity to see
each other for the very first time. At times, we wondered how busy our life was: running from office
to IMS, from career to family, but with no time to see the person with whom we were going to spend
the rest of our lives.
Every passing day was marked. And as time passed, our feelings got stronger. The excitement was
increasing, both, in the mind and in the heart. And finally, the day arrived when we met each other forthe very first time.
It is a hot, sticky Sunday afternoon. We are watching the same movie on our televisions: she, in
Faridabad; I, in Bhubaneswar. And I am doing this because she sent me an SMS, telling me to watch
it.
In the movie, the heroine is packing her bags after having a big fight with her hubby.
At this very moment, Khushi calls me up. And putting herself in that woman's shoes, I don't
understand why, she says, 'You know what? If someday I am so angry that I want to run away from you
… just do a simple thing …'
I don't say anything, but she continues.
'Simply run to me and give me a tight hug, no matter how much I hit you then. But give me a warm,
tight hug. Don't say a word. Just hold me in your arms for sometime … And, a little later, help me in
unpacking my bags. Bolo karoge na?'