1. OS 20: The Temperamental Tyrant (Part 1)

Will be posting today. Finally.

Sorry for the delay, darlings. Had to have a minor surgical procedure. Now back to form and raring to go.

Thanks for your patience.

Love,
Smita

The Temperamental Tyrant  (Part 1)

Hariprakash sighed looking at the stairs. His knees were killing him, but Arnav bhaiyya had to have his early morning tea, hot as hell and black as sin.

As he made to move ahead, a sweet voice stopped him.

“Hariprakashji, I will carry the tray up. Aap takleef na karein. Which room is it?” she asked, taking the silver tray from him.

He turned to look at the sweet, sanskaari girl standing by him, dressed in a fluorescent pink salwar kameez, stitched by a darzi in one of the bylanes of Lucknow. Her nose pin twinkled and her hazel eyes shone.

HP smiled fondly at the girl. “Khushiji, it is the last room. It is very kind of you to offer to help me.”

Khushi smiled widely at him and made to climb the steps.

HP’s face lost its smile.

“Khushiji,” he called.

She turned to look at him.

“Suniye....knock on the door. Arnav bhaiya is very particular, very set in his ways,” he said, almost hyperventilating.

“Arnav bhaiya?” she asked, frowning.

“You met Anjali bitiya yesterday,” he reminded her. “Arnav bhaiya is her brother.”

“Acha,” Khushi said with a smile. The brother of the pious lady who seemed permanently attached to the pooja thali must be older than her, she thought. Otherwise why would Hariprakashji call him Arnav bhaiya?

“He is...he is thoda gussawala, thoda...khadoos. Be very careful when dealing with him. Knock on the door. Open it. Place the tray by his bed, draw the curtains and leave,” HP instructed, a scared look on his face. He glanced at the clock. “Go fast. It is time for his tea.”

Older than Anjaliji, with a beard and matted locks and a temper to boot. Pukka sant aadmi, like sage Durvasa who was known for his temper, she concluded. 

“Don’t worry about me, Hariprakashji. I am Khussi. How can anyone be gussa with me?” she asked, beaming away. Then, with a flounce, she turned and went up the steps, humming Dekha he pehli baar, saajan ki aankhon mein pyaar...tan ta  na na, tan ta na na, tan ta na na, tan.

Hariprakashji wiped off the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead in spite of the chill in the early morning air. Pyaar? He hoped she was not fated to witness one of Arnav bhaiya’s legendary temper tantrums! The last three men employed to assist him had run for their lives, fled the house before they had unpacked completely. He hoped Khushiji was made of sterner stuff and stayed at least a month.

                                                                 ***

Khushi knocked on the door, still humming the love song,

Dilbar tujhe milne ko kab se tha mein bekarar...

Ab jaake aaya mere bechain dil ko karaar....

She frowned. There was no reply.

Hariprakashji had asked her to knock and enter. He hadn’t mentioned she had to wait for the bearded ascetic’s permission.

So she pushed the door open with one hand, the other balancing the silver tray with one mug of an evil-looking, black concoction.

The room was dark and smelled faintly of sandalwood.

Her guess was correct, she congratulated herself. Hari Prakashji’s Arnav bhaiya was definitely a sanyasi who did pooja in his room. Otherwise, why would his room smell of sandalwood? Like brother, like sister, she thought.

Breathing in the fragrance, an appreciative Khushi looked around for the windows so that she could draw the curtains and let some light in. She finally located them and moved towards them on silent feet to draw the curtains.

Mellow, golden light filled the room.

Through the glass windows, Khushi laid her eyes on the most beautiful garden she had ever seen, set around a small pool.

She drew in a deep breath, thrilled at the sight.

She turned around and moved away from the window, to set the tray on a low table nearby.

Light fell on a sleeping Arnav’s face.

He stirred and opened his eyes, expecting to see HP.

Pink? Really?

He blinked. When had HP taken to wearing a pink so bright that he needed shades to see it?

“HP?” he called, his husky voice turned huskier by sleep.

His voice sent shivers down Khushi’s spine.

She turned to look at him and stood gaping at him, her eyes wide in shock.

"What the!" he exclaimed.

He sat up in bed, the sheet falling to his lap, revealing his finely muscled chest clothed in a beige t-shirt.

Her eyes ran over his molten chocolate eyes, the unruly hair, the finely shaped jaw, the stubble, his cute ears and his straight nose. She tried to keep her eyes on his face and not slip down to peek at his chest. After all, she was Sasi Gupta’s sanskaari daughter. From Lucknow.

“You are not HP!” he declared, his shocked eyes trying to take in her bright and colourful gorgeousness, her dangling earrings, her nose pin, her hazel eyes and her open mouth.

“You are not old!” she protested. “Where is your beard?”

                                                        ***