A/N: Hello all forumwasis! This is Niki. I had been a silent reader in the forum and someone who had followed the show from the very first day. Also, I am a common fan of both Zain and Shrenu and one of the lucky few who find both of their favourites brought in for the same show.
The revamp has begun and the show will definitely change. Whether for the better or worse, I am glad the Kavya-Vyom angle is over. The makers clearly knew nothing to do about it. Coming to the recent episodes and the tendency that the CV's might have of distributing moral fallacies, I decided to pen an OS on Kabir.
This is my first post in the forum and if the show inspires more, I will continue churning up more fictional tales.
Cheers!!!!!
HOME
It was not that he hated her.
He sure did not.
In fact, he could not.
Even after all the drama that had happened, Kabir could not bring himself to hate her. Not even half-a-year year had passed after the very reality of their lives was unravelled to dig out long-buried skeletons in their closets and his family had suffered terribly; both guilty and innocent spared no mercy, yet he was not able to hate her.
He supposed it was the conditioning he had received during his years in the Army. Being conditioned to think without bias or an iota of emotion dulling his perspective, he could not make himself give into his mother’s tears or his brother’s frustration without feeling that dull urge cropping in him; reminding him of the balance of crimes.
He remembered what his Chachi had said once after his father had died; collapsed like a rag doll into the deep valley which gobbled him up like a quicksand of crimes. She had cried and mourned aloud, bemoaning how they were all orphans after P.K. Mittal had left them forever. Immediately he had to bite back the urge to retort sarcastically that in burning an innocent man, they had orphaned two little girls too who had none of the support and experience their full-fledged family had in meeting and tackling the harsh world.
His mother kept on sobbing uncontrollably. Day in and out, she would dazedly look around for her dead husband and then would again dissolve into tears. His grandfather simply sat on his chair quietly, never any complain nor any remark; silent like the blind witness that he had been to the sins of his son. His Chachi, though was quite troublesome to deal with, something her children wholeheartedly agreed. She would raze aloud at their fate and curse all day bordering on hysterics. She would berate him for not getting back their home and kept on harping at her children, showing dissatisfaction for even the most minute of things. Jay and Sonali had become much quieter and more responsible; as if the sudden turn of fortunes had taught them about the value of the luxury they had all taken for granted. In a sudden turn of events, Jay had gone and gotten a job in a sales company; a meagre pay for all the efforts but the pay was his own earning. Sonali, on the other hand, had joined a kindergarten as a temporary teacher; both to earn some money and also to keep her mind busy from the toxic atmosphere at the claustrophobic home they all lived in. Their mother was none too happy about her children doing low-class jobs and she had made it known quite loudly.
That had been one argument!
Things had gone sour from that confrontation to her finally targeting Dhruv and his failure at not even being able to recognize the reality of his wife. It had been the last straw and Dhruv who had been barely at the last beads of his sanity had burst and had stormed out of the house. It had been nearly a month now and no one knew where he was. He had clearly told them to leave him alone and had not even bothered to remain in contact.
Dhruv’s case, he could understand. His entire married life, his future dreams with his partner; everything had been a lie, a ruse. It was obvious that he would be shattered. But try as he might, Kabir could not hate her.
Her! That woman who had become the central focus of his life around whom his life seemed to revolve! The woman, who had single-handedly destroyed their lives, snatched everything from them and was now languishing in their miseries. The woman who was the embodiment of Karma catching up with his dear father!
Ms Pooja Sharma!
And that was her name which she had steadfastly hammered into them that she was Pooja and not Jhanvi whom they had all adored. Jhanvi, who had been the pillar of their family and had always, supported the right cause. Jhanvi Mittal, who had been the solution for all problems.
Jhanvi, who had unknowingly become his home!
The blaze of lightning threw the dark room to sharp relief and he sighed as he turned towards the open window. He walked towards it and instead of closing it, leaned against the pane.
Kabir had always been different. Never in good terms with his father and always in loggerheads with his principles; he had made his own path, away from P.K.Mittal and to his own goals. His father had wanted him to follow his footsteps but at his strong refusal had contended in humiliating his career choices and had fallen back to Dhruv as his consolation. The fear of another son leaving his planned future had made P.K. Mittal invest all his energy in moulding his eldest son into a submissive, meek shadow of his personality. A chance meeting with Jhanvi, then an employee in the vast Mittal Empire had razed in him the fire of having a perfect pair of heirs who would be the perfect power couple. He saw his own blood reigning after him with the perfect Jhanvi by his side, smoothing all troubles. Jhanvi, who was so much like him that she became the apple of his eye such that she was much more loved and adored than his own blood. She was everything his sons were not. A sharp business sense; a shrewd mind and a demure but manipulative countenance! P.K. Mittal felt that he had discovered a gem. And thus P.K. Mittal’s ambition had brought together Jhanviand Dhruv, the latter who fell along with the wishes of his father.
It was perhaps this very reason that Pooja hated Dhruv, Kabir mused. While she claimed loud and clear about the utter disgust and hatred she felt for anyone with the Mittal surname, there were some she hated more than the rest. She detested the sight of Dhruv. His agreeable behaviour to their father had coloured him negatively in her mind and Pooja had none of the bindings Jhanvi had and she lashed out stronger and harsher. The real fact was that she did not even hate Dhruv. Hatred meant feeling something and for her, Dhruv did not even exist. She, in fact, considered him insignificant of her notice and that, Kabir knew; hurt Dhruv more than any kind of hatred could. Indifference was a bitter pill to swallow.
Jay and Sonali, she left alone. They were wise enough to remain out of her way and she let them live in peace. His mother, his Chachi and their grandfather, on the other hand, were some of the topmost names to bear her anger and fury. At any unfortunate situation that they would come across, she would make sure to dredge up all her pain and hurt them where it would trouble them the most. According to her, they had her father’s blood on their ledger and she wanted the pound of flesh as payment. And thus the saga started, of tiny small happenings that would unknowingly latch into bigger issues and end in their family being humiliated again and again. However, there was something that was very unique about her schemes. She never hurt anyone physically except her merciless attempt to kill his father; despite her cruelty, she was not a goon. That was a category his father belonged to. She, on the other hand, destroyed her enemy through subtle patterns and devious gameplans.
His case was different. If she could, she would have left him well alone had he minded his own business. With Rani’s obsession with him, Pooja would have been glad to have him out of her hair. But try as he might, he could not choose an easier path away from her. He felt like that moth which searched for life but could not help destroy itself as it grew fascinated with the blazes of fire. He often felt like he revolved around her and wondered with fear if she had any idea how much she controlled him. Not that he would ever publicly tell a soul about it but her mind both terrified and excited him.
After spending years in camps and continuously attempting to outwit even the tiniest of pattern changes of the opponents; he had not had an easy adjustment in the mundane life. Even the entire reversal of fortunes had not managed to keep his mind occupied for long. Instead, his bored mind, wired for secrecy and espionage had latched on her mindset and her manner of manipulations and actions. For him, she had become an aspect of study; his emotions dulling to a clinical apathy as his mind tried to tear apart her psyche. It had become like a game. He would reach to some conclusion and would try to experiment by dredging up certain situations in front of her. He would then wait in the periphery and watch how she dealt with it. The few times he was right would give him that rush of success but the many times he guessed wrong would fill in him the giddy feeling of exhilaration, that there was something more to decode.
Every day he would go out and meet her in the office, all the while keeping an eye on her as he worked menial jobs she gave out to taunt him. That was all she did! In fact, in comparison to the manner she treated their elder family members and Dhruv, he almost appeared to be in her favour. Most probably he was entertainment for her. Going to her every morning, trying to outwit her in the humiliating tasks she would mete out to him, corner her into uncomfortable grounds and trouble her as she did to him; had become his daily routine. In comparison to the stagnant, stale and depressively toxic atmosphere in his home, the hours he spent in Pooja’s presence had become the necessary fuel in his otherwise colourless life.
A mirthless smile broke across his face. A dead criminal father, no permanent residence, tarnished reputation, a broken family and of course a broken marriage. Was it any wonder that he found his peace in getting into constant arguments with his enemy?
His life had become a poster with too many holes in it. But one thing had remained constant. In the past, when he had gone against his father, with none of the family in his support; it had only been Jhanvi who would listen to him and would inquire about his health. All the rest would drown him with unnecessary suggestions and harsh rebukes but she was the one who would make an effort to ask if he was fine. He had loved her then, with all his heart and soul. She had been his home, his hearth; the final place where he could be himself.
Time had passed and things had changed but even in the present, her company was only where he felt sane. It was as if all other aspects became dull in her presence, for at that moment what mattered was one-upping her in her own game and that was his peace; his home.
Now that was a tragedy definitely worth a Shakespeare. He, Kabir Mittal, had found his home in the woman who wanted to destroy his family and try as he might, he could not bring himself to regret it.
comment:
p_commentcount