Posted:
Originally posted by: MayurChan
This is a very well written part..looks like after the divorce phase..
Hope to read the next part soonish...
Thank you. I am glad you appreciated.
Yes, it is written from the divorce part.😎
Originally posted by: MayurChan
This is a very well written part..looks like after the divorce phase..
Hope to read the next part soonish...
Thank you. I am glad you appreciated.
Yes, it is written from the divorce part.😎
Well,
Hello everyone. I am back again with part 2. Thank you for everyone who coaxed me to write part 2 and continue it. I had written a piece for something else long back. I just felt this suited Rishabh and Prerna so much. I hope you all like it.
Bouquets and brickbats are welcome.
So, here is part two.
I am requesting everyone to listen to this song while reading the chapter. It will be superb and the right FEELS!
Piu
Baby, do you understand me now?
Sometimes I feel a little mad
But don't you know that no one alive can always be an angel
When things go wrong I feel real bad.
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree
With a joy that's hard to hide
And sometimes it seems that, all I have to do is worry
And then you're bound to see my other side
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
If I seem edgy, I want you to know,
That I never mean to take it out on you
Life has its problems, and I get my share,
And that's one thing I never mean to do
Cause I love you,
Oh,
Oh, oh, oh, baby - don't you know I'm human
I have thoughts like any other one
Sometimes I find myself, Lord, regretting
Some foolish thing, some little simple thing I've done
I'm just a soul whose intentions are good
Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood
Songwriters: Bennie Benjamin / Gloria Caldwell / Sol Marcus
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLpgtGDwsRs
Musings and Contemplations- Part 2
Somewhere on the way to Goa
The road was slippery, the mountains were snaky, the steering wheel played to his fingers and Rishabh was uninhibited. It was almost dusk now, his dark Ray-Ban glasses made the orange sky even more polaroid. The mountains and the valley beneath seemed to stir the tonic air. The emerald greenery was on the verge of melting in the arms of darkness. Danger never touched him, and scary road trips inflated him. His vintage open roof Red Ford Mustang 1960 was moving at a soporific speed, just enough to keep him glued to the music as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The beauty of his car was just as he liked it. Red and Rare! The devil's charm hanging from the hook near his windshield shook and danced with the wind; the drive was anything but simple. Being lonely and without anyone to control him, Rishabh was unstoppable always. The moisture-laden winds hinted rain; he could breathe it himself.
Rishabh's hair was standing at its edge, pearls of sweat-drenched his forehead even with the dewy rain mists floating around. Goa was still a few miles away. What made him instinctively drive instead of taking a direct flight was beyond him too.
The time-fighting Mustang was racing with a turbulent speed, the needles shook in the speedometer, and the gears were changing in Rishabh's hands as if he was playing smooth shots in a golf club. Like him, his Mustang was old, lonely, and a weathered fighter against destiny. Rishabh's fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and his lips licked the last few traces of the whiskey droplets which he had shoved down his throat.
His phone buzzed.
"Where are you, Mr Bajaj?", the familiar sweetness answered.
Prerna was waiting for him desperately.
"Will be right there, Prerna.", Rishabh's lips thinned out in a perfect smile, disclosing the sinister gleam between his lips.
Rishabh rattled the accelerator to its ultimate limit throwing away his phone.
His otherwise gelled hair flew wildly, wafted by the wanton breeze on his broad, sturdy shoulders. The Mustang cut its way through the thick blanket of evening fog, and its headlights flickered peeping through the haze. Lips moist, eyes twinkling!
With nothing but emptiness in his heart and frolic in his voice, Rishabh absorbed the sprinkle of mists falling on the face. The icy chills of wind gave him unknown thrills. The night was now as old as he was.
Last year had been a night of dreams and nightmares. His whiskey did not make him numb anymore.
One, in particular, was repetitive and rhetorical like poetical justice for all the tears of Prerna in their brief marital life!
Rishabh's Dream
Every night the softness of Rishabh's mattress suddenly would become taught beneath him. He would open his eyes gasping in astonishment part bemused and part delusional. His breathing would become rapid when would he see walls of gold caging him. He would feel as if someone had suddenly hung him in the air-giddy lightheaded with numerous butterflies fluttering their wings all together in the pit of his stomach. He would spring up from his bed running helter-skelter, trying to find a space to breathe. A massive flight of pure golden staircase would be right in front of him, but he would fall down with every step he tried to move forward. He would feel trapped in a dazzling treacherous maze from where he found no escape –it was unrecognizable and too overwhelming for his senses. And finally it would all happen in a split second; a shadow of a woman would emerge and engulf him. His body would burn in flames. The flames that would rise from her; so high and stable that they could have even scorched the sun. He would wake up with a jolt every night.
Rishabh's drive was more of retrospection and a disjointed chain of thoughts.
He was no longer the same Rishabh Bajaj whose ego was mortally wounded when he had squabbled in bemused derision grabbing Prerna from the clutches of her happy fate.
Their marriage had made him desperate, and no matter how much he had held to his last chance of happiness, his family was sacrificed by none other than him. When had he become so selfless?
Without patience and artistry, even the best sketches can turn into nothing but mere lines drawn without heart. Prerna and Rishabh in their marriage had just aligned like disjointed lines scratched on a canvas. The picture could have been beautiful, but now it was just a razzmatazz of a puzzle desperately tried to be solved within set parameters.
He had played with her like a gullible rag doll. Somehow he was angry and hungry at that time!
Every insult, every second-hand suit, every broken piece of toy he got from the world in return of his childhood labour used to swim before Rishabh's eyes. Prerna seemed to be his revolt against the abuse he had suffered as a child. He would have her by hook or crook, he had thought at that time.
A cruel dark lust had risen in Rishabh's mind when he was desperately trying to hold onto her.
Revenge was best served when cold and her coldness had made him more eager to swallow her up like a famished beast. But, then he knew no other way to love than to possess her. Love had left him long back. He knew the true meaning of love only when he had finally set her free.
Now, he was left with nothing but guilt. Teary-eyed gulping a colossal lump of pain and burden of scavenging guilt in his heart, Rishabh drank to his heart's content while driving.
If he had met Prerna before anyone else, life would have been different, isn't it?
He was once a young boy, too, with hearts and balloons. Rishabh raised the volume of the song!
Flashback
Roman Theatre Lisbon
Years ago
When he opened the door pulling the steely knob of the entrance door, Rishabh was plunged in darkness with floodlights focussed on the stage and roars of claps.
The hero of the play dressed as Hamlet was mouthing the most heart churning soliloquies with an enthralled audience listening to the passionate outburst in undivided attention.
He gave a slant smile at the stage and clasping the bouquet of carnations near his bosom walked through the dark alley which led him to enormous empty hallways and then finally to the board of a door which read the green room.
Rishabh once again checked the temperature of the Port wine he had brought with other cookies in a basket. The diamond's glimmer which was in his pocket locked in a soft blue velvet case sparkled in his eyes. He had Kukki out of wedlock with Menaka, who was a vagabond and barely cared for human ties. Leaving Kukki with him, she mostly spent her time in theatre.
But, he dreamt of a family, Kukki was now 2 years old. She needed her, he needed her.
He will have a family of his own. Slightly nervous, but with dreams of hopes in his eyes, he quietly knocked the door apprehensively.
After waiting for some torturous minutes, when he got no response from inside; impatient that he was, he couldn't resist himself from barging right in.
Dull blue light and a suffocated smoky room welcomed him. He coughed miserably and within seconds as his vision cleared the earth beneath him came crumbling into pieces. His knees wobbled clueless with the image that floated from behind the smoky film in front of his horrified eyes.
1,2, 3 He lost count of the men and women stuffed in that room swinging in euphoria. Curls of smoke puffed in the air and naked doped people taking turns at each other. In that crowd of flesh, he saw another recognisable flesh–Menaka. Her legs spread were and her grunts audible in the throes of ecstasy with numerous men pouncing at her.
Whatever lied before him was far beyond his threshold of patience; Menaka was lost in her own world with people of her kind shunning away any sense of worldly rules.
He felt as if thousands of penknives stabbed him like needles and pins all at once. The bouquet of carnations fell on the floor along with the basket spilling the most exceptional port wine, causing a blot on the carpeted floor.
Rishabh couldn't focus on anything as he turned his face and fumbled his way back into the dark alley. The pain in his heart was excruciating trapped in the cruel jaws of destiny.
"Don't be shocked. Why repress nature in the form of morality? Pleasure can never be sinful.", words of Menaka from months ago seemed to swoop upon him mercilessly. It was the day when she had introduced her to some weird cult theatre group.
Rishabh at that time never knew that Menaka would crush his heart for the sheer fake joy.
The web of illusion which he had nurtured, spun with the threads of love and hope had been ripped apart by pitiless hands, and he wasn't even supposed to complain. He walked back into the auditorium in the crowd of people.
He felt darkness approaching, the voices around him overwhelmed as he loosened his tie gasping for breath sometimes tumbling on the floor and then crawling back, taking the support of the walls. The roar of adulation being showered in abundance in the form of thunderous claps vibrated like a gong near his ears.
Hotel in Goa
The cactus and the tumbleweeds wilted in the pitiless ferocity of the sun in the afternoon in her presidential hotel suite balcony, but now it was cool. She waited patiently for Mr Bajaj. Kukki and Prem were left behind in Kolkata with her parents.
Her life was staring at her like a forbidding wasteland as she contemplated sipping her tea on the window.
Throughout her day, she had stared at her reflection in the mirror. The vermillion, the mangalsutra, all the signs of matrimony seemed to take pity and jabber at her at the same time. Married yet unfulfilled, loved yet alone. She had closed her eyes every now and then trying to think that all this would be merely a dream, but the moment she opened her eyes again, her perfect dream world was nothing but a cave with no light. Unending, lonely and gloomy.
A few days ago she would have given her soul for a tender breeze of love, now, destiny seeming worse than the dead of winter of a desert, she longed for the happiness to come back to her.
Hours of thinking had led her nowhere. She had no one to share, no one to tell the agony of her heart. She didn't have any answers to any of her questions. She had been cheated! Cheated by her fate! Stung by the one whom she was ready to give her life for!! But then how could she complain now? Destiny in itself had cheated with this cruel mockery of the wheels of fortune.
Her heart scathed, burned with sinking misery. The fire of desires which had kindled was washed away by her saline tears.
On the road to the Waterfall
The evening light had faded entirely; it was dark and dewy now. The dark and dreary but moonlit night was a dramatic riot of shadows and light. As their flaming red Ford Mustang manoeuvred from the freshly coated granite road to soggy and cobbled bylanes surrounded by thick trees, they met even stranger new shadows and dark patches around them.
Anurag's trusted helper Manilal, the nephew of Debu da was supposed to do the job of transporting Rishabh and Prerna to the Dudhsagar Falls in Goa where they were supposed to camp. Manilal had heard gossips about the Prem being Mr Bajaj's son.
Anurag couldn't trust Prerna even for a second. So, when Prerna had asked for permission to come on this trip, he had quietly nodded with indifference and only laid forward the condition of Manilal joining them as a helper throughout.
The trees cast long shadows on the path as the sky was dazzling with boorish moon overhead gazing at the three haunted souls.
Rishabh could not help being amused by this stupidity of Anurag.
"You are such a silly little boy, Basu.", he chuckled as he drove and set his rearview mirror to have a glimpse of Prerna at the back seat. His side place was occupied by Manilal, who was super excited.
The beautiful fresh breeze swimming through Rishabh's hair directed him over his shoulder from where he glanced at the back seat.
Manilal suddenly lost patience and wanted to head back, utterly bored with no juicy snippets to satisfy his voyeuristic unease. A pothead that he was, he saw no communication but silence between both of them.
Prerna, he saw, was buried under silence hanging on the window and on another side Rishabh was driving ramrod straight without even glancing at the Prerna-sober and stiffened with impeccable grace. This trip; he thought was not as much fun as he would have imagined.
The tyres fought with the soft muddy ground, and finally, he pulled over the brakes as the camp was erected a few yards away from them.
Manilal couldn't help but chuckle when he saw Prerna refused to take the hand of Rishabh while getting out of the car.
He was even more amused when he saw a Lady running towards them dressed in track pants, and she literally jumped over the Rishabh like a vixen.
He couldn't hear anything as his mentally intoxicated state was stuck with lusting at Menaka's pale ivory skin as she hovered around Rishabh. Menaka held Prerna's hands out of wretched shyness mixed with a sense of unhappiness.
"Sahib, Shall I park the Vehicle here and put up the tents?", Manilal's gathered his voice to capture the intentness of Rishabh.
"Yes !! Hmm, put two. One for me and one for Mrs Basu.", he spoke hesitantly and lowering his eyes walked behind the two ladies with his hands stuffed deep inside his pockets.
Manilal chewed some betel nut from a little pouch stuffed in his shirt pocket and grumbled opening the rear of the car after this bumpy ride on mud roads. He was utterly tired.
We need a part two that was so awesome let him.claim kuki mother she needs to become Mrs Bajaj now .
Gave you part 2 as well. Hope you like it.
This is brilliant. Why did you end there?
Basu does not deserve a fairy tale ending if he can’t recall his actions.
Please write a part 2
Thank you so much.
I continued☺️ Hope you like the second part too.
Originally posted by: manzilmukul
Ramya🤗
How I missed your comments on my stories❤️
Communication had always been their forte. Remember, from the show. Approachable and communication.☺️
@bold Do you really think, I would give screen space to BAsu🤣
I don't mind you giving screen space to Basu if Bajaj shows him who is the BOSS😉😎🤣
I don't mind you giving screen space to Basu if Bajaj shows him who is the BOSS😉😎🤣
This is not a BajRag story 🤣
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