Crush Chronicles

Bustling with energy, the elated Pavitra is running in and out of the small parlour, delightfully decorated with fresh marigolds and musky roses from corner to corner. She checks the small hawan-mandap and then dashes out to supervise the guys putting up the neon LED sign-board which reads:   ‘BARSANA’ , in bold yellow capitals, followed by “Kanu’s Shringaar Parlour” in a smaller italicized font. Back inside,   she quickly scans the display-cases neatly stacked with bright coloured ‘ poshaks’ , in different sizes, fabrics, and ornamentation. Then, she just opens and shuts the glass wall-cases full of the small intricate jewelry and other n number of accessories.   Pavitra looks at her watch, bites her lip and calls out, “Nanduuuuu, get the Prasad ready!”  Finally, she opens the huge octagonal glass box, fixed on the top of the high sandalwood platform in the centre of the parlour, and runs her fingers on the bottles, boxes, brushes and pens to be used for the shringaar of Krishna. The

  Dressed in a black micro shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt for the night, with most of her beautifully shaped body exposed, Poonam looked like anything but a bride. It hardly made any difference. Nothing in this marriage fitted into the definition of an Indian marriage. But it was one anyway, and Poonam had vowed to make it work; she was pretty sure it definitely would work better than many of the kind she knew.  The cool April breeze was giving her gooseflesh, as if urging her to get into bed, but she was stark awake. Sitting in an easy chair, in the balcony, Poonam looked at her watch – 1:00 am. Her shiny black eyes lined with thick black kajal, her lovely face in a trance, her wavy hair being soft lifted by the gentle night wind – she looked like an enchantress. There was so much going on in her mind, that it was being difficult to pinpoint what it exactly was about. Poonam unlocked her phone and texted Vishwajeet, “Missing you more than ever…” - the message which she had been sendi

... she had pushed the glass door of his office and entered. It was like she had gate crashed his soul. Vishwajeet had forgotten to breathe and blink, and Poonam had smiled. She knew well, how and how much her sex appeal impacted men. Clad in a maroon and black saree, her   tan-highlighted hair falling on her shoulders, long threader earrings violently playing with her cheeks and neck, Poonam had literally bombed Vishwajeet’s peaceful existence, perhaps never to be normal again. With a tote bag on her shoulder and the car key in her hand, she raised her eyebrows; and, after waiting in vain for him to be normal, she took a seat. Trying to overcome her aura, Vishwajeet inhaled through his mouth to fill his lungs with oxygen, and it cleared his brain a little. He was looking damn fanciable in his white linen shirt and that disoriented look on his innocent face.   Poonam had fallen in love with him at first sight for the man that he was- though average looking, she found him the most lova

Lying on her back, with her right arm half covering her eyes, Preeti is trying hard to make a decision. She is fighting back her tears –tears of frustration –of thwarted dreams –of broken heart –of love lost –of a gross miscalculation on the part of an excellent MBA that she is. But happiness is not like a mathematical output that you get after putting the right numbers together… In life,   2+2 doesn’t come to 4 for everyone. Preeti sits up, popping against the expensive silk bolsters bought by Laksh from the Oma Store in Elante Mall, during one of their regular shopping sprees in the initial months of their marriage –before the bitterness crept in. Their swanky apartment which she loved so much, is now just a shelter house for two bodies –who hate each other with all their might, but are still stuck together. “Why can’t I just leave him and move on? What is stopping me? Am I begging for his love? Do I still have hopes from him?” Preeti’s dilemma is getting deeper and deeper. She still

  “The man of my dreams!” Poorvi whispers so loudly that it is audible to the old lady sitting next to her, who stares at her –intrigued and a little angry. Poorvi grins at her and gestures her to go inside before her… a favour she is going to give to the rest of the patients in the waiting room as well. She is the first one to reach Dr Vihaan’s Clinic but shall be the last one to get herself treated. Poorvi does this every time, she visits his Practice. Sitting in the plush waiting lounge of one of the city’s best ophthalmologists, Poorvi is tempted to reveal her love and fondness for him, but she can’t do it unless she knows that he is partial towards her. She whispers, “Nooooo! It’s too early. I can’t put these ‘professional meetings’ at stake.” Poorvi is 27, established as an entrepreneur, not in a hurry to marry. Her first romantic encounter with Vihaan was at her own Fashion Boutique some months back, when he was buying his mother a designer dress for the inauguration of his new

As Prabh entered the university gates on her scooter on the first day of her Masters, she filled her lungs with the sweet breeze and exclaimed, “How amazing my next two years are going to be!” She just realized that the campus was far more interesting than what it seemed when she had come there with her friends for admission.   Prabh was exhilarated –rather amazed at the magnificence of everything –from the landscaping to the departmental parkings; and from the classrooms to the eateries. Prabh had an innate love for literature, and a wonderful command over language –the blood in her veins seemed to comprise of stories more than other things. She knew she would love her classes, but she never knew she would love the campus and the faculty too with an equal passion. Prabh had instantly decided to enroll for a Doctorate too after completing her Masters. The beginning of this literary journey had proved to be beautiful, so, Pabh was excited to welcome every new day with open arms. She was

Pouting and laughing hard into the camera, brushing her cheeks with both her loving daughters hugging her from either side, Priya’s whole life flashes before hers eyes – the excruciating pain of all those years spent in a toxic wedlock before finally walking out on Soumil; the scathing suffocating remarks of the people around her; the most frightening fears while raising Anoushka and Alia, all by herself; and all those weak moments when she had to put in herculean efforts to keep going –farther, still farther. Maintaining her grace all through, while carrying the social stigma of a divorced woman was hard even in her highly educated world. Priya and her girls were vulnerable but never scared! They have been constantly struggling but never stopped loving their life. Today, Priya has attained absolute bliss –her daughters are settled and grateful. The remnants of the lingering fear and pain have been assuaged today. Priya is complete now! This is what Nirvana feels like!  if you like to

  But, Prerna had always denied Naveen a slot in the ‘Good Guy’ category. She had a crush on him for all that he was, but the moral freak in her refused to approve his ways.   Naveen’s major preoccupations   at school were:   faking compliments at every girl whether elder or younger; kissing girls in the unfrequented corners of the school building;   going for coffee dates and tequila shots on Sunday evenings with the ‘chosen ones’;   daring to indiscriminately admire aloud the looks of every female; breaking the puritanical rules of the Convent   … He was a demigod… The Naveen Behl, for whom every forbidden act was a must-do, and getting away with it was a cake-walk. His company worked like a panacea for everyone, and disliking him was actually a criminal offence.   Had her words’ “I hate you with all my strength”,   been heard by Naveen’s devotees, they would have hanged the ugly Prerna for this act of blasphemy.   Do you have any such memories of teenage love? Share in the comment b

Looking out of the glass doors of the café, watching the unending line of cars, Prerna associated this noisy chaos with the booming train of thoughts in her mind. Putting in her best effort to sound composed and confident, but still fiddling with the car keys, she asked Naveen what had brought him to Chandigarh. Naveen had always been fond of drama, in behavior as well as speech. He had absolutely unnerved her by bringing his face close to hers; then, raising his eyebrows, assuming an air of importance, peering into her huge eyes, he just started to answer Prerna’s question, when his phone rang. He excused himself saying it was extremely urgent, and Prerna heaved a sigh of relief. While he was walking up and down the cafe, talking on the phone, Prerna sat in her chair, still and silent like a rock. She stared at the back of his head, getting awfully nostalgic, murmured… “My first love!”