She pulled her red robe tighter and quickened her steps. She had to reach the Lake before the sunset. The feelings of melancholy that permeated her Soul were beginning to evaporate. The setting sun always coloured her in its afterglow. She began to feel lighter. Then she sprinted with all her might to reach the lake before the sun settled in its cool embrace. With her red robe flying all over, she was like the red flame that was eager to sip the nectar of life. Surrounded by the tall pine trees, the lake was her refuge from the madding crowd. It was her haven. Quickly she looked around to check if anyone was around. No one could be, she was on her personal property, yet a little caution never hurt anyone. Assured that no-one was watching her, she threw her robe down and stepped into the cool water lapping it through her skin. The sun had settled in the lake and she could hold it in her lap. The warmth of the setting sun-saturated her parched womb that would never flower. She shed tears for the children that would never be born. After a while that seemed like a life time, she stepped out and ambled to her mansion: The Gift. Inscribed on a large brass plate the words greeted her at the gate, a solemn reminder of her past life. A life that she longed to forget, but for those words and the opulent lifestyle that she enjoyed.
She was flying for an international airline before she met her husband. Going to different countries and meeting different people helped her escape unhappiness temporarily, her faithful companion. She was born under the influence of ill-fated stars, proclaimed the family astrologer. To taper the influence of ill-fated stars, she was christened Bhagyalakshmi by him. Each time the word was uttered, it would rub off an effect on her. If there is a God, he must be a satirist, she rued often. Her birth was followed by separation of her parents. They never got along together. A child was believed to suffuse normalcy in their matrimony. Strangely, what well-intentioned adults couldn’t achieve was entrusted to a baby to deliver!
Her mother entrusted her parents with the responsibility to raise her. And she moved to the city of dreams, Bombay to pursue hers. The city hadn’t become Mumbai then. The salty sea water prospered her dream of becoming a lyricist, but withered her maternal instincts. The grandparents did care for her, but parental concern as a concept was alien to them. Friends were her cushion against the emotional upheavals. As she grew, there were fewer friends. Her exceptionally good looks kept girls at bay and for boys, she was a prized trophy, someone they could flaunt at the school prom. A girl, who was no more than a stray for them willing to offer her body in exchange of kindness. The boys never missed exploiting the opportunity. The momentary affection brought long-term void. When her grandfather passed away, her grandmother lost the desire to live and moved to Haridwar to await her meeting with her maker. An inexplicable sadness surrounded her life and to fill the vacuum, she joined an international airline. The long flights brought with it ample opportunities to meet new people and visit new countries. It worked as a balm for her tormented soul. Multiple strings of romances too helped bail her out of sadness, her solitary companion, but each failed romance intensified the grief until she met her erstwhile husband. He was double her age but did age matter between soul mates. And when there is loads of cash in-between, the differences merge gently and silently!
The interview was brief and abrupt.
She was 29 when she met him. Her husband was a prominent businessman. He was mesmerized by her beauty, the moment he saw her on one of his business trips. He had seen many beauties before, but she was different. He wanted her in his space, in his world of collectibles. It was his style. When he saw exquisite things, he collected it. His house was a veritable museum. It even had a chunk of Berlin wall and he owned a piece of the moon too. The only difference was that she was living. For him, it didn’t matter! Emotions had no place in his world. Her induction to his world happened over a brief interview on a crisp evening. The mellowing sun had coloured the gazebo where they sat across each other in ochre. She was meeting him informally for the first time.
‘How important is sex for you?’ He questioned abruptly.
‘Excuse me!’ She was taken aback. ‘Is this why you have called me to discuss?’ She grabbed her purse and got up. The discussion had come to an end.
‘Please sit down and hear me,’ he implored. Her patience had worn out and she didn’t want to persist.
‘Sit down, please,’ he commanded. The word please came as a whisper. ‘For each minute I will pay you a lakh.’ The authoritative tone was back at work. The offer was tempting for her. Ten minutes mean ten lakhs. The old man is enamoured!!
She sat down with arms crossed. He was a hard negotiator. If she played her cards well, her financial worries would be sorted, for good. An end to bearing tantrums of ill-mannered guests.
‘I want to own you.’ He spoke.
‘I am not an object. You can’t own me,’ she spat. The man is a psycho. It was such a waste of an exceptionally beautiful sunset, she thought. The sun had hidden behind the tall pine trees.
‘You can term it marriage.’ He clarified. And what future does this marriage hold for me? ‘Widowhood looms on the horizon for me, if I marry you,’ she said stitching her reason together.
‘Yes, it does, but you will be rich beyond your wildest dreams,’ he hit the nail on the head.
‘And young enough to remarry,’ he said as an afterthought.
An unusual marriage proposal, she smirked. He smiled.
‘Coffee?’ He enquired.
She nodded. He pressed the intercom and ordered at once. His agility belied his age, only the knotted fingers betrayed his secret.
The fingers have endured a lot from step-mother’s cane to disciplinarian dad’s foot rule. His voice was devoid of emotion.
The coffee came complete with homemade gingerbread cookies on a silver platter. He took one. She languished with the coffee.
‘I am not straight.’ The words sprang without a prelude.
He had learned long back that the easiest way to make a conversation was to do it right away.
‘Yes, I can make that out. You are a twisted soul,’ she said with contempt.
Instantly, she recovered. Why do you want to marry me then?
Because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
‘But I am alive, I have my needs.’
‘Except sex, I can fulfill all,’ he began to negotiate, a comfortable territory for him.
‘I had it enough in the past,’ she spoke with downcast eyes. The first encounter happened on the thirteenth birthday. Since then, there had been no looking back: the only time, when happiness overwhelms my soul and melancholy disappears.
‘Does it matter for you now?’ he had to be sure. A scoop was the last thing he wanted now.
‘I am only 29. It does.’ She admitted candidly. But, I can give it up. As if it was a bad habit.
I should let her go. She doesn’t belong to my world.
He paused. Her midnight black eyes had cast her spell.
How would it feel to own her body and soul? Blood had begun to flow south and he was keen to wrap his limbs around her long legs.
The wedding was a quiet affair. Her mother was busy handling her niggling issues in her uncomfortable matrimony. She had married thrice and was still looking for a perfect match.
'Why do you want to get married so soon?' She screamed at Bhagyalaxmi on the telephone.
‘Are you coming for my wedding?’ Her voice had choked. It always did when she suppressed tears. Her throat had turned salty.
'I would love to, but…..'The line went silent. She refused to hear anything beyond but. The three-lettered-word always dominated her life, eager to snap her happiness whenever it dared to bloom.
Marrying someone twice your age was not something to flaunt. At least not for me. She rubbed her nose vigorously and refused to shed tears. They are for weak hearted. And I am committing suicide?
On her wedding, she wore a beautiful pink handmade Banarasi sari adorned with real zari gold border and antique motifs, a gift from her grandmother. The wedding happened quickly. The signing of papers and exchange of garlands didn't take long. She had carried a silver vermillion box. The old man didn’t believe in it. She wore it herself. The red dash illuminated her face. She was happy. At least there was someone with whom she could share her evenings. No more hanging around in the bar in alien cities and drinking margaritas all alone.
We are leaving tonight for the honeymoon. He shared with her on the drive back home. Take my card and shop your heart’s content. He was pampering her.
The old man winked. He was feeling like a king.
'I don’t want to shop anything and what honeymoon? I haven’t recovered from our conversation.' She was coming to terms of the matrimonial alliance.
'I don’t want to shop anything and what honeymoon? I haven’t recovered from our conversation.' She was coming to terms of the matrimonial alliance.
'Well..that was not true.' He smiled showing his pearlies that received monthly attention from the dentist. I just wanted to be sure about our relationship. He didn't want to tell her about his visit to the urologist prior to the wedding to fix his limp concern.
By building it on a lie. She was upset. What if I had forged an affair? You wouldn't need to...
By building it on a lie. She was upset. What if I had forged an affair? You wouldn't need to...
'Well…you would not. I had got your background check done.'
This was getting spookier. And what was the report?
They didn’t give you a clean chit.
All that matters for me now is that you are mine.
He fished in his coat’s pocket.
A 20 carat diamond gleamed holding her attention hostage surrounded by rubies and emeralds.This is for my lovely wife. He gently slipped the ring on her finger and kissed it.
She had never been happier.
She wanted to go to Paris. But for him, Paris was like Mumbai, where he could go for a cuppa when his heart desired. With an exotic beauty like her, the place had to be surreal. And he had a place in mind: Belfort, a beautiful countryside in France.
Bhagyalaxmi was thrilled when she saw the place. Lissome French women, bathed in exotic scents, sashayed around and the lovely houses had baskets full of blooms hanging from their windows.
Rather than renting a five-star hotel, they rented an apartment. It gave BL the luxury to cook and own the house, just the way she desired.
After ages, he felt alive and young. A young wife had ignited his dormant soul. And she brought tremendous luck for him. She was like his angel of fortune. And he was delighted that the angel of fortune was with him.
He struck deals like never before and each time a jackpot awaited him. The old man was happy. Amidst all this happiness, he forgot, his identity. He was the child of sorrow. Grief could not elude him for long. It was like his second skin.
Like all good things in life, this too had to come to an end. And it did abruptly. He was a dark soul. Actually, a zombie. Someone who had sold his soul to the devil for commercial success. And success, he did achieve phenomenally. But, at a price of soul less living. A price where devil could control anything of his.
And the devil did extract a price. A price that tore his heart while paying. How much he wished to run away to a far away land with BL where devil could never lay his eyes on their happiness. They eloped to the far away land and settled in the Gift, their mansion.
Well, money can settle a lot many worries
She wanted to go to Paris. But for him, Paris was like Mumbai, where he could go for a cuppa when his heart desired. With an exotic beauty like her, the place had to be surreal. And he had a place in mind: Belfort, a beautiful countryside in France.
Bhagyalaxmi was thrilled when she saw the place. Lissome French women, bathed in exotic scents, sashayed around and the lovely houses had baskets full of blooms hanging from their windows.
Rather than renting a five-star hotel, they rented an apartment. It gave BL the luxury to cook and own the house, just the way she desired.
After ages, he felt alive and young. A young wife had ignited his dormant soul. And she brought tremendous luck for him. She was like his angel of fortune. And he was delighted that the angel of fortune was with him.
He struck deals like never before and each time a jackpot awaited him. The old man was happy. Amidst all this happiness, he forgot, his identity. He was the child of sorrow. Grief could not elude him for long. It was like his second skin.
Like all good things in life, this too had to come to an end. And it did abruptly. He was a dark soul. Actually, a zombie. Someone who had sold his soul to the devil for commercial success. And success, he did achieve phenomenally. But, at a price of soul less living. A price where devil could control anything of his.
And the devil did extract a price. A price that tore his heart while paying. How much he wished to run away to a far away land with BL where devil could never lay his eyes on their happiness. They eloped to the far away land and settled in the Gift, their mansion.
Well, money can settle a lot many worries
