Knotted - a story on marriage and love

Perhaps my most complex and matured post on iland ever - Knotted discusses marriage, love and infidelity. Yet, I have refrained from making any comment. Coz neither would I support an act that breaks a home nor would I condemn a feeling that stems out of love…


Part I…

She was smooth, shapely and feminine. He was rough, chiselled and masculine. He rolled his body over hers as their souls brushed across each other on the canvas of love. His hairs rubbed against her soft bare skin, as both of them drowned the other in a whirlpool of desire. He licked her navel and slowly moved up. She wanted him more; he desired for her no less. His lips moved up her throat as her fingers ran down his neck. His chest skin fondled with her breasts as his finger rubbed against her face. For a moment, they gaped into each other’s eyes before he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and lingered on. Her body convulsed upwards in pleasure, as his fingers made way through her long illustrious hair and stroked her back. His hand held her butt and moved down her thigh. She breathed heavily as a drop of tear rolled down her eye and he kissed it. It tasted Love. She looked into his eyes and smiled. She wanted him to do it, and he knew what she wanted. So, he ran his lips on hers and slowly went in.

***

‘Shucks’, Anshuman frowned. His beard looked oddly unkempt and, half-an-hour later, he would be rushing in to meet Megafone’s VAS Manager to discuss the latest big idea of their campaign. Even a stubble needs to be maintained, a filthy look is never fashionable. The overnight stay at his office had left a dark patch under his eye. Even his knee long denim kurta looked crumpled from the overnight sleep on office couch.

The mirror-top light highlighted the contours of his anterior face as Anshuman Mehra stood in the loo and yawned. The cellphone display revealed meagre battery support remaining but no new calls or messages. He was out overnight but not a single attempt to contact from home. Surprising! It was unusual for Kashish not to call every 2 hours, especially when he was out of home or out of town, neither of which was infrequent. Being a Creative Director at India’s leading advertisement agency has its own attributes.

The splash of the wintry water seemed to breeze in some energy into his skin as he stood by the large round glass basin and cupped the tap water on his face. It’s going to work, Anshuman assured himself, you have come up with an idea they can’t resist. A couple of knocks on the door alerted him. Sophia’s alarm! He was taking too long in the loo. It was time to get ready for the meeting. But not before calling up Kashish once…

The phone kept ringing. Anshuman looked at his watch as he opened the door and stepped out into his cabin. 11o’clock and she was still asleep? And almost at the moment when he had decided to terminate the call, the response came.

‘Hello,’ an unknown female voice said.

‘Who is this?’ Anshuman looked back at his cell’s display. He had not dialled a wrong number.

‘Who are you Sir?’ the lady questioned back.

‘This is my wife’s number,’ Anshuman sounded confused, ‘has she left it with you?’

‘Well, no,’ the lady cleared her throat, ‘I am Ms Kashish’s attendant at Lilavati. She is admitted here Sir.’

‘Now, who is that?’ Anshuman chuckled. He was sure it was one of her journalist friends trying to shock him, ‘And it’s not a healthy joke to crack.’

‘No Sir,’ the lady seemed making an effort to convince her caller, ‘I am indeed her attendant.’

‘Okay,’ Anshuman was still not in a mood to be convinced, ‘then why didn’t you call me up if Kashish is indeed admitted with you? You had a patient and you didn’t even bother to find who her relatives are?’

‘Actually Sir,’ the lady swallowed and took a pause, ‘we thought we have her husband here.’

***

The journey from his Goregaon office to Lilavati had been the most disturbing hour of his life. He had called up Lilavati reception. Kashish was indeed admitted there. She had suffered an accident on Sion - Panvel highway. But it was an SX4 she was driving! How did she get that? And why was she driving it? And who was the man the hospital authorities thought to be him?

***

Siddharth Kashyap. The man who had brought Kashish to the hospital and everyone mistook as her husband. He was 5’11”, fair, well built and a few years younger than Anshuman. His clean shaven face was bandaged on the forehead, while his plastered hand hung from the neck, around his black party shirt. It was too much of a disco wear to be seen in a hospital.

Anshuman could sense Siddharth’s eyes following him as he crossed the latter and walked towards the ICU. The injury was serious and an internal haemorrhage was gradually pushing her to a state of non-recovery. She could go to coma any moment, the doctor informed Anshuman, perhaps there is something very strong in her mind that she has escaped it till now.

There has always been something very strong about her mind – ever since Anshuman met her at the launch of Megafone’s first national campaign – he was the assisting mind behind it and she was a budding pretty journalist. Her knowledge about advertising and charm had bowled Anshuman ever since she took the interview. A couple of years later they got married, away from home and known faces, in the seclusion of Bahamas and company of each other.

‘Hi,’ Anshuman walked up to the waiting lodge.

‘Hi,’ Siddharth stood up.

‘So,’ the confusion was evident in Anshuman’s voice, ‘how do you Kashish?’

The man looked at him, non-apologetically and non-hesitantly.

‘Kashish and I are in love.’

to be continued..