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Hello all My Dear beauties, cuties, sweeties and many more!. I am here with the Ishqiya type Ishqiyapa of my beloved Ishkara.
Guys!! For few more episodes I am show you the 20 yrs young Ishkara than now. This is all based on their first meet, first feelings, first thoughts of each other and the budding relationship(I don’t want to name it now) between them.
Let’s get started…
This scene is of that time while Om and Ishaana are just 5 yrs old kids. It’s like a family n friends get together. (No place for Svethlana here, Om loves his Mom and Dad so and so much just like he does with ShivRu)
I was five years old when I met her for the first time. It was in Delhi, during the summer vacations when I went to visit my maternal house. She, along with her parents, had come to this place which is know as ‘Pushkar Vatika’, a name given by my grandfather. He had planted almost fifty different varieties of plants there. I guess it was just a way of expressing his love for omnipresent nature which was visually vibrant, and yet surrounded us with its peaceful aura.
Reminiscing those days, my mind runs back to the time when all the men of the family sat together in one room – like the typical Indian family of late 90s – discussing either politics or business. These were never ending gossips which reflected the spice of Indian men. The ladies would progress into another room, chatting about worldly matters and family politics. I, on the contrary, was left alone with my brother Shivaay (Rudra wasn’t born by the time) and with my older cousins. It was nothing but a feeling of desertion that took charge of me in such circumstances. I was too young to have any kind of interaction with them, My brother Shivaay is also quiet elder than me, He left the matter about me and started discussing about the deals that their father’s did. There was only one girl in the gathering who was perhaps about the same age and height as me. Unconsciously, I started thinking of her as ‘tiny-my-sized-girl’.
After a little wandering, I went to the drawing room. I was standing rather patiently, leaning against the wall, while the male-chauvinistic conversation went on. Clearly, everyone could feel the unease in my posture, as I was a little confused to see a new face. One of my uncles introduced me to the unknown person then; more fondly, I would like to call him ‘tiny-my-sized-girl’s father. I was introduced to him as Jhanvi’s son.
“Viyu ! Come here and pay him your respects,” uncle said. I was lost in thoughts when he called me. It was difficult to face strangers at that time. With no other option left, I dutifully touched his feet. Feeling a bit timid and overcome my diffidence, I ran straight to my mom, where she already accompanied by few other ladies, including the ‘tiny-my-sized-girl’. This time, I didn’t wait for anyone to direct me to pay my respects to the other new face, her mother. I just did it instantaneously.
The reason behind that is still unknown to me. It wasn’t like I wanted to show a chivalrous demeanour in front her mother; I guess I felt an need to leave a vivid impression on that girl. My small little brain was already leaning towards attracting her attention.
“he is Jhanvi Di’s son.” One of my aunt brought me into the limelight.
This was a second time in the last five minutes that I was reminded of my mother’s name. I wondered why one is always referred to as their mother’s son at their maternal house and their father’s son at their paternal house; as if the child is invested property of only one of them. But this useless thought diminished after a few seconds.
“Come, Viyu.” Mumma said, spreading out her arms to create a whole new world for me so that I could feel comfortable even in that unfamiliar situation. “This is Preeti Auntie, my childhood friend,” Mumma continued as she seated me on her lap,” And this little one right here is Ishaana.”
“Alright… So Ishaana is her name.” I pondered while muttering her name to myself over and over again. Ishaana.
At that very instant, a thought struck my mind – finally I didn’t have to call her “tiny-my-sized-girl” anymore. Now she had a name to be called by, at least in my thoughts. Ishaana.
She was sitting opposite to me, sandwiched between her mother and one of my aunts. I continued to stare at her while enjoying my mother’s lap. I don’t remember why; perhaps her appearance fascinated me.
She looked like one of the Barbie dolls which kept popping up on cartoon network in between my shows. She had a ponytail on each side of her head, held in place by purple tic-tac hair pins matching her purple dress. Her looks were like that of a tender flower amidst different shades of purple that beautifully adorned her. I wondered whether this was the only colour she fancied or she likes other colours too. She was almost as cute as a winter lily. Her features were small and perfect, as if the Almighty had made her with full dedication. She was as beautiful as the brightest star that shines in the night sky. I could certainly make out one thing – she was looking at me momentarily, but being shy she withdrew her eyes as soon as we made eye contact.
“Hey Ishaana! Take this,” Mumma said, offering biscuits to her. Ishaana denied them childishly.
She really was a shy girl and I was keen on starting a conversation with her, but I couldn’t understand how to. Then, all of sudden, I heard a new voice. It rang in my ear like bells, and then I realized that it was coming from her.
“Mumma, let’s goo!” she exclaimed, stretching the word “go” as much as she could.
“Yeah sweetie, we will be leaving soon,” her mother replied soothingly while she made her varied feelings clear; changing them from uneasiness to unhappiness to agitation. It was the same way I felt when I went to someone else’s house and got isolated from the rest of the crowd.
“Oh! You are feeling bored,” my Aunt suggested. I found it difficult to understand whether it was a question or a statement. Even now I get struck mid-conversations when people give me such incomplete phrases. I guess it’s just an Indian way of doing both in one shot.
She didn’t responded and grabbed her mother’s arm tightly, as if she had been asked something atrocious.
“Viyu,” Auntie continued, “Why don’t you both go and play something in your room? Show her your toys and all. She will feel nice there!”
I immediately got up from my mother’s lap, but she didn’t move an inch. I blushed because of embarrassment her rejection caused me and glanced me back at my mother expecting her to soothe me like a pet.
“Go… Go sweetie pie!” Auntie whispered to her.
After all the cooing and pushes, she followed me into my room. The sheer ecstasy of being with her could clearly be seen on my face. I was vibrating with excitement and a wide grin was gleaming across my face, so wide that I could almost eat a banana sideways! I felt as if I was in the seventh heaven. It was her mother that I was grateful to for giving me that jubilant moment.
As soon as we entered the room I started showing her all my games, thinking that she would be interested in at least one or the other.
“I don’t have any toys or dolls which girls usually have,” I said, purposely trying to tease her.
She looked annoyed, but preferred to silently glance over all the games rather than making a sly retort. I was quiet sure that she would get nothing of her sort and I was damn right. After exploring for a few minutes, she sat calmly beside me on the bed. There was complete silence, when suddenly the clock hanging in the room chimed five, breaking the stillness for a few seconds, after which silence reigned again.
“I have to say something or she will get bored and leave!” I told my throbbing heart as the muscles of my brain stressed to think of something smart to say. Gathering all the guts I had, I cleared my throat and squeaked, ”In which class are you?”
She didn’t answer but silently glared me, sitting frightfully as if I have abducted her.
“I mean, in which standard do you study?” I clarified.
“You mean Lower Kindergarten?” I asked foolishly just to extend the conversation.
“Yes.” She replied in a slow tone.
“Oh! Me too!” I screeched excitedly. She didn’t just look my age, she really was! Finally there was someone I could talk to and not feel small.
Amazingly there was a little smile on her face which made for her previously shy tone.
“Do you like purple a lot?” I asked, scrolling my eyeballs over her dress. She nodded an affirmative response with a wide grin on her face. A second later, with mystery breaking that grin, she asked, “How do you know?”
“You are wearing the same shade from top to bottom,” I said as I strolled upon my knees on the bed to reduce the distance between us. “See – the purple pins on your hair, the purple shade of your skirt, these purple socks and finally those purple flowers on your shoes.” I pointed at each and every purple object with a amused face.
“Oh… I have many things in purple back home. I will show you when you visit,” she said, this time with a beautiful smile on her face. I stared at her without a blink. “Which is your favourite colour?” she asked further, while my eyes were still glued on her face.
“Umm…… My favourite colour is blue, like the colour of oceans and the colour of vast sky. But I wish I had everything of same colour like you,” I replied as we both smiled at each other.
Then, unexpectedly, her mother entered the room with Mumma and Aunts.
“Baby, let’s go!” Her mom hissed. Ishaana got up from the bed and tripped happily towards her, ready to leave. I too waddled barefoot behind them.
All the uncles came out of the drawing room as well. I addressed her parents with respect. Ishaana reiterated the gesture to my mom and other elders. Happy kids are obedient kids, as they say.
I was not a child-Casanova, as sure as it may sound by my attraction towards a pretty girl, at that age! Now I think of that first encounter, I feel that maybe I was just a soul who had met her mate too soon.
To be continued………
PRECAP:: 5 years leap… Ishkara’s 2 meet…
Why is Om called as Viyu?… think about it Guys!
Any guesses about how their second meet will be?
I am so sorry for this ubaau and Chidaai typic episode. Please forgive me for this.
You appreciations or Rotten tomatoes and flying jutas all are accepted.