Aashiyan

This was the fourth time in a week that he’d woken up with a smile on his face. He shook his head and groaned, turning and burying his head in his pillow. Pathetic. But then, no one could blame him. He was happy, wasn’t he? More than, he realized, he’d ever been. He snorted, Turning around and folding his arms under his head. What was he, a fucking girl, now? Speaking of…

He looked at the neatly made part of his bed, and wondered where his girl was. God, he hoped she hadn’t gone to work. It was the Sunday before their launch, and Khushi was being maniacal in how she was working them. This was supposed to be their day off. He pulled himself up and out of bed, intent on dressing up and going to the office so that he could drag her obsessed ass back home to relax, when he heard it. It was some Hindi song, he was pretty sure he’d heard it before. The music was a bit quirky and he remembered liking it because of that. Hmmm…

He followed the song to the kitchen, Bare-chested and bare foot, wearing only a pair of sweatpants, and paused in the door at the beautiful scene in front of him. 

Itti si hansi
Itti si khushi
Itta sa tukda chand ka
Khwabon ke tinkon se
Chal banayeinn aashiyaan

Dabe dabe paaon se
Aaye haule haule zindagi
Hothon pe kundi chadha ke
Hum taale laga ke chal
Gumsum tarane chupke chupke gaayein
Aadhi aadhi baant le
Aaja dil ki ye zameen
Thoda sa tera sa hoga
Thoda mera bhi hoga apna ye aashiyan

He smiled, leaning against the doorjamb as he took it in. The oh-so familiar scene, and realized that he had missed this. The song was playing on the radio that they kept on the fridge (“Because Arnav, the food will taste better if I’m happy while I’m making it! And listening to music makes me Happy!”) And his Khush, clad in an oversized red tee of his and white shorts, flitted around busily. Cooking. Home, he decided. This, for him, was home. Not the expensive Hotel rooms they stayed in; nor the fancy apartments their realtor had insisted on showing them… this. Him and Khushi. Together.  

He settled back, relaxing against the jamb as he watched her roll and knead the dough with all her might. He’d always loved watching her cook. It had rhythm, and it had somehow always grounded him… gave him a sense of calm and peace. The strangest thing… but there it was. She was making aloo parathe, from the looks of it. Arnav’s favourite. He loved Khushi’s stuffed aloo parathe. Her stuffing was always perfect, and he could swear no one, absolutely no one, could ever match what she made. It was the perfect amount of spicy and soft with a tinge of some bitter-sweet thing, and the best part? She was always generous with the butter on the parathe. He grinned. He hadn’t had Khush’s parathe in such a long time! 

She started rolling out the parathe, and he realized that her movements were perfectly in sync with the song playing. He tuned in, and realized why he’d remembered this song so well…

Naa ho chaar deewarein
Phir bhi jharokhe khule
Baadalon ke ho parde
Shaakhi hari pankha jhale
Naa ho koi takraarein
Are masti thahaake chale
Pyaar ke sikkon se mahine ka kharcha chale

Dabe dabe paaon se
Aaye haule haule zindagi
Hothon pe kundi chadha ke
Hum taale laga ke chal
Gumsum tarane chupke chupke gaayein
Aadhi aadhi baant le
Aaja dil ki ye zameen
Thoda sa tera sa hoga
Thoda mera bhi hoga apna ye Aashiyan

It reminded him of them. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he thought about it. It was- as they said- their song. It was about two people, being each other’s world. The deaf and dumb boy and the autistic girl. Making a home together. He smiled, ring a bell much, Raizada?

There they’d been. Him and his Khush. Alone in the big bad world. He shook his head, what had possessed him that night, to ferry a barely thirteen year old girl with him to a place like Delhi? Hell, he’d been seventeen himself, or had it been eighteen? And with no money too! And what had she been thinking? Trusting him like that? He could have led them to their deaths, for all she knew! But she had trusted him, and they’d made it to Delhi. Living in a small chawl room; hand to mouth for the first two months. But his Khush had been a good Manager even then. She had been saving up, and in no time, they had been living a bit more comfortably… at least they hadn’t needed to pinch so much money. He hadn’t had to worry about feeding them continuously. He realized he wouldn’t have survived a day if he hadn’t had that spunky teenager to look after him at that time.

And then, she’d started this tradition of theirs. The one of celebrating every holiday. Diwali, Eid, Christmas, Navratri… he remembered she had even bullied him into celebrating Gandhi Jayanti once.

She would make something delicious, and they would gift each other something over dinner. He remembered the metal earrings he’d gotten her one Diwali, he’d gone through each and every stall in Sarojini Nagar Market, and when he’d found what he’d been looking for he’d bargained for hours. He smiled… it had been worth it though. The way her eyes had always lit up every time he’d gifted her something. As if he’d laid the world at her feet. Every time. Whether it was earrings, shoes, once he’d brought a Filmfare Magazine home, even then she’d thrown herself in his arms with a delighted laugh and read through that copy for months, smiling at the same news, gossip and photos over and over again. And she would get him things too. Small things… she had gotten him his first tie. He still had it. Had to remember where you came from didn’t you? He hadn’t realized she had been slowly assembling a suit for him, one celebration at a time until he’d gotten a hand stitched blazer and she had squealed- “Wear it with all the others na, Arnav! And we can see how the suit looks on you!”

He thought about the empire they’d built together, and could hardly believe it himself. Who would, really? Unless they’d gone through it themselves, and seen- lived- the blood and sweat that had gone into it? Hers as much as His. But they’d made it, hadn’t they?

Itti si hansi
Itti si khushi
Itta sa tukda chand ka
Khwabon ke tinkon se
Chal banayeinn Aashiyan

He smiled, as he walked over to her and planted a kiss good morning on her bare shoulder.

One hand gripping her hip, as the other sneaked to the hot parathe on the plate. He laughed as she smacked his hand, already anticipating his move, and shook her head.

“Go freshen up, will you Arnav? I’ll have the breakfast on the table in five and then we can eat it like civilized people.”  

Bossy as ever. He smiled as he kissed her temple, and backed away. But there she was. His World. He inhaled sharply, as it hit him like a ton of bricks right in the middle of his chest. She was his world, always had been and always would be.

Man, this song was so going in his playlist!

NB: Aashiyan from Barfi! by Shreya Ghoshal