Yeh saraasar jhooth hain melord! Instantaneously a few paper clips, launched by the women hit him smack on the face. Nandini hustled to her feet to help her peer manager, best friend and self-imposed guardian angel, since standard ten, Sneha Verma. In school, Sneha had once saved Nandini from the bullies and after that, she had vowed to protect Nandini for life; from everyone and everything—except herself.
Riya quickly filled her in. Aditya Sarin is coming to Cawnpore. Gnawing her bottom lip, Nandini remained where she was. Johny Lever! Flee to the nearest bus addaa! I am nervous about the presentation for that pen company, due soon. That account is colossal and Ace Advertising Agency, as in us, really needs it. Her thoughts were flying all over the place. After some half-hearted protests, formally lodged by the three musketeers Roy, Tina and Riya , the group got busy with work at hand, Aditya Sarin forgotten by all but two.
Sorry to keep you guys so long. Ms Stickler for leaving at six! The latter did have an irresistible reason to head home every day and once in a while at lunch too. Nandini gulped.
Rochak Chowdhary repulses me. Especially his eyes! Actually Rochak is like periods! Roy visibly squirmed. Sneha and Nandini cackled. Roy opened his mouth but Sneha beat him to it. However, witty and funny, any conversation about Rochak Chowdhury, the marketing head, still ruled as the least favourite or the most vehemently hated topic for Nandini. A few minutes later, the three trooped out. Their bosses, the two chaddi-buddies, always stayed back at the end of the day to chat a bit.
Nandini too obsessed over him. Why is he coming back? There was no need to mention names between them. I merely wish he knew the truth. You gave me your word never to bring it up. Nandini in an answer further narrowed her eyes and pulled her lips back. Spare me that pit-bull look. My lips are sealed. I do not want to expect, plan or steer it in any direction. No one lives like that. Call my kind lazy, content or just spokes in the super demanding and ambitious wheel of life.
Why am I stating the obvious? Teri yaad aati hein par tu aati nahin! Are you done making an ass of yourself? Will you please tell me if you want me to baby sit Advey or not? Some silly cricket series is beginning somewhere, in some part of the world, between some countries and of course Kit has to watch it! Soon, the two girls headed out of the building. Just the sweet smell of monsoon was enough to give a hop to her steps, a smile to her lips and crave for chilled Baileys.
All you lack is a transparent chiffon sari and gigantic fake boobs. In the name of reality, even Bollywood is downsizing! No more than say Just call me.
You could be the first to hear it,'Rochak cajoled. Playing pocket billiards, he had been lingering in the shadows for quite some time now. Even more appropriate would be Ms Sharma. And please nothing you say could ever be of any interest to Me! As few other employees sauntered in the car park,Nandini thanked her stars.
She knew what this sleaze ball was capable of. Nandini knew his aversion to her was temporary. The wiring of his head was messed up; it was only dic-connected. Glaring at Nandini, he abruptly walked away; softly mouthing rude names. Calmly reversing the red Swift, Nandini joined the ongoing milieu of chaotic traffic on the main business street, Birhana Road.
Flashing neon signs of various international brands, plastered on old crumbling buildings, loudly proclaimed global commercialisation. For just about everything else the populace stands divided, from where we pray to the water we use, yet as consumers, all are one — empty brains with loaded wallets! Nandini, a novice cynic, mused. She turned the steering hard, just in time to spare a cyclist who out of nowhere, appeared bang in front of the car.
Driving in these streets was a nightmare, but Nandini always experienced a sense of peace when she got behind the wheel. Tonight, it was sorely missing! What will I do when he actually gets here, she worried. Sometime later, having parked the car in the garage, Nandini stepped into the foyer of her house. She struggled to keep her expression pleasant. It sounded more like a threat.
Manmohan Singh has increased salaries in the public sector. Tullu, get the tea and sandwiches ready for didi! Her mother ran the house smoothly, in spite of the few rough edges she possessed, particularly for those, who in her I-know-it-all opinion did not treat her children right.
That scope covered every known living organism. Both highly abnormal! Nirbhay Sharma. He quickly went back to one of his three addictions — the Discovery channel.
The second was Khana Khazana and the third, sanjeevkapoor. No, he did not have a man-crush on the above-mentioned chef, just a plain, simple, Indian obsession with food. Why are Indian men so much into food? Even when, most of them cannot cook Maggi, which comes with written instructions. Mr Sharma quickly did the math.
Not, if your mom lives hundred percent of her sixty-five years. You are mean! Keeping her head bent, Nandini sipped the scalding liquid.
Her body tautened anticipating the lightning strike. So it was confirmed — her worst fear was about to come true, she even knew its ETA.
Three years, seven months and the number of days I am a little confused about, Nandini quietly deliberated. Badi Maa! They only refer to each other as sisters born of separate mothers. Their husbands, Nirbhay Sharma and Paresh Sarin, as providence would have it, were childhood friends.
In a strange coincidence, two best friends married two best friends. Tragedy struck close twice I heard it in the office earlier today. Shrugging her shoulders, Nandini finished her tea in a gulp.
Nandini climbed the stairs to the three-bedroom apartment, on the first floor. Earlier occupied by her elder brother and his family, it had come to her once they had moved to Mumbai. Elder to her by five years, Namit Sharma, an IMA Ahmedabad passout, was currently a financial head honcho of a leading infrastructure giant. He was married to an absolute sweetheart, Meghna aka Mugs.
A pediatrician by profession and an adroit multi-tasker, who managed the job of a mother, doctor, wife, daughter and daughter-in-law in the best possible way known to mankind. They were blessed with two lovely twins, a six-year-old boy and girl, Piya and Piyush, cheesy names but adorable tots.
Wearily, Nandini flopped on the sofa, resting her head in her hands. I will come b! I promise It is not my hide that Aditya Sarin might be gunning for. We constantly read about his dating of some socialite, actress or model in an unending succession. Aditya always liked to play the field.
I am sure he has forgotten all about you. Go and make your man happy. That might just keep him away! Why did it have to be like this? After a long bath, and avoiding her parents, Nandini curled up in her bed. Sleep, unlike the memories, eluded her.
Flash back! True Bollywood style Twenty-one-year-old Nandini, a fresh commerce graduate of Christchurch College, excitedly strode inside the Sarin mansion adjacent to her house. Surrounded on either side by lush, green, beautifully landscaped gardens, lolled the majestic house. The two-storey spread was impeccably white in colour, its exterior shaped befittingly like a Rajasthani palace.
Adding to the grandeur, a lofty several-tiered fountain sat at the entrance. The senior Sarins, Vibha and Paresh, had flocked to Kanpur only a couple of years ago.
Aditya, for the last eight years, has been living in one hostel after another. It is just Vibha and me most of the time. Come and live here. That is it. The decision for the Sarins to move was literally made overnight.
Several properties next to the Sharma residence were bought, consolidated and in the next ten or twelve months, an army of workers, similar to the ones employed by Shah Jahan, had constructed the grand abode. The palatial house boasted of tennis and basketball courts, Japanese gardens, two swimming pools— outdoor and indoor, a state of the art gym, a media room, ten bedrooms and god knows how many bathrooms.
The only person from the Sarin family, Nandini had never met was Aditya Sarin, the younger scion studying in America. Having completed his MBA, Adi had finally come to live with his parents and join the family business. Nandini waited in the humongous living room as one of the servants rushed to fetch Vibha. Nandini got startled, and whirled around to see where this voice was coming from. She immediately recognised who stood in front of her. No sillies! No past-birth memories like in Karz or Karrrrrzzzzz did I miss a Z?
Nandini recognised Aditya Sarin from his photographs. Aditya was taller in person, definitely six feet or more. The thick, dark, crop of hair—well cut, and miraculously gel free, unlike the metro sexual men who in the disguise of being hip, have gone from gole ka tael to tael ka gola. His black pupils framed with long curling eyelashes, studied her with no hint of recognition.
After all, Nandini was no Paris Hilton or a child successfully rescued from a borewell. His broad shoulders and mouth watering body, was clad in a white, probably ridiculously priced, designer T-shirt, dark blue jeans and tan shoes.
Aditya Sarin loomed large as an epitome of oozing masculinity. His eyes crinkled at the ends and his dimples deepened. Humour served in arrogance, a typical trademark of children brought up by the philosophy: Spare the child and break the rod or better still, sell it to the raddiwala. At the sound, Nandini felt like curling her toes. Aditya liked what he saw Almond-shaped eyes perfectly sized, with a pert nose trailed by pouty pink lips, sat pretty in a heart-shaped fair face.
Bereft of any make up, Nandini appeared to be a tall teenager, except, her body was that of woman. Her curves, clearly visible in a tight yin-yang, powder pink and silver coloured T-shirt and figure hugging jeans. My stares are actually making her uncomfortable, he thought, surprised. In the circles Aditya moved, there was not one woman, married or single, who would not botox or lipo herself to her very bones just to emerge good enough to catch his eye.
But Nandini, discomfited to the core, literally hopped from one foot to another. Even though thoroughly covered, she felt completely exposed. Aditya, riveted, gazed at the poker straight, shiny black tresses, cascading down the shoulders, ending at the waist. Ms Dimple Kapadia and Demi Moore, your days are numbered! His hands twitched to touch the black velvet. Aditya was not backing down; he opened his mouth to fire another salvo.
Nandini braced herself for the next zinger. My woman has to be the strong, independent kind, who sees my shoulder as something to rub against, rather than something to cry or lean on. An Amazon is your ideal woman? She would stand out, not merely for her looks which is anyway something the parents should be blamed or credited for.
Aditya shook his head. The way she carries herself and the way she speaks and thinks is much more important. She has to be what you see is what you get kind of gal! My qualifications and interests should thrill her more than my money. But what if, she has had prior relationships? A colourful past Wonders never cease!
I am not looking for the jeans-clad, English talking, gharulu kinds. Lassi served in a wine glass, is still lassi. There should be no lies, no mind games and no excessive vanity. And unequivocally, she cannot be a gauche teenager who wears sneakers in the middle of the day! Similarly, a woman in sneakers totally puts me off, except when she is exercising.
Nandi is wonderful. He headed for the pristine, brand new, royal blue Mercedes SL, a gift from his parents, for completing his masters from Wharton with excellence. Only a few knew that Aditya, a meritorious student, could have accomplished a large chunk of his education through scholarships, but chose to pay, so someone not equally fortunate, could score a seat.
Aditya hid his humility with contrived arrogance. Humility was a concept better understood by the middle-class or Indian reality show winners. One thing Aditya had picked up from his father at a very young age was success frees you to be yourself. And success is not inherited, it is achieved. Aditya was just bidding his time and turn. Time and turn, to co-manage the Sarin Empire. Nothing can be as cathartic, as a Hindi cuss word said with feeling. A single cuss alone can describe and relieve anger enough to go in the straitjacket.
Unpolished, gauche, my foot! Nandi, what happened? Quickly, Nandini altered her frown to a smile. The ones who for the lack of props like machine guns, tongue-twisting contraptions or scantily clad molls and transvestites, relied heavily on the eyes, to portray character. Vibha chuckled. I am sure he will grow on you. I just received some saris and suit materials from Calcutta, beautiful kantha work.
Choose as many pieces as you like. You can never say no to me, understand? Next day, the Sarin clan, including Aditya, sat at the dining table and were about to begin breakfast.
Nandini traipsed in, a smile on her face. Aditya instantly was lost to the smile. In his eyes, it vaulted her from beautiful to stunning. Unaware of his complimentary thoughts, Nandini briefly and disdainfully glanced at him.
Aditya immediately quelled it. Nandini was not his type. Nandini resisted the urge to tug at her clothes. I only came to give you these. My notes are scribbled alongside the articles. Nandini did not miss the veiled sarcasm. Aditya had seen the brochure under discussion. That was quite neat, he thought. However, he did not say it. Uncle and AB guided me all through. AB and Aditya slyly rolled their eyes. Aditya on seeing her serious expression hid a wry grin.
It was a tradition at the Sarin household, to prepare a variety of dishes at each meal, irrelevant of the number of people at the table. The sole of my sneaker is very hard. A thick layer of dried mud, caked on either side.
What he did not know was that the ghastly, oversized, and psychedelic sneakers were bought yesterday from the most ghatiya dukaan of Arya nagar. The mud zealously applied and dried overnight with a hairdryer. What are you Nandini clamped her lips tightly, holding on to the fake injured expression, hovering on her face. Remember, your own yellow dungarees? Or those tight pink pants, which you lived in?
And the maroon, not pink pants was something that mom got for me from one of the trips she went on. She was quite plump at that time. Paresh followed suit and so did Seema and Nandini. This is way better I practically lost control of my bladder, Nandini reflected, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. However, she could do nothing about the wide smile; it refused to budge from her face. Now Nandini, had taken this to another level, and Aditya sure as hell was not the kind to turn the other cheek.
Her face, like the rest of her body tingled. You must be out of your mind. But now I promise They both stared at each other, unable to look away. The others at the table had stopped laughing. All their attention fixed on Nandini and Aditya, as they could not hear the soft exchange going on between the two. The two headed in opposite directions, both experiencing a sudden need to get away from the other.
What was I thinking? I wanted to shake her! Women only fidget with their hair that much, and dogs with their tails. Over the following year, the battle of wits between Nandini and Aditya ensued. Gradually the rest of the family just ignored their constant skirmishes, the only way Nandini and Aditya communicated with each other. Managing to shut the alarm off, as Saif went down on his knee, for whatever reasons, Nandini hobbled to get the morning ablutions out of the way.
Even though different in personality, Shruti and Nirbhay were never distant. North Pole and South Pole did meet outside the boudoir.
Not wanting to gag, Nandini carefully swallowed the food in her mouth. Her first thought was throw herself in the bathroom, and remain barricaded there for the next few weeks. See you in the evening.
At appropriate intervals, he continued to nod at his continuously chattering wife, even though he had stopped listening to her quite some time back. The trick always worked.
He was considering getting a patent for it. Parking the car on the usual spot, flinging the half-eaten murku packet on the side and gripping her purse and files, Nandini got out. A loose paper fluttered to the ground. Tossing her hair out of the face, she squatted to pick it up. A frisson of awareness crept into her mind, as though, someone was watching; Nandini immediately glanced around and up but there was no one.
Get a hold of yourself, woman! Seizing the errant paper, Nandini briskly headed inside the office building. Unseen, the angry eyes bore into her, from the tinted window of his new office. Her small town inhibitions add a definite charm to this racy love story. Be it the frank conversation between intimate friends or the friendly banter of love-struck couple, there was an ease in the conversational flow that could not leave the reader unaffected.
The novel delighted me as a sweet romance, minus any villains, coming across as a dream-come-true love story. I would definitely love to see this novel being converted into a full length movie or for that matter, a long running soap opera.
In short, I found nothing wrong with either the fit or the shoe. The romantic debut fits Varsha Dixit as snugly as a glass sandal to Cinderella. This desi version of Mills and Boons is definitely worth a read! BUT if you have read right fit wrong shoe its worth and compulsory for you to read this one : mostly i am happy because it is the first book i read just the month it was published in :D review 2: 8.
Its hilarious just like the author's original style that I fell in love with. So awesome that I can't keep the smile off my face. There are very few books that can engross you from the beginning and this book is definitely one of those. It was really great. But somehow I felt the plot wasn't really there. Even the complications appeared and disappeared quickly enough.
Manners That Matter for Moms. The Inner Society. Other books by Varsha Dixit. Wrong Means Right End. Related articles. The Other Sister by: Dianne Dixon. And verily, I had never seen the like. Books of the Month, December Happy birthday, Rosa Parks
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