Delhi or Dilli-bustling streets, endless chai tapris, and a city where dreams are both made and broken. In this chaos, Anchal is focused on her career, dodging her parents' shaadi ki baatein, while Varshith, a perfectionist set to inherit his father...
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| Behind Her Doors |
Running into Anchal Gupta before the official meeting of our families was merely a coincidence.
She frequented the hospital often, and although I did spot her from afar several times these last few days, I never was in her line of sight. However, I knew another meet was bound to happen.
Dad had told me about our families dynamics the same day I saw her on the hospital bed next to me. I was flabbergasted at the information. Akhil was humored, and had jokingly spewed something about fate. I call bullshit. I wonder what he'll say when he finds out about the unusual encounters before the accident.
Fate was a heavy word. Something that seems rational only in movies and fiction. I don't want to think that some high power or some supernatural forces were shaping the course of actions in our lives. I snorted.
Coincidence, maybe? Or maybe a sign from universe? I had read somewhere that when you run into a person unusually often, it could mean that the person may have a purpose in your life. In our case, it could be her donating me blood or being a source in bringing back two long lost families together.
Dad was teary-eyed when he met Anchal's father after years. And even more after seeing him in an ailing condition. Heck, even my mother was emotional when she hugged Mrs. Gupta and no one knows better than me how inexpressive my mother was.
I smiled to myself. Coincidence, it all was.
Now as we stand in front of the luxurious three storey house located in a posh locality of Gurugram's Sohna road, my nerves were in jitters again. Mrs. Gupta welcomed all of us inside with a beaming smile and Sanket carefully helped adjust his Uncle on the couch across us. However, Anchal and her friend were nowhere to be seen. My eyes took in the lively living room of the Gupta's. This place looked like home. Family portraits, trophies, devotional paintings lined up the walls.
Aunt Swati didn't leave a single stone unturned in her warm hospitality, brushing it off saying that we met after ages, so basically we all must suck it up. Laughter and chatter boomed inside the place but the daughter of the house was still missing.
Finally, "Teri behen kahan hai, Sanket?" Uncle Ravi frowned.
Sanket shrugged. "Dekho yahin kahin giri hogi-" Aunt Swati's glare faltered him. He cleared his throat, standing up. "Main dekhta hoon." He mumbled and scurried away. And he was the CFO of our company. Amusing.
"Varshith?" I looked at my grandfather. "Do you want to visit village again?" Before I could even reply he turned to others. "Main toh kehta hoon tum sab bache apne bache leke chalo mere saath. Itne saal ho gaye koi aata bhi nahi ab. Varshith ki Nani bhi kitna yaad karti hai sabko." He shook his head in sadness. I felt bad. I loved visiting my maternal grandparents' house, since my Dad's parents died before I was born. But as I grew up, my vacations turned into short visits and then stopped altogether.
