In "Bridging Hearts," Naman and Ishika meet by chance, forming a bond that blossoms into love. Their siblings, Kabir and Nitya, who constantly bicker at school, find themselves entangled in this journey. When Naman's father disapproves of their rela...
Crossing through one of the poshest areas of Central Delhi, one cannot help but be awestruck by the grandeur of Prithviraj Road. Nestled in the heart of the Lutyens' Bungalow Zone, this luxurious avenue is flanked by the serene Lodhi Gardens, the prestigious Delhi Golf Course, the historic Race Course, and the majestic Safdarjung Tomb. It is a testament to the opulence of the country's top industrialists, a place where wealth and sophistication converge.
Amidst this display of affluence stands a beautiful, lavish two-storey bungalow, surrounded by an expansive garden that exudes a tranquil charm. The bungalow itself is a marvel, housing nine bedrooms on its upper floor, while the lower floor boasts expansive family rooms, elegant living areas, spectacular dining spaces, intimate lounges, a study, and an inbuilt temple. Mature trees spread their branches generously around the property, adding to its serene and picturesque ambiance.
The nameplate at the entrance of this magnificent bungalow proudly displays the name of one of the country's most prominent business families: The Raichands.
As Deepawali approaches, the splendour of the bungalow is magnified by the beautiful lights that adorn it. Strings of shimmering fairy lights and intricate lanterns cast a warm, inviting glow over the property, making it look even more enchanting. The garden is illuminated with a myriad of colors, and the gentle flicker of diyas adds a touch of traditional charm to the modern elegance of the house. The Raichand bungalow, always a symbol of prosperity and grandeur, now gleams even brighter, celebrating the festival of lights with unmatched splendor.
A woman in her late 50s stood gracefully in front of the Ram Darbar, clad in a zardozi white saree that accentuated her elegance. The soft glow of the diyas cast a warm light on her serene face as she held a Pooja plate, ready to begin her morning prayers.
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As she started performing the Aarti, the soft, melodious strains of her voice filled the room. Soon, she was joined by another man, also in his 50s. Despite his age, he looked dashing in a white pair of salwar and kurta, a shawl draped over his shoulders. The woman smiled warmly at him, and he returned the gesture with a look of pure adoration. Their mornings always began this way, the ritual of the Aarti a sacred start to their day.
Suddenly, a young boy of about ten years old bounded into the room. His eyes lit up at the sight of the prasad, and he reached out eagerly to grab a laddu. Before he could, his mother lightly tapped his hand, stopping him in his tracks. She glared at him playfully, and the boy responded by sticking out his tongue in a cheeky gesture.
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