A Life Of Lies | ✔

10 - Part 1

March 23, 1996

Samosas. Little Anirudh's favorite. The eight-year-old could never get enough of them, try as he may. And luck had it that the house cook Chitra Chaturvedi made the best samosas in all of Pune. Keema Samosas and green chutney, the constants in Anirudh's life.

So, you could imagine the grief Anirudh felt when he heard that Chitra passed away. Who would make him Keema Samosas hereafter? He was bummed.

Little did he know, he had traded his love for the fried goods for something bigger. Something better.

Exactly one week after No-More-Samosas grief, Anirudh saw a little girl in his garden. She had the cutest little white dress on, the hem dipped and dirtied with the garden mud as she planted a few flower seeds inside, packing them with the wet mud.

She had this bright smile on her face, it radiated across the whole garden and even managed to reach Anirudh's window and inside his big blue room. It felt magical to the little boy because even sunlight didn't properly light the room at times. But the little girl's carefree smile gave Anirudh a mental sweet tooth for her.

So, ran our little hero outside. He stood beside her, waiting for her to notice him. The little girl turned, her braids bouncing off her shoulder. She looked up at the big figure standing next to her, her eyes crinkling in the sunshine. With a small pout, she returned to the task at hand. This was the first time she has ever seen such a big garden. And her papa gave her seeds to plant. Oh, it was a big task. A big responsibility. And she had no time for tall-standing intruders.

But this angered Anirudh. How can the little girl not smile at him? Her smile had been so bright when he had peeped through the window. But now that he was up close, she wasn't smiling anymore. That can't happen, can it? At least, not in Anirudh's world.

And so, without thinking twice, he reached forward and set his sneaker-clad right foot firm on top of the mud pile she had built. And it was mere inches away from her teeny tiny fingers. She withdrew them and gasped. Her little plant was already destroyed by the tall man. She looked up at him, her lips quivering.

Anirudh crouched down to meet her eye. "Anirudh Joshi."

The six-year-old blinked.

"Your name?" The boy pressed.

"Han - Hansika," a little unstable voice replied, earning Anirudh's smile.

"Ani and Hani. I like it."

Blinks were the reply again.

"Smile, Hani. Smile at me."

When the little girl took too long to process, Anirudh grabbed her plump cheeks and stretched them wide. It didn't hurt Hansika. Not much. But she fell on her back, afraid of 'Ani' already.

Her pure white dress was completely destroyed now, becoming brown and dirty. It was one of the dresses her late mother loved to make her wear. And now it was ruined, just like the flower.

Just how all little peoples' brains are wired, hers told her to cry. So she did. And the sound was particularly loud, so Anirudh's mother Meenal Joshi came out. She saw the chaos in front of her and lifted Hansika up, coaxing her. After a few minutes, the little girl's father, also the butler of the house came to pick his daughter up and away from his employers. Meenal turned to her son.