#arshi kh

[naaradpr]

‘Kaise Miloon Main..?’ - A Vegetable Vendor’s Tribute To Salman Khan on the Superstar’s Birthday 

We have all heard many inspirational tales in Bollywood but here’s one of a unique kind. Selling vegetables on the streets of Surat to turning singer, his journey has been an eventful one. Meet Arun Kumar Nikam, an ardent admirer of Salman Khan, whose adulation for the actor has made him pursue his dream. The fan will be launching his second musical venture, a song titled ‘Kaise Miloon Main..?’, dedicated to his favourite star on the eve of the latter’s birthday. Anyone can be a Salman Khan fan, however, only a true fan gets truly inspired by his idol! Commendable, isn’t it? Not knowing that he was meant to be a singer-writer, Arun Kumar Nikam, a Maharashtrian from a middle-class family in Jalgaon, reminisced that one incident, when Salman Khan was accused and people claimed he was a criminal, “I failed in my 12th exams as I could not concentrate at all. People were saying these false things about Bhaijaan.” His family members were not happy with what he was doing as they had spent every penny they saved on his education. When things didn’t work out for him, he was forced to relocate to Surat and start afresh. “When I first landed in Surat, I had no clue of what I was supposed to do. Somehow, I started selling vegetables,” averred an emotional Nikam, whose struggle began in 2001 when he was barely 15. He chanced upon a meeting with Salim Khan, Salman’s father, “With a dream to write a story and Salman bhai to play the lead is how it all started! I met Salim sir and conveyed my wishes to him as well,” he said. Everyone Arun Kumar Nikam came across back then only told him that he was too young to be pursuing this as a writer. “I met the who’s who of India’s production houses but they all said it was too early for me,” he averred. Being 15 didn’t help, he believed. However, not giving up on his dream to meet Salman, he sold vegetables in Surat on weekdays and tried his luck on every weekend there was, spending everything that he earned during his weekday grind. Struggling for 14 years, never knowing whether he would meet Salman, Arun Kumar Nikam believed that his luck was running out. However, after a chance meeting with music director Nikhil Kamath, he came up with Nikam’s first music project titled ‘Waah Teri Bewafai’. “This gave me the confidence to pursue what I have always wanted to do. A story for Salman sir. Then at the sets of ‘Prem Ratan Dhan Payo', my dream was fulfilled. I finally met my idol,” he said, while also adding that during those tough times when he tried to meet Salman, he ended up with no money. Situation became that tense that he would often end up eating with beggars on the street! Recalled he, “I asked myself how I ended up there. Then a voice from the inner self uttered, ‘Kaise Miloon Main..?’,” adding that the song is produced by Khyati Bhatt and Jay Tilekar, starring Vinod Soni, and sung by Arun Kumar Nigam, “That’s it… I knew I had the idea for this song.” Just because he is a huge fan of Bhai is not why Arun Kumar Nikam wants to meet Salman again. He wants to meet him because he is a good writer and has written a special story just for him. “I just need one day! This is the last option I have. If nothing will happen after this, obviously I will have to go back to sell veggies again. My family had abandoned me a long time ago, however, since the launch of that one album, we are talking again as they know I am stable again,” knowing that he is doing something with his life. “Hard work. Just pure hard work has made this possible for me,” said the obsessed fan in Arun Kumar Nikam. Celebrities who graced the event held at Cinetheque, Hotel Sahara Star, included Mukesh Rishi, Sudesh Bhosale, Pawan Shankar, Santosh Shukla, Abhinav Gautam and Arshi Khan alongside the team that stood by Arun through thick and thin... actor Vinod Soni, producers Deepika Soni, Khyati Bhatt, Jay Tilekar and Jethmal Soni, video director Sagar Sahay, Gaurav Kumar, friends and supporters Ashok Hadia, Manoj Rathod and Ajay Soni, Sunil Mewavala, Festival Director Mohan Das, writer-director Anusha Srinivasan Iyer, Suresh Mishra among others. ‘Kaise Miloon Main..?’ has been presented by Anup Jalota.

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Charade - Chapter 10

Chapter 9 // Read on FFnet // Read on Wattpad

Chapter 10: Choices

Half an hour after Jiji had left her in the kitchen, Khushi approached the dining table with slow, shuffling steps. But her heart soared when she realised that Jiji had called home, and was now talking to Amma.

“Everything … everything is fine here, Amma.”

Khushi approached her sister, “Jiji, may I?”

Jiji handed her the phone after a short hesitation and returned to her task of readying the table for breakfast.

“Amma … it’s … it’s me … Kh-Khushi.”

Amma fell silent in the middle of her sentence. And then a series of low beeps told her that the call had ended.

“Amma! … Amma! …”

A terrible loneliness welled within her as she contemplated a future where no one wanted her — not her husband, not his family, and not even her own.

“What are you doing?!” Mami-ji called out as she flounced towards them, “Are you standing around crying? If you miss your maternity homes so much then why have you forcibly come here? We didn’t want you anyway!”

Khushi cringed as Mami-ji berated Jiji, ordering her to get back to work, before rounding on her, “And you! Comes with me!”

Back in the kitchen, Mami-ji paced in front of her like an angry general.

“You may have cooked, but no one in this house wants to eat your food! Don’t even show your face at the dining table lest everyone loses their appetite.”

She stopped, eyes narrowing, “What’s this! Have you burnt yourself? You don’t even know how to work in the kitchen? Hello, hi, bye bye!”

Khushi didn’t bother to hide her tears, humiliation threatening to overwhelm her as Mami-ji marched away. She followed, hoping to find something in Arnav-ji’s bedroom to soothe her burn, and found him standing around the corner. It was clear that he’d been standing there for a while.

“Come,” his voice was surprisingly gentle as he led her to the study.

He sat her on a sofa before rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a first aid kit.

“I can do it,” she protested as he took her hand, but he silenced her with a look.

He tended to her carefully, first applying cream before bandaging the wound, and she was reminded of the time he’d driven to a temple to tend to her wounded finger.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

“I was distracted, thinking of how to make Jiji talk to me, and the oil overheated.”

“Be careful,” he admonished with a tinge of anger in his voice, “first the bangle and now this.”

She closed her eyes, liking the feel of his fingers against her skin entirely too much. The reminder of the way he’d bandaged her wound in the car, his breath warm against her skin as he’d used his teeth to take out the glass shard, heated her body.

“It’s done.”

Khushi opened her eyes to watch him replace the first aid box in the cupboard.

“Arnav-j—”

“Khushi-ji are you hurt?!”

Shyam-ji rushed into the room, his arm extended as if to touch her. Khushi recoiled, pressing up against the sofa in an attempt to get away.

“How dare you, Arnav,” Shyam-ji snarled as he turned his attention to the figure now frozen in the corner, “How dare you touch her.”

Arnav-ji took a step forward, his fingers curling into fists as he seemed to snarl, and a terrible fear coiled around Khushi’s heart. She sprang forward to place herself between the two men, her only thought to prevent them from coming to blows. It would destroy everything they’d worked for if anyone saw them and told Anjali-ji. Her husband froze when he touched his arm, looking down at her in disbelief.

“Chhote? Khushi-ji? What’s wrong?” Anjali-ji appeared at the top of the stairs as if called by ill fate.

“Nothing, Di,” Arnav-ji spoke, his eyes still burning into Khushi’s, “Nothing at all.”

He stormed away after one last, baleful look at Shyam-ji, and Khushi watched him disappear through the front door as tears prickled in her eyes. Then she started as a hand touched her cheek, barely containing a scream before realising that it was Anjali-ji.

“Did Chhote fight with you?” she asked softly.

“N-no,” Khushi answered truthfully, “he was bandaging my arm. I burnt myself.”

Behind Anjali-ji, Shyam-ji seemed to seethe. Khushi tried to focus on her sister-in-law as she spoke again, “Then why did he leave like that?”

“If his sister doesn’t understand him,” Khushi tried to smile, “then what hope does his wife of two days have?”

She bounded away before Anjali-ji could speak, heading towards his bedroom. Once there, she shut herself inside and sagged against the door, recalling the betrayal in his eyes as she’d stood between him and Shyam-ji.

She knew how it looked. She knew exactly what had gone through his mind. Her knees buckled as a wave of despair overcame her and she sank to the floor, sobs wracking her form.

But what else could I have done, Devi Maiyya?

It seemed that every decision she made was wrong. Everything she did only hurt him more, and it was all the worse because it was him, the one person she’d never wish to hurt.

What if staying here was a mistake? What if I’m only hurting him?

Once the thought was in her mind it was impossible to banish, the idea that she should’ve just left that night instead of forcing this mockery of a marriage on him.

Khushi spent the day in the bedroom. She watched TV, though not even the latest episodes of her favourite serial could coax her out of her melancholy. She strolled around the poolside, her fingers tracing the delicate leaves and flowers of the plants he took care of so diligently. She pretended to be asleep when Anjali-ji knocked on the door. 

It was late in the evening when Arnav-ji finally returned, striding into the room and throwing his keys on the table before shrugging out of his jacket. He didn’t seem to notice Khushi as she sat in a chair by the poolside until he stepped outside.

“What are you doing here?” he barked, “Get out! Leave me alone, dammit!”

She stood hastily, aiming for the door, but he caught her arm when she was alongside him.

“How can you be so vulgar? Your mother won’t speak to you. Your sister can’t even look at you. And no wonder. You defended your lover out in the open today.”

He’d always known, hadn’t he, how to tear down with just a few words, and now she crumpled under the weight of his accusations. Every word was a clean, precise incision into her heart.

“I didn’t!” Khushi gasped with pain, her tummy roiling in protest, “What if someone had seen? What if someone had told Anjali-ji?”

“Since when do you care so much about my sister?” he scoffed, his hand tightening on her flesh.

“Stop,” she twisted in his hold, “You’re hurting me.”

He released her so suddenly that she stumbled into the table, and by the time she’d regained her balance he was at the bed. He gathered up a blanket and pillow before returning to the glass doors and threw them carelessly on the ground.

“Stay the hell away from me.”

Chapter 11

[phati-sari]

Arshi FF: Charade - Chapter 5

Chapter 4 // Read on FFnet // Read on Wattpad

Chapter 5: Chaos

“You understand that this is not real?”

Khushi stared up at the brilliant white structure in front of them, “Yes.”

A loveless marriage. Devi Maiyya, please give me strength.

“Do you really?” he pressed, “You asked to live in Shantivan as my wife. It will be legally binding. But there is no future, and after the baby is born …”

The tiny flame of hope still alive inside her spluttered, and then died.

There is no future.

“I understand,” her voice was small and frail.

He opened his door and rounded the car to help with hers. When he offered his hand, she slid her palm against his with trepidation, and then they climbed the temple stairs together like that. Hand in hand.

Two men met them at the top, both clad in suits and one carrying a slim briefcase.

“Sir,” the younger one stepped forward, “I have the papers.”

Arnav-ji signed the proffered documents after reading them carefully, and it wasn’t long before the man stood in front of her.

“Aman Mathur,” he introduced himself.

“Kh-Khushi … Khushi Kumari G-Gupta.”

Aman-ji nodded as he handed her a document and pen, and cleared his throat when she hesitated.

“Papers,” he explained softly, “to say that you will not ask for any part of the estate or company in the case of a divorce.”

Khushi blinked, some part of her turning to ash as she realised what was happening.

The other man stepped up, “It’s a standard agreement. The law says that you would be entitled to alimony in the case of a divorce. By signing these papers you forfeit that right.”

She guessed that this was the lawyer. Khushi looked up to find that Arnav-ji was staring unseeing into the holy fire.

He doesn’t even care.

This proof of the depth of his mistrust broke something inside her. She signed the papers, hardly able to bring them into focus because of the tears that blurred her vision.

In the end, the ceremony was a grim parody of the one they’d just witnessed. He placed a simple necklace about her neck without fanfare, though she closed her eyes as she felt her entire future change. She sobbed, the reality of the moment finally slamming into her when he pinched sindoor between his fingers. He leaned forward to place it into the part of her hair, and then it was done.

Feeling weak, Khushi swayed with her face buried in her hands, trying in vain to stem her tears.

“Aman,” Arnav-ji called.

She looked up as the other man approached, noting that he seemed unfazed by what he’d seen. But then she saw the apology in his eyes when their eyes met.

“Ma’am,” he spoke gently, “the marriage papers.”

These were signed with quick efficiency, first by herself and Arnav-ji, and then their witnesses.

“Find an officiator,” Arnav-ji gave brisk instructions, “Back-date whatever needs to be backdated. Pay whatever you need to, but I want it handled by the end of this week. And remember, it must be legally sound. No one should be able to cast doubts on its validity.”

The two men left them standing yards apart inside the temple.

“What now?” she asked, feeling utterly drained.

He slipped a floral wreath about his neck before handing her a matching one. 

“We go home.”

The silence inside his car rang so loudly that Khushi’s ears throbbed. She trembled, thinking of what awaited them, and jumped when the low beep of his phone sliced the air.

Arnav-ji glanced at the screen, “Di is looking for us.”

Then they stood at his front door, her fingers clenched into the soft fabric of her dupatta. She startled when he reached across to take her hand in his, a gesture she might have interpreted as reassurance if she didn’t know better, and panic settled in when he opened the door. It was thick in her veins even though the plan and decision had both been hers. She covered his hand with her own, trying to stop him, but he seemed immune to her struggles as he pulled her into the main room.

The guests had left. Jiji and Jija-ji sat surrounded by immediate family, playing the games expected of newlyweds on their wedding night.

Anjali-ji was the first to notice their silent arrival, the light leaving her eyes and her mouth falling open as she tracked their progress. Nanhe-ji pointed his video camera in their direction and then lowered it with a gasp. Bua-ji glanced up, at first not registering what she saw, and then stood with a cry of outrage.

Khushi shook.

It was worse than she’d imagined. Their families asked questions they couldn’t answer, not with the health of Anjali-ji and her unborn child at stake. But Khushi wondered if this was any better, whether seeing the brother she loved betray her and her ideals had achieved what they’d tried to avoid in any case.

Seeing all her worries come to fruition, Bua-ji shook her, demanding explanations and becoming ever more frustrated with her silence.

There was chaos, and questions, and tears.

She was already drained when Amma stepped up, already too tired and too overwrought to do anything but stand next to her newly minted husband and weep, and so was caught completely by surprise by the slap. Khushi stumbled into Arnav-ji, cheek stinging and ears ringing, and felt him angle himself to catch her. When she looked up, a part of her hating that he’d seen this, his rage-filled gaze was locked on Amma.

And again, her naive heart dared to hope.

Arnav-ji’s facade of calm indifference only cracked when Anjali-ji began asking questions. Khushi watched him play the role of villain, her heart twisting with pain and regret.

“Chhote, how could you do this? To me? To us?”

“Di, we’re married. It’s done.”

It was then, as Anjali-ji wept and Aakash-ji gazed at them in confusion, as Nani-ji raged her disappointment and Jiji sobbed into her dupatta, that Arnav-ji took her hand. His fingers brushed hers almost questioningly before gripping tightly. Khushi jumped in shock, her eyes finding his face almost instantly, and saw that he wasn’t looking at her at all.

He was staring at Shyam-ji, who seemed to shake with rage at the sight.

“And if you marry someone else?”

“He’ll see that I don’t want … That I ch-chose someone e-else.”

“That you chose me?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Khushi curled her fingers with his, her mouth set in grim determination as she stared defiantly at Shyam-ji.

This man was her choice, and always would be, whether he wanted her or not.

Chapter 6