OH OH
She frowned, her nose scrunching at the dead brown leaves from the packet. A smile hung on her lips as her husband’s yells made its way to the kitchen. Pity his secretary, that man could be the testimony of the world’s second humanoid.
The first being her husband, for he was the only person who could find faults in his assistant’s flawless work. A shudder went up her spine, recalling her days of being his assistant’s assistant. To think of it, her husband’s company might end up producing a line of humanoids than actual fashion garments. Her sweet musings came to an end with the foul smell of stale cilantro teasing nostrils.
“Om Prakash!” Her faithful and favourite butler ran in, a fresh packet of cilantro in his hands. Just in time! Spreading the herb over the pilaf, she tasted a morsel herself to make sure that it’s not too spicy or sweet for her husband’s delicate stomach and diabetes.
“It’s perfect ma’am.” 4 feet 10 inches tall Om Prakash beamed, knowing his knowledge would be trusted for he had come from a family of esteemed local chefs.
“Om Prakash! How many times should I ask you to just call me Khushi!” Khushi smiled, applying a layer of flat dough over the clay pot. Without her further instruction Om Prakash smiled benignly at Khushi and placed the pot in the oven. Wiping his hands on a spare towel, Khushi chuckled at Jai Prakash - the cook’s sullen expression.
“What’s the matter Jai Prakash?”
“Ma’am…”
“Khushi!”
“Khushi ma’am…”
“Just Khushi!”
“Khushi didi… … …”
“Why did you stop speaking?”
“Oh I thought you’ll stop me from saying didi!” Khushi laughed and shook her head.
“You called me as your elder sister, what’s wrong with that?” Jai Prakash swelled in pride, momentarily forgetting his complaint over the food. Getting a thump on his back from his brother, Om Prakash, Jai Prakash recalled his complain.
“Ma’am if you’re to cook everything, survey everything, what am I here for? Sahib will kick me out as good as tomorrow!”
“Now now Jai Prakash! You know I run a small time dabba (tiffin) business, you do help me there - don’t you?” Khushi smiled brightly, untying her apron as Jai Prakash shifted in his feet slightly.
“Didi, you know it’s not going that well. The real dabba walas have been running up my nose. Saale…”
“Jai, language!” Om Prakash snapped while Khushi frowned, “Why didn’t you tell me before? Now spit out the issue!”
“Didi, the dabbawalas are producing even cheaper rates and faster service and you know we can neither cheapen nor fasten our services for it will be of more loss to us. Earlier people used to order because of the Raizada tag but now…” A bell interrupted Jai Prakash. Khushi regretted pausing Jai Prakash but she had no option for her husband informed her of an important client.
Slipping back her diamond encrusted bangles and unclipping her hair, she checked her saree once again before hurrying to the door.
“You look wonderful Khushi ma’am!” She heard Om Prakash from an earshot, grinning, irrespective of the bad news.
“Not ma’am Om Prakash!” Khushi jokingly scowled back, smiling as her husband ran down the stairs. A solid year after their wedding yet Khushi couldn’t get over his handsomeness.
Dressed in a crisp black shirt and jeans that clung onto his hips, Khushi sighed. Though her smile faded the minute a tall legged woman burst in and took him in an intimate hug.
“Arnav!”
“Sheetal!”
Her day just went from bad to worse.
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Chapter 1 ⇒⇒
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My dearest readers!
Welcome to my newest writing attempt! I hope you'll like the incoming chapters and the way Khushi would assert herself as 'The Mrs. Raizada'. No itsy witsy characters can simply charm their way into a Raizada's heart can they? *Grinning weirdly*
Love,
*
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