To Love or Not To Love

Chapter 38

Life was getting cumbersome for Arnav Singh Raizada. The Milan storefront inauguration was in just eight weeks, and here he was giving Khushi the opportunity of a lifetime to be part of such a big project. This experience would take her to unimaginable heights in her career. But instead of focussing on how to improve her career, she was more keen on dancing to Bollywood tunes with Bansal.

That was not entirely true, Arnav admitted to himself. Khushi was a dedicated and diligent worker, and it would be extremely unfair if he took that away from her. Wasn't that the reason why he had employed her in the first place?

"Sure, you employed her because she was a really good designer," his conscience mocked.

"Of course I did", his rational brain responded.

Ever since Khushi had "fallen" into his life, his conscience had suddenly discovered a voice. And it was proving to be the most annoying thing, as far as he was concerned.

He looked at the huge parcel lying on his table. Despite the hectic work surrounding her sister's engagement, Khushi had managed to complete all the designs he had asked her to, in two days. Not just that, she had also sent him sample materials and colour swatches and indicated her preferences using small colour coded Post-It notes.

The designs were innovative, an absolute breath of fresh air. Sure they would all have to be reworked, but at least the skeleton was there. His designers would do the rest. He carefully caressed the swatches. Fabrics. They reminded him of his mother and her endless sarees and dupattas. She had one in every colour and he loved them. He often spent a lot of time in his mother's room playing with her clothes.

"Chhote," his mother would call him from afar. Knowing that his mother was making her way towards his room, he would hurriedly stuff all her clothes into her cupboard. Then he would rush to his room and hurriedly open his books pretending to read. His father would not be very pleased if he found out. There was only one time his father had caught him playing with his mother's clothes. That day, not only had his father told him what he thought about boys who like sarees, but he also sent Arnav to bed without dinner. Hunger had not allowed him to sleep. Tiptoeing his way to the kitchen to find leftovers, he had overheard the conversation between his mother and father.

"What's wrong with Arnav? Boys don't play with clothes. I can understand cars, trains, even guns, but clothes?"

"He's just a kid."

"He isn't just any kid, he is my son, my heir. One day he will take over all my business. What work he has with sarees and dupattas."

"Don't get angry, I will talk to him."

He had dared to take a peek. His father was sitting erect on the chair and his mother was gently massaging his shoulders.

"You better," his father had told his mother, the veiled threat unmistakeable. "Otherwise I will have to talk to him, and he won't like the way I do it."

The Raizadas were traditional zamindars in that part of the country. They owned huge farmlands and had all their wealth invested in real estate. But AR was the brainchild of Arnav. His passion for beautiful clothes, his love affair with fabrics and his expertise with motifs and handlooms helped make the brand the best in the country today.

Reminiscing his childhood, Arnav slowly made his way to the small cottage that was located a short walk from Sheesh Mahal. When he had bought the property, he had been surprised to find out that the house he grew up in had been untouched. It was exactly the way he last remembered it, albeit covered in a lot of dust - huge chandeliers that hung from its ceilings, winding staircases leading to the bedrooms, and vast lands that served as Arnav and Anjali's personal play area. He had walked in, touching the balustrades, reminiscing old times. Then he had abruptly walked out and ordered that the cottage be closed, again, forever. Arnav Singh Raizada didn't believe in fond memories, he focused on harsh realities. But somehow, seeing Khushi's work today, he was reminded of his mother's wardrobe.