Once Upon A Hullabaloo!

CHAPTER 18

If you remember, I had promised that once I finish this book, I was planning on a diary kind of thing that could give you all a peek into Kshitij's mind.

Well, the news is that I've twisted the idea a little bit and have decided to go for it right now! I think it will help the story better.

We know a lot about our heroine Omanah and now it's time to get to know Kshitij. What is his story, huh?

Brace yourselves my beloved readers, for here we are, set to view the story from the point of view of our very own hero- Kshitij Gulati! :D

His tale begins from before he had heard of someone called Omanah Thakkar.

kSHITIJ'S POV:

Tossing the briefcase on the teapoy, I fell on the brown leather couch of the snow-white drawing room. I loosened my tie and undid the collar button as the clock on the wooden television unit struck nine. My eyes momentarily lingered over the living room bar which showcased some of the most expensive bottles from around the world.

After a few, long strides, I found my fingers twisted around  the crystal decanter that stood on a polished silver tray at the bar island. Before I knew, it's lid had come off and I was pouring down the pale gold Scotch into a glass on that tray. I stared at the filled glass and let out a sigh.

"It's good to see you back from the office before midnight. I was tired of the lonely dinners." Mom was leaning against one of the snow-white columns that supported the archway that opened to the dining room. 

She looked elegant as ever in a crisp cotton saree with the subtle gold framed reading glasses suspended on a chain around her neck. A thick, hard-bound book was held close to her bosom. 

I raked a hand through my hair, "Weren't you supposed to be at the airport to recieve dad?"

She sighed, "He extended his trip for a couple of days more. He said that it will take a few more meetings before he compltetely wins over this particular party. These Americans are very fickle minded." She huffed.

I shrugged encircling the edge of the glass of scotch with my finger.

She shifted awkwardly, "Jay and Sanjana had called up a few hours back. They had a pleasant flight and have reached London safely. They will be staying there for four days and will be leaving for France later."

"Good." The movement of my finger around the glass stopped and I held it in a steady grip.

She walked upto me and put a hand on my shoulder, "Whom have you poured that drink for?"

I smiled humourlessly, "For me."

"I see." She paused for a moment, "Switching from workaholic to become an alcoholic. Seems like fourteen hours of office didn't serve the purpose."

I inhaled sharply, "One can always try."

"You aren't this person, Kshitij. You never were." She caressesed my hair.

"People change." I picked up the glass from the island.

She looked at the scotch in my hand, "This will give you nothing but pain, Kshitij."

"They say it relieves you from one." I brought the glass to my lips and it's peculiar whiff filled my lungs.

I cringed and abandoned the glass back on the counter. Whom was I kidding? Like many other traits, Jay was the only one who had inherited Dad's taste for 'fine'  liquor- as he liked to put it.