Chapter Twelve: P for Paris, Passion and Patil
Date:
18th July 2012
Time: 6.50p.m
Place: West side patio, Mansfield Castle Hotel, Scottish Highlands
Mood: Bonded at last
I need to find her!'
That's all his mind kept repeating, as Dutta ran.
I need to find her!'
He thought yet again, as his urgency grew.
Dutta had been so preoccupied from the utter glee of knowing his Rosie was here, that he didn't even realise he had bumped into someone.
Well actually he did realise.
What he hadn't done-nor cared for doing-was apologising to the guy he'd bumped into.
Dutta had even noticed that he had knocked him off balance and what's more, he had realised he seemingly spoilt what was shaping up to be someone's proposal, but Dutta couldn't help but scoff at the guy's proposal attempt.
It was a cheap shot really; proposing to your partner at someone else's wedding. Thunder stealing much? What a way to upstage the happy couple of day? Dutta sympathised with the poor girl-whoever she may have been-who was being proposed to. Dutta knew if it was him, if he was in her position, he'd have rejected the guy purely on his half-Ass attempt at a proposal.
But Dutta was preoccupied with his own thoughts: he needed to find Rosie. He wanted to find her, so much so, that that it didn't even matter that Roops had mistaken her for someone else.
For his wife.
Wife.
Shit.
Suddenly Dutta stopped in his tracks.
What was he doing?
But before he could ponder some more, he found that he'd accidently collided into someone else. Clearly today of all days his own brakes' were proving faulty.
He had bumped into a lady.
One whose drink he had knocked out of her hand. The half empty champagne glass fell with a soft chink-like sound' to the concrete ground, and smashed into several tiny pieces, some stretching as far as the nearby top step leading towards the back conservatory area. At first Dutta assumed his unfortunate bump was his own mother, that nauseating vanilla and mixed spice scent had assaulted his nostrils yet again.
But it wasn't Mrs Patil.
"I'm so sorry..."
Dutta looked up at the lady, who was busy cleaning her sari, she waved off his apology, raising her head she opened her mouth to speak but suddenly stopped, and instead her finely kohl'ed almond shaped eyes grew in shock.
She gaped at Dutta. Her eyes tracing his features. She noted the shape of his eyes; the length of his nose, his prominent M' shaped lips to finally his dimpled chin, as though she was seeing him after a long time. She stared the hardest and longest at his chin as though it was eerily familiar.
Dutta's own eyes widened in surprise when the realisation hit.
He knew her.
Well by word of mouth anyway.
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"Tall, like mom, though she has a slimmer build, and shorter hair, kinda coiffed...don't worry you'll know who she is with just one glance, Bhau." Roops had reassured him, merely minutes before.
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Dutta became very aware of who he was looking at.
She had now stopped staring at him, averting her gaze, he could sense she was nervous. Like a dear in the headlights. Dutta was about to say something to her, although he was not sure where he'd begin when he finally saw his Rosie; for the third time.
The third time in his life.
And what he was about to find out really soon would be his last.
Three hours ago
Baji gingerly placed his hand on his jaw and moaned somewhat;
"Kya hua?" Dutta questioned between smiling for the photos.
"My jaw is killing me."
Dutta chuckled, but quickly stopped when he saw Kala glare at the pair of them.
"Come on Tai, that's enough. It's not like I'm featuring on People magazine." Baji ridiculed.
"Stop complaining. And keep your eyes open!" Kala warned him.
The photographer snapped more pictures, sometimes while he stood on a chair, oft times while lying flat on his stomach and occasionally while he sat cross-legged on the floor. Indeed he was a strange fellow. The fact that he'd opted for a kilt-the traditional way mind you-added to the peculiarity. Safe to say not much was left to anyone's imagination.
But apparently he was the best in the business, which to Kala meant that so long as the photos were picture perfect'-pun intended-she could not care less if he decided to turn up to the wedding in his birthday suit.
"Ok, couples' pictures now. Armaan you're up first." Kala called, as she reviewed some of the photos on the photographer's camera.
Armaan made his way over to the bride and groom, fist bumping Baji, he sat in the single seat next to him.
"Where's Roops?" Kala frowned, looking around.
"I dunno, I sent Priya to find her." Armaan responded back nonchalantly, while adding as he straightened his tie:
"To be honest she looked queasy earlier."
Kala's face suddenly drained of all colour. Dutta thought that strange. It wasn't as though Roops was a child, she'd turn up right? So why did Kala suddenly look so frightened. What was more she seemed to have been thinking aloud-or rather scolding herself, while Kishore attempted to reassure her.
"...I should have been stricter. It's the travelling. I should have known better! Didn't this happen last time?" She frantically whispered to Kishore who seemed to be soothing her, rubbing her back gently while he said;
"She's fine. She's being extra careful this time round. We all are."
Those words seemed odd to Dutta, what was Roop being extra careful about? Heck why were they all walking on egg shells? What was he missing? But more than that why did Kala still look so apprehensive?
Kala clearly remained unsatisfied.
"Hey, hey, look at me." Kishore tilted her head up, so that she looked up at him:
"It's not your fault. Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen. I mean it." This seemed to relax her somewhat, but it wasn't until Kala saw Roops follow Priya into the room that she let out a sigh of relief.
"There you are!" She exclaimed before hugging Roops tightly.
Again Dutta found the interaction strange. Not the hug, after all Kala was in every sense of the word just as much of a Tai to Roops (and Dutta) as she was to Baji, but this interaction indeed was odd. First Kala's fear, next her apprehension, and then Kishore comforting her and now the way she greeted Roops;
What is going on?' Dutta pondered.
Adding fuel to the already burning fire of curiosity, Kala seemed to whisper;
"Are you ok?" to Roops, who in turn nodded and smiled weakly before she made her way next to the bride. Squeezing Haya's hand affectionately (who too oddly looked rather concerned) to show her she was ok, and smiling at Baji encouragingly, the photographer got back to work.
Dutta made a mental note to ask Baji what in the world was going on; he clearly seemed to have missed a few things while he was away. Although he had no right to demand this, Dutta very much wanted to be in the loop. Especially if it concerned his sister.
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"I swear Prince William and Kate Middleton didn't have this many photo's." Baji sang quietly so that only his wife and best friend could hear him. Both of whom fought hard to stop themselves from laughing as they saw Kala narrow their eyes at them.
"Ok, just the bride and groom now," Kala remarked-which in reality didn't mean much since Dutta was the only one besides the happy couple (minus Kala and the photographer) in the room now.
"Then we're done." She announced.
"I'm stepping out for some air," Dutta told Baji as he gladly left.
-------------------------------------------
It really was a beautiful castle, Dutta had made it a habit to walk around the gardens every morning and evening it gave him inexplicable peace-something that he needed very much so. He'd also been golfing and fishing with Baji and the others in the past few days while the ladies held their numerous functions, and while he had nearly wet himself at watching Baji fall out of the boat when claiming to have caught a live one': one being a fish, (in the end it had turned out to be a mere old black boot) it just could not compare to the far west outer garden. That was definitely his favourite spot. A spot he hadn't shared with anyone.
Anyone.
Sporadically adorned with trees and luscious grass, it really was a secluded breathtaking beauty, especially as the sun set, when the usual vibrant green hues were replaced with fiery, golden and amber tones. That was partially the reason Dutta had changed his room to the opposite side of the castle so that he would gaze out of his window and see such a view. The main reason however had been keeping his wife as far away from his family as possible.
Of course his family had come to learn of his nuptials. It was fair to say that, they were not impressed. Indeed the infamous vein on his father's forehead had pulsated, throbbing to the beat of his heart. His mother as expected remained as graceful as ever, greeting her daughter in law with an air kiss and barely-even touching hug: the way she greeted everyone.
Everyone.
Just as Dutta had predicted they did not erupt-well externally-internally however the situation was completely different, and with that thought Dutta couldn't help but smile in celebration at knowing he'd at minimal given them a sleepless night.
It was safe to say news had spread like a wild fire at the wedding that Mr Patil's estranged son had brought home his wife. Of course, no one cared. They were all far too hung up with their own affairs, secrets and not-so-secret secret liaisons to have bothered about the Patil's, especially since it was now common knowledge that since his daughter's wedding, four years ago, Mr Patil had no son. But nonetheless taking on a wife without his parents knowledge was one thing, but parading her (well that's how they would see it) at his best friend's wedding?
Now that was devilish to say the least.
Naturally none of that had bothered Dutta. Nor his wife, who had spent most of the time (she'd been in Scotland-which in reality had only been a day, since she had been advised against travelling) in her room, lying down. She needed rest. She'd even missed the speech and the dinner. In fact even now, Dutta knew she'd be resting. Just as she had been told too.
Just a few more days, that is all' Dutta reminded himself.
Then we'll know for sure.' He continued.
Ar ya Par. One way or the other...'
"Just go inside and apologise." He heard a voice sternly command.
"For what, Armaan?" The second voice spoke back assertively.
Dutta hadn't been paying attention to what he assumed was a domestic argument between a couple, (they had been at it for some time) it was not in his nature to pry into other people's lives, besides he had been far too busy lost in his own personal complications to have paid any attention to them.
Well that that was until he realised who the voices belonged to.
"For heaven's sake Roops, I'm sick and I'm tired of being the punching bag..."
"Punching bag?"
Roops was exasperated.
"Yes!" He bellowed,
"What else would you call it?" his voice boomed.
Roops blinked at him, lost for words.
"I get it she can be insensitive and overbearing but just build a bridge and get over it." He said half-annoyed.
"Build a bridge..." Roops barely managed, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Damn!" He cursed, as loosened his tie in frustration:
"Now don't start crying. Seriously what the hell? Every. Single. Time. With the waterworks." He loudly patronised.
She felt nauseous again, as she heard him speak, she knew this time the nausea had nothing to do with the baby;
"Look," He began, lowering himself to her level, his voice somewhat softer:
"Just go in and apologise to her." He commanded as he held her hands,
"It's just a matter of couple of days. Then we'll be back in our own house, ok?"
With one final squeeze of her hands, he turned around and wandered back inside to the party leaving Roops alone, who felt her legs turn into jelly as she collapsed onto a bench and did the one thing she had held in all day: cry.
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After seemingly composing herself, she placed her hand to her face to wipe away her tears, when she saw a handkerchief float near her right eye. Gasping a little, Roops, jumped up, she didn't think anyone had been around;
"Whoa, it's only me." Dutta remarked noticing how oddly startled his younger sister looked.
Dutta settled on the bench next to her. Roops who had got up from the bench in complete shock, merely gawped at him,
"Take it." Dutta ushered, edging the handkerchief closer to her;
"You look ugly when you cry!" He added, recalling what he used to say to her as kids and smiling somewhat at the happy memory.
Roops merely stared at him.
"Come on, Roops take it..."
"What do you want?" Roops snapped.
A little too harshly.
"Well right now? For you to wipe that hideous display of snot-work from your face," He laughed back.
But Roops continued staring at him, with her cold eyes.
Dutta sighed.
"Sit."
Roops opted to stand, but then she felt nauseous again, not wanting to run away and hurl she decided to sit again. Dutta edged the handkerchief even closer so that barely any space remained between it and Roops' face.
Roops, stubbornly took it from him and blew her nose. Hard.
Mostly to annoy her brother, but partly because she actually really needed to.
"You still haven't answered my question?" She finally said, still coldly.
Dutta noted her coldness. He wasn't surprised, the last time he'd seen her was years ago.
"Can't a brother sit with his sister? Does there have to be a reason?" He riddled back.
"A brother certainly can. And certainly should. But that has never applied to you." She retorted back.
"Touche." Dutta amused,
"Seriously, what do you want? I've got to go," Roops was now irritated, she was about to get up when she heard him.
"Roops, talk to me. What is going on?"
"I've no idea what you're on about." She robotically responded.
Dutta now turned to face her:
"Yes you do."
Of course she knew what he was referring to, she had the same look in her eye that he had when he avoided someone's question.
"Why do you even care?" Roops blurted.
That's not what she had wanted to say.
She had thought of many different responses to his question:
Roops, talk to me. What is going on?'
Indeed what was going on?
Plenty.
That's what.
Plenty.
So much so, that everyone in that room earlier had known that Roop was pregnant except for her brother. Sure Roops was still quite dainty and didn't seem to be showing but it really spoke volumes that the only person in that room who she shared her flesh and blood with remained completely oblivious to what her life had been like for the past four years.
Dutta had simply walked out-on the night of her reception-nonetheless, without as much as a catch you later.' Heck did he even greet her? No. He just up'd and left. Only to see her at his best friend's wedding four years later. Even throughout Baji's wedding; above the mere polite, civil interaction that he shared with all guests he hadn't even spoken to her, so what on Earth did he want to know now?
What on Earth did he want to find out now?
What on Earth did he want to talk about now?
But most importantly why on Earth had he decided to be a brother now, and not when Roops had needed him?
She was angry.
Seething.
Her eyes were now black. He could sense the volcano inside of her was about to erupt. Wasn't that exactly how he operated? It amused him somewhat that it took him all this time to realise that his sister was very much his carbon copy. They had the same eyes. The exact same eyes, yet it was their identical mannerisms and temperament that amused Dutta. This was something he had never noticed before, well that was until now, when he saw her staring at him silently.
Wordlessly she was berating him.
And he deserved it.
"Talk?"
She began shaking slightly.
"Ok let's see: Madonna's half time show at the Super Bowl was pretty awesome. Politics: did you hear Putin rigged the election. Economics; well Mastercard and Visa are having a pretty rough year what with all the compromised credit card numbers..."
"Roops, that's not what I meant."
"You said talk, what is going on, and that's exactly what I told you."
"I meant with you" Dutta clarified;
"Why are you crying?"
"I'm not anymore." Roops spoke back.
"Fine, smartypants, why were you crying?"
"I had an eyelash." She shrugged,
Dutta sighed heavily, before his face softened.
"Look, I know I've been MIA, and I have not been the best listener..."
"HA, understatement of the century!" she exploded,
"...but I'm here now. I want to know. So please let me in." He softly implored, as he placed one of his hands on top of hers.
Roops however did not speak. Her eyes remained transfixed on her hand.
The one that Dutta was now touching.
"You want in?" She eventually asked.
"Yes." Dutta replied tenderly.
Roops nodded, as though she was contemplating what she should do. Yet instead of speaking she exhaled sharply;
"What was Armaan on about?" Dutta finally asked.
He didn't want to be so direct, but Roop was being stubborn (another trait they shared.)
At the mere mention of his name, Dutta couldn't help but feel his anger boil over. It had angered him to hear the way Armaan spoke to Roops-it was both patronising and rude. Of course he couldn't comment on their marriage or their relationship, but from the snippet of the argument he had caught there was nothing more he wanted to do than punch Armaan in the face.
Although Baji had kept Dutta in the loop about the going on's in his family while Dutta remained on the outside; Roop had never really flashed up on the radar. Heck now that Dutta thought hard about it, he wasn't even sure Baji told him anything.
Nor did Dutta ever ask about her.
This made Dutta internally wince.
He couldn't help but feel a bigger fool now. Clearly all was not well with his younger sister and he wanted to know why. They may never have shared a special bond, but she was and would always remain his baby sister, and while he didn't often show it: he did love her.
Roops had still not opened up. So Dutta changed tack;
"Why was Kala tai so worried? Have you been unwell?"
Just thinking of the possibilities made Dutta's stomach churn. Especially now, when he awaited some important test results himself. Realising that his chain of thought was headed back in the direction he'd much rather avoid, he stopped himself and concentrated on his sister.
She looked up at him, maybe she sensed his sincerity or maybe it was something else but then suddenly Dutta saw something flash in her eyes.
Affection.
It was new.
Although he and Roops were never close they also weren't at war with each other, but the look that he saw now, warmed his heart. It reminded him very much of Baji and Kala.
"You've missed a lot." She whispered, almost completely defeated.
"So fill me in." He responded.
"It's going to take a long time." She reasoned.
"I have all night for you."
And he meant it.
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Date:
8th June 2014
Time: 6.34 p.m
Place: The "Love Lock" Bridge, Pont de l'Archeveche, Paris.
Mood: Zealous
"Meh?" He repeated her words, raising an eyebrow at her.
Nakusha again shrugged her shoulders as she watched on.
"Seriously!?" He queried in shock.
Nakusha continued to look unimpressed.
"Unbelievable" He managed as he folded his arms and looked away.
"No it's not. That's exactly the point." Nakusha spoke instantly.
"You're insane." Dutta replied as he shook his head at her.
"Why? Because I don't find the Eiffel Tower A-mazing." She said the last word in his accent to mock him.
Dutta narrowed his eyes at her before he mimicked her;
"Meh."
Two could play at this game.
"What? It is meh" Nakusha defended.
"You must be the first person ever to have looked at the Eiffel Tower and called it and I quote; Meh." He added, while doing air quotes.
"So sorry Mayor of Paris." Nakusha dramatically responded clutching her heart.
"Hardy Haha," Dutta uttered each syllable in dripping sarcasm.
"But seriously that is the first thing that came to you when you saw it?" he asked yet again.
"Yeah." Nakusha replied honestly.
"You are an odd cookie." Dutta continued.
"One in a million" he added.
"That I am! unique" She beamed back as she winked, flirting somewhat.
Dutta felt his stomach somersault again and unfolded his arms suddenly trying his best to look anywhere but at her;
Not now.' He warned himself.
Stop it Dutta. Don't go there again.'
"To be fair..." Nakusha began;
"It's not entirely meh."
Dutta turned to look at her raising an eyebrow.
"I get why it's so loved and yes, if I had a romantic bone in my body it would seem rather a sweet spot, but I think all the hype is miss-placed."
This intrigued Dutta,
"How so?"
"Well..." She paused, as though she was figuring out the best way to explain herself.
"Ok what's your favourite place in London?" She demanded rather excitedly.
"Huh?" Dutta was thrown completely off guard.
He stood gaping at her perplexed.
"Come on fast, fast." She snapped her fingers trying to get him to shoot back a response but Dutta couldn't.
"It should come to you instantly when you think of London. If it doesn't then you haven't found it yet." She smiled.
The thought piqued his interest. Indeed he had been put on the spot. Of course he loved London. In his eyes moving there had been on the finest decisions of his life. He while always being an American at heart had grown rather fond of London, it was home. But now that he thought about it, Nakusha was right.
He didn't have a favourite place.
Oops, correction: he had not found it. Yet.
"And you have?" He asked completely interested.
"Yes." She earnestly responded.
Now Dutta really wanted to know. But he didn't need to ask as Nakusha already began filling him in:
"It's not Big Ben, nor the London Eye, nor Piccadilly Circus or even St Paul's Cathedral..."
"Toh phir kya? You're running out of London..." Dutta interrupted.
"I didn't say name all the famous places in London. I said what is your favourite place." Nakusha clarified.
Dutta stopped for a second. He now turned to look at her completely, as Nakusha began speaking again.
"To me, it's a small street two blocks behind the hospital. I go there whenever I can-usually lunch time or before or after work, depending on my schedule."
He could sense her affection and feel her warmth as she spoke;
"It's not special." She elucidated.
"No famous people have lived there. Well not that I know of. It's merely a street. A narrow, cobbled street. With a quaint cafe, a rundown book store complete with a chime on the front door, a charming soap and candle shop and a small fresh fruit and veg vendor." She described.
"At one point there had been more shops and services. A family owned barbers; Simpson and Sons, but they closed shop a few years ago, as did Mrs Rosenburg's florist, after her untimely death."
She carried on, recalling all the people she had missed. Mr Simpson had retired after his son's moved away after completing their education.
---------------------------------------------
"No graduate wants to be cutting another guy's hair for a livin' no matter how far back the business goes" He had said rather sadly to Nakusha, three years ago.
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"Yet, it's the far bottom of the street that I love the best." Her eyes glinted, and for a second Dutta felt her fervour.
"It really is my spot. In all the years I've come across it-which has been five years now, I've not seen anyone else there." She smiled proudly, this in turn made Dutta smile too.
"Right at the bottom there is small arch, a couple steps up it leads towards a hollowed seating area, which overlooks the Thames. That is my place. I'm not saying people shouldn't see nor absolutely love Big Ben, or Westminster Abbey, or Windsor Castle-heck you should all at least once try and make the guards laugh-"
This made Dutta chuckle;
"But you should find your place. You're own place. You need find your place. You need make your own place. One which makes you feel at home. One which makes you feel like a someone."
The words hit Dutta squarely.
She was right.
Dutta had travelled. He had travelled. A lot. From Asia, to South America, to Africa and even Europe. He'd stayed in Teepee's, camped in the wilderness, settled in small villages with nothing but the inky, star adorned, blanket of the night sky above him and the brown unearthed ground below him. He had eaten many interesting concoctions-most that had made his stomach churn-while others pleasantly surprised him.
He had met people; a lot of people. All from different walks of life, cultures, traditions and thoughts. He's been reporting from the front line, sheltered from gunfire, witnessed nations come together in disasters and he'd held his breath as the Arab Spring unfolded.
In every sense of the word, Dutta had travelled.
But it was nothing.
It was nothing because he knew while he did not regret any of it. He also knew he had never felt like Nakusha had. And all she'd seen was one small street.
It didn't matter what the place, where the place or how the place, it needed to be yours. He now knew that. And all it took for him to realise was the impossibly, A-mazing woman stood before him.
"Stood here now looking at the Eiffel Tower, while it is a beautiful scene and there are many happy people around me. I feel inadequate. I feel like a nobody. I'm merely blended in the crowd..."
"You don't feel any joie de vivre" Dutta completed for her.
She looked at him, the smile on her lips soft; she looked directly into his eyes;
"Yes." She breathed lovingly.
They stood like that for some time, looking at each other. It did not surprise her at all that he knew what she meant. That he felt what she experienced, without ever having seen that place. Afterall he was the yang to her yin. She knew it. Quite possibly she may have known it for a long time, even if it was two years ago, when she finally realised it, in Scotland.
He could see her love for him in her eyes. Of course he could. She completed him. He knew that. He had always known that. But he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't when he first realised all those years ago in Sydney, he couldn't in Scotland and even now... he can't. No matter how much he aches for her. He can't do this to her.
And so he goes back to looking at the Eiffel tower and internally berating himself;
Stop it Dutta, don't go there.'
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An hour later
"Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron, in An American" Dutta announced
"Where?" Nakusha asked as she vaguely looked around as though half expecting Gene and Leslie to have popped out somewhere and begun dancing.
"Right there," He pointed.
"Hmm"
"What?" Dutta asked,
"Nothing."
"What?"
Nakusha merely shrugged.
"Oh come on, now you have to tell me!" Dutta insisted, growing ever more curious.
"Ok fine," Nakusha began;
"I just didn't take you for a romantic." She tells him nonchalantly.
"I'm not" Dutta says rather abruptly.
"Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron in An American..." she mimics him;
"Right there." She continued while he rolled his eyes at her, while internally being rather impressed at her nailing his accent.
"It's a classic. Maybe if you watched something other than that Gisling dude..."
"Gosling." Nakusha corrected him before she smiled softly recalling something;
"Whatever. Gisling-Gosling, same difference. As I was saying, maybe if you watched something other than the drivel that is The Notebook you'd know." Dutta speaks rather defensively.
"I mean seriously he writes letters and all the ladies swoon. He builds a house and they go all gooey? They hug in the rain and its all aww look how great they are! Sheesh. What am I missing?" Dutta ranted
Nakusha watched him with mild amusement;
"The end scene maybe?" She suggests.
"Oh right yes, in each other's arms nonetheless. Gimme me a break." He disgustedly ridicules.
"No. I think you should give that movie a break. It's been ten years and yet you seem to know it inside out Mr Patil." Nakusha half laughs, thinking how delighted Leela would be at Dutta's memory of all the pivotal scenes of the film.
Dutta looked a little sheepish. Of course he'd seen the movie. It had been a date. One which did not turn out as he had hoped. Rather than scoring' at Baji had told him he would if he took this girl to watch the movie at the cinema, instead he ended up sitting watching her (he was supposed to be comforting her but she was a snotty mess) blubber while her mascara ran rather miserably down her face, hours after the movie had finished.
Dutta knew his ears had begun reddening when he next heard what Nakusha said, before she approached an accordion player nearby;
"FYI, it's been ten years and I've still not seen it. Despite Leela's attempts. Gimme me action any day. Besides I find nothing remotely attractive about that Gisling fella."
For some reason this made Dutta happy and then he realised what an utter idiot he was being. Clearly he had just been jealous of a celebrity-jealousy which had elapsed as soon as Nakusha had told him she didn't harbour a crush on Gisling.
What the hell are you doing Dutta, you're not a thirteen year old with his first crush.' He reprimanded himself, as he felt his heart flutter.
"What did you ask him to play?" Dutta questioned,
"You'll see soon enough." Nakusha responded as the accordion player began playing La vie en rose.
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"Seriously?" Dutta asked her;
"Yes." She replied back as though she was chastising a naughty child.
"But it is a love lock. You know, for couples."
Nakusha had not failed to note his emphasis on love and couples.
"Actually, it's just a lock." She began
Dutta looked at her as though to say; really?
"It is!" She declared reading his mind.
"Look, just because someone says something is an apple, doesn't necessarily mean it's an apple."
"It is if the thing is an apple to begin with." Dutta smart mouthed.
"I'm doing this." She responded, as she took the lock and attached it to the bridge.
Dutta watched her; she had closed her eyes briefly while she closed the lock, as though she was praying for something. But whatever it had been it was brief. As she turned to look at him;
"So?"
Dutta exhaled sharply, taking the spare lock from Nakusha's outstretched hand he sang;
"If you can't beat them, join them" as he attached his own, next to Nakusha's who in turn beamed at him.
"Ok ready?"
"Yeah"
"On the count of three," Nakusha told him, enclosing her fingers into a fisted ball around the key,
"One, two, THREE" she screeched as both she and Dutta threw their keys into the water.
"Kush?" he asked her;
"And Luv Sinha." Nakusha teased.
"HAHA," Dutta sneered,
"You're hilarious!" He ridiculed.
"Voh toh main hoon." She replied back coolly, as she saw him shake his head at her while suppressing a grin.
Hasa toh phasa.' She thought.
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"Another selfie?" he protested loudly-he was sure he was one step away from a full blown tantrum now.
"Stop complaining. If I take it, it would be either your head or mine in the picture. Our height difference is ridiculous. Besides what's the point of having you around if you're not going to take my selfies for me?"
Deciding that giving in would be easier and much less effort than arguing, Dutta begrudgingly snapped a picture of them together with the Notre Dame Cathedral as their backdrop.
Nakusha reached up and glanced at his phone smiling she zoomed in before she frowned.
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." She heard the voice; she spun around quickly to see him stood before her.
Crap. He found me.'
"So, are you going to talk now? Or jet off elsewhere?" He sarcastically spoke.
Double crap,' Nakusha thought as she swallowed hard.
*Till next time folks ;)*
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