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| September (First) 2010 |
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| DELHI PRESS MAGAZINES : WOMAN'S ERA |
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WOMAN'S ERA /
FICTION (1/21) / PRIYADARSHINI WILLS HER BILLIONS - PART I
Priyadarshini Wills Her Billions - Part I
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| Anjali, a middle-class Kolkata-based girl, marries Ansh, the scion of one of the greatest business family in the country. On the occasion of her wedding, she overhears the taunts and jibes of the wealthy women guests. She is deeply disheartened and disillusioned. What then?... A late of suspense in 3 parts. |
| By Anoop Verma |
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The wind whipped around the bungalow, shrieking like an angry banshee. Ansh thought, why was it you got the angriest at those you loved the most? Badi-ma insisted that he was all she had. Bade-papa had died few years ago and they did not have any children. He knew that she loved him, considered him as her own son. But why couldn't she understand his love for Anjali? Being the scion of the Bilal family, the most illustrious business family in the country, was no bed of roses, there were thorns aplenty. It was a particularly galling thorn that he was being asked to forget the girl he loved.
Because Anjali came from a middle-class background. Badi-ma would not accept her as his bride. Ansh muttered an oath. Suddenly, he could not take it anymore. One way or the other, he wanted the issue resolved. He rushed towards the bungalow and pushing the door open and walked into the hall.
Badi-ma was sitting on the sofa reading from a file. Her snow-white hair, radiant under the light from the gleaming chandelier on the roof, seemed like a halo around her head. Beside her, with a servile look on his face, sat the plump and bald-headed, Lakhani, her trusted chartered accountant, who managed the nitty-gritty of the Bilal business enterprise.
She raised her eyes from the file, looking at Ansh, said, “Close the door, there is wind outside.”
“This house is your coop,” he said sarcastically. “You will never open it to anyone, not even to the wind.”
She gave him a penetrating glance. He knew that she could read his mind and this made him angrier.
“Speak directly, if you please,” she said.
“We have to talk.”
“Close the door and sit down with me,” she said affectionately. Banging the door shut he came to the sofa and sat down, opposite her.
“You may leave,” Ansh said brusquely to Lakhani, 'I have to discuss a family matter with badi-ma.'
“I don't mind if he stays,” Priyadarshini protested.
“I mind his presence very much.” Ansh never made any secret of his abhorrence for Lakhani.
Lakhani rose, saying, “I will leave. I have some, pressing matters to attend.”
When Lakhani was out of the house, Priyadarshini asked, “You want to talk about that middle-class girl. Isn't it?”
His bile was raised at the way the epithet was flung — that middle-class girl. “I am marrying Anjali.”
“You have been planning to marry her for 2 years,” Priyadarshini said ironically, and then in a softer tone added, “pay heed to my advise. She is not the one for you.
“You are a billionaire, what is she, what does her family amount to, our gardener makes more money than her father. The life she has led till now has not trained her to be your wife. How can she ever be the bride of this.…this,” Priyadarshini's hands moved in a arc to indicate the opulence around her, 'magnificent house. There are other girls in Kolkata, daughters of respectable industrialists, that you can choose your bride from. If your mother and father had not died in the plane crash 5 years ago, they too would have advised you against marrying Anjali.”
Ansh could not stop himself from delivering the bitter blow.
“Who are you to suggest whom I should marry?” he said through clenched teeth. “You are not even my mother. You are only my mother's sister. I know what you want. You want to control me for the rest of my life. You fear that if I marry Anjali and not any other girl of your choice, I will slip out of your hands.”
He was satisfied to see that his words were hurting her. 'If Anjali is unacceptable to you as my wife, then I am ready to leave you, of what use is this lavish lifestyle, if it keeps me away from Anjali.”
In face of his resolve Priyadarshini was forced to relent. “You have my permission to marry, Anjali,” she uttered. “But if things don't work out between you and her, then don't hold me responsible.”
The arrangements were so perfect that they seemed an impersonal prototype of any lavish, exquisite vulgarity. A week it took for the endless rituals and the monster celebrations to be completed. Each day was an amazing array of lights, colours, haystacks of Easter lilies, sounds of pristine orchestra, dances, cheering crowds, flamboyant celebrities from all walks of life. The Press labelled it as the “Marriage of the Year.’
When Ansh arrived with his new wife, the bungalow was a sea of humanity. Whole Bilal clan was there, as were friends, business associates, celebrities and hangers-on.
Ansh saw badi-ma in the throng. She seemed proud and wistful. He thought she looked bewildered. When he and Anjali touched her feet, she gave them her solemn blessings. Lakhani as usual was by her side. Ansh shook hand with him.
“I want you to be happy Ansh,” Lakhani said, “I want it very much. I hope she is the right woman for you.”
“You bet she is,” Ansh replied curtly. When last greeting had drifted past them, the married couple was free to leave. At last, they were alone in their room. Anjali threw herself on the bed and whispered, “Thank God, the festivities are over. I am exhausted.”
He moved across the room and stood by the bed, “The festivities are not over yet. At 7 in the evening, there is another dinner reception.”
“Oh! how will I ever manage?”
“You have married a Bilal, my dear,” he laughed, “your life henceforth is going to be a whirl of revelry, parties, receptions, and gala festivities.”
She looked at the soft light falling on the gorgeous hand carved furniture around her. She thought that in the house there were other rooms as magnificently furnished as this one. The whole house with all the rooms was hers. There were many other palatial houses in different parts of the world, houses that she had never seen, and they too were hers. Then, there were the factories, corporations, farms, hotels, the whole razzmatazz of an empire devoted to the creation of wealth had been brought to her feet. Slowly, she murmured, “Anjali Bilal.” The name sounded so mysterious, so beautiful, so powerful, so full of wealth. She was overcome with love for the man whose surname added to her own had raised her to a pedestal so high.
It was 6 pm when Ansh emerged from the bedroom donning a gleaming white tuxedo. The crowd in the house had in no way thinned. He moved around exchanging polite words and shaking hands. In one corner of the hall a popular film star was reciting lines from his latest films while kids and some elders looked on with silly smiles on their faces. In another corner a powerful Cabinet Minister was holding court with some members of the Bilal clan. Lakhani was with them. By the nature of the gathering, Ansh knew that some new opportunity for minting wealth was being considered. “Ansh, good that you are here, Lakhani said, “The Minister arrived only an hour ago.”
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