Well my life has officially gone to the dogs. So this is what happens when I'm bored and I have no models to experiment on.... This is my dog Max, who does nothing but lay around all day, so it was pretty easy to get a hold of him lolz. He enjoyed this photo shoot very much even though it doesn't look like it, by the way he loves me, just thought you all should know that as the pictures may indicate differently. So I thought he pulled off the fierce look pretty well, so I decided to share these pics with you all.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Ok so this is a lazy man vibes. I wanted to go back to my routine of a post every weekend, but I'm a bit too lazy and sick to really make that happen, so I decided to post a short story. Sigh* yea ok so I hope I don't loose the little readers I have because of this, but yes this is a little something I thought of and well it's Indian, so it's good Hindi Bindi material. Also I want to delete it from my computer and I could always retrieve it later if it's here [hehehe]. So anyway this is a inter religious love story, hope you all enjoy it, if you happen to shed a tear.... then the purpose of this story has been fulfilled. =)
Prem Kahani hai Mushkil.
He held her close to his body and hugged her tight. He could feel her heart pulsing against his, he could hear her stifled sobs, and he tried hard to hold back his tears which welled in his dewy brown eyes. He had promised himself he wouldn’t cry.
“A Muslim boy? Are you crazy, Priya?” Mrs. Minocha’s voice rang through the house.
“But ma, at least he’s Indian! Things could be much worse!” Priya retorted quickly, “Ma, I love him so much! Why can’t you and Daddy see that? When I’m with him I feel like I’m the only person that matters, I feel safe, I know I can spend the rest of my life with him,” She explained as love consumed her, carrying her to Heaven as she merely mentioned Zayeed.
“Ha! Twenty-seven and you think you know what is love! Listen to me carefully, love, is doing what‘s right, having things in common, being treated equally; Your relationship with this Muslim is wrong; you are Hindu –Nothing in common! Do you think he will treat you equal after marriage? No daughter of mine is going to marry a slave master, for him to beat you senseless, put you in a hijab and lock you up home? Over. My. Dead. Body!” Mrs. Minocha argued violently. Her angst was unmistakable.
“It’s not like that ma. You don’t know anything!”
“Me? Tell your faddah that! He will kill Zayeed and then you- if yuh still alive. What about Prem? He’s a very nice boy, smart, rich and he’s a Hindu.”
“I don’t love him ma!”
“You don’t know what’s right…”
He sat across her at their usual table, at their favorite restaurant. This was usually how they spent their Friday evenings; not like they could go home. He stared across the table, his eyes adored her. He loved everything about Priya, from her long silky ebony tresses which curled ever so slightly to the way she fiddled with her utensils. If this is what it’s like to fall in love, he never wanted to fall out of it.
“So how was last night?” asked Zayeed.
“Horrible! Daddy kept trying to spark a connection between me and his friend’s son, Prem,” she snorted at the idea of being with anyone else, especially Prem who was quite aloof with his poor conversational skills and alarming stares. A discomforting silence befell them; Priya raised her gaze slowly to find Zayeed starring wildly at his drink, stirring continuously. Her father’s ridiculous hookups were something they always laughed about… her heart quaked and she could feel her food rising, her mind hazy as Zayeed mouthed his words,
“I think you should really look into Prem. He sounds like a good guy. He’s a doctor, so he’s stable and you k…” His rambling stopped as Priya’s dinner came back with a vengeance, the bile in her throat burning as much as his words. He jumped hastily to her rescue.
“Beta, that’s you?” An old stylish woman appeared hugging Zayeed in a hearty embrace. Priya wiped her face but she couldn’t wipe away the embarrassment. She kept her head down and observed the stranger from the reflections of her glass.
“Aunty, so nice to see you here.”
“Yes beta, you too. Such a sweetheart! Helping this young woman? You’ll make a fine husband for Saffiya,” She smiled. His strong fists tightened, eyes wide set like a deer in the headlights. Aunty locked in on his reaction, glared down to the distressed woman and spotted on the slender wrist of her hand, which held her hair off her neck covering her face, a red and yellow Rakhi. Priya could feel her contempt, haunted by the glare of scorn she gave before stomping away, muttering, ‘Ya Allah’.
Cloaked by the darkness of night, silence followed them to his car.
“Who is Saffiya?” Priya asked sadly. His eyes focused on the road.
“Tell me who she is God dammit!” she yelled infuriated.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like this!” He shouted enraged. She recoiled, never had she seem him so angry, never had he took this tone.
“Your family doesn’t even know I exist! Do they?” Her voice strained as she choked on her tears. He calmed like the night before the storm as he turned the corner and pulled to the curb in front his beautiful abode.
“I don’t know how to tell my mother about us. That’s my problem! She’s already said that if I don’t marry a Muslim, I’m not entitled to my inheritance. I’m the first son; they’ve had dreams for me since my birth. And now there’s a wedding date! Saffiya’s a nice girl, but she isn’t you! I would give up everything for you, if only I knew how to. If onIy I had your courage.” His forehead resting on his steering wheel, “I need to get my other wallet,” he mumbled as he weakly got out.
“God, give me the courage to do this, should I walk in there with him? Give me a sign!” she whispered a prayer amidst her troubles. Fumbling for the handle, her eyes sighted a parchment on the floor; carefully she reached for it;
Zayeed, I can’t wait for our wedding. You are my saviour, not only to my family in our financial struggle but my life. My body can no longer bear this battering. My mind is at ease with you. You have given me a better life.
Priya’s chest pained, it felt like being stabbed in her heart, her eyes red from crying all night. She loved Zayeed with every fibre of her being and she knew what must be done. Her feeble limbs scrawled a note of lies;
I can no longer see you, my heart belongs with Prem. It’s best if we never talk again.
She felt like she could die at that moment but she knew it was right.
….He held her close to his body one last time…
Posted by hindibinidi at 9:10 AM