Read A Scandalous Proposition Online
Authors: MM George
A Scandalous Proposition (7 page)
Reema was back with a glass of water. Mira drank it
gratefully and stood up resolutely. “Let’s go to the car,” she said. She
couldn’t have explained it, but she couldn’t have faced Ranbir at that moment.
Reema kept hold of her arm and helped her towards the car
park, chattering excitedly all the while: “Di, you should have seen Ranbir when
we reached the hospital. He was like a mad man because the doctor refused to
tell him how you were. Dhruv had told him that you were in the kitchen when the
cylinder exploded and he was frantic beyond belief!”
“I need to sit down,” murmured Mira. Reema led her to the
car and helped her inside. She rested her head against the glass of the car
window. It was cool and felt good to her throbbing head. Suddenly, a thought
struck her. “Reema.” she said urgently. “What about the dinner? It must have
been a mess! Ranbir must be so angry.”
“It was all fine, Di—after all, everything had been served.
No one got any seconds of the dessert, but then considering the explosion and
all the drama it caused, nobody could complain!”
***
Two days later, Mira stood at the window in the room in Renu
Mausi’s flat looking out at the park and the children playing in it. Everything
was as it should have been, but there was a dull ache in her heart that would
simply not go away—where was Ranbir? After Reema’s revelations at the hospital,
she had expected to see him, but he had not put in an appearance. The hopes
that Reema had raised were dwindling with each hour that he kept away.
What a fool she was, Mira thought angrily.
Reema was still at Dewan Kutir. “Mrs. Dewan needs her,” Ma
had said mysteriously when she had asked for her. She wiped away a tear that
was rolling down her cheek.
“Thinking of me?” said an enigmatic voice behind her. Mira
whirled around. Ranbir stood at the door.
“You?” she asked in confusion.
“Yes, me,” he answered simply, coming to the window. “Were
you expecting someone else?”
“No, I…”
Ranbir took pity on her. “How are you feeling now?” he
asked.
“I spoilt your dinner, didn’t I?” she said suddenly. “And
now, you’ll fire me.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Well, you certainly made it
memorable. We made it to page one of every newspaper in the city.”
“You’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you?”
“No, but I definitely would have killed the stupid boy who
connected that faulty gas cylinder if something had happened to you that
night!” She remained quiet. “Not that you were any better—didn’t you smell the
leaking gas?” he demanded. She shook her head, a tear escaping from the corner
of her eye.
“Come on, Mira, giving up so easily? Where’s all that feisty
spirit?”
“What did you think?” she retorted weakly. “I like to blow
myself up when I get bored?”
“That’s better.” he commended. They stood at the window,
looking out at the park.
“What about Chachi?” ventured Mira after a while. “Reema and
Tarun?”
“All clear,” he turned to smile at her. “I had taken Dadi
into confidence before getting the two of you to stay at Dewan Kutir. Her only
condition was that she check Reema out for herself before she agreed to the
match. She told Chachi that she knows your family well and that she herself
could not hope for a better wife for Tarun.”
“And…?”
“Chacha did his bit of urging, too. He’s really fond of both
of you, you know. Surprisingly enough, Chachi did not need too much urging,
which speaks a lot for Reema’s exertions on her behalf. Maybe Chachi had begun
to get a hint of what was coming. You know her—she never bears a grudge for too
long. Now she’s throwing herself headlong into the wedding preparations. When I
left home, she had Panditji over to check for auspicious dates as soon as
Tarun’s last exam is over.”
“But, in that case, Reema shouldn’t be staying there now.”
“Mira,” Ranbir said patiently. “You are not solely
responsible for your sister. You have a mother. Your aunt and uncle are here.
If they have no objection, why should you? Dadi has said that she will come
back here once the engagement ceremony is over.”
“Ohh!”
“You know,” Ranbir said reflectively. “Those boys of Dhruv’s
have done me a great disservice. You seem to have lost all your verve and fire.
All burnt out, my dear?”
She shook her head slowly. “If it’s all sorted out,” she
asked, “why are you here?”
“Aha, I was wondering when you would come to that,” the
twinkle in Ranbir’s eye deepened as he folded her into his arms.
“What are you doing?” stammered Mira. “Ma might come in.”
“She knows,” said Ranbir wickedly.
“She knows? What does she know?”
“That there’s going to be a double wedding next month. It’s
going to be the talk of the country!”
“But you haven’t… you don’t…”
“Yes, I do, and, yes, I will,” he said gently, going down on
his knee. “Miss Mira Talwar, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“But Ranbir,” she wailed. “You don’t love me!”
“No histrionics, my love,” he said firmly. “It’s too late
for that and, really, this is not the most comfortable of positions.”
Mira’s was dumbstruck. “Why?” she whispered.
Ranbir got up and took her in his arms again. “My love, when
I saw you being carried into the ambulance, lying so still on the stretcher, my
heart stopped. The ride to the hospital had to be the worst I have ever
endured. I realized that my life had no meaning without you. And when the
doctors were still deciding how badly you had been hurt and refusing to tell me
anything, I could have killed someone right there. I couldn’t imagine a life in
which your eyes were not constantly flashing at me, your tongue was not
constantly throwing challenges at me, and your body was not constantly melting
against me!”
Mira closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was
hearing. “You still haven’t said you love me!” she said mischievously, holding
her face up to him.
“Well,
you
still haven’t said you’ll marry me!”
“I will if you will,” she returned.
“I love you more than life itself,
jaan
. Now shut up
and let me kiss you!” And she did.
≈
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MM George is the pen name of Mimmy Jain. Mimmy lives in
London and edits stuffy academic books and journals when she is not dreaming up
frothy romances.
Mimmy has been writing as far back as she can remember. She
won her first national award for writing in the International Year of the
Child, at the tender age of 14. She had her first romantic story published
around the same time in a national magazine. For many years, she wrote a humour
column, which was published under various names in India Week, The Financial
Express and National Review.
As Mimmy Jain, she has been a mainstream Indian journalist
for the last 27 years and has worked in senior positions at publications such
as The Economic Times, The Times of India, The Financial Express and Mint.
You can find Mimmy at
https://www.facebook.com/MimmyMGeorge
, and at
‘Living in the Happily Ever After’ (mimmyjain.wordpress.com).
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