Rajarshi Guha Roy
The series started by Rajarshi and Chandradeep rolls on. While many of you who read the first part of their first story might be thinking what is next in the pipeline, here is the second and the last part.
“How was the night?” Sanjeev had texted Preetilata.
Two months later. New Delhi, India.
“We salute the first superstar of Hindi Cinema, Sri Rajesh Khanna. Let us spend the entire night listening to Kaka’s superhit songs!” – the chirpy voice of the female anchor filled up Samiran and Rooplekha’s bedroom.
“I sometimes wonder how you keep listening to the radio these days, Roopu. The old melodies are fine, but the anchoring…uff!” Samiran complained. “Do you expect them to be as articulate as those retired ambassadors who indulge in boring parlance on news channels?” – Rooplekha Ghosh Chatterjee knew how to articulate her opinions strongly. “No point in arguing with you, Roopu. You have an answer to every argument!” “Confess that you don’t have an appropriate retaliation to my latest. Haha!” It was Rooplekha’s this sense of humour which drew Samiran towards her twenty-odd years ago. Both of them were then studying Sociology in Delhi University. Rooplekha eventually got a boom at Centre For Social Studies in Delhi and is now a noted psephologist of the country. She also adorns the veil of Samiran’s home-maker.
“Before you bore me with your night-time newspaper reading, I have two questions for you.” – Rooplekha grumbled. “Shoot and scoot!” – smarted Samiran. “Ok. First, we will be in kolkata with Maa this summer. Next, I have already talked with Mrs. Kapoor. You will be inaugurating the annual function of her NGO. And that’s final.” “First one is fine, but I am not sure about the other.” “Why, Mr.Ambassador?” ” You know I don’t like hogging the limelight.” “So, you need darkness?” Samiran was outsmarted by Rooplekha’s subtlety. “Ha ha ha ha! What are you up to?” Samiran had moved to the dressing table and just stood behind her.
“Well I have something for you, Roopu.” “….she broke my robot!” “He is not sleeping at all. Bad boy.” Ishaan and Keerti not only demolished the bedroom romance but also managed to add some shrillness to Kishore Kumar, who was all this while vehemently opposed to the silence which Samiran wished for.
“Roma! Where are you?” – an otherwise sober Samiran shouted. “Stop being a jerk, Samiran. Let me see.” “Baba, all robots in the world are sleeping now. So, Ishaan will also sleep and prove that he is not a bad boy, ok?” – Rooplekha kissed Ishaan’s cheeks, who was weeping at Keerti’s ‘vandalism’. “Is that a robot singing inside?” -Ishaan asked innocently about Kishore Kumar. Both Samiran and Rooplekha burst into laughter. Roma, the all-weather maid, who had quietly stood at the room’s entrance, also could not stop herself from laughing. “Now I will count three and all three of you will be right inside your room and go asleep. Whoever will sleep first will go out with Mama tomorrow, deal?” “One–two–t ” “Yaay!” “You cheated, stupid!” Samiran locked the door of their bedroom from inside.
“You will spoil my child with all these extravagant stuff. Why will he need a robot?” -Rooplekha always believed in humble upbringing of her children. “You are next in line, Darling!” “What? Ohh..wow..amazing!” Samiran had put a Pearl chain across Rooplekha’s neck. “Any more issues, Mrs. Samiran Chatterjee?” – Samiran untied her hair, removed some of the ‘darkness’ and kissed her neck. “Do not eat up the moisturizer, idiot.” – mumbled an indulging Rooplekha.
The robot was now singing ‘Roop tera Mastana’ from Khanna’s celebrated film ‘Aradhana’. “I was wondering how you would look while wearing this.” Samiran tasted her moist shoulders, “I mean to say, wearing only this.”
Rooplekha pushed him aside. Then she got rid of her night gown and threw it on the couch.
“You see now Roopu why I just love the darkness.” – Samiran put off the bedside lamp.
And one hour later…
Rooplekha looked at Samiran. He is now fast asleep. “He has been out of this art fo the last three months, must be very tired.” – she thought. She picked up her smartphone and opened her mailbox. “Hello Roop, when are we meeting again?”
This is the account Samiran doesn’t know about.