M&M FF: Will-O'-the-Wisp - On hold indefinitely - Page 3

There is something ver appealing about Mohan...the ruggedness, the passion to write. I really did feel I was in Mumbai in the midst of all the gang wars.

I guess the second part is in the present?

Read the this part. Very nice writing. Your description of his reporter life in Mumbai is very good. Last part is the present - Isn't it? 

Your writing is quite vivid... Mohan is too intense and I like the way you have sketched him
I guess the writing did take away a lot

For those who don't know me from earlier posts, I have the habit of choosing one theme song/melody for the FF couple that will drive the story.

This is what I picked for Will-O'-the-Wisp

[YOUTUBE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ii7OjkLU4UA[/YOUTUBE]

And this one was what helped writing "The Ghosts of his writing past"

[YOUTUBE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ko63rbNVN_g[/YOUTUBE]

I love the theme tune. The riff starts of simple and then the melody comes in and it builds really well. I don't know why, but it seems to fit their characters so well. The intense violin...I think it's violin :s well string instument...tune is like their rough past and the soft pinao is their coming furture togeher :) Edited by Boogle.Schiz - 12 years ago

res
Edited by -sofiya- - 12 years ago

Walking back and forth on the terrace, outside Guru's room, he tried not to think of what had happened last evening, the short but the deep thralling connection alive in its memory pulsed at his forehead. He'd then slept all evening and through the night until mid-afternoon. Now his limbs felt heavy with movement, a foreseen aching vibrating though his muscles.

It was just after 3.00 PM  and he saw them come up the stairs and take off their shoes, with inbred mindless tradition showing in the way they lined it up by the side of the door and walk into his old room. This and their other rituals that followed, he was certain about, like the back of his hand. It hadn't been a stake out precisely to say so, the way he sat in the gaunt angling of the light that fell on the raised water tank which inturn cast a thick shadow underneath it's beams. Against one of the square beams, hidden and undetected, is where he perched himself when he happened to observe them. But he couldn't pull himself to sit by the parapet wall, where he usually did late at night, once the yellow of the room lights switched off to give away a flickering faint blue glow of a night lamp.

Anytime now, he thought, anticipating two pigtails to come around jumping, dressed in an untouched glee and sprawl herself on a charpai and begin enduring the long haul of the lessons that awaited in her pink and white schoolbag. Just like clockwork, she was out there in seconds, billowing the charpai in the air and settled right after she straightened the curling edges.

He watched her, continuous and while an unknown eagerness filled him up. Before he knew he was moving towards the stairs, hurtling down two at a time, his knees jerking from the violence of the movement, his back ram-rod straight as he lurched forward. Though there had been a latent anger in his initial steps, the kind that stemmed from unjust invasion, of perceived loss of territory, once he was on an ascent to get to their terrace, he found himself slowing down, a tinge of doubt vibrating through his restlessness. Momentarily, he paused at the end of the stairs, while he took in the layout of his terrace, ridden off its litter of  decades of newspapers and storage items, its identity lost in its cleanly swept surface of cement and stone. In that contained scanning, his eyes fell on her, feet folded with a book in her lap, her small features straining to read something there, easing the unheeded stiffness in his shoulders, even as he stood a good twenty feet away.

No need to acknowledge, he heard a warning in his head, repetitive and harsh, her presence in Guru's terrace yesterday bothering him more than the one who permanently now had a living form in his thoughts. What in hell did the little imp want from him? He wanted to shake her up, ignoring the cuddling cuteness with which she shook her head with dismay. "These kids, they come with special addictive glue, more dangerous than the the evils that sell for the big bucks. They are too hard to wean yourself off of..." He'd once mentioned it to a co-worker whose daughter was the sight of a wingless cherub in a bonnet, when asked why he intently avoided the co-worker during those times she brought her daughter to office. The lady had scowled at him, her eyes hosing down flames of disgust and had darted far from him in seconds, before the air around him, thickened from his twisted, ill-willing heart, could reach her baby.

You always do; you earnestly avoid the things that you are most susceptible to; the ones that manage to find the weakest link of your already breaking soul. She was one...she and her beguiling charms, he reminded himself before he inched closer.

"Oye...What's your name?" He asked and she tilted her head back to take in his towering form. It was only surprising when people didn't have that rueful look on their face while they did that tipping neck action, when he stood at six foot and two inches off the ground. And she most certainly did, her face instantly shrinking with dislike. Well, that sentiment was mutual, he wanted to add then, but instead he found himself folding his hands and wait for her response.

Her index finger gently pushed on her glasses that hung low on the bridge of her nose, while she looked at him with a hint of envy; perhaps, from the times she'd wished to reach the cookie jar, her mother kept high up in the cabinets.

"Naina..." She sounded brusque, with an edge of contempt, "And you can't come inside...Mom says, I can't let any strangers inside our house"

"Like hell, this is your home...alright?" He said mockingly and with a shake of the head that made her want to stick out her tongue at him, "and Naina is too much of a name for you...Chavanni" And she let out a surprised gasp, climbing to her feet, her upper lip curled while she bit down on her lower lip, her pointy nose tunneling in the air, her hands, now, firm on her stolid waist.

"You hear this loud and clear" He said with an impaled face, "I used to stay here before you came along...Understood?"

He couldn't tell if the questioning Understood also told her that she was keep to her space and that he would keep to his. He noted her eyes narrowed and her lips flew into a relentless muttering that he couldn't make out.

"Is your Mom home?", he asked and craned his neck to look though the door.




It seemed to her as if he was sizing up on the room's particulars to loot them if he was to ever get a go at it.

"What are you searching for? There is nothing in the house to steal..." He hunkered to his heels, his brows furrowed and she saw that the tiny hairs on his face, stuck out on all directions. Gross, she thought and a slight grimace laced her features.

"You don't bathe?..." The words sprung to her lips just as suddenly and she felt her reserve break as she gazed into his eyes - this giant man, who didn't know that he had liquid brown eyes, eyes like the teddy bear she'd once hugged at nights and slept. "Mom says reporters think its cool to look the way you do...but really..." She found herself nodding wildly,  "its not cool at all..."

"Nanhi..." Her mom came in, her face stuck half-way through rapidly building horror and an amusement that seemed uncharacteristic of her nowadays.




She tucked the little girl close to her feet, her hands crossed over the red apple printed on the child's t-shirt. He saw Chavanni turn her head to first look up at her and then down at him.

"I'm sorry...Nanhi sometimes throws her mouth around strangers"

He up-righted himself and unconsciously shifted a bit to the right, all the while watching her now that the boundary was established, her insinuation not escaping him.

Shit! her eyes...A well rounded brown, flecked with specks of another lighter shade of brown, fanning lashes and a known haunting there. She'd washed her face just then and a blob of water slid down from her temple by the side of her face and ran smooth into the arch of her neck. He looked away then and her hand fumbled over Chavanni's chest, perhaps from feeling exposed to his scrutiny. Her gaze had been just as appraising as his, but there hadn't been a question, a reinforcing of his mild irritation hadn't been there. 

"Is there something we could help you with?" She asked.

"There was my stuff in the room before you moved in. Chacha told me that its locked up in the store room...So I came by..." He was careful in not showing his own surprise at his shocking polite tone that he used with her.

"Do you want to move everything by today?" When she saw his forehead scrunch with confusion, she spoke again, "Its a big room and there are a lot of things placed there. So I wanted to know if you were planning on clearing it all out by tonight..."

No...he wasn't clearing it all out and it showed on his face, the prickle of annoyance unbidden and obvious.

"I was...I mean we were planning to go out in another half hour" She clarified, when he didn't respond.

"I don't intend to move anything...I'm just looking for some old stuff..." He said and stuffed his hands into his jean pockets.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, taken aback with the how calm he was about being rude, this much he could see.

"The room is..." Before she could point him to the far corner of the large expanse of the room, he swept past her. She need reminding that he used to live in that portion of the house and he trudged with not so subtle authority added to his step.

He waded through the scattered furniture and stood at the last of the doors which lined one side of the room. He cast a last glance at them; the duo were still at the entrace, Chavanni wanting to call out something when her mom's palm moved directly over her lips, muffling the little of the sound escaping her mouth.

The drama one had to go through before they got to their old books, he thought with a roll of his eyes before he hooked his fingers into the door handle and opened the door ajar...

His leaning forward, brought a strong whiff of chlorine to his nose...

A fit of gagged laughs hit him, clearly echoing the derision he heard there...and his eyes ever so slightly widened at the sight that greeted him from behind the door.

Shit! It was just his luck...

Chacha just had to put the toilet right where the old store room was...the white gleam of the  polished porcelain taking away the possessing pride that had been there only a moment ago.
Edited by 6th.Element - 12 years ago

mohan has a pretty defensive instinct.. useful professionally, perhaps
nanhi is of course her adorable self. and then theres her... I like the way this was written, very vivid and descriptive
his bad luck :P

[YOUTUBE]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TC7LyI1GVYw[/YOUTUBE]

😉


Jahe naseeb. Kaanton ko murjhane ka khauf nahin

And thus the Salim Anarkali madness begins...

Originally posted by: ivre

mohan has a pretty defensive instinct.. useful professionally, perhaps
nanhi is of course her adorable self. and then theres her... I like the way this was written, very vivid and descriptive
his bad luck :P

Thanks Sur...

I write for different leads in my head, so I can only hope its still befitting for Mohan and Meghna.