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@jazz: I'm Megha...whats ur name?? π Can I call you Jazzy..it sounds cool..though you might not like it...π
Hey Meg, nice to see u here..π€ That Crazy creative thread u posted is awesome....πThis content was originally posted by: IndigoBluesOh my god..i can't believe this..i was more besharam when i was younger...maine kya kya kahaaniyaan likhi hai...π² π€£
Anyone wants to read?? π@Mishti: Hello..I am new arrival here...π
This content was originally posted by: mishti_17I had gone into gehri soch on how to take more pangas with Lubzieπ€£
yaha pe ye sawaal puchne ki zarurat nhi hai....new bshrmis r always welcumedπThis content was originally posted by: IndigoBluesOh my god..i can't believe this..i was more besharam when i was younger...maine kya kya kahaaniyaan likhi hai...π² π€£
Anyone wants to read?? π@Mishti: Hello..I am new arrival here...π
Panga na le..π Pehle hee cricket match ne vaat laga dee haiπThis content was originally posted by: Lubz.TaAnu
Mujhse darr gayi thiπ
This content was originally posted by: IndigoBlues@jazz: I'm Megha...whats ur name?? π Can I call you Jazzy..it sounds cool..though you might not like it...π
jaldi bata megz.....which DP is more beshrm??This content was originally posted by: IndigoBlues@jazz: I'm Megha...whats ur name?? π Can I call you Jazzy..it sounds cool..though you might not like it...π
The summer heat was really getting to him. He wondered what had made him leave the comfort of his air-conditioned house and wander Mumbai's streets lonely and hungry. He contemplated going back, but he was too afraid to face his father's wrath. This was the second time he had been suspended from school, as usual for getting into a fight with one of the many jerks that populated the St. Teresa International School. He couldn't help but punch Raj Ahuja's chubby face when he refused to hand over his lunch to him. Hey, you were supposed to feed the hungry right?1 Finally, he reached the chawl he had been searching for. One of the many dingy homes in the largest slum in Asia; it was plagued by a horrible stench, no electricity and lack of drinking water. The pests which were of specimens he had certainly never observed in the biology laboratory in his school. Yet, people were happy, as wedding preparations were underway. The area was bedecked with streamers, garlands and sparkling lights. A mandap had been constructed near the courtyard well which everyone shared, and though the food spread wasn't lavish, it was decent.2 It was one of those moments in his life when his heart took control over his mind. He had read about lysosomes in cells-the suicide bags that digested foreign substances. Right now, he felt like his heart was mangling itself, writhing in his chest, screaming out in pain and commanding him to venture up the stairs to that one bedroom flat. He clenched his fists and tried his best not to let his legs wander there. With heavy self-control, he turned around and made himself walk back home, where his father awaited him in fury.3 *4 A year before5 "Failed? Again?" his father roared. Seventeen year old Kiaan shrugged, giving his father a lopsided grin. 6 "Oops," he said, and then burped. "Sorry," he apologized, for the burp, not for the grades.7 "I'm not paying hundred grand so that you can flunk your exams and not study!" he shouted. "How are you supposed to handle the family business?"8 The child in him wanted to speak. "Daddy, I don't want to become a businessman. I want to be a musician, like Mommy was. I don't want these riches. The only thing I've ever wanted is for the whole world to dance to my melodies."9 Instead he yawned and said, "I told you before that the teachers are useless." He took a deep breath and waited for the stick to fall on his arms. His father did not disappoint him. He tried not to scream as red welts were formed on his arms. He tried not to show how much pain he was enduring. He had to act like it didn't matter. He had to act tough, the way people had told him to when his mother had died many years ago.10 He was smart, and he knew he could easily come first in his class. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to go through the rigmarole of going abroad, obtaining a degree and taking over the chemical factory his father earned. He wanted to look like a delinquent, so that he could pursue his dream without anyone telling him that he could do so much more.11 People told him anyways.12 As he headed to his bedroom, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, he noticed her.13 She was skinny, but not in a bad way like the girls he dated. She had oily hair, dark skin, and a set of dazzling teeth. Her eyes were giving him a go-on-with-your-business look.14 "Who are you?" he asked in Hindi.15 "I'm the new maid, Riddhima," she said, "your old maid, my mother she passed away."16 He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Did he care whether his servants lived or died? If someone else was going to scrub his floors, so be it.17 He looked at the cluttered mess in his room, and flopped down on his bed, feeling too lazy to clean it. He gestured for her to come, bucket and mop in her hand.18 "Clean my room," he said airily. 19 "No," she said, conviction in her voice.20 "What do you mean, no?" he asked hotly.21 "You know what; I already cleaned your room this morning. But you decided to put me through the trouble again. I'm not cleaning this." She tossed her head and moved on to the next room.22 He followed her and pulled her plait. "Oye," she said, and promptly smacked his face.23 He recoiled from her, filled with surprise and fury. How dare she, a maid slap him?24 "You aren't doing me a favour by letting me clean your house," she said, sparks in her eyes. "The pain I took to clear that thing you call your bedroom was enough for a lifetime."25 He decided then and there that she was his enemy.26 -------------- Guess what's gonna happen next...ππ€£ @Mishti: Thanks..π |
This content was originally posted by: mishti_17Panga na le..π Pehle hee cricket match ne vaat laga dee haiπ
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