unwanted want

Conversations and Canvases

The corridors of Meera's ancestral home were abuzz with the muted excitement that always preceded the dawn of spring. Riya, her younger sister, had noticed a change in Meera, whose moments of daydreaming had become all too frequent. Teasingly, she prodded, "Didi, caught in thoughts of Mumbai's dark prince again? Are you mesmerized by that solemn body or the intensity of his tone?"

Flustered, Meera dismissed the jest with a wave of her hand, "It's not like that. We only discuss matters of the alliance."

Riya laughed, twirling around the room, "Ah, but even the most solemn oaths of duty can't hide that blush. Whatever 'matters' they may be, they seem to ignite a flame I've not seen before in your eyes.”

Across distant lands, tucked within the walls of his urban fortress, Sarkar gazed upon the unexpected gift from Meera—a painting that captured her essence more than any photograph could. This window into her world, crafted by an innocent hand, intercepted his usual stoicism with a gentle warmth.

"You look softer, Sarkar Bhai," Heera remarked, an unusual smirk playing on his lips as he stepped into the study. "Is it the colors of Hindaoura that soften the Iron King, or is it the touch of the artist?"

Sarkar's expression remained unreadable, though a spark in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Mind the business that pays you, Heera," he retorted. Yet, as his gaze returned to the painting, a silent acknowledgment of Meera's impact on him hung unspoken between the men.

In the sanctum of her room, the teasing words of her sister weighed on Meera's heart, stirring a whirlpool of emotions. With every letter exchanged with Sarkar, she felt the battle lines between duty and desire blur. The pragmatic part of her, inured to the expectations of her lineage , warned of the dangers of succumbing to sentiment, while the pulse of attraction, undeniable and increasingly insistent, beckoned her toward a precipice she had sworn never to approach.

One part of her marveled at Sarkar's intellect, the vision he had for his city, and the unexpected tenderness he could convey through mere words. Another part was laced with fear—an awareness of the immense power he wielded, the ruthless reputation that carried his name like a shadow. Her heart oscillated between admiration and apprehension, a pendulum swinging with the rhythm of their growing connection.

In the undercurrent of Mumbai’s ceaseless energy, Sarkar faced his own turmoil. Accustomed to compartmentalizing emotions, dealing in cold, hard truths, he now found himself in unfamiliar territory. Meera’s fierce spirit and discerning mind drew him in, her sincerity touching upon something he had long since buried under layers of strength and dominion.

His comrades noticed the shift—the lingering pauses when he read her letters, the contemplative silences, the uncharacteristic smile that would sometimes steal across his face. In the camaraderie of their inner circle, Sarkar was not immune to the sporadic jibes that made light of his growing fondness for the girl who was to be his bride.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Salman, his oldest and most trusted aide, mused with a rare grin. "Sarkar, looking like a poet lost in muse. Does the lady wield a brush or a magic wand?"

Their laughter was a ripple across the still pond of Sarkar's stoic exterior, a testament to a shared history that had seen the many faces

As Hindaoura prepared for the impending celebrations of Holi, the air was thick with the fragrance of flowers used to make the organic colors that were a hallmark of the town's festivities. It was amidst this backdrop of preparation that Riya's light-hearted teasing took flight, her voice a melody of mischief as she nudged Meera with her elbow.

"Didi, you must admit, a part of you is eager to see if the illustrious Sarkar-ji can handle our Holi. Will the colors soften his demeanor, or will he remain the steadfast statue amidst our revelry?" she chuckled, her smile spreading contagiously.

Meera’s eyes sparkled, betraying her amusement, even as she tried to feign irritation. "The festival is a time for joy and unity, not for gauging one's rigidity or lack thereof," Meera replied, her words strict yet her tone light with unspoken excitement.

"And what about your unity with him? Shall I have the children prepare a special color just for Jiju?" Riya teased further, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Meera lightly swatted Riya away, a reluctant giggle escaping her lips. "Enough, you mischievous imp. Attend to your work. We must ensure our guests experience the full warmth and joy of Holi here."

Over in Mumbai, Sarkar found himself amidst a similar bout of friendly chiding from his inner circle. The news of his trip to Hindaoura for Holi had spread, creating ripples of curiosity among those who knew him best.

"So, Sarkar Bhai," Heera began, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin, "Will you be letting down your guard to embrace the festivities? Or shall we expect you to dodge the colors like you do your enemies?"

The men in the room chuckled, awaiting Sarkar's response.

"I will participate as is appropriate," Sarkar replied coolly, but the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "It's wise to know the battlefield, even in times of celebration. One never knows when an unexpected color might strike."

Salman, his characteristically solemn presence lightened by the jests, chimed in, "Just be sure not to confuse your allies with your foes when the colors fly. It might turn out to be the most colorful battle you’ve ever encountered."

Their laughter resonated against the high walls of Sarkar's study, a rich contrast to the usually somber discussions held within them. Sarkar shook his head, a rare expression of amusement softening his features as he stood and crossed over to the painting once again, drawn inexplicably to the world it depicted—a world about to welcome him in its most vibrant moment.

Back in Hindaoura, as Preet Aggarwal delicately extended the invite over a carefully dialed call, the room seemed to hold its breath. Sarkar's affirmative reply set a flurry of action into motion, with Riya delighting in the preparations and Meera finding herself more involved than she had anticipated.

Riya’s relentless teasing resumed as they selected colors and sweets for the occasion. "Imagine, Didi, if Sarkar-ji finds himself unable to resist the charm of Hindaoura's Holi. What then? Will you shield him from the onslaught of colors or lead the charge?"

This time, Meera's response was lost in a room filled with the soft laughter of her family, her mother Neena's eyes twinkling knowingly at her eldest daughter. Despite her misgivings, the playful atmosphere was infectious, and for the first time in a long while, Meera found herself genuinely looking forward to the merriment, especially with Sarkar's unexpected participation.

A continent away, Sarkar's decision was met with raised brows from his subordinates. They placed playful wagers on whether their formidable leader would return the same shade as he departed. Yet, amid the jests, there was a palpable sense of kinship and support. They saw this as a chance for Sarkar to step away from the shadows of his underworld empire and into the light of genuine connections, with Meera as the leading beacon.

The lighthearted mood carried Sarkar into the final hours before his departure. He was leaving behind a city that never slept for a place that promised laughter and light, a journey that was less about distance and more about the heart. In a private moment, he allowed himself to consider the rarity of this experience, the chance to see Meera not as a bride to be but as a vibrant force within her own right, a woman who might just color his world in hues he had never dared to imagine.

As the festival neared, Meera and Sarkar, each surrounded by their own world of light teasing and warmth, faced the crossroads where personal instincts and public personas intersected. It was a pivotal moment where joyous traditions like Holi not only celebrated the coming of spring but also the blossoming of something tender and potentially life-altering. While Riya and Heera jest with innocent cunning, they unknowingly wove the fabric of connection tighter between two souls standing on the threshold of a shared future painted in every conceivable color of emotion.