Fic: "Nothing But Net," Bollywood, no adult content.
You know it's bad when you're at work for two hours and your bunnies are yammering at you in Hindi and you get absolutely nothing else done besides a short piece of fan fiction.
Title: "Nothing But Net"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Bollywood/Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Rating/Classification: Futurefic, no adult content, Aman/Anjali-ish.
Disclaimer: Karan Johar started it!
Summary: Anjali's never afraid to take the shot.
Notes: Hindi words are translated at the end. :-).
Her clock collection has dwindled over the years. From a dozen to six to four to one obnoxious digital clock that blares the Indian national anthem at top volume. It was a gift from Aman when she turned fifteen. He told her she needed to have some pride in something besides her ability to make perfect shots from the free throw line.
"I have pride in you, Aman-ji," she'd teased.
He'd stared at her with those dark eyes that she knew still drifted to Mom on occasion. And then he'd looked away. She'd watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.
"Happy birthday," he'd whispered, the words dry and impersonal. Uncle-ish.
"Happy birthday, Anjali," she echoes, stretching her arms, kicking out her legs beneath the sheets. She smacks the clock to cut short the "jaya hey, jaya hey" refrain. Her national pride is fine, shukriya, Ji.
"Aaaaaanju!" Mom shouts her name across the house, drawing out the syllables so precisely that no one would ever guess she'd only started doing it nine years ago. Bari Anjali has settled into the role of mothering Choti Anjali way too well. Of course, adding Rishap and Kalpana to the home team helped. "Anju, get up!"
She climbs out of bed, glad that her brother and sister are still asleep. She loves them to death...the way they smell like basmati rice and elaichi biscuits...the way they lisp when they call her "Didi"...but as wake-up-calls go, they need work. She'll take the national anthem over a bouncing seven-year-old and shrieking four-year-old any day...and even more so on her birthday. "Main aarahi hu!" she shouts back, poking her head out the bedroom door. "I'm coming, okay? Ten minutes, na?"
They have two traditions on Khanna family birthdays: breakfast and basketball. Attendance is required. If you miss one, you miss the other. And she's not giving up the chance to beat Papa at two-on-two this year.
She's eighteen.
And she's finally ready.
***
"Mummy, Aman Uncle kab aayega?" Kalpana pipes up, making a face at the Horlicks drink that she hates but has to finish if she wants to join the college girls' basketball team like her didi. "Woh Didi ke birthday ke liye kyu nahin aaya?"
Anju winces, choking on her coffee.
The last she heard, Aman was in London with some girl. Sonia, Tania. Something or other. She's lost track. She'd stopped counting after he actually searched out Neelam and dated her for a few months. She'd been ten that year...and she never watched The Neelam Show again.
She waits for Mom to dash Kalp's hopes with a few vague sentences about "kaam" and "no time."
Papa isn't the jealous type. He loves his girls and doesn't seem to mind that any mention of Aman results in an absolute paagal level of enthusiasm. After all, he ended up with Anjali, didn't he? *Both* Anjalis.
He'd mind if he knew the truth, she thinks.
He'd mind if he knew why Aman never visits for her birthday anymore.
Why he always express mails his gifts and never calls.
She takes another sip of coffee, watching Papa and Mom amiably argue about who's going to win 2-on-2. Mom has the utmost faith in her.
Rishap demands to play, too, and starts whining, sticking his lower lip out in a way that's guaranteed to get him his way. Bhaiya is nothing if not spoiled. Daadi fusses over him, assuring him that, yes, after the birthday girl goes up against Papa, he'll get his turn.
Never mind that the nine foot hoop is way too high for him.
When has that ever stopped a Khanna?
It's always about the long shot.
***
She ties her hair back in an efficient ponytail before rescuing the ball off the hardwood floor. She's never more comfortable than when she's on the court. At school, at home on the half-size version. Between the lines and the basket, she knows who she is. When she has the ridges of the ball against her fingertips, tracing the black lines as she measures distance and judges how much power she has to put behind the shot, everything makes sense.
She dribbles across the court. The bouncing noise is soothing.
Papa is answering some overseas business call, delaying their game.
Which is good. It gives her time to warm up.
She can hear the kids arguing on the other side of the apartment. Daadi's trying to mediate without much success. Mom, she knows, is making an offering in front of Ma's picture, making Tina feel included in their daughter's day.
This is how it goes. This is how all her birthdays have been ever since Mom married Papa.
Except one.
She closes her eyes.
*Happy birthday, Anjali.*
When she was eight years old, Aman jokingly suggested she date him. Be his ideal woman. Love him the way he deserved to be loved.
When she was sixteen, he gave her an awesome pair of Nikes and a Chicago Bulls' highlights tape. She hugged him "thank you" and kissed the corner of his mouth and realized that, years after the fact, Aman's suggestion had, somehow, quit being a joke.
So she kissed the rest of his mouth. Her first try and she landed it with only minimal traveling and no cries of "personal foul." He tasted like Cadbury's and cigarettes and the inevitable. And he pushed her away and stumbled backwards and gasped that he was 38 and stared at the spot in the doorway where Bari Anjali had been standing some ten minutes before.
But just like Papa, she's not the jealous type.
She closes her eyes.
She sinks the ball with a swoosh.
She has pride in her ability to land a perfect shot from the free throw line and in Aman Mehra.
And the utmost faith that, one day, he's going to come back to her.
--end--
February 6, 2006
Aman Uncle kab aayega? - When is Aman coming?
bari - big.
bhaiya - brother
choti - little
daadi - grandmother
didi - older sister
ji - a term of respect added to the end of a name; "Sir" or "Ma'am."
kaam - work
main aarahi hu - I'm coming.
paagal - crazy
shukriya - thank you
Woh Didi ke birthday ke liye kyu nahin aaya? - Why didn't he come for Sister's birthday?
Title: "Nothing But Net"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Bollywood/Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Rating/Classification: Futurefic, no adult content, Aman/Anjali-ish.
Disclaimer: Karan Johar started it!
Summary: Anjali's never afraid to take the shot.
Notes: Hindi words are translated at the end. :-).
Her clock collection has dwindled over the years. From a dozen to six to four to one obnoxious digital clock that blares the Indian national anthem at top volume. It was a gift from Aman when she turned fifteen. He told her she needed to have some pride in something besides her ability to make perfect shots from the free throw line.
"I have pride in you, Aman-ji," she'd teased.
He'd stared at her with those dark eyes that she knew still drifted to Mom on occasion. And then he'd looked away. She'd watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed.
"Happy birthday," he'd whispered, the words dry and impersonal. Uncle-ish.
"Happy birthday, Anjali," she echoes, stretching her arms, kicking out her legs beneath the sheets. She smacks the clock to cut short the "jaya hey, jaya hey" refrain. Her national pride is fine, shukriya, Ji.
"Aaaaaanju!" Mom shouts her name across the house, drawing out the syllables so precisely that no one would ever guess she'd only started doing it nine years ago. Bari Anjali has settled into the role of mothering Choti Anjali way too well. Of course, adding Rishap and Kalpana to the home team helped. "Anju, get up!"
She climbs out of bed, glad that her brother and sister are still asleep. She loves them to death...the way they smell like basmati rice and elaichi biscuits...the way they lisp when they call her "Didi"...but as wake-up-calls go, they need work. She'll take the national anthem over a bouncing seven-year-old and shrieking four-year-old any day...and even more so on her birthday. "Main aarahi hu!" she shouts back, poking her head out the bedroom door. "I'm coming, okay? Ten minutes, na?"
They have two traditions on Khanna family birthdays: breakfast and basketball. Attendance is required. If you miss one, you miss the other. And she's not giving up the chance to beat Papa at two-on-two this year.
She's eighteen.
And she's finally ready.
***
"Mummy, Aman Uncle kab aayega?" Kalpana pipes up, making a face at the Horlicks drink that she hates but has to finish if she wants to join the college girls' basketball team like her didi. "Woh Didi ke birthday ke liye kyu nahin aaya?"
Anju winces, choking on her coffee.
The last she heard, Aman was in London with some girl. Sonia, Tania. Something or other. She's lost track. She'd stopped counting after he actually searched out Neelam and dated her for a few months. She'd been ten that year...and she never watched The Neelam Show again.
She waits for Mom to dash Kalp's hopes with a few vague sentences about "kaam" and "no time."
Papa isn't the jealous type. He loves his girls and doesn't seem to mind that any mention of Aman results in an absolute paagal level of enthusiasm. After all, he ended up with Anjali, didn't he? *Both* Anjalis.
He'd mind if he knew the truth, she thinks.
He'd mind if he knew why Aman never visits for her birthday anymore.
Why he always express mails his gifts and never calls.
She takes another sip of coffee, watching Papa and Mom amiably argue about who's going to win 2-on-2. Mom has the utmost faith in her.
Rishap demands to play, too, and starts whining, sticking his lower lip out in a way that's guaranteed to get him his way. Bhaiya is nothing if not spoiled. Daadi fusses over him, assuring him that, yes, after the birthday girl goes up against Papa, he'll get his turn.
Never mind that the nine foot hoop is way too high for him.
When has that ever stopped a Khanna?
It's always about the long shot.
***
She ties her hair back in an efficient ponytail before rescuing the ball off the hardwood floor. She's never more comfortable than when she's on the court. At school, at home on the half-size version. Between the lines and the basket, she knows who she is. When she has the ridges of the ball against her fingertips, tracing the black lines as she measures distance and judges how much power she has to put behind the shot, everything makes sense.
She dribbles across the court. The bouncing noise is soothing.
Papa is answering some overseas business call, delaying their game.
Which is good. It gives her time to warm up.
She can hear the kids arguing on the other side of the apartment. Daadi's trying to mediate without much success. Mom, she knows, is making an offering in front of Ma's picture, making Tina feel included in their daughter's day.
This is how it goes. This is how all her birthdays have been ever since Mom married Papa.
Except one.
She closes her eyes.
*Happy birthday, Anjali.*
When she was eight years old, Aman jokingly suggested she date him. Be his ideal woman. Love him the way he deserved to be loved.
When she was sixteen, he gave her an awesome pair of Nikes and a Chicago Bulls' highlights tape. She hugged him "thank you" and kissed the corner of his mouth and realized that, years after the fact, Aman's suggestion had, somehow, quit being a joke.
So she kissed the rest of his mouth. Her first try and she landed it with only minimal traveling and no cries of "personal foul." He tasted like Cadbury's and cigarettes and the inevitable. And he pushed her away and stumbled backwards and gasped that he was 38 and stared at the spot in the doorway where Bari Anjali had been standing some ten minutes before.
But just like Papa, she's not the jealous type.
She closes her eyes.
She sinks the ball with a swoosh.
She has pride in her ability to land a perfect shot from the free throw line and in Aman Mehra.
And the utmost faith that, one day, he's going to come back to her.
--end--
February 6, 2006
Aman Uncle kab aayega? - When is Aman coming?
bari - big.
bhaiya - brother
choti - little
daadi - grandmother
didi - older sister
ji - a term of respect added to the end of a name; "Sir" or "Ma'am."
kaam - work
main aarahi hu - I'm coming.
paagal - crazy
shukriya - thank you
Woh Didi ke birthday ke liye kyu nahin aaya? - Why didn't he come for Sister's birthday?