Fic: "The Art of Compromise", Bollywood, gen/angst.
I managed to do one or two work-related things this morning, but mostly, I just wrote this. It's the flip side to Nothing But Net, which I wrote yesterday.
I'm not *quite* happy with it, mainly because there's just something different about the tone of it. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it doesn't feel like I wrote this. Even though I did. LOL.
Title: "The Art of Compromise" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Bollywood/Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Rating/Classification: mild language, futurefic, gen, angst, Aman/Anjali-ish.
Disclaimer: Karan Johar and the gang at YashRaj own Aman. Vik and Sinj are mine.
Summary: Every day, he counts how long it's been. A companion piece to "Nothing But Net."
Note: Hindi words translated at the end.
Every third pub in England is called The Boar's Head. During one ill-advised weekend in their third year at uni, he, Viky, and Sinjun decided to hit as many as possible in a thirty mile radius. They'd passed out, pissed as Hell, in the gutter after the fourth one. You'd think that would be enough to put them off pubs for life, but, no, here they are twenty years later, staring into tumblers of scotch and still courting the gutter.
"So, I say to the gal, 'want to see my Bentley, yeah?' And she says, 'No, thanks, I like 'em straight.'" Sinjun's laugh is loud, *too* loud. As usual, he's the only one who thinks his jokes are funny. Aman tries to force a chuckle for his mate's benefit, but it comes out more like a cough.
"Speaking of gals...where's Tanya?" Vikram asks, suspiciously, and Aman regrets making any noise at all.
The pub is loud, like a Punjabi wedding, and he'd hoped to piss the hours away while Vik and Sinj did most of the talking.
So much for that.
"Tanya's in Surrey, visiting her mum, na?" he reminds, lying through his teeth.
"Dumped you, did she?" Sinjun surmises, automatically. He shakes his head. "I knew that was coming. You can't keep a girl happy for more than three months at a time."
"Hey, yaar!" he protests, offended. "Mother-in-Law said it was the right..." And he stops, biting his tongue as his mates give him The Look.
But it's too late. He's gone and said it.
"Mother-in-Law," Sinjun snorts. "She's not your mother-in-law. You've really got stop this."
"Das saal ho gay, Aman," Viky slurs, waving around his drink and forgetting their 'no Hindi in front of Sinj' rule.
He knows it's been ten years. Every day, he counts how long it's been. But he can't help it. Even if his wedding didn't turn out to be *his* wedding, he loves Anjali's mom and she gives great advice. She's a great e-mail pen pal. A few years ago, they started signing messages "MIL" and "SIL" to save time and, even now, as he jumps to her defense, he uses the nickname. "Don't talk bad about my MIL, Guys. She's amazing."
"Seriously, yaar." 'Yaar' is the most Hindi Sinjun's managed to pick up over the years that isn't a selection of choice swears. "How many blokes do you know that not only still talk to their exes, but e-mail their *mothers*? It's just...dodgy."
His friends don't know the half of it, he thinks, swirling scotch around on his tongue.
When they first started dating, Tanya thought the e-mails from MIL were sweet. She said it was bitchin' that he had such a great relationship with his ex's family. But then she went the way of Mania and Sonya, and Anya (he had a theme for a while there) and started making comments about how twice a day was too much mail. And did he really need to put pictures of Kalpana's fourth birthday party on the fridge? And, bloody Hell, Aman, but why did they have to spend an hour downloading a five minute clip of Anju sinking a three pointer at her division finals?
He still remembers how he stopped moving. How his hand clenched around the mouse and he almost threw it.
Tanya didn't dump him.
He dumped her.
*"You do not talk shit about Anju. Understand? Not ever."*
She'd stared him, her pouty mouth dropping open in shock.
She'd left for Surrey in a matter of hours.
And he'd watched Anju sink that shot on repeat, until his eyes crossed with exhaustion.
Until he had to give up and make the international call and hear MIL tell him that anyone who didn't understand how much his family meant to him wasn't worth being with anyway. "Do not worry, Son-in-Law...main hu, na?" I'm here, she assured him. I'm here.
His family. They *are* his family.
Even though they belong to Rahul Khanna.
"Tanya and I were not a good fit," he tells his mates. "We were together because we thought we should be and it is done. That is that. Khatam."
Love shouldn't be a compromise, MIL had told him once. A house built on compromise is just a house...not a home.
Rahul has a home. With his Anjalis. With Rishap and Kalpana.
With *his* Anjalis.
He knows it's been ten years and he still remembers every detail of that day. Of taking Bari Anjali by the hand and giving her to another man. Of carrying Choti Anjali in his arms and dancing as if his heart wasn't broken beyond repair.
Choti Anjali is eighteen this year. Not so little anymore.
And two years ago, she kissed him. She pressed against him, all womanly curves and smelling like her stepmother's achingly familiar perfume. Anju. Beautiful, sweet, Anju who loves two things in the world: basketball and him.
The same little girl he used to bench press for fun.
The same little girl who stared up at him and *pleaded* for him to give up his own happiness.
He's given up too much.
MIL doesn't know that.
Viky and Sinj don't know that.
His hand shakes as he lifts his glass and drains it to the last drop.
And here he is, still courting the gutter.
--end--
February 7, 2006
bari - big
choti - little
Das saal ho gay - It's been ten years
khatam -finished
yaar - friend/pal/buddy
I'm not *quite* happy with it, mainly because there's just something different about the tone of it. I can't quite put my finger on it, but it doesn't feel like I wrote this. Even though I did. LOL.
Title: "The Art of Compromise" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Bollywood/Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
Rating/Classification: mild language, futurefic, gen, angst, Aman/Anjali-ish.
Disclaimer: Karan Johar and the gang at YashRaj own Aman. Vik and Sinj are mine.
Summary: Every day, he counts how long it's been. A companion piece to "Nothing But Net."
Note: Hindi words translated at the end.
Every third pub in England is called The Boar's Head. During one ill-advised weekend in their third year at uni, he, Viky, and Sinjun decided to hit as many as possible in a thirty mile radius. They'd passed out, pissed as Hell, in the gutter after the fourth one. You'd think that would be enough to put them off pubs for life, but, no, here they are twenty years later, staring into tumblers of scotch and still courting the gutter.
"So, I say to the gal, 'want to see my Bentley, yeah?' And she says, 'No, thanks, I like 'em straight.'" Sinjun's laugh is loud, *too* loud. As usual, he's the only one who thinks his jokes are funny. Aman tries to force a chuckle for his mate's benefit, but it comes out more like a cough.
"Speaking of gals...where's Tanya?" Vikram asks, suspiciously, and Aman regrets making any noise at all.
The pub is loud, like a Punjabi wedding, and he'd hoped to piss the hours away while Vik and Sinj did most of the talking.
So much for that.
"Tanya's in Surrey, visiting her mum, na?" he reminds, lying through his teeth.
"Dumped you, did she?" Sinjun surmises, automatically. He shakes his head. "I knew that was coming. You can't keep a girl happy for more than three months at a time."
"Hey, yaar!" he protests, offended. "Mother-in-Law said it was the right..." And he stops, biting his tongue as his mates give him The Look.
But it's too late. He's gone and said it.
"Mother-in-Law," Sinjun snorts. "She's not your mother-in-law. You've really got stop this."
"Das saal ho gay, Aman," Viky slurs, waving around his drink and forgetting their 'no Hindi in front of Sinj' rule.
He knows it's been ten years. Every day, he counts how long it's been. But he can't help it. Even if his wedding didn't turn out to be *his* wedding, he loves Anjali's mom and she gives great advice. She's a great e-mail pen pal. A few years ago, they started signing messages "MIL" and "SIL" to save time and, even now, as he jumps to her defense, he uses the nickname. "Don't talk bad about my MIL, Guys. She's amazing."
"Seriously, yaar." 'Yaar' is the most Hindi Sinjun's managed to pick up over the years that isn't a selection of choice swears. "How many blokes do you know that not only still talk to their exes, but e-mail their *mothers*? It's just...dodgy."
His friends don't know the half of it, he thinks, swirling scotch around on his tongue.
When they first started dating, Tanya thought the e-mails from MIL were sweet. She said it was bitchin' that he had such a great relationship with his ex's family. But then she went the way of Mania and Sonya, and Anya (he had a theme for a while there) and started making comments about how twice a day was too much mail. And did he really need to put pictures of Kalpana's fourth birthday party on the fridge? And, bloody Hell, Aman, but why did they have to spend an hour downloading a five minute clip of Anju sinking a three pointer at her division finals?
He still remembers how he stopped moving. How his hand clenched around the mouse and he almost threw it.
Tanya didn't dump him.
He dumped her.
*"You do not talk shit about Anju. Understand? Not ever."*
She'd stared him, her pouty mouth dropping open in shock.
She'd left for Surrey in a matter of hours.
And he'd watched Anju sink that shot on repeat, until his eyes crossed with exhaustion.
Until he had to give up and make the international call and hear MIL tell him that anyone who didn't understand how much his family meant to him wasn't worth being with anyway. "Do not worry, Son-in-Law...main hu, na?" I'm here, she assured him. I'm here.
His family. They *are* his family.
Even though they belong to Rahul Khanna.
"Tanya and I were not a good fit," he tells his mates. "We were together because we thought we should be and it is done. That is that. Khatam."
Love shouldn't be a compromise, MIL had told him once. A house built on compromise is just a house...not a home.
Rahul has a home. With his Anjalis. With Rishap and Kalpana.
With *his* Anjalis.
He knows it's been ten years and he still remembers every detail of that day. Of taking Bari Anjali by the hand and giving her to another man. Of carrying Choti Anjali in his arms and dancing as if his heart wasn't broken beyond repair.
Choti Anjali is eighteen this year. Not so little anymore.
And two years ago, she kissed him. She pressed against him, all womanly curves and smelling like her stepmother's achingly familiar perfume. Anju. Beautiful, sweet, Anju who loves two things in the world: basketball and him.
The same little girl he used to bench press for fun.
The same little girl who stared up at him and *pleaded* for him to give up his own happiness.
He's given up too much.
MIL doesn't know that.
Viky and Sinj don't know that.
His hand shakes as he lifts his glass and drains it to the last drop.
And here he is, still courting the gutter.
--end--
February 7, 2006
bari - big
choti - little
Das saal ho gay - It's been ten years
khatam -finished
yaar - friend/pal/buddy