Part 2 - KKGSR's Show

bOok of cliChés

-II-

It was dark and stormy outside, fierce gusts of wind relentlessly rattled the window panes and the big oak trees, swaying them so dramatically that you’d be forgiven for thinking the world was about to end. There was real threat to life – actual physical danger that hovered like a tiny shadow above their heads so Arnav did what any man would do in such a situation, prayed to the higher powers that the damages would be minimal while his wife, oblivious to all that was preoccupied with something else entirely.

After making him wait for some good ten minutes outside the bedroom door, she let him in coyly – that alarmed him straight away, she was up to something, he knew the whole deal with writing this super hit desi show had awakened the hidden devil inside that pretty little head of hers. He relaxed slightly when he saw that she was still in her cotton lounge pants and white tees and not dressed as some exotic nymph straight out of Victoria’s Secret! What he hadn’t accounted for was the entire neighborhood’s candle count to have descended into one tiny bright spot.

 “Why did you light so many candles?” he asked blinking rapidly trying to adjust to the new lighting.

“Because it’s dark in here”

“Why is it dark in here? Did the electricity go?” he sniffed the air, “Are those scented candles?”

“Because I switched off the lights…No and yes”

“Why did you switch off the lights then? You know this is really not safe…God Khushi what is wrong with you?”

“Because…shhh” she put a finger to lips seductively, “Because… this is what Ram and Priya recently did…and it looked perfectly safe there” she responded shyly making him uncomfortable.

“Ram who??..Achoo!”

A few minutes later.

This wasn’t working for either of them, every time they tried to focus on the task at hand – they had to dodge the next candle on the floor and the mind would drift to the curtains, or the table with both their expensive phones, what if the candles tripped and fell on one of those electronic gadgets or worse still what if the carpet caught fire lest they accidently knocked one of the candles on the floor!

Luckily for them, “What’s that noise?” he asked pulling away, secretly grateful of this divine intervention, “I think that’s the smoke detector...shit!”

“Achoooo” he pushed her away, “Go take care of that…Achoo!! I’m going to put out all the candles…Achoo!! I thought you knew I am allergic to…Achooo!!”

Ten minutes later once that little experiment was over, Khushi marked the candle light romantic sequence with an orange highlighter. Even though it was a hazardous experiment and she was inwardly glad that it was over for good, she knew she had a winner sequence. Arnav looked over her shoulders, and read out loud, “Does not work in real life = Will work extra well on TV, essential props- full moon with a prominent single scar, white curtains, three bags of red rose petals, strong breeze and hundred more candles…arranged in a maze like sequence so it symbolizes the chase…and the eventual conquest…from darkness to light…” He snatched it from her and put it away, “What the hell was that all about?”

“I was testing grounds for a candle light romantic sequence”

Arnav went silent and stared at her like she was some specimen from another planet, he decided to pretend none of this really happened for real “I like this you know, a snow storm…and I can laze around in bed the whole day tomorrow. Life is perfect” he ignored her baffled looks and settled in bed.

When she joined him, he was hoping for some TLC but to his dismay, she propped several pillows and turned on the reading light, “Ugh! Are you seriously going to read again? …I thought you said storms and cold weather was romantic… do you want me to play that creepy song from Julie… or Murder?”

“I’m not in the mood Arnav…go to sleep”

 “@#$%%!” Arnav cussed loudly, and he felt her arms around him right away, “What the…are you bipolar?” he turned towards her and propped himself on an elbow, “What?” he looked at her oddly and noticed her blush a little, “What?” he had trouble understanding silence.

She didn’t respond. Which made him even more furious, and he swore even more, “What the f*** is wrong with you?”

She kissed him passionately…but the voice in his head went off on a different noisy tangent, No, no no…don’t let her play you in like this, he pushed her away slightly with great determination, “explain?”

“I like this bad boy…” her fingers traced the scar on his left eye-lid.

He always knew his wife was crazy but of late she was seriously pushing the bar higher, at times like this though, he didn’t really mind, “What if I’m not in the mood?” he rolled back to his side taking her with him, “Owww…what the F***”

“What now?” she asked, “There is something poking me…at the back”, he pulled out her book – and his eyes nearly popped out seeing the image of a skimpily clad botox model being devoured by a man wearing Calvin Klein satin boxers “The Billionaire Mistress!?” He looked at her as if she had just fallen off the sky,” seriously!?...I thought you said you never liked this crap!?” he flung it away.

To her credit, she seemed genuinely embarrassed, “I didn’t…I mean I don’t, I swear… a friend told me that her friend told her how her friend’s best friend had produced a hit show using themes borrowed from these books…so I was doing some research on my own”

 “Research for what? and who's this friend?”

“The next hot thing on Telly” she shifted back to her side, for a moment she had flashbacks of the normal life she had lived before this television bug had bit her. It didn’t last long though the fleeting thought was gone as soon as it had arrived, "She's someone I met online..." the mention of the friend was almost hushed, he didn't get it.

He was seriously beginning to regret his suggestion that had landed him in this soup, “So what’s your conclusion then?”

 “There isn’t much to work out actually” she replied blandly,” there isn’t a lot of room for experiment”

“Please elaborate…” he moved closer to her resting his head on her lap.

 “Let’s see, the richest bachelor of the biggest town…” she was interrupted straight away, “richest bachelor of the biggest town?…that just sounds fake not to mention wrong…what if the guy is a poor man from a tiny village who falls for the richest bachelorette of the biggest town instead or if both are poor or better yet both are super rich...or are just normal people?” she raked her fingers through his dishelved hair.

“None of that works well babes…and seriously who writes about normal people?”

“Why not?” he asked drowsily.

“Because then people will say that he’s after her money…and trust me this angle doesn’t sell as much as the first one…besides if both are rich, there will be no angst…and normal people = BORING”

“But they can say the same thing about her too?”

“Nooo….no no…” she shook her head adamantly, “It doesn’t work that way, remember… she’s a small town girl – they do not have a devious bone in their body. So it’s actually considered the guy’s good fortune to have found a rare gem like her …this is the most ideal combination…geez, you distract me too much, where was I?” she waited.

“You were explaining about the richest bachelor of the biggest town…” he yawned loudly, she hit him playfully.

“Ahh yes, so as I was saying… the richest bachelor of the biggest town has to have at least five of the following traits - the biggest sob, jerk, mcp, slightly bipolar, borderline abusive, non-alcoholic, experienced in the art of love, has washboard abs because when the ratings suffer we can flaunt this asset repeatedly under a streaming jet of lucky H20, suffers from no discernible physical ailment, speaks fluent English with aperceived American accent…”

“Woa! Wait… wait …wait slow down…American accent, how is that relevant?” he interrupted.

“Trust me, it is very important, this accent will turn on the legions of closet romantics…even better if he’s graduated from an Ivy league college…see all this adds up to his desirability factor, less coherent = more elusive and that actually makes him such a enigmatic specimen for that girl from the small town… see the twisted connection….umm…Where was I?” she asked.

“American accent...” he was transfixed at this colorful specimen animated in front of him wondering what had taken over his wife’s body.

“Yes, so he swears huskily in his fluent English with American accent using no actual swear words…”

“Wait, what? No swear words?”

“I’m targeting a prime time telly audience, no sex… no crime…obviously no bad words”

“But how do they know he’s swearing then?”

“I will elaborate on that later…basically we’ll use metaphors for everything the channel will beep out…so when he’s angry and actually wants to kiss her to submission…like they do in those books, obviously we cannot go there so he does what he does best…”

“Which is…?” he wasn’t sure where any of this was headed anymore.

“Every time he feels that pull or if the ratings drop, we'll make him grab her roughly like some rag-doll and pull her closest to him”

“Closest?”

“Yes, close, closer and closest – meaning…the highest degree of closeness” she further clarified.

He adjusted the pillows, “Sorry go on”

“So he pulls her closest to him…holding on super tight…the thumb rule being a minimum of three finger imprints on the arms”

“But that sounds abusive…” he reiterated.

“It’s not, trust me- he will get away with it because of two things, one it’s in his characterization already, it’s a given so its accepted and two all the romantic idiots will find it extremely hot”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just produce my show and track the page views of three different scenes on you tube, the one with the maximum views will be the missed kiss, followed by the roughest pull – and gentlest push away…”

“Hold on a second, what happens after he pulls her closest?”

“They play who blinks first....*Ishqqqqqqqqqqq*"

“What the!?