Asad and Zoya- The Mangal Mania (Filler Scenes)
Asad and Zoya- The Mangal Mania (Filler Scenes) (By Spoon) (Thanked: 21 times)
This is neither a written update nor a story. Just bits and parts of my take on the Mangalpur episodes... Some events, I shall base on what has taken place and others, my whimsical inputs..
Hope you enjoy!
It's fun writing on Asad and Zoya.
Drop ya comments! And do forgive the typos. My readers know how lazy I can be
Lots of love, vohi ishq wala love...
Asad and Zoya- Mangalpur Filler Scenes-01
Asad nods at his uncle, smiling a little . The latter pats his shoulder once and beckons him to sit. Asad pulls out a napkin and lets his deft hygiene obsessed fingers work around the dusty chair. Then he frowns and finally perches on it.
But before he could even 'detoxify' the smudged and sinister looking plate, one of the girls empty the rice bowl on it. He rubs his forehead, thoroughly frustrated.
"Anything the matter, Asad?"
"Nehi Maamu... Nothing." He forces a smile on his face and rolls his eyes. His eyes widen a little as he then hears the rhythmic clink of bangles and the flash of gorgeous red. Asad looks on as a pair of shy hands quickly rubs a clean napkin over his plate and glass, and carefully arranges them in a perfect visually pleasing array.
A smile lights his face, as he casts a lingering glance on the woman who has the basic sense of conduct in a place like this. Not that he considers Mangalpur anyway discomfiting, but it of course doesn't go by his idea of an aesthetically rich and satisfying abode.
"Shukriya!" He mumbles, and notices her fingers come closer to her hooded face and then those shy eyes dart to a different direction.
Something in him stirs.
And the memory of a very irking and tiring girl soon pierces his senses.
Ah! He shakes his head. Why her again? Every time he has tried to instill some sort of sense in her, she has retorted. What with her American Desi lectures.
Asad rolls his eyes again.
Such are the excuses of escapists who fail to uphold the beautiful customs of a fantastic culture...
And Zoya shall never be able to understand.
Asad sighs, as he feels a tug at his hand. He looks as his uncle prods him to begin munching.
He looks up again, and notices that woman in red chatting with his cousin sisters.
Why can't Zoya be like her?
Speaking of which, she must be back in Bhopal by now. Or perhaps still on road?
Has she eaten anything?
Asad shakes his head again. Zoya is the all-knowing symbol of woman empowerment. The whole world may be deprived of food, but Miss Farookhi will always have a stockpile of pizzas.
Asad shrugs his shoulders at the thought of her overtly distasteful room, with discarded pizza crumbs, and shreds of clothes piled carelessly.
And the empty cans of diet coke running ablaze on the floor...
Talk about American Desi customs!
Miss New York Return!
Asad rolls his eyes again, concentrating on his food.
A little later, that woman approaches him again, offering some more of the delicious biryani. Asad refuses.
Just when she turns, one of his younger cousins collide with her and she slips, barely managing to hold herself.
The bowl very conveniently empties itself partially on his sleeves.
Asad stands up, thoroughly annoyed.
"Girls, is this a place to run around?" His uncle expresses his displeasure.
The little girl breaks into tears, scampering away. The woman in red salwar quickly drenches the napkin and rubs it against his sleeve, without waiting for his permission.
His fingers touch hers and she, for a moment, withdraws hers.
He doesn't look up, fearing she will be uncomfortable.
"I will do it. Please do not trouble yourself." Asad mumbles. She doesn't stop, until the sleeve is clean again. He looks on, noticing those slender fingers working, and frowns.
Why is she seeming strangely familiar? There's something seriously welcoming about her.
Against his better judgment, he fails to prevent himself from looking up.
She immediately retreats, hurrying over to another table.
Asad returns to his food although he could feel eyes on him...
"Asad, how are things there? How is Mariyam? Is everything fine?"
"Yes, Ammi, how did Najma's exam go?"
"It went well, Bhai jaan!"
"Ah, the phone is on speaker!" Asad conveniently lets that faint hope inside him stifle itself.
No way is he going to hear Zoya utter Mr. Khan...
Why will she bother?
"Ammi? I was wondering if Miss Farookhi came back within the stipulated time? Or did she loiter longer than usual?"
"Zoya? But she-"
"I knew it! See, Ammi? This is why I dislike her so much! Never listens! Never! I told her to mind the timings! But no! And you still shade her like she is your own!"
"Asad! She is my own! And she isn't here!"
"Jahaan Panaah!" A couple of girls giggle, as the Mehfil begins to sparkle against the wintry night. Asad frowns. The girls disperse. He notices that woman in red, scurrying away.
Asad scrunches his eyes, and then sighs.
She looks back and then dives right into the middle of the dance formation...
And thus begins the hoots and the swaying... and the lyrics of a catchy popular bollywood song...
The lead dancer continuously prevents him from reaching Zoya. And it frustrates him a lot.
For reason he doesn't let himself ponder upon...
All he cares about now... is to just bring her closer...
Zoya dashes past him and he holds her by her dupatta. As the people around them shake a leg, and the night cackles, alive and merry, Asad grabs Zoya by her waist, and pulls her closer, unveiling her face.
She gulps, unable to wiggle free from his iron grips.
Six pack! And Bond! Coming together!
Zoya's time to roll her eyes. But she doesn't.
For they are currently fixed on his dark ones...
"Mr. Khan! What are you doing? Just let me go..." She could feel his fingers holding her tightly against him.
Funnily enough, when he's around... fear always gets uncannily shrouded with the feeling of safety...
Asad drops his gaze on her lips and then looks back into her eyes...
Something about them...
Reminds her of the time when he met them first...
A faint smile spreads on his lips. Zoya looks on, surprised.
The smile, however, vanishes and that familiar glare returns.
"Come with me!" He pulls her towards a secluded corner.
Zoya swallows noisily, "Will you just let go of my hand?"
"If I say no, then what?" He snarls and then fixes his eyes on her again, calculating her silently. She doesn't flinch.
A minute later, he releases her. And she massages her arm.
"See, you did it again! Marked me again! See! Ahhhh!" Zoya whines, throwing an acerbic glance at his direction. Asad shakes his head, "Why are you still here? Why didn't you go back?"
"I would have, but your cousins are so sweet. You know how welcoming they are?"
"Yeah, right! That's because they don't know the kind of trouble you are!"
"People who are full of themselves are generally the ones who do not see others as being capable of being genial and affable to the rest." Zoya mumbles to herself.
"I heard that!" He snaps.
She fusses, "Well good, Mr. Khan. Why don't you try and absorb third-party views then? May be that will do you good!"
"Yeah, look who's saying. If you kindly follow your own advice..."
"I do! When I deem them fit, I do."
"You never do that! There are many things that I have wished-" Asad stops, furious with himself, "Look, Miss Farookhi, you are going back first thing in the morning."
"No ifs and buts! I want this marriage to conclude in the nicest manner as possible. And it can't be so if you are around. So, you are leaving and I mean it!" He turns and walks out.
"Yeah, you always wish me away." She mumbles moodily to herself, "Zill-E-llahi!"
"I heard that too!" He yells back, disappearing around the corner.
"Good for you, Mr. Khan!" She retorts.