Q & A, a bollywood fanfic

Here are a bunch of (non-)drabbles for ten different Bollywood films (K3G, Black, Dil Se, Dostana, Bachna Ae Haseeno, Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Jodhaa Akbar, Kal Ho Naa Ho, Sarkar Raj, RNBDJ). Obviously there are spoilers for all of those movies. The theme I randomly assigned myself was 'questions and answers'. Please read and review, I would be extremely grateful. And yes, I did write a ficlet for a movie that has yet to be released, I am just that good. :P

Q & A

Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham

"My friend will only be in London for a week, Anjali, can't she stay with us for a while?" Rahul persisted.

Anjali crossed her arms. "Rahul, you never want anyone to stay in our home, why the sudden change of heart for this woman?"

"I owe her that much." Rahul couldn't look Anjali in the eye. "I owe her…something."

Anjali's eyes widened as her arms fell to her sides. "Who is she, Rahul? Why is this so important to you?"

"Naina." Rahul felt decayed memories begin to unfold. The past was still an unmanageable weight upon his heart. "She loved me. And I, I chose you."

This was a story she had never heard before. Anjali could envision Naina in her mind's eye; sophisticated, pretty, smart, articulate. Rich. Married life had not completely rid Anjali of her insecurities.

"She loved you?" Anjali gave him an incredulous look. "And now you want her to stay here with us? While I'm pregnant, half-bloated and unattractive?"

"It was a long time ago, Anjali."

"Not long enough…" She muttered.

"Besides, you are never unattractive." Rahul grinned at her admiringly.

Anjali's eyes narrowed as she locked him in her hard stare. As if she could ever win an argument with Rahul Raichand. Not that she would ever let him know that. "Fine, she can stay for a week. But you owe me more foot massages than a high-class Angrezi spa." Anjali huffed.

"Yes, your majesty."

They both hoped that they would be rewarded for their good deed; that after this the past would leave them be, once and for all.

Black

He signed to her in quick, even strokes. As if to punctuate every word with his nervousness.

Will you have coffee with me, Michelle?

At first the question confused her. Why did he need to ask her if she wanted coffee? She loved coffee, and he knew that already. What was the need for her permission?

Slowly, she recalled a memory of her sister Sarah and her excitement as she curled her hair and headed out to the local café with Marc for the first time. Her mother's words (my little girl is growing up…) had held a bittersweet sense of pride. Sarah had always left early and returned rather late.

Coffee did not just mean caffeine, sugar and cream. It meant he wanted to see her outside of their strictly professional world. He wanted to spend time with her. He wanted to be with her.

Michelle had never been wanted before.

Her friends had told her that he was good-looking. His face was not traditionally handsome, but his smile could light up an entire room. He was not tall, but he was not short. His demeanour neither self-assured nor apprehensive. And they had told her that he often watched her with a soft affection that she was certain she did not deserve.

She wanted so badly to see it all for herself.

Michelle? He signed to her again.

She did not sign back. Instead, she reached out and firmly placed her hand in his.

He had his answer.

Dil Se

"Exactly how well did you know the deceased, Ms. Preeti?"

"Amar mera mangeetar hai." Her dead eyes did not betray the turmoil in her heart. "Tha."

"Aur woh aurat? Meghna?" The officer pressed on, ignoring the fact that she had not truly answered his question.

She smirked up at him. "Meghna ek dost thi. Ek sachi dost."

He watched her, a disbelieving look stuck on his face.

"You don't believe me?"

"Look, Ms. Preeti, you come from a good family, you were simply caught up in an unfortunate series of incidents."

"Unfortunate?" Her eyes blazed. "My fiancé is dead because he was in love with a woman I had believed to be a friend and a well-wisher. A person who ate, slept and dreamed under the same roof that I did. And she turned out to be a terrorist. How is this unfortunate?"

"Ma'am –"

"Meghna is gone from this world, gone from my life. And she took that scoundrel with her." The tears stung bitterly while the words tumbled out in quick succession. "She did me a great favour. Unfortunate? No. I should thank them. I should thank them for sparing me. I should thank them both for leaving me here." She found it much too hard to breathe, as if the air was thick with unanswered questions. "All alone." She hastily choked out.

The officer gave her a soft smile, offering his vague condolences. "That is all for now, Ms. Preeti."

The emptiness that she carried with her lingered in the room for hours after she had left.

Dostana

"Tum gay ho?" Sameer asked, quirking an eyebrow at Kunal in amusement.

"Hey, I'm not the nurse who cruises around in a pink convertible." Kunal smirked.

Sameer tried to ignore the other man's taunts. "Are you gay?"

"Are you?" Kunal countered.

"I asked first, dude."

Kunal clenched his teeth. "I already told you once before, Sam. Main gay nahin hoon."

Sameer let out the breath he had been holding in. "Mujhe bhi."

"Sach?"

"Haan, sach."

They sighed in relief.

"Cool."

They both paused and the silence was almost deafening. In a reassuring sort of way.

"So then, Sam, what exactly are you doing?" Kunal tried hard to get his voice to work as he suppressed a devilish grin.

"Unlike Neha, mujhe hairless wonders bohut pasand hai." Sameer's hand moved up Kunal's well-toned body. "That's all." He explained.

"Lucky you."

Sameer moved closer. He was going to hit him where it hurt. "You were the one that kissed me, Kunal."

"I have no qualms kissing someone." He pondered for a moment. "Provided they're hot."

"Lucky me."

Kunal had Sameer pinned against the wall in one swift motion. "But it's a good thing that neither one of us is gay."

"Yes. A very good thing."

Bachna Ae Haseeno

"Marry me?"

Raj was kneeling in front of Gayatri on one knee as she gaped in shock. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was he serious?

Gayatri had already told him once before; she had made herself quite clear. She didn't believe in marriage and she most definitely was not in need of a husband. She didn't need someone to check in on her every night, to tie her down to routine. A husband would only steal away her independence.

Vacations to exotic beaches were one thing…but this? Shaadi? No way!

Life was an adventure and men came and went as long as they fit into her world. As soon as their paths shifted she could move on and so could they. Right? Why was that concept so hard for them to understand?

All men were the same.

Life was as simple and as complicated as you made it, and right now Raj was making everything far too complicated.

"…If love is marriage, then maybe I don't love you at all." Gayatri admitted.

Raj chased after her like a madman. He pleaded irreverently, hoping she would change her mind and give him another chance.

"The moment you are willing to wait for all of your life…" She pushed away the anger and bottled up the guilt. "I don't have that moment to give you."

Gayatri decided enough was enough. She walked away, leaving behind a man she was certain she could not love. And his newly broken heart.

Jhoom Barabar Jhoom

Alvira and Satvinder had put on a great show. They had danced with passion and talent. They deserved to be Mr. and Ms. South Hall. Didn't they?

Then why were Rikki and Laila the ones called on stage? Why were they presented with sashes and showered with the audience's adoration? Why was Alvira the one stuck at the sidelines, blinking back tears as she watched Laila sport the crown? Why did it feel like her dreams were crumbling?

Alvira should have known. Good girls always finish last.

She tried to hide the tears from her eyes. She would never live it down if Rikki saw her like this. And Laila? Saali kutti…

She sensed the two of them approaching, their victorious ceremony complete. Alvira hastily set her gaze upon Satvinder. As far away from Rikki as possible. "Listen, I'm really sorry, main –"

Her sentence remained unfinished as she ran off to wallow in her defeat, like the loser she was.

Now how would she ever win Rikki's love?

Jodhaa Akbar

Akbar willed his anger to simmer when his wife, his queen, refused his touch. On their wedding night, with the royal sentry standing guard outside of their tent. Jodhaa had dared to spurn him, the man who had never been repudiated in all of his life.

He was the emperor of the heavens, the face of God; Jahanpanah.

Akbar was a gracious man. He wished no harm upon his new bride and had decided to leave before his temper grew.

He offered to never touch Jodhaa unless she herself was willing. It was a generous promise. If he had chosen to, Akbar could have had her any way he wished that very night. She was a woman and he was her husband. It was her duty.

Yet, Akbar was a gracious man. He was a noble man. He was the great descendant of the Mughal lineage.

As the days wore on, Akbar found his anger quickly transforming into something just as unwieldy. He found himself watching Jodhaa out of the corner of his eye, admiring her gentle manner and her carefree spirit. She too grew more affable towards him as they shared small, private moments.

More and more, Akbar yearned to touch her. He longed to earn back the right which he had forsaken.

After a cruel separation that seemed to span eras, Jodhaa decided to end her self-imposed exile. She had forgiven Akbar's foolishness and had returned to him of her own will.

It was now that he prayed for the courage to ask her – beg her – to relinquish his punishment. If only he was able to touch her, embrace her, caress her, love her.

In the brilliant glow of the setting sun, Jodhaa stared back at him with her luminous eyes and a nervous smile. Her demeanour grew demure and her proud airs disappeared.

Excitement fell upon them along with the darkness. There was no need for Jodhaa to grant permission. Two hearts had spoken.

Akbar's silent prayers had been answered.

Kal Ho Naa Ho

Naina Catherine Kapur had been a fool. A few months ago she would have prided herself on her ability to rise above the laughable innocence of the girls around her who were deceived at every turn. Naina was a mature cynic; she had years of experience. But in a swift moment, her world had fallen apart and she had discovered that she was the most naïve one of all.

She had never expected the dishonesty. Not from Aman.

He was dying, yet he hadn't had the courage to tell anyone the truth. Instead he had fabricated false pretenses, false dilemmas and a false wife. The flow of water beneath her feet could not calm Naina's nerves. He was dying. And he had chosen to do so without any of their help.

How dare he? How dare he play with her emotions? Aman loved her, she knew that now. And, like everyone else in her life, he was about to leave her. Alone.

Naina choked back a tear as light reflected off of the newly placed ring on her finger. No, she wasn't alone. Not this time. Rohit was with her now and Rohit would be there for years and years to come.

She was no longer alone.

So then why did she feel so hollow?

Naina instinctively turned to find Aman standing in wait. He had been watching her as she had shed her relentless tears. And now, as she observed his pale face and weakened body, the tears sprung anew.

In seconds, his hands were upon her body, as if his touch could prove that he was still there for her if she needed him. Aman Mathur was still alive. For now.

But he was dying.

Naina wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to feel the same pain she was feeling. She wanted him to know that he made her feel everything she had never wanted to feel. He was pulling her in a hundred different directions. Naina pushed and tugged at Aman, every inch of her agony spilling out.

"Kyun? Kyun karte ho mujhse itna pyar?" She demanded, her voice raw.

"I don't love you." Aman shook his head, contradicting the very clear emotions in his eyes.

She would not give up. They were the only words she had left. She begged and pleaded because she already knew the answer. But his denial never faltered. Would he not even give her this much? Or were lies all he had to offer?

Naina Catherine Kapur hopelessly sank deeper into Aman Mathur's arms.

Sarkar Raj

Anita had never expected her life to turn out this way. She had never thought she would gain the backbone to finally stand up to her contemptible father. She had never entertained the idea of falling in love with a married man. She had most certainly never expected to watch the man she loved die in front of her eyes.

"Ek chai lo." It was not an appeal, it was a command. She had no time for formalities. There was work to be done.

Anita had never imagined that she would be the one to carry on the Nagre legacy after Shankar's death. But this was her place now. This was her home.

Sometimes the most important endings were the unexpected ones.

Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi

Kal maine usse pehli baar dekha tha. Aur usse dekhte hi love ho gaya.

Surinder Sahni was awestruck the moment he first laid eyes on Taani. Mesmerized.

Her eyes sparkled brightly with a touch of playful mischief. Her hair cascaded gently around her shoulders like torrential rains. Her skin glowed, soft and smooth. She had the face of an angel.

How could anyone look into those gorgeous eyes and not be lost? How could there be anything else to crave in life but her perfect smile?

Suri had been blessed to have ever crossed paths with the extremely vivacious and exceedingly lovable Taani.

He felt a sweet pain deep within his chest. Ishq ka dard.

Suri knew that it was silly to believe in love at first sight. There was no such thing. It was only meant for suave, romantic heroes in melodramatic films, not lowly employees of Punjab Power.

But the more he looked at her, the more he found himself wondering what generous mood God had been in when he had created Taani.

It was a beautiful question that needed no answer.

She would be his miracle.