PEHLI MOHABBAT

# 33

Chapter is not edited.

{  T H I R T Y - T H R E E  }

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The old house was the sanity of the small town of Indore, the ever present home amid changes. Armaan remembered each brick for as far back as his memory could go, touch them, feel the texture that had greeted strong summers and hail stones with such dignity. How he loved the blue door, some years weather worn and in others sporting a shiny new coat, and imagine its pride in showing the town it is still loved.
In the warm daylight, he sat in a wicker chair listening to the town, of the chattering wildlife around. It was the same place he called home. The place that maybe calling of the years somehow would take him here.

It was mid afternoon and Armaan was simply basking in sun. He pressed the peanut, breaking the cover and popped down the two nuts into his mouth.

He looked around the terrace. The house was in a bad condition and he knew, it wanted some touch-ups. But then, it was an old house. His ancestral home. It was the best of weathered antiques having hugged that lane from days of horses to days of solar horse-power. Also not to forget, the bricks were still strong. The old roof had protected the house over the ages and he was sure, it would do so for many-a-time to come. The old house brought the perspective of passing years in a world that had accelerated beyond sense. The house had seen the challenges of families over the generations, the battles fought regardless of the outcome. Maybe the beauty lied in it being old and antique home.

Armaan smiled as he remembered the incidents of the day he came back to Indore. The whole Malik family had gathered to welcome the son who had gone to another state for his graduations. Afterall going to another town for studies was always like studying abroad. The grand welcome had made Armaan feel like a newlywed bride. Everyone was so sweet and nice to him that he wondered if they were actually his relatives. 

His parents were the most proudest people standing there. His father stood there with a puffed up chest, while his mother was standing next to him with moist eyes. His grandfather was also there, leaning on the door with a stick in his one hand, while the other was placed on Armaan's head, as his grandchild took the blessings. He had felt overwhelmed by all the love he had received and not to forget the feist he had that day. 

But among all the hustle and bustle, he missed one person, whose absence hurt him the most. His brother. Ever since his family learnt that his brother, Ayaan, was gay, things had changed a bit. Now whenever there was a family gathering, relatives would talk in hushed tones, many would show their disagreement by not attending the particular family function and sone even broke any sorts of relationship. Some even had questioned his own identity.

Armaan couldn't blame them altogether, they were brought up in a society where only a man and woman could form a family. Though he was glad that his parents weren't one of them. They had neither completely supported Ayaan, nor objected his relationship with his colleague altogether. As for their grandfather, being an orthodox, he had completely opposed his relationship. It was against their values! The old man hadn't publicly opposed, but, his silence gave the answer. 

It was strange, Armaan wondered, how the person whom his grandfather used to talk the most with, had become the one whose presence was unbearable for him. 

" Armaan Bhaiya!" Armaan turned towards the source of voice. A boy of not more than fifteen, stood below, at his doorstep.