‘Ummm, still a little more.’
Shahraan’s face had a wait-I-will-crack-this frown, ‘Luck?’
‘Little more!’
‘Money?’
‘A lot more.’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘Love.’
The frown slowly migrated away from his face with the bird of admiration appearing in its place, fluttering its wings furiously.
‘When did you open your eyes by the way?’
‘You mean how old am I?’
‘Yes.’
‘When you met me in Juhu Chowpatty, I was sixteen. I turned seventeen the day you came to Neela Makaan with Bheem bhai. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
There was silence. She was looking at a boat which was fast disappearing against the horizon while he was looking at the clear blue sky with painted white clouds.
‘Where are you from?’
Mehfil turned to look at him.
‘I—’
‘Let’s go now. We are dying to go to Marine Drive.’ The girls were back.
Though neither Shahraan nor Mehfil traded a single word in the taxi, love letters of smiles were constantly exchanged between them via the mirror atop the driver’s seat. Neither wanted to get down when they reached Marine Drive.
The girls ran along the cemented barricade guarding the coast while Shahraan and Mehfil made themselves comfortable on them. They were sitting close but not close enough like the other couples sitting nearby.
It was Mehfil who spoke first.
‘I am from Shahjahanpur in Uttar Pradesh.’
‘I am from Ratlam, Madhya Pradesh. When and how did you come to Bombay?’
‘I was ten when my father sold me to a man for money. He had given me orange juice. I drank it and fell asleep soon after. By the time I regained consciousness, I realized I was here in Bombay having been sold to Begum by that man.’
‘Didn’t you try to run away from all this shit?’
There wasn’t any immediate response. Shahraan thought he saw a tiny twitch under her eyes as if the question hit her instead of patting her.
‘In the beginning I didn’t know what was happening. And when I did, it was too late. The same age-old trick life pulls on everyone.’ A pause later she added, ‘Wisdom, you know, is something we buy with the price of innocence.’
‘You never responded to what I told you that night.’
‘Is it necessary?’
‘I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.’
Mehfil’s face had the same edginess that’s present on a student about to enter his examination hall while trying to peruse all his notes at once.
‘If you don’t like me then—’
‘I like you, Shahraan.’
He knew she wasn’t finished at that.
‘But, I won’t be able to leave Neela Makaan. Begum will never allow it.’
‘Why? I’ll marry you.’ Shahraan couldn’t believe how easily it came out. And while he said it, he was considering her and not her profession. He thanked Unnisau in his heart.
‘You are a guy, Shahraan. All you’ll see is the immediate solution. I am a girl. I need to look at the immediate problem.’
‘I don’t see any reason not to look at the solution. I want to be with you forever.’
For the first time, Mehfil saw a hint of resilience in Shahraan. She liked the way he was fighting to be with her. But she also knew what had happened to Jhalak, her late best friend. After a lot of explanation and emptying tears, Begum had allowed Jhalak to marry the boy she loved. Neela Makaan was decorated that day for a different reason and Begum herself had doled out money for Jhalak’s marriage. Six months into the marriage, the guy ran away with all the jewellery. The news disturbed Begum so much, she declared the next man who proposes marriage to one of her girl’s will be slaughtered first, followed by the girl herself.
‘Even if I say I like your intention of coming back to Neela Makaan for me, what do I really know about you? Nothing. You are what you tell me you are. I am sure you’ll put your best face forward to get me.’ Mehfil was sure the last statement would crash his ego. But she forgot she was talking to a man who was deeply in love with her.
‘In order to know each other, we will have to meet regularly. So when are we meeting next?’
‘Begum never allows any of her girls to go outside even for a single day. Today is an exception.’
‘Then?’
‘We can meet if you come to Neela Makaan as one of my customers.’
Given a choice, she would have drowned in the sea in front. She was sure no lover would be brave enough to meet his love in a brothel. Still she was happy the words came out, for all through the day, she realized she loved him too much to stop him from loving her.
She had her reason.
Fifteen days later, Shahraan went to Neela Makaan again. The girl who smiled opening the door recognized him instantly. He followed her inside to reach Nazakat Begum who was leaning on one of the pillows. She looked like a giant. The loose end of her sari was evidently unqualified to cover her excess, water-filled balloon of a tummy, while the huge sagging breasts seemed they could divorce the blouse any moment. Her eyes were puffy and one cheek was stuffed with a betel leaf ball, the juices of which had painted her lips and tongue red. As Shahraan stood in front, he saw her patiently counting some currency notes. Once done, she put the money bundle inside her loose blouse and examined him bottom up.
‘What?’ Even an ignorant query sounded like a threat.
‘I am here for Mehfil.’
‘For?’
‘Meeting her.’
‘Gandu. I’m asking for how many hours?’
‘Two.’
‘Seventy-five rupees.’
When Shahraan presented the money to her, his hands were trembling. The notes vanished inside her mammoth grasp.
‘Third room from the right. It’s ten now. Get out by twelve, else you’ll be thrown out.’
Shahraan nodded and proceeded towards a white curtain separating the main circular area from the rest of the place. He moved the curtain and peeped beyond to witness five closed doors staring at him. Third from the right, Shahraan reminded himself and took a few steps towards it and knocked.
‘Nobody knocks here. Just come in.’ It was Mehfil. Shahraan slowly opened the door to find her standing with her back to him. She was busy trying to attach the hook of her brassiere. She was wearing a black petticoat below.
‘Sorry,’ Shahraan blurted out without knowing where to look.
The familiarity of the voice made Mehfil turn around in a flash. She sprinted for her dupatta and covered herself. Her flat stomach was still exposed. She grasped a pillow from the bed and covered the exposed portion. Being stark naked in front of strangers was something she did everyday and still exposing some skin in front of Shahraan embarrassed her.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I am here to meet you. You’d told me this is the only way we can meet, remember?’
For a moment she kept gaping at him blankly, coming to terms with his zest for her. Shahraan shrugged.
‘Close the door,’ she said softly and saw him do so.
‘Sit down.’
He ambled in gingerly and sat by the edge of the bed. Tightening the wrap of her dupatta around her, she went and sat by the opposite end of the bed. She saw him swallowing a lump. She followed his eyes and realized her panty was still on the bed. In another flash, she snatched it and put it below the mattress.
‘Please don’t look around much.’
‘Okay.’ Yet another lump.
‘I thought you won’t ever come.’
‘Did you want me to come?’
‘No.’
There was a sudden power cut of disappointment all over his face.
‘But I wished for it.’ Power on!
‘So?’
‘So tell me,’ Mehfil sat in a more relaxed manner, folding her legs by her side, ‘what�
�s up with your acting?’
‘I’ve acted in three films till now; just a few small and insignificant roles.’
‘Do show me your portfolio once?’
Shahraan seemed thoughtful for a moment and then spoke aloud, ‘What’s that?’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know! Portfolio is like a collection of all hero-hero style photographs to attract producers.’
She saw Shahraan bite his lip contemplating something. She smiled obliquely for he looked cute.
‘It would cost a lot. Won’t it?’
‘Umm, it normally does. But for starters, you can try the one in Andheri. Wait, I’ll give you the address.’
Shahraan’s eyes followed Mehfil as she got up, yet again, tightening the wrap of her dupatta around her, took four steps before she reached a weak wardrobe. She raised both her arms to get to it and in the process, her waist was exposed. Shahraan’s eyes were fixed on the exposed part.
‘Don’t you remember what I told you?’
‘Not to look around.’
‘Right.’
As Shahraan interviewed the floor, Mehfil took out a pen and a writing pad from the wardrobe. She took another minute to scribble something on it. Once done, she climbed down and handed him the paper slip.
‘This guy, Rajesh, will do it for less or on credit. He helps strugglers.’
‘Thank you,’ said Shahraan, running his eyes on the address once and slipping it inside his shirt’s pocket.
‘The first film I acted in will be releasing next month. It’s called Insaniyat ke Khatir. Will you come with me to Regal?’
‘I told you Begum is strict. If we have to watch any movie, she comes with us. She snores, while we watch.’ ‘That will do. Just sit next to me.’
‘We’ll see.’
The next one hour passed by silently. But when lovers sit in silence, it’s never quiet. The glances seemed like flying kisses, the abrupt eye contacts were tight hugs, and the averting of it was a love bite.
‘I’ll come here again,’ said Shahraan as he stepped out of the room a minute prior to his two-hour quota. Mehfil only nodded bemused. She was not sure if she should like the course their relationship had been steered onto by the night, for she knew time was the most unpredictable chauffeur.
I’ll wait, she couldn’t say it aloud.
Rajesh indeed agreed to photograph Shahraan on credit. He was impressed by his looks and the splendid way in which light bounced off his skin. Shahraan was photogenic. Period. Perhaps the most of all the strugglers that Rajesh had shot in his studio so far.
‘You have got it, man. Looks wise for sure. Acting, I don’t know.’
‘Thanks. What exactly do I need to do with this portfolio?’
‘Make as many producers’ and directors’ lives miserable as possible. You are a dog now and they are your bones. Don’t think about anything else.’
‘I have been to some offices but the security guards don’t allow me to go inside.’
‘Oh, they will not. Catch them when they move out of their offices. Bribe the security guard if possible, take his uniform and substitute him so that you are there to open the gates for the producers and directors when they come, and in the process, present your portfolio too. Are you getting my point?’
‘No!’
‘Get mad. Crazy, my boy! You’ve got to be crazy for your bone. Remember, fate loves those who don’t like being assfucked,’ Rajesh winked.
For the next two to three months, Shahraan went to twenty producers across Bombay. Fifteen of them didn’t allow him inside their offices and the rest that did allow him to get in, made him wait till his patience ran out.
One night, he saw Rajesh walking towards the biryani centre. Shahraan felt embarrassed.
‘Rajesh bhai! Sorry I couldn’t pay your last two installments. Actually I had to skip driving to meet producers. Neither anything positive happened there nor could I earn enough to pay you.’ Not even enough to go and visit Mehfil.
‘Hey, I’m not here for the installments. There is this director friend of mine who is making a big film with big stars. He might have some role for you. I’ll give you the address. You go with the portfolio. Okay?’
‘Oh, Rajesh bhai, how will I pay off this debt that you—’
‘Brother, no man is ever a self-made man. When you dare to take on the scorching heat, you at times get trees for shade. I am just one of those. And believe me, you’ll make it big.’
You’ll make it big! The words of the sadhu ricocheted in his head. Hearing them again from Rajesh, he felt like an atheist who had just been announced a life imprisonment inside a Church.
Shahraan was made to audition the next day in the director’s office itself. They asked him to visit the next day as well. He signed a sheet of paper, agreeing to do the role of the star protagonist’s younger brother. He was supposed to be dead by the tenth minute of the film. His signature fetched him five hundred rupees. The other two thousand, he was told, would be given when the shooting was over.
Shahraan first went to Rajesh and paid him his dues, then he bought a Safari suit for Krishna, a duplicate bottle of scotch for Bheem, and finally, a set of colorful earrings and bangles for Mehfil. It was nine in the evening when he reached Neela Makaan. With both his hands gripping onto plastic packets, Shahraan stood in front of the green door which by now had become the vista for the alternate universe he so desperately wanted to belong to.
Mehfil was lying on the bed when he entered the room. Shahraan almost dropped the packets by the door, closed it, and pulled himself onto a bamboo-made stool. As he settled on it, he noticed dark circles around Mehfil’s eyes. She looked weak and pale. Shahraan’s mouth went dry.
‘What happened to you?’
‘That’s why I said keep visiting,’ she said trying to smile. In vain.
‘Don’t joke.’
‘First I had fever, then caught a bad cough, and then developed malaria. Now I’m okay, so don’t worry.’
‘Thank God!’ He stretched himself to reach one of the plastic packets and pulled it close, ‘For you.’ He took out the bangles and earrings set and gave it to her.
For a moment, she forgot her lips could move. Caressing the bangles with her own hand for some time, she found her voice.
‘No one has ever gifted me anything, Shahraan,’ she said, caressing the bangles as a mother does to a newborn. Then she wore the earrings and said, ‘Congrats for the role.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Shopping packets, earrings, a shine in your face—they are all hints enough.’ Mehfil wore some of the bangles now.
‘Though it’s a small role, it still is of some importance in the movie. Not like the earlier, insignificant ones.’
‘Learn to appreciate the insignificant, Shahraan. It’s the insignificant in life that bridges the gap between the significant and us.’
He smiled generously and looked at the bangles and earrings which looked even better now.
‘I love these,’ she said.
‘I love you.’
Her facial expression changed.
‘What happened?’
‘Do you even realize which way we are heading?’
‘I am trying to get my foothold in acting so that I can marry you and we can live together forever.’
‘And you think that’s possible?’
‘Giving more importance to anything other than films was impossible for me. Getting into films was my dream. The end. And this life was only a means to reach that end. Then I met you and the means became an end and the end turned into a means. Now I want to be in films so that I can take you away from here and we can remain together forever.’
Mehfil took off her earrings and kept them back in the box. ‘For a man to be happy, he needs a fantasy in reality. But for a woman, she needs reality in fantasy. And what you just told me is a fantasy with no element of reality in it.’
‘Why?’ Shahraan shrugged looking bemused. ‘Don’t you think I would be
able to make it big in Bollywood?’
‘Oh no!’ Mehfil paused and looked at Shahraan as if he had committed a sin. ‘I believe you’ll become a superstar one day.’ Just that…she didn’t dare complete it in her mind.
‘Then?’
‘Nothing. Forget it. We’ll see with time.’
Shahraan took out his wallet. ‘Keep this with you,’ he said, handing her two hundred and fifty rupees.
‘But why? This is way too much. And I am not allowed to keep cash. Begum keeps it for us.’
‘No, these are my savings. Earlier I used to keep them in a tin box in my taxi. But now I want you to keep them with you. If you had not boarded my taxi on that New Year’s night, I would have gone back to Ratlam like a loser. And then when I met you again, my first role happened. You are my good luck charm.’
Mehfil looked at those notes and displayed her best smile.
Begum had started liking him because he seemed like a decent man and was always punctual for his meeting with Mehfil. She joined him and the girls to Regal cinema to watch the first show, second day of Shahraan’s first release. Shahraan made sure he was seated right next to Mehfil. Every time he appeared on screen, either standing behind the villain or afar in the frame, Mehfil grasped his hand tight. As if she had associated herself with his dream from a long time. During those bliss-inducing grasps, Shahraan realized Mehfil had become a zoom-in process for him that magnified all his visceral elements to himself and allowed him to choose the person he wanted to be, select the traits he was comfortable with, and neglect the ones he was not sure about.
The monsoon arrived on time that year. It was raining morning, noon, and night. Streets, along with their numerous dimples of potholes, were filled with water most of the times. From a bird’s eye view, Bombay would have looked like an omnivore’s digestive tract with everything—from snakes to human infants—swimming in water-filled lanes, streets, and roads. And the bouts of power cuts and load shedding became a regular problem to put up with.
Shahraan was late for his meeting with Mehfil one day. He ran from one lane to another, drenched copiously in the rain that was beating the streets incessantly like politicians beat up common men in a democracy. He soon reached Neela Makaan totally drenched.
How About a Sin Tonight? Page 4