‘I am sorry to have come like this,’ said a shivering Shahraan as he entered Mehfil’s room.
‘Are you mad? Come inside quickly. And stand in the bathroom.’
It was the first time Shahraan had stepped inside her bathroom. It had a tin roof on which the rain was drumming mercilessly. A second later, Mehfil came in with a towel and switched on the light bulb at the corner. The bathroom suddenly seemed smaller.
‘Here, dry yourself quickly.’
Shahraan’s unsteady hands took the towel. He asked, ‘Where’s the door?’
‘Sorry, there’s no door here. Wait—’
Mehfil disappeared momentarily and came back carrying a bed sheet.
‘Let me try this.’ She attached two ends of the bed sheet onto the two junked nails on either side of the wooden frame which looked like it had once supported a door. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. She sat on the bed outside. She couldn’t help but notice his shadow on the bed sheet. As he doffed his clothes, Mehfil felt warm within. Perhaps for the first time she was aroused in the place where it mattered the most—her heart.
‘I’ll need something to wear,’ Shahraan said.
She took a deep breath and said aloud, ‘One minute.’ Stretching her right hand to the switch board above the bed’s head rest, she turned off the light in the room. It took her a few seconds to strip herself. A lightening struck and for a trice, Mehfil fluffed seeing herself standing naked in front of the mirror. Ordinarily, she loathed her naked self since it was a reminder of the hell she was in. But in that particular sorcerous capsule of time, she admired it.
Shahraan switched off the bathroom light and stood in front of the bed sheet that separated them both. As he stretched his hand and pulled it, the bed sheet fell down. Even in the darkness, he could make out her form standing in front of him. He walks towards her and ended up touching her wet lips. There were instant goosebumps all over her skin.
Shahraan picked up Mehfil in his arms, gently placed her on the bed, and came to lay beside her. Their fingers teased each other and finally locked themselves. And they stayed in that position till it stopped raining that night. After a while, there was a knock on the door by one of the girls. ‘Two hours,’ she relayed.
‘You know why I didn’t make love to you tonight?’
The fact that a man lying naked beside her asked her such a question in a brothel of all places amused her.
‘I didn’t want to touch you amorously here and become one of the many. I’ll work hard, and when we will have our own house, own bed, own night, then…’ his voice trailed off.
It was dark and thus she could cry. Eight years in the brothel had taught her how to cry without letting the person right next to her know about it. She wondered what it was that transformed the larva of her prayers into the butterfly of reality. Was it her sincerity towards the dirt she was in? Was it her courage to commit something as serious as love being a member of a world where flesh was all there was to a being? Or, was it Shahraan’s passion for her? Whatever it was, her heart declared, it was something that didn’t happen every day. Or in every life.
‘Tonight, you made me feel what heaven really is,’ she said, hiding the choke in her voice.
‘What is heaven?’
‘Heaven is nothing but hell, but, with you by my side.’
She was on his arm. She looked up. He looked down. Their eyes linked. Time seemed amputated of motion.
Following that rainy night, when all doubts of the heart were coronated with assurance, Shahraan suddenly found himself running from one film set to the other. All were short, minor character roles, but the volume of work was high. And Shahraan’s passion, punctuality, and dedication impressed whoever he worked with to an extent that regular recommendations kept flowing in.
‘After all,’ Mehfil responded when he told her of the developments, ‘it’s not you they are appreciating. It’s my choice that they are.’
‘But this is not the news I came here to give you.’
‘Then?’
‘First tell me why are you turning pale day by day? And these dark circles around your eyes?’
‘Oh, this is nothing. It’s the month of Roza. So I’m fasting. It’s taking a toll on my health.’ She looked at Shahraan’s stillnot-convinced face. ‘It’s okay! Now tell me what is it?’
‘I believe you.’
Mehfil averted her eyes and bringing his right hand to rest on her lap, she caressed it softly.
‘I have been selected as one of the main characters in a Doordarshan serial called Jai Jawaan,’ informed Shahraan.
‘Doordarshan?’
‘Yes. Lots of talented people are working in it. It’s about a bunch of military boys’ personal lives. I play one of the boys, Captain Abhimanyu Sen.’
‘But how did you bag the role?’
‘I was playing yet another non-consequential role in a film, when one of the ADs asked if I was game for television. I said I was game for anything that would take me forward in my quest to attain stardom. He asked me to audition. I did and they chose me.’
‘Who was this AD?’
‘A boy of my age called Ravi.’
Mehfil looked lost for a moment, biting her lip slightly.
‘But there’s a problem.’
Mehfil looked up with a questioning look.
‘I’ll have to go to Delhi for its shoot since the production unit is based there. It will be a month-long shoot. They want to wrap all the thirteen episodes in one schedule.’
She looked at him as a tree looks at its leaf just before it drops onto the ground and merges with the earth forever. She had an intuition Shahraan would belong to the world more than he ever belonged to anybody before.
There were ten boys who had been given basic military training by an experienced Army Major just prior to the shoot.
During the shoot, Shahraan heard about a young boy whom the people referred to as AD on the set. The boy seemed a little different from the other ADs. He always used to see things and people through an instrument around his neck which, Shahraan was informed, was called a ‘Director’s Eye’. And the guy wasn’t around everyday too.
It was only after the shooting of ten episodes that he was told the person’s initials were AD—Aditya Dev—the only child of Bollywood’s most happening producer and distributor, Veer Raj Dev of VRD Films Pvt. Ltd.
‘You know what he is doing here?’ asked one of the actors. The bunch was having evening tea with samosas.
‘He has learnt filmmaking from abroad and has worked as an assistant in a Hollywood production. He is here to make documentaries.’
‘Documentaries, my ass!’ the same actor belched before continuing, ‘These film kids need a different shit hole to flush off their extra money.’
‘I agree.’
When the others left, the actor sitting beside Shahraan said, ‘Motherfuckers! They think nobody knows why the AD is here.’
Shahraan slowed his masticating of the samosa and shrugged.
‘Of course, for checking us out for his debut film. I mean all of us! The director of Jai Jawaan is his father’s dear friend, and he showed our auditions to him. Now don’t tell me you didn’t know that?’
‘Oh, of course I knew,’ Shahraan lied.
The fact that Aditya was there to check the actors out himself and not trust an audition was reason enough to believe he must have only one thing in mind: performance.
For the rest of the episodes, Shahraan doubled his sincerity towards his character. In the beginning, he would snap out of the character when the director called ‘cut’, but now he embodied it even after each pack up.
Diwali coincided with the wrap-up party for the serial. Shahraan was sad since he hadn’t been able to connect to Mehfil in so many days. Not even on her birthday. He chose a corner where he simply sat thinking nothing and everything alternately. He was soon joined by Aditya.
‘Hello, myself Aditya Dev.’
‘Shahraan Ali Bakshi.’
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‘Oh yes, I know all that I should know about you.’
Shahraan’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Day after tomorrow you’ll be in Bombay, right?’
Another beat. ‘Yes.’ Shahraan did not have a clue where this conversation was headed.
‘Then make sure you come down to my dad’s office in Santa Cruz. That’s my office as well. We will do a look test on you for the character of Shekhar Rai’s illegitimate brother.’
Something about the way Aditya spoke told him he was about to reach the light in search of which he had left his home, driven a taxi, lived in a wretched place, and went through whatever he did in the last few years. He wanted to jump, to strip, to yell, and run from Delhi to Bombay naked. Damn, civilization!
Shahraan’s urgent steps slowed as he saw a crowd of people gathered outside Neela Makaan. As he stood at a distance separated by the crowd—with both his hands clasping onto packets full of Diwali crackers, sweets, and a dress for Mehfil—he thought something had happened to her. He took all the packets in one hand and moved ahead in the crowd to reach an undertaker’s van where a dead body lay covered with a white cloth. Peeping over some of the busy shoulders, he spotted Mehfil leaning her head on one of the other girls. He had never seen her eyes so empty of life. Nor her face so famished of hope.
She told him the turn of events at Neela Makaan as they walked together with the body to the nearest burning ghat.
‘A middle-aged business man had promised Lata a home, family, and a life outside the biased walls of Neela Makaan. And she dared to believe him. She eloped with him fourteen to fifteen days ago. We were all concerned. Her body was found two days ago on the railway tracks in Virar.’
Shahraan was silent throughout the walk. He heard Mehfil next when Lata’s body was laid on the pyre and introduced to fire.
‘That’s the life of a woman in every prostitute and the prostitute in every woman. Men come and light a fire in some corner of us and we keep burning till we turn into insignificant ash and thereafter, a slave to the wind of destiny that carries us as per its desires.’
As the fire started licking Lata’s deceased body, Shahraan looked at Mehfil; first through the corner of his eyes and then almost straight. She was unaware of the chaos around her. Her hands, he noticed, had gone slimmer and the face seemed dry as if it was thirsty for something. Her eyes looked tired and even the blinks, he was sure, took pounds of energy from her. There was a strange wilderness in her poise that seemed desperate to turn itself into a civilization. He wanted to inquire about her health. Instead he said, ‘Let’s get married, Mehfil.’
‘Hmm?’ Mehfil turned probed by an instinct. Her facial ruggedness requested him to repeat.
‘Let’s get married.’
Mehfil stared at him, too afraid to accept she had heard them for her own good reason.
‘Shahraan, you’ve got to leave me, forget me.’
‘What are you saying? Why?’
The people by the pyre threw a when-will-people-havemanners glance at them.
The reply came when he was in Mehfil’s room in Neela Makaan later in the evening from Mehfil herself, ‘When a wife sleeps with another man, she is a whore. But when a whore decides to sleep with only one man for the rest of her life, she still remains a whore. Look Shahraan, you say I matter to you, but you are on the fringes of giant success. I know it. And then what? You won’t be able to afford to be associated with me. The world judges everything by two things: one, their eyes and second, the things they themselves are missing out on. And that world which will soon shower love and accolades on you would not want to see me by your side. If you remain adamant and still choose me, then that very world would replace their tongues with blades and shall lick you up. Are you getting my point?’
‘Yes. The point is there’s another man.’
‘What is it with you men? Whenever a woman wants to end a relationship, why is it you think it’s because of another one of your species?’
‘Then what the hell is it?’
‘Our love is doomed. From the time we met or perhaps, from the time we wished for something like this.’
‘I don’t understand.’ For the first time Shahraan had raised his voice before Mehfil. He was standing up now with his hands on his waist while Mehfil continued to sit on the bed eyeing him.
‘Why do you keep saying these negative things about our future? I am trying hard. You know it. I came here to tell you about Aditya Dev. Yes, Aditya Dev of Veer Raj Films! He is making his directorial debut and I am supposed to do a look test for it tomorrow. You getting it, Mehfil? This is something I was waiting for! That’s why I asked you to get married to me.’
A supremely irritated Shahraan came and sat on the bed opposite Mehfil. He was glaring at the floor as if he could drill a hole in it with telekinesis. A gentle smile touched Mehfil’s face and she dragged herself towards him and held his face in her hands. Shahraan tried to stare at the floor.
‘I have never seen such a big tomato!’ she said and laughed out pinching his face. ‘I only wanted to see how committed you are to me. Can you promise me one thing?’
‘I have promised my life to you, Mehfil.’
‘I want you to promise me that you’ll put the red vermilion, on me if we marry.’
‘I promise.’
‘And you’ll burn me, not bury me, when I die.’
‘What nonsense!’
‘Promise me.’
‘Okay, I promise.’
There were five more actors who competed for the look test and auditioned for the role of Shekhar Rai’s illegitimate brother. It went in favour of Shahraan. This time it was a legal contract he signed, with a whopping thirty thousand rupees as the signing amount. Another forty five thousand were promised when shooting would end after two months. Shahraan couldn’t believe the number when he read it in the cheque he was issued.
The first person he went to with the cheque was Bheem. The latter hugged him with pride. He announced free for all Biryani at his centre for the evening. Krishna requested Shahraan to make him his assistant once he became a star. Shahraan hugged him for a good five minutes, unable to hold his emotions in. He could well imagine how happy Mehfil would be.
Yukta, the new girl in Neela Makaan, opened the door.
‘I’m here for Mehfil.’
‘She is not here.’
‘Not here? Where is she?’
‘She has gone to her home.’
‘Home? Shahjahanpur?’
‘Yes.’
‘When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know.’
Shahraan looked at Yukta for some time. Her face was like an undecipherable dream: too simple and too straight to make any sense.
‘Okay, I’ll come after some time,’ he said and left.
Shahraan was taken to Kashmir at the end of the week for the first phase of the outdoor shoot. Though he was shooting potent scenes with superstar Shekhar Rai and learning new facets of acting each second, something inside him was not at peace. That something kept playing a requiem no matter how much he laughed, partied, or made merry on the sets with others.
The night before New Year’s, Shahraan was alone in his hotel room while the rest of the film crew was busy partying in the banquet hall. There was still one more week to go for the shoot. Though Shahraan wanted to celebrate the arrival of yet another year, the elegy inside him made him lie down on his bed by the fire in the room and play hopscotch with his memories. One year had gone by since he first saw Mehfil. Only a year? No way! he thought. The image of Mehfil and him together under the street light lit road was fresh in his mind as if time kept engraving those moments deeper and deeper in his heart. And whenever he visited them in his mind, they would seem like it all happened yesterday. He was sure by now she would be back at the Neela Makaan. And no matter what she told him, this time he would marry her, and they would shift together somewhere.
In the first week of January, the first outdoor schedule cam
e to an abrupt end.
All through the shoot, Shahraan kept nailing every shot in one, two, or at the most, three takes. But on that particular morning, it had gone up to six retakes. The scene had one of the goons drive in a van towards Shekhar while Shahraan’s character would jump in time, push Shekhar away from the line of fire, and it would be a cut. Aditya, standing behind the camera with his technicians, was getting a bit worked up. Finally, the seventh take started: the man drove in the van, Shahraan jumped in, slipped, and fell down while the van hit Shekhar right on his pelvis. This scene had gone horribly wrong.
Shahraan escaped with minor injuries but Shekhar had to be taken to a nearby private nursing home as he was bleeding profusely. The shooting was called off for the day. Shahraan enquired after Shekhar’s health from the director who told him Shekhar’s injury seemed to be of a serious kind. He was urgently flown to Bombay early at night while a dejected Shahraan accompanied the production people on their way to Bombay the next morning. Everybody knew it was an accident, but the kind of glares and hush-hush talks Shahraan saw the production people involved in, suggested they doubted his slip during the shoot.
Shahraan reached Bheem’s Biryani Centre in the afternoon. He was surprised to see Krishna sitting on the broken stairs.
‘Bachcha!’ said an unshaven and lean Krishna standing up, dusting his trouser.
‘What happened?’ Shahraan paused.
‘Mehfil…’
The only thing Shahraan heard next was a thud in his heart which he was scared to interpret.
10:00 p.m.
I’d promised her I would burn her body. I didn’t comply. In fact, I didn’t even attend her funeral. The most audacious thing, however, was that I read a short letter she left for me with Begum. I opened the letter on her birthday the following year. I still have it. I slip my hand in my pocket and bring it out. An old, wrinkled page from some random notebook on which she had written the night before she died or so Yukta had told me. I open the letter.
I never told you about the kind of men who visited me. They all had strange urges to quench. One used to paste the photograph of his wife on my face and then slap me while doing me; another wanted me to act dead as he kissed me all over; and then there were the ones who wanted me to call them papa, chacha, and other family names. But you came with the weirdest of all urges: to make me fall in love with you.
How About a Sin Tonight? Page 5