His Bhojpuri producer’s words ricocheted in his head: ‘We’ll gift India its next Shahraan Ali Bakshi.’ It had given Neev an emotional hard on. Just the thought of it. The next Shahraan Ali Bakshi who would hold girls like Reva by their hair and they wouldn’t complain. Money, power, and fame: the concoction can take care of every moral fibre in the world.
‘I am going to take a shower first,’ Reva locked herself in the bathroom. Neev stood up, went to the bedroom, and picked her mobile phone. He read Shahraan’s message. His thumb shook vigorously as he pressed on the reply option and then typed:
Please don’t mind this, but you disappointed me by bringing this up.
Neev felt his body temperature rise as he put his thumb on the send button.
Inside the bathroom, as cold water trickled down her naked body, unabashed and unrestrained thoughts started trickling down her mind. What happened to her smart, pragmatic self? She should have accepted Shahraan’s proposal with a jig. Whom is she trying to kid? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. With one yes, she would be catapulted right up there where her dreams inspired her to be once upon a time. But why was she even thinking about all this? Neev? Is he the reason for her introspection? Why is there this disturbance when two people in their own coordinates in your life, in their own right, demand your heart’s attention?
As she came out after her shower, she saw Neev standing right outside. If fear was fever, she had one hundred and five then and there.
‘I tried but couldn’t fuck your relation with that bugger. I couldn’t send a simple SMS! You know why? I love you. So finally, I say it. I love you, Reva.’ He scurried out of the flat. It would have been better if he had not said it, thought Reva, not now.
In the days that followed, Reva and Neev saw less of each other though they still lived in. Neev was involved with the post production of his film. Reva didn’t inquire what he actually meant. She didn’t want to present her concern like a Christmas turkey on a platter where he would have a choice to reject it. She only wished him luck.
Reva didn’t hear from Shahraan either. Had he realized what a fool he had been in wanting her at his side for the rest of his life? Reva tried to remain positive and waited patiently for any news from his side. A fortnight later, Reva read in the newspaper about the opening of a new restaurant in the suburbs. Shahraan was supposed to do the honours. The tagline of the advertisement read: Thousands of fans are coming. Are you? Was she still a fan? According to Shahraan, she was only the second woman who had the choice of becoming his. Fuck you, ego. Double fuck you, self-respect. Her impulse made her fit into a pair of jeans and a top and reach the mall in the next half hour. En route, she had made her decision which was troubling her since the night she read the proposal message.
She intentionally remained behind the huge crowd. When Shahraan was leaving, hogged by media and fans all around, he saw Reva standing with Krishna beside his red Rolls Royce. He got in. She got in. The Rolls Royce drove away.
‘Why did you stop talking to me?’ she said.
‘Your silence to my message told me to.’ He wasn’t looking at her.
‘Why is silence always taken to be negative?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what you inferred just now.’
Due to the soundproof glass separating the front and back seats, their discourse remained between them. Shahraan smiled at her through which she understood that it’s love that makes one jealous, it’s love that makes one sacrifice, and it’s love that teaches one how to accept. Love only transforms; whether to a saint or a slut, is your destiny. It takes care of your journey. The destination is your call.
‘I have been living in with someone,’ said Reva.
Shahraan turned sideways and said, ‘Past! I have had enough of it myself.’
Once home, she started packing. Shahraan had requested her to accompany him to a shoot in New Zealand. But before that, he had also requested her to move in with him. All she had to do was pack, the rest Krishna would take care of. Once done, she waited impatiently for Neev to arrive. She owed him a goodbye kiss at least.
He arrived at around midnight, totally drunk. His eyes were red and his visage frightening.
‘God, what happened?’ Reva almost shrieked seeing him.
‘I am in deep shit, Reva,’ he embraced her tight and started wailing like an infant. As they sat down on his bed, he still didn’t leave her.
‘The producer had a fight with the distributor over some money issue and now the film has to pay the price. It would be released only in one theatre. My hard work, my dreams, everything has been stomped upon.’
‘Oh. But can’t the producer and the distributor call a truce. It’s their loss only.’
‘I don’t know. I begged them. I almost touched their feet, but nothing happened. Those motherfuckers don’t care. They have loads of money but I don’t have loads of faces. Once this film releases, it would be next to impossible to secure other films. No release is better than a super flop release.’
Reva couldn’t agree more. But in that moment, she felt a sadistic happiness invade her.
‘Now do you realize I only cared for you?’
Neev looked up at her and for the first time noticed the packed suitcases kept in one corner.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I am leaving, Neev. I’ll stay with Shahraan from now on.’
Neev rubbed his eyes once and said, ‘No, you can’t leave me Reva. Not now. Not for ever. I don’t have anyone here. That bitch, Suparna, is going around with the producer now.’
Reva tried to get up, ignoring his ranting.
‘You can’t leave, Reva.’ With a sudden aggressive thrust, he pinned Reva on the bed. He pounced on her like an opportunist scavenger attacks a corpse.
‘Move away, Neev,’ Reva exclaimed, but all he did was force his lips onto hers. She started hitting him as hard as she could.
‘Neev, I don’t want this, so get the fuck away from me.’
‘I can’t let you go, Reva.’ He made himself comfortable on top of her on bed and started lifting her top.
‘I want you.’
She slapped him with all her energy. He stopped. Reva climbed down the bed pulling down her top. Neev dropped to her feet next.
‘I beg you Reva, please don’t leave. I know you don’t love Shahraan. You love me, right?’
Reva realized he had no idea what he was doing. She stooped down, held his face and said, ‘Listen Neev, and listen to me good. I am going to Shahraan not because I love him and hate you. It’s because I have a moral obligation towards my dream of becoming the top actress as much as I have the same obligation towards my feeling for both of you. Even if I’ll be with Shahraan, we shall be emotionally close, because no one will ever understand us the way we do. But we also need to be physically far from each other, for no one will ever destroy us the way we do. Get that?’
Neev didn’t.
Finally, Neev had to strip off every inch of arrogance, chivalry, and emotional chastity and adhere to the beg-borrow-steal mode to bring his fledgling career on track.
Going by a baba, recommended by his parents over phone, he started visiting Hanuman Mandir every Tuesday and recited the Hanuman Chalisa daily. According to the baba, Neev’s stars would soon enter the Sade Sati, the feared astrological phase, after which anything was possible.
He had seen humiliation before, but that was when he bullheadedly did things. Now he had willfully doffed off his moral robes and pursued people everywhere for work. One casting co-coordinator with whom he managed to strike a chord over whiskey told him a wise thing.
‘You are lucky. If the movie had released all over and then bombed, you would have had it. Everybody would have known you then. Now nobody does.’ It was just the confidence Neev needed. With his decision to abuse his till now dormant ‘yes sir’ attitude, Neev started making places in people’s heart. Though it didn’t fetch him any acting assignment, he got the opportunity
to assist a director for three months in the absence of his normal assistant. From helping him clean his ears to taking his calls for him on set and from making his drink at his home to identifying his ridiculous handwriting and making a fresh script out of it—Neev did it all. And for free. The director was so impressed by his newfound slave that he recommended him to another director, Pranav Khatri, whom Neev served with the same fervour. Soon he became his permanent assistant.
For a year, he worked with him on his advertisements and television serials. It was during the wrap-up party of his latest serial that Pranav took notice of his features after he was ten whiskey pegs down.
‘Neev, do you know how sexy you look? Why don’t I see you with any girl ever?’
‘Just like that, Sir.’
‘Just like that? Or…’
Neev managed a smile because he thought that would make Pranav happy.
‘You naughty fucker,’ Pranav laughed without any reason.
‘How many have you had till now?’ He meant boys.
‘Few sir.’ He was talking about girls.
‘Wanna have me?’
‘Sir, I have had only girls till now,’ Neev wanted to state it as a fact but it ended up sounding like a sorry statement. Pranav felt bad for him.
‘Sad. Come, let me change it for you. Come on.’ He got up and ambled towards the washroom. He paused, turned, and barked, ‘Come on now!’
Inside the washroom, Pranav made him turn around and stand with his legs apart. Then he asked him to strip till his knees. Neev closed his eyes and started chanting the Hanuman Chalisa. If there was something like karma-yields-results, then he prayed this one would bear some good ones for he couldn’t go beyond this.
‘Nice ass, partner,’ Pranav said and took out his flaccid penis.
‘Did it enter?’
Neev realized Pranav was too drunk to understand what was going on.
‘Yes sir,’ Neev hissed. Pranav gave a few thrusts, enjoying the process which in reality was nothing except for Neev standing with his ass exposed to his groin.
‘Can you feel it boy? I’m about to—’
Neev turned around to see him on the floor, snoring.
Next morning, Pranav apologized to Neev and asked him not to divulge it to his wife. He was as much repentant as he seemed disturbed.
‘I am not gay. Just that this alcohol makes me bisexual. Damn, I am sorry Neev. This is so bad. I think I owe you one.’
‘It’s okay, Sir.’ He preferred to play the victim.
‘It’s not! Tell me what do you want in return? Anything, just shoot!’
‘Sir, I actually came to Mumbai to become an actor but…’
Pranav perused Neev in a different light for the first time. He had the material. And Pranav was anyway done with Rajiv Tiwari—the tele-star from whom the industry got to know Pranav could be gay. He could do with a fresh face for his fresh story.
‘Can you face the camera?’
Neev’s karma finally seemed to be yielding results.
When he messaged Reva about his leading actor assignment, she was ecstatic. She wanted to meet him once but couldn’t because of her pre-marriage cruise retreat with Shahraan. Though they were in touch via mobile texting, every time her picture appeared in print media with Shahraan, something burnt inside Neev beyond repair. But he kept quiet because Reva had promised she would talk to Shahraan about him once he had some exposure. In another time, another lifetime, it would have hurt his ego. But in this life, Neev Dixit had encountered enough shit to realize if you want to hunt success, go ahead, bereft of everything except determination.
The test pilot was a success. The channel green lighted the project—Hum, Tum aur Pyar—a repackaged Romeo and Juliet. Importantly, the audience lapped it up. The TRP of the show ascended, as did Neev’s popularity among girls. By the time Reva returned from the cruise, he was slated as the heartthrob of the small screen.
The serial ran successfully for the next year after which Pranav was bored. He wanted to make something else with a fresh face against Neev.
Waiting for Pranav in his office, Neev was going through the entertainment supplement of a popular national newspaper. He read about Reva being voted as the Youth Icon for the year by a popular youth channel after her three back to back blockbusters. Though the opportunity happened because of Shahraan but, Neev agreed, it was her talent which fetched her fans across the nation.
His own journey flashed in front of him. In the end, he too reached where he belonged. That was the whole point. Unlike Reva, he was only a tele-star, but he was happy. But if it was written he was supposed to shoot to fame instantly on television, he wondered, then why didn’t he listen to Reva before?
Pranav came in excited. ‘Boy, I shortlisted a new girl against you for our new project. She is mind blowing.’
‘What’s her name?’
THE DIVA
NISHANI RAI
Shekhar Rai—the Prince of the Mumbai Silver Screen. That’s the title media churned out for the unprecedented popularity of Shekhar Rai. A leading British tabloid had termed him a one-man industry because the last nine years saw Shekhar give five platinum, three golden jubilee, and two silver jubilee hits.
On screen, Shekhar was the ideal man for women across ages who believed in true love. Off screen, though, he was a notorious playboy. He had slept with models, supermodels, photographers, fashion designers, socialites, activists, authors, actresses, politicians, and painters. Until Ashlesha came along.
She had come to interview him on his latest film. When asked what she thought of him, Ashlesha had replied curtly, ‘Actors are fake, celebrities are werewolves, and stardom is overrated.’
There was a raw arrogance in the middle-class Maharashtrian journalist which Shekhar, in a forbidden manner, swore to dominate.
‘Would you like to go out with Shekhar Rai, neither the actor nor the celebrity but the man he is?’ It was a ploy.
After dating for a record five months, Shekhar realized the middle-class Maharashtrian was clever than any other woman he had been with. She had placed a non-negotiable price for him to take her to bed. It was called marriage. But little did Ashlesha know marriage was the best bet to install a geyser of guilt within women which exploded with the slightest of mistake, but it could never be as innovative a ploy to comatose men against straying. For Shekhar, the marriage was again a chance to project his on-screen image as real as he could by marrying a simple journalist. Ashlesha will be the face of the Shekhar Rai people knew through his films.
It was in the sixth month that their ‘happy’ marriage bubble burst. It’s dangerous to know too much about someone too soon. The philanderer inside him popped its ugly head. He only needed a way. He got one.
Ashlesha was the happiest when she learnt she was pregnant. She gave up her job as a journalist and remained home bound most of the time while Shekhar was out doing three shifts a day and one woman a night. The cockroaches of mistrust slowly crawled into the room of their companionship. In the eighth month of her pregnancy, Ashlesha lost her cool when one of the tinsel town actresses claimed Shekhar would marry her. Ashlesha threatened to abort their child, leading Shekhar to promise her he would be more responsible henceforth. She found a glimmer of the same earnestness in Shekhar’s eyes as she did when he proposed to her. The countdown for their baby began.
Shekhar was in Kashmir shooting for Aditya Dev’s directorial debut when Ashlesha went into labour. Five hours later, as Ashlesha tried to smile at the miracle for which she had undergone nine months of alternate life, Shekhar was involved in an on-set accident in Kashmir.
From the time the media learnt about Shekhar’s accident and the subsequent irreversible paralysis of his lower portion, there were prayers and rituals performed by his well wishers throughout the country. Shekhar’s condition remained the same though. Four months and everybody moved on. The same media for which Shekhar Rai was a sweetheart and his life a credit card which they could swipe anytime to buy ey
eballs for their respective newspapers, suddenly developed a conscious amnesia towards him. The last film of Aditya Dev in which Shekhar acted, was completely reshot with the newcomer—Shahraan Ali Bakshi—in the lead and was released with a special note of thanks for Shekhar. It went on to smash all box office records of its time.
In the years that followed, spool by spool, the star named Shekhar lost its shine. He even tried committing suicide once or twice, but each time he failed miserably, which only further punctured his confidence and zeal to live and pulled him away from Ashlesha, himself, and his daughter.
Nishani Rai was six when she talked to him for the first time.
‘You are my papa, aren’t you?’ she said, smiling at him with an I-am-all-yours twinkle in her eyes. She looked into her father’s eyes which, with time, had pronounced dark circles around them. Shekhar only caressed her face from forehead to chin as if trying to guess the theme of a book reading the first page itself. Yes, she did have his features, he thought. Especially the sparkling eyes that could grab a person’s attention by its throat and turn it into a voluntary slave, and the slightly longish nose which bulged a tad whenever arrogance pushed it, along with the elongated chin, the high cheek bones and the thin jaw line, all reflecting how much she was a part of him.
‘I am sorry, kid.’
Shekhar abruptly turned his chair and wheeled into his room where Nishani was never allowed. The fact that he had bothered to even look at her with affection made her run happily out to her closest buddies—the clouds, the sun, the moon, the stars, rain, flowers, and anything which her innocence could coalesce with.
How About a Sin Tonight? Page 11