Being Shekhar’s daughter. She liked the sound of it. Nishani smiled. ‘Don’t worry, uncle. If life is a horny bastard, I’m a bitch in heat.’
Jignesh didn’t know how to react.
If faces were placards, then Pravesh Shah’s read: I am shrewd. Fuck you very much. As he sat down with Nishani, she gave him her pen drive and he checked out her pictures in his Macbook.
‘I think you have a saleable face. But film wise, we are booked till the next three years. And the casting has been locked too.’
‘Three years is like ages.’
‘I’m sorry. Your dad told me about you, but I’m afraid this is what the position is right now with films.’ He looked straight at her like a robot. There was nothing in his face to suggest he was something otherwise. She knew Pravesh was waiting for her to leave now.
‘Are you interested in television?’ the robot spoke out of turn.
‘Television?’ All the regressive plotlines and characters flashed in front of Nishani in that moment.
‘We are about to start a new romantic saga in a month’s time. Casting is on for a fresh face opposite Neev.’
‘Opposite whom?’
‘Neev Dixit. He is—’
‘I know.’ Reva Gupta’s ex. And Reva was Shahraan’s present while Shahraan was her target. Nishani did some quick math.
‘I’m interested.’
Pravesh called someone from his mobile phone and talked in Gujarati.
‘My elder brother Himesh will see you in a minute in our board room. He looks after the television part.’
‘Thanks.’ Nishani got up to leave. The robot didn’t smile back.
The first thing Himesh Shah experienced after seeing Nishani sit across him in the boardroom was a full-on erection. Unlike his younger brother, Himesh was an acutely religious guy who was married with two kids.
‘Jai Shri Krishna,’ he said. One look and Nishani knew he was a younger version of Jignesh Shah. Only he had a constant tinge of nervousness on his face. As if he was afraid someone will unmask his actual face.
‘Hello. I’m Nishani Rai.’
‘Yes, I know. Pravesh told me about you. So you want to be in television?’
‘Yes. My pictures are in this pen drive. Pravesh told me you are starting a new television serial.’
As Himesh quietly perused the photographs, his erection was going northwards. By the last photograph, he knew he couldn’t get up without being embarrassed.
‘Nice,’ he adjusted himself, sinking a bit more into his chair before continuing, ‘Yes, we are. Casting is on. By the way, what are you doing tonight?’
For the next fifteen nights, they met over dinner at various restaurants across Mumbai. They talked about films and television industry in general, how he and his brother took the company a step forward from where their father left, and about his future vision for the company; his wife, their love story, his kids, their whims, his tryst with God, and his beliefs. But not a single word was spoken about the upcoming serial for which Nishani decided to tolerate him. Whenever Nishani queried about auditioning for the role, he maneuvered the topic with appreciable dexterity. He wasn’t even being flirtatious for her to presume anything. Nor was he imposing himself onto her. It was just a friendly dinner.
On the sixteenth night, sitting inside yet another posh restaurant in Juhu, Nishani’s patience finally ran out.
‘So, am I doing the serial Himesh?’
She observed his body language. He was touching his own fingers; defensive.
‘I don’t know.’
‘The head of the television department of the Shah Brothers is telling me he doesn’t know? Then who knows?’
‘I don’t know.’ Himesh’s touching of himself was now a notch furious.
Finally, Nishani got the cue. He wanted to sleep with her. But he wasn’t able to tell her. He wanted her to get the cue and take the initiative, so he became the poor. god-fearing man who succumbed to the seductress.
‘Okay, if I sleep with you, will that help your ignorance?’ Nishani’s eyes meant business.
‘What are you saying?’ Himesh sounded shellshocked. ‘I am a good man. A family man. I don’t take advantage of girls. I am also the father of two sweet girls.’
Nishani slammed her fork on the dish hard. ‘Then what is it that you want from me, Himesh? I can’t fucking dine with you anymore!’
‘I—’ He felt his dry throat as he swallowed a lump.
‘I only want a blowjob. I don’t have the courage to sleep with you. My God will never forgive me.’
Bloody-mother-fucking-religious-cribber. Nishani shot a look of disgust at him.
‘Is the blowjob the only criteria for me to feature against Neev Dixit?’ And in the end reach Shahraan…
‘Yes.’ It was a meek confession.
Himesh, who drove his BMW himself, tried to relax inside as he saw Nishani open her purse.
‘What are you doing?’ He thought she was going to call someone. Or worse record their act.
‘I’ll have to disconnect with myself,’ she said plugging on the ear plugs of her iPod. One of her favourite Beethoven symphonies started playing, making her mind swim in a different world where there were no tides of morality to disturb her.
‘Is your tool clean?’
‘I just washed it with Dettol in the toilet.’
Nishani took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Ten minutes later, she was set to star in the most-awaited television serial—Acha Jee Main Haari—paired against the recent heartthrob of the small screen: Neev Dixit.
Their pair was like a rocket embellishing a dark sky with a spectacular expression.
It had taken exactly six months before the television serial aired for the first time. Nishani was on for twelve thousand an episode to start with, whereas Neev—fresh from his last television hit Hum, Tum Aur Pyar—was signed on for fifty thousand an episode. With the TRP behaving like the mercury of a thermometer out from a feverish mouth, the producers themselves increased Nishani’s take home to twenty an episode while Neev’s escalated to sixty five.
Nishani met Neev for the first time during the photo shoot for the serial. It was Pranav Khatri, whose brainchild the serial was, who introduced them.
‘Neev, this is Nishani. And Nishani this is…’
‘Neev Dixit,’ Nishani completed.
Neev smiled exhibiting his irresistible charm. He loved the way stardom spared his need for introduction.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Mumbai. I did a few ad films and then got lucky.’
‘The best wait, the luckiest sail,’ he said and excused himself.
As the photo shoot commenced, Neev’s irritation at the photographer’s inability to click the perfect photograph at minimum clicks was attaining peak. In the end he called out, ‘Make-up dada!’ and dashed out. An old man with a make-up kit followed him urgently.
As another make-up man attended to Nishani, she asked him, ‘Is he always like this?’
‘No. Usually he cooperates well. But—’ The make-up man whispered next, ‘Reva ma’am left him. Everyone knows.’
Whoever had written her meeting with Neev, she wondered, had got the timing spot on. She intentionally didn’t talk or exhibit any concern for his erratic behaviour that day because avoidance was her first step to attract.
The shoot was more like an office job from nine in the morning to ten at night. Since they were the lead pair, Neev and Nishani had to be there on set almost every day for twenty one days of the month. But to Neev’s notice, Nishani precluded herself from any kind of friendship on set. She was mild and modest with everyone, but there wasn’t one person whom she hung around with. Everybody saw her, nobody knew her. Post shoot, she either disappeared inside her make-up room or simply sat on her chair listening to symphonies on her iPod. Just before a scene, Nishani would listen to the director or his assistants intently and give perfect shots on the first take. Neev didn’t read in her a lust
to go to the top like other beginners, yet she seemed to take nothing for granted. The mystery, the edginess, made her such a sexy mix that he suddenly found himself desperate to unravel what Nishani Rai was all about.
On fine day Neev finally asked her, ‘How are you unwinding this weekend?’
‘My usual, Pilates classes.’
‘I have been invited to a Sunday brunch at Waqil’s place.’
‘Waqil?’
‘Shaukat Waqil, the fashion designer and Page 3 rocker.’
‘Okay.’
‘I told him I’ll be there with you.’ The second part was a lie.
‘Thanks. That’s wonderful of you.’
So that’s what Nishani Rai was all about. A little bit of fluff and she is all yours. Lame! Neev concluded.
‘I would rather catch up on some sleep. See you next week.’ She was gone before Neev could surmise the right excuse to stop her.
How could she possibly deny a date with the heartthrob, was Neev’s only query. He saw her coming back. Neev relaxed his shoulders, expecting her to pop out an apology.
‘Forgot to tell you, please don’t take any decisions on my behalf. I’m not a kid.’ Nishani knew how to feed the infant of interest so that it grows into a man of obsession.
As Nishani disappeared, Neev hissed under his breath, ‘I’ll make her my bitch soon.’
What he didn’t know was she would make him her pet sooner.
Nishani knew she had scored when Neev joined her Pilates class. They only smiled while changing postures. Till then, he had seen her mostly with make-up and a few times without it. But that was when she hadn’t impregnated his mind with any intent. Now things had changed.
Nishani was wearing a black tracksuit that fitted her snugly. As he eyed her succulent-in-parts body dripping with sweat, Neev felt tempted to let go of the restraint which labelled him as a human. He realized there was something primitive and unabashed about her.
He caught up with her as they moved out of the class an hour later.
‘Can I drop you somewhere in my Tavera?’
‘My Enfield will feel bad if I don’t ride it back home.’
‘You ride an Enfield? That’s so macho!’
‘Only a real woman rides a macho,’ she winked and drove off.
Every morning, Nishani’s door bell rang dot at seven. And a red rose lay at the doorstep with a card that read: Have a nice start. It made her smile, but for a reason only she knew. The day went by shooting with Neev, but she made it a point to not talk to him. They seemed like strangers to any prying eyes. But at night when he called her, his talks had a hint of intimacy. Nishani played it safe: neither too much indulgence, nor too little of a tease. A woman, if she is a woman, doesn’t need a weapon. Moreover, Neev was already an injured heart. Show an injured heart a spark, she wondered, and he shall lap it up, assuming it to be a light source.
Due to heavy rains, shooting was cancelled for a few days. It was on one of those days that Ashlesha and Nishani were both home. Till Shekhar’s death, they were mother and daughter. But afterwards, they had degenerated into roommates, with neither having anything to do with the other. She knew Nishani had become an actor like her dad, but she kept her suggestions to herself. But on that gloomy night, she was angry after learning that Nishani had dropped out of college in her third year a week back.
‘You should have completed your graduation at least,’ Ashlesha spoke from the kitchen while heating her dinner in the microwave.
‘I decide that.’ Nishani was lazily surfing channels on television.
‘What have I done to deserve your constant wrath?’ Ashlesha came out and confronted her daughter.
‘What have you done?’
‘I have done all the duties a mother should do for her child. I have given you proper education, a house to live in, never made you feel what struggle for existence is all about.’
‘There’s something beyond duty as well which you have always fallen short of. As a mother, as a wife.’
‘As a wife? What do you mean?’ Ashlesha was waiting for Nishani to look at her which she didn’t.
‘You could have stayed with dad or brought him here to live with us.’
‘You know what his position was.’
‘So what were you doing being his wife? Isn’t marriage all about an inseparable companionship? But you made it look like it’s a companionship of convenience.’
‘I did what I could for Shekhar. I had my life too.’
Finally Nishani switched off the television and stood up.
‘And now, I have mine.’
Nishani went to her room.
‘Then why don’t you live in a place which you can claim as yours as well?’ she heard her mother scream. It sounded like a proposal.
Once inside, Nishani felt frustrated. Since my mother had a life, she left my father. Now I have one, so she should be left alone. When she checked her mobile phone, she found three missed calls from Neev. She called him on a whim and said, ‘Do you know any middlemen? I need a flat for myself.’
He kept her on hold. Almost a minute later, he spoke again. ‘Would a studio apartment in Khar Road do?’
‘Is it secured?’
‘Take my word for it. I stay in the adjoining apartment.’ From strangers, to colleagues, and now neighbours—a journey was taking place.
It took a month for Nishani to settle into her new apartment. The day when the last bit of the interior was done, Nishani invited Neev to celebrate with a bottle of scotch. They sat sipping their drink right beside the French window which framed an empty park outside and the loneliness beyond it. It was one in the night. The sky had a few stars and a lot of clouds.
Nishani’s mobile phone buzzed with a message. She read it and in an instant gloom took over her face.
‘What happened?’ Neev said, adding one more ice cube to his drink.
‘I’d asked my friend to book the tickets for the Iron Maiden concert next month in Bangalore. She is saying it’s sold out.’
Neev picked up his phone, dialled a number, and talked crisply.
‘Yes, the one happening the next weekend. Don’t disappoint me on this. It’s for a special friend.’ Neev glanced at Nishani while saying so. ‘Thanks.’ He cut the line and said, ‘What about you, me, and your Enfield to Bangalore?’
Nishani spoke after a thoughtful pause. ‘Why are you doing all this for me, Neev?’
‘Just like that.’
Nishani looked at him for a moment and said, ‘Guess what, I wasn’t born yesterday.’ She sported a mocking smile.
‘Well, you were the damsel in distress and I played the knight in shining armour.’ He gave her his best smile. It was a killer, she had to admit.
‘To your lie,’ an amused Nishani raised her glass. Neev clicked it with his and said, ‘The truth is, I like you.’
‘Like me? As in?’
‘Someone told me she wasn’t born yesterday.’
‘Uh-huh. That someone likes you too.’
For a moment they kept looking into each other’s eyes. She finished her drink in a gulp. He copied. They kept their scotch glasses aside. As a soft breeze invaded the window and caressed their senses, they leaned forward with tilted heads and smooched. Finally, their lips unlocked, and as they sat closer than they were before, Nishani said, ‘I don’t want a relationship that will demand from me a physical, emotional, or spiritual ownership.’
‘Then what is love for you?’
‘Love, like everything else, is only a reaction at a particular point in time. That’s all. A reaction to someone you see, to something you come across. And I must be free to do whatever my instincts tell me in that instant. It’s the same human instinct because of which we are alive tonight, sipping this scotch, and kissing. Everything else apart from that instinct in a human is a faux pas.’
Neev was in a momentary trance.
‘I never associated such depth with you.’
‘You are not the only one,’ Nishani wi
nked, amused.
‘I’ll try my level best to live up to your kind of love.’
‘Don’t worry. Even if you don’t, I won’t demand it of you. In fact, you are even free to commit infidelity being in a relationship with me.’
Neev was stunned.
‘That’s the only way the infidelity will not be an infidelity, right?’ Nishani added.
The very reason, Neev wondered, which took him away so many times from Reva was nothing to Nishani.
‘Basically, you want an open relationship with me,’ he said.
‘No. An open relationship again has a defined boundary of non interference. What I am talking about is a ‘no definition’ relationship. No emotional narcissism. We’ll do what our instincts tell us. We won’t do something because of any expectation. We won’t mutually decide to act something out in a specific way and then spend our life maintaining that decision even though we both know it doesn’t hold. Life’s a mini skirt, Neev, and hypocrisy of any kind only makes it look like a bikini.’
A consuming silence ensued. After which two animals unleashed themselves onto each other, initiating a carnal war where losing was winning and winning was about losing it all.
‘Maiden! Maiden! Maiden!’
It was a human sea of around twenty to twenty five thousand fans of the iconic heavy metal English band—Iron Maiden.
After cracking her voice to the full in the concert, Nishani thanked Neev by demanding a love-making session. They had intentionally used fake names to register themselves at the small hotel they were in and had come in dressed as vagabond bikers with leather outfits to mow away any weed of recognition.
Though Neev was not into music, he was happy to make the non-stop mini road trip to Bangalore. For some hours, Nishani drove the Enfield, but for most, Neev did. They got down thrice; once to have their lunch which they had packed from their home and twice to answer nature’s call. When Neev was away for one such call to the nearby country side fields, Nishani, waiting by the Enfield on the highway, realized he had not taken his phone with him. He seldom cared about it. She picked it and went straight to the message section. One particular message in the sent items caught her eye. It read: So is this what the fucking deal is coming to? You know how much I love you. Nishani kept the phone noticing Neev waving at her from a distance. They hit the highway again.
How About a Sin Tonight? Page 16