by Shobhaa De
The inspector had smiled tolerantly and winked at Akshay. “Well, hero, you thought you were acting in a film, didn’t you?” Akshay, calmer now, had slowly buckled his belt and said, “Chalo,” to the policeman. Amma had watched as the two of them had strolled off the set, Akshay with his arm around the burly cop. The director had turned to Aasha Rani and nodded. “Twenty minutes and on the set—the unit is waiting, madam. Important scene. But first, please have a cold drink.”
COMING BACK FROM DUBAI to a Bombay devoid of Amma and Akshay depressed Aasha Rani. She had nothing much to do till shooting began, and the thought of spending her time in an impersonal house without anyone to talk to upset her further. She hadn’t seen Sudha in years, and she missed Amma. Abruptly pulling out an overnight case, she flung a few clothes together and yelled for her driver. “Take me to the airport. I’m catching the next flight to Madras.”
It wasn’t much of a homecoming. When Aasha Rani arrived at the bungalow, ironically named “Matruchchaya,” only her pet dog came out to greet her. Where was everybody? Amma? Sudha? She walked into the living room and sighed—it looked horrible. An absolute mess! No matter how much money she sent these people, they would never learn. Those curtains! The sofas! Plastic covers over everything! Gaudy, hideous bric-a-brac. And those plaster of paris statues—where on earth did Amma get them? She’d told them to hire a decorator. She’d even told them to get one from Bangalore. But no! Amma liked to pinch pennies where she could, and look at the result.
She called out to the servants. An old woman came running out of the kitchen and stared at her. “Who are you?” she asked. “I’ll tell you who I am. But first you tell me who you are. Bloody cheek—who are you, who are you!” Aasha Rani yelled. The old woman fled and came back with a servant boy. He took one look at Aasha Rani and said, “Ai-yai-yo Love, Love, Kiss, Kiss.” She flung her handbag in his direction and screamed, “Where is Amma? Where is everybody?”
Suddenly she noticed Sudha standing on the staircase—the one that led to the bedrooms upstairs. God! How she’d changed, Aasha Rani thought. Why, she looked almost pretty. Nice figure. Lovely eyes. Lustrous hair. And fairer than her. Much fairer. Sudha kept staring wordlessly, till Aasha Rani cried out, “What’s the matter with you? Do I look like a ghost? Where’s Amma? What’s happening?”
Sudha rushed down the stairs and hugged her tight. “It’s Appa,” she sobbed. “Dead?” Aasha Rani asked without any emotion. “No…stroke…Amma has gone to the hospital to see him. You must go also.”
Aasha Rani was puzzled. “But why should I go to see him? I haven’t seen him in years. Since I was a child. He hasn’t bothered about any of us either. Now that he’s dying, why does he care whether we see him or not?” Sudha said, “It’s not Appa who has asked to see you—see us—it’s Amma. It’s important to her. Do it only to make her happy.” “No. I hate that man. He is cruel, heartless, indifferent. A real bastard who abandoned all of us and never showed his face again. What does he want now? More money? Wasn’t it enough that he ruined Amma’s life and ours? Is he bankrupt totally? Worried about his hospital bills? Fine, I’ll pay those—but I will not see him. Never. Tell Amma that.” Sudha started to weep. “Forget the past. He is our father, after all. And he may die—he wants our forgiveness. Amma is ready to put everything behind her. Why don’t you also make up with him? He’s very proud of you. So are we all. He wants to see you properly married…settled down. Don’t break his heart. He is old now. What he did to us was bad, but it was so long ago. So much has happened since then. Please, akka—go to him.”
Aasha Rani was tired, hungry and at her lowest. She felt hard and embittered. She brushed Sudha aside harshly and said, “Let him die like a dog. Why should I care? Did he care when we were starving? Did he come to our help when Amma had to go around begging for work? I have no feelings for him. My father died long ago. I don’t know who this man in the hospital is…” “Akka, what has happened to you? Why have you become so unkind?” Sudha said between sobs. Aasha Rani stared stonily at her. “What would you know about the life we faced, Amma and I? You were too young then. One day when you are older, I may tell you. Today, you can call your akka names. It’s all right. But I know what I’m doing and saying. I never want to see Appa’s face again. Not even at his funeral.”
Aasha Rani stormed into her room and slammed the door. She was very possessive about it. “My room,” she had told Amma, “is mine. I don’t want any of our ratty relatives to use it in my absence. I don’t want you or Sudha to use it either. And nobody is allowed to open my cupboards. Tell the servants too.”
She was breathing heavily. All she wanted was to be a carefree seven-year-old again and lie down in Amma’s lap while she rubbed hot coconut oil into her dry scalp. She wanted to cry. For what? she asked herself. She felt so weary, physically and emotionally drained. Amma used to tell her to pray at such times. She’d stopped doing that too. What had God done for her, anyway?
She stared at her room. The same revolting pink that her room in her Bandra bungalow boasted. Pink wall-papered walls, pink silk bedcovers, pink lace-edged pillows. Pink, pink, pink. It was a pink nightmare, down to the pink basin and pink bidet in her pink-tiled bathroom. Whatever had given everybody the idea that she liked pink?
She opened her wardrobe idly and saw a row of unused clothes. Sudha had probably bought them straight off the peg of some local boutique. Taking one desultory look, Aasha Rani decided she hated each and every one of them. Rifling through the lingerie drawer she came across a tiny plastic box. She picked it up—it had an image of Lord Venkatesh in it. Appa had given it to her when she was no more than five. She remembered the occasion vividly.
Amma and he had gone on a pilgrimage to Tirupathi to seek divine blessings for his new film. It was his biggest to date: a huge production. Appa had a lot riding on it. If the film flopped he risked losing everything—his studio included. She remembered giggling insanely at the sight of his bald head after he’d made the traditional offering of his hair. He’d looked so funny! “I’m India’s Yul Brynner now.” He’d laughed with them, setting them off again, even though they hadn’t the faintest idea who Yul Brynner was. Amma had explained the power of faith and the miracle of Tirupathi: “If Venkateshwara grants Appa his wish, we will go back next year and perform a maha puja there…all of us.”
But that had never happened. Appa’s film was a success, all right. But his relationship with Amma had collapsed. Maybe Appa had gone back alone. Or maybe he hadn’t. And that was why the gods were punishing him today. She held the small talisman in her hand and stared at the image. Tirupathi—she’d go there someday. When she needed the kind of solace only God provided. But today she had other things to do. God could wait. She replaced the talisman in its box and buried it deep in her cupboard.
Linda
AASHA RANI CAME BACK FROM MADRAS WITHOUT MEETINGAppa. Somehow she hadn’t been able to bring herself to. Amma had been so angry with Aasha Rani that she had chosen not to talk to her unless absolutely necessary. Aasha Rani, on the other hand, was bewildered by Amma’s devotion to a man who had caused her and her children nothing but pain.
The Manali shooting was on schedule, and Aasha Rani was beginning to dread it. It was just too much of an effort being social, and the thought of indulging the director and costar in their occasional ruttishness quite repulsed her.
When she got home from the beauty parlor on the evening before she was to leave for Manali, she found the door of her bedroom ajar. Her first thought was that Akshay had come home. Inside Linda was helping herself to Aasha Rani’s makeup. Turning a lavishly painted face and batting her eyes, she beamed. “Guess what, darling, I’m coming—I told the editor you’re having an affair with the spot boy!”
Aasha Rani smiled in spite of herself and thought back to the time she had first met Linda.
AASHA RANI HAD BEEN SHOOTING for her first multistarrer, a big-budget film in which she had two major dances. A woman had called from Showbiz magazin
e and had asked for an interview. “I’ll ask Mummy,” Aasha Rani had automatically responded. She’d heard the stranger laugh over the phone. “Why should you ask Mummy?” she’d mocked. “Can’t you decide for yourself? No, don’t say anything; let me come and meet you now.” And so, she had.
Aasha Rani had been terribly impressed by Linda’s casual smartness. She oozed confidence; she spoke good English and carried a large handbag, which she patted and said, “My office travels with me.” Aasha Rani hadn’t understood the remark but didn’t dare say so. She’d giggled nervously and asked her to sit down.
Instead of pulling out a tape recorder or a writing pad, Linda had sprawled out on the settee in the makeup room and declared, “I envy you, I really do—you are so young. So beautiful and so successful. Had I been a man I would have wanted to marry you.” Not knowing how to react to that, Aasha Rani had coquettishly giggled some more and offered Linda a cold drink. “Nahi baba, I don’t drink on duty.”
Aasha Rani was nervous and looked around for Amma. “Don’t worry; I’m not a child molester. Or a rapist,” Linda had said, and Aasha Rani had been flummoxed by her boldness. How could a woman talk about raping another woman? For that matter, how could a woman even say the word rape? She’d sat on the edge of her seat waiting for the interview to begin. Suddenly Linda had jumped up from the settee and asked, “Hey! Do you have any pads on you? Not writing pads, yaar, sanitary pads. I think I’ve got my period. Damn! I always go wrong when I’m on the pill.” Startled by the comment, Aasha Rani had sent for her makeup girl and told her to quickly arrange for a packet. “Thanks, yaar, you’re really a sweetheart; don’t mind if I smoke, do you? Chumming makes me tense.”
There was a knock at the door accompanied by a “Madam, chaliye ji,” which indicated that the shot was ready. Aasha Rani had jumped up. “Relax, yaar; you don’t have to rush just because the producer says so. Keep them waiting. That way they give you more bhav. Here, let me handle it.” And with that she’d opened the door and told the boy, “Kya hai? Madam ko disturb mat karo. Madam so rahi hai.” The amazed fellow had stared dumbly. “Chalo phooto! She will come down when she’s ready.” She’d slammed the door in his face and laughed. “See? It’s easy. Don’t be too cooperative with these bastards. They’ll take advantage of you.” Aasha Rani had marveled at her panache and had timidly asked, “How many years have you been in this line?”
“Let’s see, five? Six? No, it’s seven. I started when I finished college in Jaipur. I was a real bindaas girl, yaar. On my own I decided to come to Bombay and become a film journalist; don’t ask me why. The first place I applied to was Showbiz. I got in immediately. Now ask me why? Because I was confident. I just pushed my way into the editor’s cabin and said, ‘Hire me. If you don’t like my writing then fire me.’ She must have been impressed. I got the job. She’s a real bitch, my editor. You must have heard of her—Kamini Singh. Bas, now I’m a queen. A gossip queen. Everybody is scared of my pen. You’d better be nice to me, or else I’ll make chutti of you in my column.”
Aasha Rani had stared, her eyes brimming with admiration. “Seven years? You enjoy your profession?” “Theek hai, yaar. It’s OK; I get paid enough. I have my own place. I wear nice clothes; you like my outfit?”
Linda had lolled around some more and talked about herself. Not a question to Aasha Rani about her life. After half an hour, the studio hand had come back with a frantic message. Aasha Rani had pleaded with Linda not to leave. “I’ll give the shot and come back. Don’t go away—OK?” Linda had blown smoke in her direction and smooched the air. “Anything for you, light of my life.”
Aasha Rani found Linda and her life fascinating. There was something about her that made her most attractive, even though she was not at all good-looking. Or even sexy. It was only her eyes, colored like molten caramel, that transformed her face. She wore her hair in a careless ponytail that tumbled down half a dozen times an hour. She wasn’t a tall person, but the manner in which she carried herself, with her shoulders thrown back and her head in the air, and her jaunty stride as she walked into a room, commanded attention. Her figure was neat, but not special. She exuded vitality, a devil-may-care, throwaway confidence which she combined with an aggressive, overt sexuality that bordered on the defiant. In her own entirely unique way, Linda was striking. She reminded Aasha Rani of a tightly wound, swift-footed animal. A female fox or a she-wolf on the prowl.
Aasha Rani was flattered and privileged by Linda’s interest in her. She genuinely believed she had finally found the friend she was looking for. A trendy, upmarket, Bombay friend. “I’m a survivor, yaar,” Linda loved to say. “In this badmaash city and this badmaash business, you have to be one. You are a real bachchi—a mama’s girl. You should be on your own. Live life for yourself. Be like me—free!”
Amma had hated Linda on sight and had told Aasha Rani as much. “That girl is a bad influence on you. Don’t mix with her. Don’t trust her. She will hurt you one day.” Aasha Rani had brushed off the warnings. “Amma, you don’t like my mixing with anybody. You don’t want me to have friends of my own. I feel lonely, bored, I like Linda. She is nice to me. What has she done? She has not even written about me.”
That was strictly true. Through all their meetings Linda hadn’t ever taken notes or taped anything. In fact, she hadn’t asked Aasha Rani a single question. And far from taking advantage of her, it was Linda who had given her presents. Nothing big—just sweet little things Aasha Rani felt very sentimental about, including a big handbag like her own. “You wait,” Amma had said. “That girl is like a snake. One day she will strike, and only then will your eyes open.”
“Let me do a cover story on you,” Linda had finally said. It was two months since they had met, and Aasha Rani had been waiting for the suggestion. “I thought you were never going to ask.” She’d laughed. By then they were meeting each other whenever they had the time, and jamming phone lines, talking for hours, when they didn’t. Aasha Rani had even visited Linda’s small flat where she lived with a cat called Roop Rani. Linda had shown her all the love letters she’d received over the years and had regaled her with amusing stories about all the randy heroes who’d made passes at her.
“Do you know,” she’d say, her eyes dancing mischievously, “that big stud of yours—garma-garam? The first time I went to interview him, he asked me to sit down across a low coffee table. I was so nervous, being raw in the profession. He kept telling me to relax and all that. I didn’t dare stare at him too much, so I began fiddling with the tape recorder. He kept looking at me with his bedroom eyes and then he said, ‘Let’s do the interview later, afterward.’ I still didn’t understand what he meant. And then my eyes went down to the table. What do you think I saw? His fly was open, and there he was, raring to go! He’d placed his tool on the tabletop, and all the while I’d thought it was a cigar! I screamed with shock and jumped to my feet. He sprang up as well and lunged at me. I was hysterical. He put his arms on my shoulders and said, ‘OK, OK, relax. I thought you wanted it; they all do!’ That’s when I discovered that he genuinely thought he was doing me a favor. He told me later how relieved he was when I said no. It seems the poor man had acquired such a reputation that women took morning flights from Delhi just to come and get fucked by him and went back on the evening flight. He asked me innocently, ‘How can I disappoint them? I am a gentleman. It would hurt a woman’s ego if I refused her. I could never do that.’ We both laughed and got on with the interview. Now we are great friends.”
It was through stories like these that Aasha Rani had gotten to know more and more about the industry. Linda had access to all the inside khabar (as she put it). Linda warned her about the wolves, informed her about potential rivals and told her which roles were worth angling for. Aasha Rani was thrilled that she had Linda in her life. It came to a point where she wouldn’t make a move without her. “Should I sign this film? Should I attend that party? Should I go to the premiere? Should I ask for a better price? Should I wear a sari or a
salwar-kameez for the mahurat? Should I, should I, should I…?”
Linda indulged her. Now wasn’t the time to exploit Aasha Rani. There were bigger and better stakes to play for. And she wasn’t in any particular hurry.
THE NIGHT THEY REACHED Manali it was bitterly cold. The rest house had a log fire burning downstairs. After an early dinner she and Linda left the unit to their drinks and dirty jokes and set out for a walk. Once outside, Linda suddenly grabbed Aasha Rani, hugged her close and kissed her nose. “You are a real iceberg, yaar. All thanda-thanda. Look at your nose. Like an ice cube. Chalo, let’s go in and have some brandy.”
Aasha Rani hesitated. “I have an early morning call tomorrow—and what about Lucy, my hairdresser?” “Kick her out of the room, yaar. You are the only bewakoof heroine who sleeps with her hairdresser. I don’t mean it literally. When do you have fun then? Don’t tell me the hairdresser looks the other way when all the heroes come to your bed at night?”