Bollywood Nights

by Shobhaa De

  Aasha Rani caught hold of Jay’s hand. “That bastard! Must be Kishenbhai—nobody else knows about our conversation. He couldn’t even wait to check with me before rushing into print. I’ll kill him. How dare he! Let’s book a call as soon as we get to the hotel.”

  Jay said quietly, “Calm down. Look at it this way; he has made the decision for you. Now there is no going back.”

  Aasha Rani looked steadily at him. “Is that really what you want for me?”

  “I think it’s what you want for yourself,” Jay said quietly, “only you are afraid to face it. And face me.”

  By the time they got back to Bombay, it had been decided—Aasha Rani was back. Back to the world she had thought she could escape. And Jay was the one who pushed her into it. As Amma pointed out, “Baby, you are a lucky woman. No Indian husband would allow his wife to act after marriage. Look at Appa. Look at Akshay. I can point out so many other examples. Our men are hypocrites. They want to go out and have all the fun while their wives stay at home. Jay is an understanding husband. He doesn’t need your money. He doesn’t need your fame. But he knows you. He knows what you want. And he wants you to have it. Jewel. He is a jewel. Navratna. I hope you realize that.” Aasha Rani nodded, smiling to herself at Amma’s abrupt revision of her opinion of Jay. Amma carried on. “But what about your marriage? Your daughter? Have you thought about it? How will it work if you are here and he is there? Think a hundred times. Your amma has changed. I have realized my mistakes. Now I’m no longer thinking of your career; I’m only thinking of you and your happiness. You know what this industry is like. It is vulgar, cheap, cruel—not meant for decent people. And certainly not meant for married women!

  “For heroes it is different. They can be married five times over and it makes no difference. But for you, you have responsibilities now. Your own daughter. How will you deal with all the filthy men? The drunks? The distributors? I know what you have gone through. I know what I myself put you through. I’m ashamed of all that now. It’s too late. Sudha opened my eyes.

  “Look at your sister—she is hardhearted and vicious. She has turned on her own amma, not realizing that whatever I did, I did for her. She wanted to be a big star. She wanted to beat you. That was her ambition from the very beginning. That is what she told me when she came to Bombay. ‘Amma, make me a top heroine. I want to be bigger than akka. I want to be the best. I want people to forget her. I am better than her—I can prove it.’ Yes, that’s what she said to me. I’ll never forget it. And she didn’t want to stop at anything!

  “Hai Bhagwan! Such ambition. Such cunning. She would have sold her Amma if she had to. That girl has no feelings, nothing. She is only after money. I wonder who she’s taken after. Money, sex and fame. Bas. She gives not a penny to me. I have to beg her. Beg her for even a blouse piece. ‘Be thankful,’ she says, ‘that I’ve given you a house to live in.’ It’s your house, Aasha Rani, not hers. But she still says that. She doesn’t care for anyone. She has no love in her heart. God will punish her one day. I’m not cursing her; I’m her amma, after all. She may have forgotten that, but for me she will always be my child.

  “But you—you are different. You have a soft heart. You are kind and good to people who have done so much for you. I know you will not throw out your amma. You will look after her in her old age. Where can I go now? How will I live? Lord Venkatesh knows the hardships I’ve suffered to bring you children up. Am I not entitled to some rest now?

  “I’m tired. My joints pain me. The doctor says I’m suffering from hypertension. I’ve got diabetes. God knows how many more days I have on this earth. But I’m not complaining. I want to live in peace.”

  Aasha Rani heard her out in complete silence. She didn’t want to tell Amma what she really felt. The woman was broken in body and spirit. Aasha Rani was willing to overlook her sly, self-seeking speech. We all have to look out for ourselves in the end, she thought tiredly. Each person finds his or her own way to survive. Poor Amma—her only hope is me. And as for me, I’ll find out soon enough.

  Later in the day, Amma came to Aasha Rani’s bedroom carrying a cup of coffee. “Baby, I was thinking, we should hold a big party to announce your comeback. Give interviews. But only to top magazines. That way your price will also go up. Producers will give you more bhav.”

  Aasha Rani sleepily shooed her off, saying, “Later, Amma, later, I’ve still to make up my mind.”

  Ten minutes after that conversation the phone rang and Aasha Rani picked up the extension. With a slight shock she recognized Linda’s voice. “Well? What did she say? When can I come?” Linda was asking in her usual aggressive fashion. “Ssh! I don’t know; she didn’t say anything. Later,” Amma whispered, “I’ll talk to you later. She might wake up and hear us.” Linda snapped, “I can’t wait forever. We have our deadlines. The great maharani wants to play hard-to-get, does she? Tell her from me, it won’t work. She is the one who needs all the publicity she can get at this point. Remind her it’s we who will be doing her a favor by featuring her. And not the other way around. By the way, does she know I’m the editor now? Anyway, you know the deal—we get the exclusive. If I see any other writeup, it’s off.” Amma assured her she’d talk Aasha Rani into it and hastily rang off.

  Aasha Rani emerged from her room and found Amma talking to Kishenbhai in the living room. “So, nothing really changes, huh?” she said. “I heard you talking to that bitch. Amma, how could you? I don’t care if I don’t ever sign another film, but I’m not going begging to that woman. She can go to hell with her magazine! I don’t need her. This time, if I come back, I will do things my way. Kishenbhai, I’ll let you know my decision in a couple of days. Meanwhile, please do not make any moves on my behalf. Is that clear?” Amma and Kishenbhai stared dumbly at her. Aasha Rani rang the bell and ordered fresh coffee.

  JAY WAS BEGINNING to get restless. And bored. Now that he was actually in the thick of Hindi cinema he had lost his fascination for it. He tried watching the latest releases on video, but they bored him. “When are we going to Madras?” he asked Aasha Rani, adding, “And then after that we, I mean I, shall have to think about getting back.”

  Aasha Rani didn’t say anything. She spoke to Sasha. “Darling, do you want to go and meet your grandfather in Madras?” Sasha looked at her with those beautiful gray-green eyes. “I didn’t know I had a grandpa in Madras.” Aasha Rani patted her head and replied, “Well, now you know. He’s my father and he’s very sweet. You’ll like him.” “Your father?” the child asked. “You didn’t tell me you had a father. What does he look like? What is his name?”

  “I call him Appa. He is very old now and sick.” Sasha thought for a while and then asked, “Is he going to die, Mommy?” Aasha Rani hugged her and replied, “I hope not, darling.”

  They took the first available flight to Madras. Jay was excited about going there, since it was a city he hadn’t been to before. And he was curious about Appa. Aasha Rani had told him enough about her father to arouse his interest. But she’d left the details sketchy. He hadn’t pushed either, thinking it was a touchy, unpleasant aspect of her life that she didn’t particularly want to be reminded of.

  “Nervous?” he asked her after their plane had landed at Meenambakkam Airport. “No,” she replied. “Just hot and sweaty.” Jay laughed. “You’re sounding just like a kiwi on her virgin trip to the Orient. You were born here, remember?” “Yes, of course I remember,” she said a trifle testily, “but I was never comfortable with the heat, always hated it, still do. Some people never get used to sweating; I’m one of them.” And with that she started speaking in rapid-fire Tamil to the porters surging around them as they emerged into the hot Madras air.

  “Mommy, what are you saying?” Sasha kept asking her. Getting no reply, she turned to her father and said, “Mommy’s acting so strange. I can’t understand her language. What’s the matter with her?” Jay kissed Sasha and replied, “Nothing, your mommy is just happy to be going home; that’s all.”

  ON
THE LONG FLIGHT TO MADRAS, Aasha Rani’s thoughts had been full of Sudha. She had been flipping through Linda’s magazine and had found unflattering pictures of herself prominently splashed in their much-read gossip column. “Have You Heard the Latest Scandal?” Oh God! Aasha Rani had felt terrible reading all the muck and seeing her photographs so spitefully distorted. There was a long interview with Sudha that Linda had written. It was a vicious, malignant piece in which Sudha had said something like: “Bechari akka. I can understand how she must be feeling. Now I am the star and she is a nobody. Poor thing—how did she imagine that she could get heroine roles at her age? Someone has misguided her. She should be happy living a retired life, now that she’s married and a mother. Why not give others a chance? She has had hers. OK, so she made so many mistakes and got involved with the wrong men. But she should have realized what she was doing. Akshayji, after all, was a married man. She should not have tried to ruin his marriage. And also Abhijit’s. Now all those curses are on her head. In her place I would be very scared. It is better to remain unmarried and untouched than to get into lafdas with men who belong to other women. I have also learned from my older sister’s mistakes. I will never get involved with a married man. And I will take my time before I decide to settle down, not marry the first stranger—that, too, a foreigner who just comes along! Don’t ask me any more about all that. After all, he is my brother-in-law. At least, that is what akka says I must call him. Who knows whether they are really married or not? Nobody from our family was there. I haven’t been to Australia or Timbuktu or wherever they live to find out. I’ve heard his family does not accept her. But that may be a rumor. What I am saying is that I believe in our customs and conventions. I’m an old-fashioned girl. For me, the saat pheras are sacred. Let my akka live her life as she wants, but my values are different. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I find her relationship with her so-called husband also very ajeeb. Maybe I’m conventional, but I was surprised when that foreigner came to my house uninvited and kept calling me out—alone! I refused flat, saying, ‘What will akka feel?’ Chhee, chhee, chhee, in our country devars don’t behave like this! I was so shocked! These foreigners think all women are like their women—cheap and without morals. I put him in his place. Anyway, it is her life and I can’t interfere; I pray that she is happy, now she can’t hope to come back also, you know the audiences will never accept her. As it is, last time she ditched all her producers and fans and disappeared without any warning. That is not a professional way to behave. Thank God I was there; otherwise who knows what might have happened? So many lakhs, even crores were depending on her name. She just ditched everybody and went away. Fortunately, directors had confidence in me, and all the films were hits. Now, poor lady, not even mother roles will come to her. Who knows, she might ditch again, even if it’s a small role; producers can’t re-shoot all the scenes. What about continuity and all that? Bechara financiers also. They came to me asking me to guarantee that akka won’t let them down. I said, ‘Baba, how can I promise anything on her behalf?’ After all, she’s an elder sister. Much, much older than I am. In fact, I could be like her own daughter. That is the sort of respect I have for my akka. I can’t tell her, ‘Don’t do this, don’t do that.’ Now the rest is up to God. I don’t know whether she still believes in Him, but in our family, we are all very religious and go to Tirupathi every year.”

  AFTER SHE HAD FINISHED reading the piece Aasha Rani wondered what had turned Sudha against her. Why was she so hostile, so bitter? What had Aasha Rani done to her, after all? Were the rumors really true that Amma had poisoned her mind against Aasha Rani? Why would Amma do that? Weren’t they both her children? Or was Amma really such an unfeeling, ruthless woman? Was she that greedy that she would use one daughter against the other just for money? What a horrible thought. And was it only because of the way Appa behaved with her that Amma had turned into such a monster? Whichever way one looked at it, there was always a man in the picture. A man using, abusing and finally discarding a woman.

  Appa

  AMMAHAD INFORMEDAPPAABOUT AASHA RANI’S VISIT. HE was confined to a wheelchair now, with nurses attending him night and day, and his mind had been affected by the multiple strokes he’d suffered. But Amma had also told Aasha Rani that he had his lucid periods. Aasha Rani was both apprehensive and scared about the meeting. She had almost forgotten what her father looked like. The man she remembered was the stranger in family albums. A robust, virile person dressed in a starched white mundu with an angavastram over his shoulders. But she also remembered the playful father of her childhood, who was away more than at home. Who always showered the children with extravagant presents on Diwali and teased their mother to distraction.

  JAY’S FIRST REACTION to her home city was revealing. “It’s much cleaner than Bombay. But the people are shorter and darker.” But by the time they had gotten to the center of town, Jay was clutching his head. “This is insane. What’s going on? Is there a carnival somewhere? Or a religious gathering, a convention of some kind?” Cyclists, buses, cars and pedestrians were all over the place. “Mommy, look at all the bright colors!” Sasha said excitedly. “And those pretty skirts. Mommy, get me one like that.”

  Aasha Rani found the crowds choking the streets of the bustling Mylapore area pretty hard to take herself. But she enjoyed the sight of the women heading for the temple, carrying brass thalis full of pale orange flowers and pretty white jasmine. Jay was fascinated by the white caste marks worn by the men and their mundus. “How comfortable they look in their sarongs,” he commented, prompting Aasha Rani to correct him: “Those are not sarongs. This is our traditional dress. It’s very practical, you know. When it rains, they just hitch the mundus up to their knees and carry on. You’ll see; Appa wears one too.” Sasha giggled. “They look so funny, Mommy, all these men dressed in long skirts.” Aasha Rani didn’t bother to explain anything to the child. As her meeting with her father drew nearer, her head seemed ready to explode from the tension.

  She dressed carefully at the hotel. Amma had picked out one of her old saris from her trunk and given it to her—a bright yellow one with a vermilion border. “Appa likes these colors,” she told her. “Now, don’t go without a pottu, bangles and a thali. You are a married woman and must look like one. Appa will feel disappointed. And here, take this; he’d given it to me long ago, just after you were born. Wear it. Let’s hope he can recognize it.” And Amma had put a heavy gold necklace around Aasha Rani’s neck. “You left all your jewelry behind when you left India,” she’d said. “I tried my best to look after all your things. But after Sudha came…” And she’d let the sentence trail. “How much of my stuff did she steal?” Aasha Rani had demanded angrily. “I have a right to know—I worked very hard for it. Tell me, Amma, what did she take?” Amma had looked embarrassed. “Well, it wasn’t all her doing. After all, when she came to Bombay, she had nothing. We had to show the producers that she was also a big star. All her money from Tamil films had been spent on other things. Poor girl. She needed a few nice pieces of jewelry for parties and all that, so I gave her yours. How was I to know she wouldn’t return them? It was supposed to be a loan!”

  Aasha Rani had seethed with anger. “That girl. I’ll deal with her when I come back. She’s a thief. She has cheated her own sister! Does she really think she’ll get away with it?” And with that she’d slammed the door in Amma’s face.

  THE DRIVE TOAppa’S home seemed interminably long. Aasha Rani kept fidgeting with her sari and hair. She’d strung flowers into her improvised plait and had tried to pin down the perm. She looked absurd and knew it. A few people at the hotel had recognized her and made some tentative inquiries. She was in no mood to indulge them. “No, you’ve got the wrong person,” she’d snapped angrily, leaving Sasha looking most bewildered.

  Jay was busy staring at the enormous cutouts of film stars and politicians lining the roads. “These are incredible! I’ve never seen anything like this in my life! Look at that one, and that! Monstrous! I wish I
’d brought my video camera. People back home are never going to believe this. And these temples—just look at the way they’ve been painted. It’s pop art, you know, unconscious pop art.”

  But Aasha Rani was far too preoccupied to respond.

  Sasha couldn’t get over the cows strolling casually down the streets or settled comfortably bang in the middle of busy traffic intersections. “Look at the moo-moos, Mommy!” she kept repeating. “Why aren’t they inside a ranch?” Aasha Rani told her, “There are no ranches in India.” “Who do the moo-moos belong to?” Sasha persisted. “To everybody,” Aasha Rani answered shortly. “Who feeds them?” “Everybody does.” “Where do they get the grass from?” Sasha wanted to know. But Aasha Rani’s patience had snapped. “Stop asking stupid questions.” Jay placed a restraining hand on her lap and said, “Take it easy, darling. She’s only a child. She’s naturally curious.” “You answer her in that case,” Aasha Rani snarled. “I’m sick and tired of replying to her endless questions.”

  They drove past the famous Marina Beach, and Sasha commented on the color of the sea. “It’s different,” she cried. “So pretty. And the beach is so crowded! But why is everybody wearing clothes? Oh look—they’re going into the water with everything on; they’ll catch a cold!”

  Jay looked out, amused. It was a pretty funny sight. Entire families, covered from head to toe, were wading into the sea, holding rubber chappals aloft. “Don’t they have swimsuits?” Sasha went on. “Nobody in India, in Madras, wears swimsuits,” Aasha Rani informed her. “Yes, they do,” Sasha said. “I saw them in our hotel pool. I saw bikinis and other swimming things.” “Oh, but those were foreigners,” Aasha Rani said. Sasha looked very puzzled. “No, they weren’t. They were like us. Those are foreigners,” she said, pointing outside. Aasha Rani hugged her daughter. What a clever child, she thought, but what a lot I have to teach her. But could Sasha really be blamed for her remark? Who was she? An Indian? A New Zealander? Mixed breed? Someone without a real identity? It was time Sasha learned about her Indian roots. Her mother’s country, her mother’s religion, her mother’s language and, most important, her mother’s people—starting with her grandfather.