by Saranya Rai
‘I’m glad, Jay. I hope it all works out, and then maybe you can introduce her to us.’
‘You bet! You first, too. Since you have more time for me currently than my so-called best friend.’
‘Yeah . . . I gotta go, Jay, I think Ma’s calling for dinner.’
‘Catch you later, Min.’
Mini stared at the fluorescent stars on her ceiling, glowing in the dim light of her bedside lamp. She hadn’t lied about being called for dinner but she suddenly found that she had no appetite.
15
Every one of the guests remarked on the difference between the last wedding they had attended in this house and this one. The bride was the same but this time she was incandescent with joy. There was laughter, chatter and teasing as she dressed for her groom. It was almost as though the old Heer had returned. Almost. There was a hard wariness in her eyes that never quite faded but one got used to it after a while. Veera painted Heer’s feet with henna, close to tears herself. Another young friend teased Veera while braiding Heer’s beautiful hair. A new set of wedding clothes lay in a carefully folded pile at the foot of Heer’s bed and her eyes keep straying to it.
Heer could barely contain her happiness. She was to finally become Ranjha’s bride on the morrow and nothing but death would ever separate them again.
~
In another room, the village barber fussed over Ranjha’s hair and beard. It was too late in the day for a haircut but he was doing his best to prepare the groom for an early-morning trim, with oil and his expert fingers. Every so often, he clucked in disapproval over the matted locks he was wrestling with. Ranjha was content, not flinching over some of the harder yanks. They could brand him with a red-hot poker if they told him it was a ritual that he must complete to marry Heer. It had taken a long time, but he had realized that the only peace he would ever have was by her side.
Grateful to have his daughter back, Heer’s father had offered to make him the overseer of his not-insignificant fields and harvest. Ranjha had bargained for something else—a small plot of land on the eastern edge of the property where he would build a house for Heer and himself, and his old position, tending to Chuchak’s cows. With a sigh, Chuchak had agreed.
Some of Ranjha’s young protégées ran in and out of the room, getting underfoot and eliciting curses from the barber as they offered updates on how the rest of the house was preparing for the next day.
~
While Akshita had returned as DOP for their CandyFloss collaboration, Lakshya had been replaced by a young woman named Radhika who had written the sketches and was directing them. It had been a very long day, with the CandyFloss crew and Vicky and Kriti working double time to finish shooting everything within the one day. There was one remaining segment left to shoot—an interview that would go online a day after the sketches, giving them more context, explaining the point of the campaign.
This time, Kriti shared the parrot-green couch with Vicky, and nervous exhilaration filled her till she could barely sit still. A reassuring pressure enveloped her hand. Unmindful of all the eyes around them, Vicky held her hand, thumb drawing circles on her wrist. A few months ago, Kriti would perhaps have protested, but she found that she no longer cared. She valued the comfort too much. Also, Vicky had been right about her. There was a certain exhilaration in personally taking charge of her image and reputation like this. She would perhaps never be as comfortable goofing around for the camera as Vicky was, but she was done letting the likes of Bhaskar Joshi dictate her life and mentally living in perpetual damage-control mode. Of course, the fallout may be catastrophic, but she would deal with that when it occurred. Or well, Samiya would.
Kriti knew she would have to deal with the kind of questions she always evaded, in this interview. Sure enough, as soon as the camera blinked on, a couple of generic questions in, Radhika went straight for the meat. ‘Kriti, you’re known for your reticence. Some people might even call you overly diplomatic. What prompted you to take up such a personal campaign with Vicky? Is it purely a promotional gimmick for Ranjha Ranjha?’
Kriti took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think we’d be fooling anybody if we said this is unrelated to Ranjha Ranjha. The fact that Vicky and I are sitting together on this sofa today has everything to do with the fact that we’re playing Heer and Ranjha in an upcoming film. But to say this is just a promotional gimmick is also untrue. This is something we’ve talked about often as a crew—the value of telling love stories, and not just epic romances, but everyday ones. There’s something about hearing your friend or uncle or mother talk about how they fell in love, irrespective of whether it worked out or not, that reaffirms my faith in the world, you know?’
‘I agree absolutely,’ Vicky jumped in, ‘we just want people to get talking about love. It’s not even that people don’t talk about it. Consider this an organized effort. We’re using a hashtag. Anyone clicking on the tag on any site will hopefully find a way to connect with strangers over stories like these. And that’s a lot of what film-making is about, right? Telling stories that have universal appeal even when you’re unfamiliar with the specific context.’
Radhika had a small smile on her face and Kriti had a sudden sense of foreboding. ‘I have a bit of a personal quibble with your statements. Sure, it’s great that you want people to talk more openly about their love stories and love in general, but why does that not apply to your industry? Whenever there are reports of relationships among actors, they resort to that hackneyed “we’re just friends” line. Sometimes, they’ll keep up that lie until they get married! Isn’t it hypocritical to want to share the love and say #PyarKar and all that while refusing to show that same honesty?’
‘You’re right, it is hypocritical.’ Vicky answered before Kriti had to. ‘A lot of things about the Hindi film industry are hypocritical. The thing is, I can’t speak for anyone else. I can’t say that actors have a greater right to privacy than anyone else. That’s not true. I can understand how someone who lives their entire life in the public eye might want to protect some part of it and keep it only for themselves.’
Giving Vicky’s arm a slight squeeze, Kriti added, ‘And we also understand that for a lot of people in our country, love is a very high-stakes game. It’s a matter of actual life and death. So, obviously we respect the need to keep a relationship private for people who are not public figures also. Of course, there is no compulsion. We just think if you can and would like to share your story, it’s a great conversation to have.’
Kriti could see Vicky grinning at her from the corner of her eye. Radhika, though, was not satisfied.
‘Fair enough, so let’s talk about you two personally. There’s been a lot of speculation about your individual relationship statuses throughout. Vicky, you were once quoted to have said you were seeing Karen Andrade, your hairstylist. And Kriti, there have been rumours linking you to director Abhimanyu Neogi. Would you like to offer any clarity on these?’
Despite the heavy air-conditioning and Vicky’s staunch presence by her side, Kriti could feel a bead of perspiration run down her back. Radhika was smart and this interview was harder than she’d anticipated, even knowing they’d be talking about these things.
Vicky went first. ‘My team’s issued a clarification of that before and that really is all there is to it. I made a joke about being so very single that my most intimate relationship was with my hairstylist and it got quoted out of context by irresponsible tabloid journalists.’
He looked straight into the closest camera as he emphasized the last words and Kriti had to stifle a gasp. Vicky was incorrigible! She rushed in before Vicky could do any major damage to himself.
‘And the rumours linking me to Abhimanyu Neogi are absurd. They originated from a blind item and we all know how reliable those are. I have the barest acquaintance with him, and it’s deeply unfair to the both of us to have this gossip surrounding us. I can’t even claim that we’re “just friends”, forget anything more!’ Kriti ended on a chuckle, though she
did not feel like laughing in the least.
‘Okay, we’ll take your word for it. To be honest, Team CandyFloss is interested in a more obvious equation. Yours. Given your chemistry that’s already being written about, before your first film together has come out, and all these appearances you’ve been making together for the press and privately, has love bloomed on the sets of Ranjha Ranjha?’
‘Oh yeah, Chinu from wardrobe is getting married to Suresh from the art department! As soon as we finish the final schedule in the new year.’
This time Kriti laughed for real while Radhika shook her head.
‘Classic deflection, Vicky. The question was whether you and Kritika are in love?’
Vicky held up his hands in surrender and turned to face Kriti. This wasn’t in the script and Kriti was terrified of what was going to come next. With a much gentler smile, he took her hand again. ‘I’ll tell you this, Radhika, I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to work with Kritika without falling a little bit in love with her. She’s so dedicated to what she does, so disciplined, and such a solid team player. It’s a privilege to get to work with her.’
Kriti exhaled slowly. She really had to stop underestimating Vicky. He would always look out for her comfort and best interests. Taking her cue from him, she gave Radhika a brilliant smile of her own.
‘And as far as Vicky is concerned, it’s impossible to work with him without developing a lot of affection for him either. He’s always got your back. He’s great at reading the mood on set and playing to it. And I haven’t stopped laughing since we began work on Ranjha Ranjha.’
Radhika looked torn between exasperation and making heart eyes at Vicky, Kriti noted with amusement.
‘Come on, guys, is that an admission of a relationship?’
Slipping into the groove of the interview, Kriti continued grinning. ‘We just told you! We have a lot of affection for each other and a fabulous working relationship!’
‘But are you two dating?’
Vicky shook his head seriously. ‘Making a film is so much work, Radhika. Nobody has the time to date while working on a film. Except Chinu and Suresh, of course. We don’t know how they did it.’
Giving up with a sceptical look, Radhika moved on to another line of questioning and Kriti mentally high-fived her partner. She hadn’t told a single lie, nor had they said anything particularly damning. Vicky had been right. They really did make a formidable team.
~
Arun Jadhav’s studio was such a stark contrast from the last location he’d photographed her in, Sudarshana felt a fresh set of nerves overtake her. At his request, she’d dressed up as she would for a semi-formal occasion—in a mulberry Bhagalpuri silk and her mother’s emerald drops. Around her, his studio gleamed in sharp black-and-white angles. Standing out conspicuously was the plush dark-grey armchair, right in the middle, that she lounged in. It was too soft to belong to this world of polished tile and tightly pulled screens.
Like the last time, Arun’s focus was entirely on his equipment, although he was using a digital camera now. The studio lights were blazing and despite the air conditioning, a sheen of perspiration had appeared on Sudarshana’s brow which she had to keep mopping. Perhaps it was also the thought of all of that laser-like focus shifting to her soon that had her heating up even more. ‘Are you going to begin any time today, or should I call my assistant and have her cancel tomorrow’s meetings as well?’
Arun hadn’t really been taking all that long and this was Sudarshana’s desperate attempt to fill a silence she was growing uncomfortable with. Unfortunately, Arun cottoned on immediately, stopping and raising his eyes to her. He stared at her with a growing smile on his face, until Sudarshana could barely stand it.
Taking pity on her, he returned to making a last adjustment to one of the lights. ‘One of the many things you need to do, Sudarshana, is learn how to relax.’ He returned to his camera. ‘When was the last time you took a vacation?’
‘I take plenty of vacations! I went to Berlin just before we began shooting Ranjha Ranjha.’
‘And did that have anything to do with the film festival that was going on then?’
Sudarshana coloured even more. ‘I enjoy attending film festivals and networking. It is a vacation.’
‘I should rephrase. When was the last time you took a vacation that had nothing to with films? No film festivals, not location scouting, definitely not shooting, no promotion tours, no award shows or premiers—you get my gist.’
She had to stop to think for a moment. ‘I think it was in Pondicherry . . . four years ago? A niece got married. And I decided to stay back for a few days after the wedding.’
The camera clicked a few times, startling Sudarshana. She hadn’t even realized they’d begun shooting.
‘All right, it’s your turn.’
‘My turn?’
‘To ask me something. That was our deal, right?’
‘Right!’ She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth tilting upward, while his camera clicked away. ‘Okay . . . Give me the top three people you loathe, at a visceral level. They have to be people you know or have known personally!’
‘That’s too difficult, I’m a misanthrope. I hate most people.’
‘You promised to answer honestly, Arun.’
At Sudarshana’s gentle reminder, Arun’s flippancy vanished.
‘I can’t really pick three people in my life whom I have despised like that. A bureaucrat who makes life unnecessarily difficult for you, schoolyard bullies, a friend who stole from me—they all eventually faded into minor prickles of annoyance. At least, for me, luckily. Obviously, that’s not the case with everyone. But . . . there are two I can’t bring myself to think about without shaking with anger—a neighbour-uncle with a fondness for having young boys sit on his lap, and a maths professor in college who made no secret of her disdain for me and reminded me every day how I would never amount to anything.’
Sudarshana swallowed, hands clawing and loosening by her sides, wanting to offer comfort but unsure of how. ‘Oh, Arun . . . I’m so sorry.’ It sounded ridiculously dry and inadequate, but she didn’t know what else to say in the moment that would not sound insincere.
He gave her a wry smile. ‘You sure know how to go straight for the jugular.’
‘I promise the next question will be about your favourite ice-cream flavour.’
He laughed at that, most of the uneasiness disappearing. ‘Vanilla.’
‘Seriously?’
He nodded, camera forgotten, fixing that disturbingly intent gaze on her. ‘Yeah, I know what people say about vanilla, but if you ask me, it’s because they have no taste for subtlety. Vanilla is delicious. You have to savour the gentle sweetness and the promise of decadence. Not to mention, it’s so versatile—works with so many other flavours and additions. Never underestimate good vanilla.’
Her lips parted, drawing in a harsh breath in an attempt to cool her overheated cheeks and calm her fluttering heart.
‘Are you still talking about ice cream?’
Arun grinned like a Cheshire cat. ‘What did you think I was doing?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think, Arun Jadhav, you were flirting recklessly with me.’
‘I’m glad you’ve caught on.’ He walked forward, coming to a stop right at her feet, and brushed back some of the frizzy strands that had escaped the low knot at the nape of her neck.
She sat very still, even as goosebumps broke out on her back. ‘And were these photo shoots an elaborate ruse to flirt with me?’
His fingers brushed against her throat once, as he moved his hand away. ‘The first one wasn’t. This one may have been, just a little bit.’
Bending down, until his face was level with hers, he leant forward and brushed his lips against hers. Just a feather of a touch that made her breath stutter and body clench with longing. She angled her head upwards, begging for more. He obliged, bracing both hands on the armrests and dipping his head, focusing all that laser inten
t on her mouth, breath heavy and lips swollen. Dragging his teeth gently down her throat, he pulled back, finally. ‘See what I mean about the promise of decadence? So sweet, with the potential of so much sin.’
She cleared her throat. ‘The photographer hitting on his subject? Don’t be such a cliché, Arun.’
He walked backwards slowly, returning to his camera. ‘It is, isn’t it? My God, working with you is rubbing off on me in the worst ways.’
She adjusted the pallu, making a great show of smoothening out the pleats. ‘You’d better finish taking these pictures. Whatever your nefarious purpose, I didn’t dress up for nothing.’
‘It was definitely not for nothing.’
Suppressing a grin with difficulty, Sudarshana pulled her bare feet up on to the armchair, settling back comfortably, and returning a gaze that was as direct as his. ‘However, I should add that I am not averse to the idea of occasionally being part of such clichés.’
‘Only occasionally?’
‘We do have a film to finish shooting. Or have you forgotten?’
‘I’m not going to lie, Sudarshana, I don’t always remember which day of the week it is when I’m around you. Working with you is both satisfying and so frustrating.’
‘And I get the drama-queen tag? All right, finish taking these pictures, and we’ll see what we can do about your . . . frustration.’
Promising her all kinds of payback with his eyes, Arun picked up his camera.
16
Sitting by her window, Heer carefully brushed flecks of dried henna off her clothes while she waited for her mother’s call. Most of her companions had retired to their homes for the night. Heer waited for her mother to let her know that Ranjha had finished eating, so that she could go downstairs for her own meal. They were not to see each other up until the ceremony, no matter how redundant the ritual felt.