by Saranya Rai
‘Merely despondent at the thought of our Heer leaving us, Malki. I have loved her as I would my own daughter.’
‘But she isn’t going far! Just a few miles.’
Kaido’s smile became oilier.
‘Of course, where would she go with that penniless Ranjha, anyway? Every cloud has a silver lining, eh?’
Malki and Chuchak did not join in Kaido’s laughter.
‘You have no cause for concern, brother. Heer and Ranjha aren’t going anywhere, by the grace of God,’ Malki said as she lifted the tray, offering the selection of sweets to her brother.
Laughter fading in uneasiness, Kaido studied the sweets. His hand hovered over a peda when Malki chimed in again.
‘May I recommend the laddu? It’s a rather special recipe and I’ve been saving this one for you. Wouldn’t even let Heer eat the last one yesterday.’
Paling visibly, Kaido dropped his hand and staggered backwards. Chuchak delivered the ultimatum.
‘It has been a pleasure having you with us for so long, Kaido. After all, what is more important than family? However, I think it is time you returned to your own home. It doesn’t do to let a house sit empty like that for so long. It invites trouble. And we wouldn’t want any trouble, now? A few of the boys will escort you this evening.’
Smiling slightly, Chuchak put his arm around his wife, pulling her away from Kaido and his venom.
~
Putting her pen down, Sudarshana leant back into her chair and made a quick call to her first assistant director. ‘Ipshita? I decided to rewrite the end after all. Send someone as soon as you can and take my script and notes. I need the changes to the last few scenes typed up and sent to the core cast and crew by midnight. I need everyone prepared before we leave for Igatpuri on Tuesday.’
Ipshita’s gleeful tone echoed down the line. ‘What about Prakash ji? He absolutely hated the idea of an alternative ending. What’s he going to say?’
Rising from her writing table, Sudarshana stretched lightly, her back and elbows creaking in protest. ‘Prakash saab is an old geezer and the Sapney Entertainment board knows whose word to take if there is a polite difference of opinion.’
Ipshita snorted. ‘Polite, right. If I may ask, what changed your mind about this? I mean, you were so set on the lyrical quality of Heer and Ranjha’s death in the end?’
‘I think it’s time for Sudarshana Samarth to be a little radical and not allow her critics to get away with calling her “pretentious” and “boring” and “predictable” any more.’
‘And . . . a sappy happy ending is radical?’
‘Love is always radical, Ipshita. And love winning out in the middle of unrest, tension and bigotry? That’s a choice I’m making over the theatre of tragedy.’
‘Wow . . . you should probably note that down somewhere to put in your eventual autobiography.’
‘Duly noted. I’m actually toying with the idea of making this a trilogy. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and rewriting the end gave me the spark I need. What if I write another couple of adaptations of popular love stories but with a similar twist in the end? Think Vicky and Kritika will bite?’
‘Your afternoon has been incredibly productive. And here I thought you were napping while I was overseeing the sound editing of that dratted market scene. To answer your question, yeah, you bet Vicky and Kritika will bite. This film has done as many wonders for their relationship status as it has for yours.’
‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business about my relationship status and just do as you’re told.’
‘Yeah, yeah, Sandy will be over in an hour to take the script.’
Disconnecting the call, Sudarshana left her phone on her table, heading to her kitchen to get a coffee refill. The machine was already whirring, little wisps of steam curling from the pot. She leant against her polished granite island and stared at the orange-streaked sky outside.
God, are all young people equally impertinent these days?
Beside her, Arun, delectable in an open-collar white shirt, moved fluidly from counter to cabinet, chopping vegetables and gathering spices. ‘What are you looking so pensive about?’
‘I was having a “hamaare zamane mein” moment.’
‘Do share what was so special in our zamana.’
‘People had the decency to not speculate so much about other people’s personal lives.’
Arun stopped short, raising an eyebrow, with a look of such incredulous disbelief that she was forced to laugh.
‘Okay, okay, they had the decency to keep their speculation to themselves and not bring it up in public or to people’s faces.’
‘Sudarshana, love, I don’t know how to tell you that even that is patently untrue. Our generation gets off on kaha-suni more than any young person. Let them have their schoolyard whispers.’
Swiping a beautifully julienned piece of carrot from the chopping board, she sighed.
‘You’re so tiresomely contrarian, I don’t even know why I invited you over for dinner.’
‘Because I’m the best cook you know. Also, the best one other thing that will make you blush if I say it out loud.’
And despite her self-proclaimed real-life cynicism, Sudarshana coloured as rosily as the heroines of films from her zamana.
~
A review of Ranjha Ranjha from Our People, published 12 November 2018.
The Millennial Heer–Ranjha by Paridhi Datta
Film: Ranjha Ranjha
Cast: Kritika Vadukut, Vicky Behl, Priyadarshini Borpuzari, Sailesh Prabhakar, Jatin Dayal
Director: Sudarshana Samarth
Production: Sapney Entertainment
Running Time: 156 minutes
Rating: ***
‘Not another Heer–Ranjha movie!’ you say? This reviewer would normally sympathize. But as it turns out, there are still a few surprises left in that tired box. Samarth’s writing and direction of this legendary love story is every bit as melodramatic as her fans hope and critics despair. With some very interesting narrative upgrades reflecting a more modern sensibility, this isn’t the Heer–Ranjha of your grandparents’ generation. A large part of that is due to the fierce energy Kritika Vadukut brings as Heer and the transformation of Vicky Behl’s Ranjha from Bandra-bro-laid-back to a grown-up who files taxes on time. Vicky’s romantic heroes are always convincing, but there is something about the way this Ranjha looks at Heer that offers immediate insight into why fans of the two actors have banded together with the hashtag #Vickriti on social media, and insist that their spark isn’t confined to the screen.
The supporting cast is solid, even if Dayal channels a little too much Iago into his casteist Kaido, while the music is mediocre at best. It definitely takes away from what could have been a shorter, tighter film. Knowing Sudarshana Samarth’s love for crystal chandeliers, gold jewellery weighing kilos and sweeping shots of marble staircases, one wonders why she has waited so long to direct her first period romance. The answer may have to do with how unexpectedly different the look of Ranjha Ranjha is from Samarth’s usual fare. Stark stone-and-mud-brick dwellings shot in sharp relief, miles of green bladed fields and ominously muted light—there is an elemental reminder of impending tragedy all around. A definite hat-tip is due to Arun Jadhav’s cinematography. Sure, Heer’s phulkari dupattas gleam with silk thread and thousands of mirrors, and the impoverished Ranjha is as ripped as a seasoned athlete and owns a collection of crisp cotton kurtas: this is after all a Samarth film. But it would not be amiss to say that perhaps a new era of Sudarshana Samarth is upon us, one with a more restrained eye and youthful chemistry.
Acknowledgements
I dedicate this book to fellow fangirls around the world. Fandom was the first space I found where I could not only explore my fondness for writing fiction but also get the support, peer criticism, encouragement and practice all fledgling writers need. Fandom also led me to my wonderful editor, Roshini Dadlani, who patiently held my hand through the nerve-racking process
of writing my first novel. And, finally, a shout-out to my sister, Priyanshi, for beta-reading it despite loathing the romance genre, and for plain telling me to suck it up every once in a while.
THE BEGINNING
Let the conversation begin…
Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinbooks
Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks
Pin ‘Penguin Books’ to your Pinterest
Like ‘Penguin Books’ on Facebook.com/penguinbooks
Find out more about the author and
discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.in
PENGUIN BOOKS
UK | Canada | Ireland | Australia
New Zealand | India | South Africa
Penguin Books is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.
This collection published 2018
Copyright © Saranya Rai 2018
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Jacket images © Parag Chitale
ISBN: 978-0-143-44308-7
This digital edition published in 2018.
e-ISBN: 978-9-353-05202-7
For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.