Opening Night

by Diksha Basu

  I smiled with satisfaction and walked out.

  Despite the small victory I had just secured, I felt terrible. I had always considered myself beautiful, but suddenly, out in the hallway, I felt ugly and awful. I felt like running away, accepting defeat and just going home. I wanted my father. And my mother. I wanted my boring advertising friends. I wanted … a cigarette! I lit one and tried my hardest to look cool and unruffled when Anand walked out towards me. He seemed to have even more gel in his hair than before. I was not in the mood to talk, but he began, ‘See? Isn’t this fun? This is how the ad auditions work. And the lines aren’t even that long today. I should manage to audition for the Pepsi one in two hours. So I can do at least three auditions today.’

  ‘Yeah, it is interesting. Lots of people want to do ads, huh?’

  ‘Totally, man. I heard they’re auditioning for an ad with Vivan Oberoi next week. So cool. Chal, see you again in a few hours. Oh shit. Wait. I can put my name on this list too.’

  Vivan Oberoi was still an actor?

  The next door said AXIS BANK, MEN 20–30, CORPORATE. Anand opened his bag, pulled out a white button-down shirt, black tie and blazer, and expertly changed into them in the middle of the hallway. He popped into the room and I decided to wander along the hallway a bit more. Giving up this easily would have been anchoring – or was it drifting? Either way, I was meant to be sailing. There were endless doors, most of them looking for men and women under thirty, but there was the occasional door asking for someone up to fifty-five.

  In the hallway, there was politics of another kind in action. Most of the aspiring ad stars evidently knew each other from the auditioning process. While they didn’t appear to want to acknowledge each other, they were also clearly dying to know what progress their competition had made during the day. At the same time, there was a subtle mating game going on. The men and women did look their best, after all. It would be a shame to allow the effort to go unflirted with.

  There was a determination and perseverance in most of them that I had to respect. They changed clothes rapidly, redid their make-up in small hand-held mirrors, fixed their hair and floated in and out of the rooms unperturbed.

  I forced myself to go into a few more rooms. The third one ushered me in. It was for a soda company of some sort and the description read WOMEN, 20–25, YOUTHFUL. I settled into the chair for hair and make-up. They straightened my hair, powdered my face, worked on me for twenty minutes and turned me around to the mirror. My jaw dropped. I was a clone too. My skin was fairer than it had ever been, even in the middle of the winter months in Princeton, and my hair looked shiny and bouncy. The person who was staring back at me looked beautiful, yes, but empty; and whoever she was, she wasn’t me. But my god, she was stunning.

  A short one and a half hours later, I was finally called in to the audition room with two men and we were given a scenario that we were to enact in front of a camera. The situation was this: we leave a night club after a long night of dancing and partying and desperately want food. It is nowhere to be found and I am beginning to get cranky and whiny. Just as we are about to give up hope, lights flash on, music starts blaring and Vipin Patel (he was still an actor too?) emerges dancing through the streets with the soda bottle in his hand and guides us to food galore! I think the ad was for the soda company. Or maybe the food company. Or maybe just Vipin Patel. It was hard to tell.

  The ad director sleepily looked up at me and said, ‘Go change into something sexier, please.’

  ‘Um. This is all I have with me, actually.’

  He looked up and frowned. Eyebrows furrowed, he looked as though he was about to disprove the theory of gravity. Instead he said, ‘You people never come prepared. Okay, Naima …’

  ‘Naiya …’ I corrected.

  ‘Fine. Do one thing. Pull your shirt up and tie it so we can see your belly button, at least.’

  I did. I was determined to sail. The director then directed the three of us to ‘act animated, excited. Vipin Patel has food for you. Jump and laugh with joy.’ I could muster up only about as much excitement as the director himself, but forced myself, bare midriff and all, to giggle and shriek with joy when the director yelled, ‘Now pretend Vipin just walked in.’ He then called ‘Cut!’ and it was over. It had taken about one-tenth the time my hair and make-up, and one zillionth the time I had waited. As we were walking out of the audition room, one of the men I had auditioned with said, ‘I felt as though we could have done more. Maybe thumped chests, no?’ Fortunately, he was addressing the other man, not me. As I walked back into the hallway with my new hair and make-up, I finally felt other women’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t care less at this point. I was exhausted and dejected and ready to anchor into my bed.

  I bumped into Anand and his crew in the hallway. He was now dressed in a white kurta-pyjama with a red tika on his forehead. The girl finally turned to me and said, ‘Well, you look nice.’ I knew I did, but I didn’t want to be their idea of the YOUTHFUL 20–25-year-old any more. I just wanted tobe myself. To get back to Bandra and have a cup of coffee with Jess and Dino while laughing about my day before curling up with a book. I told Anand that I was heading home and he reacted with shock. ‘What? We’ve barely started. There are two more floors. Naiya, we try to go into at least six rooms a day.’ I knew for a fact that Anand had done five ads in his five years in Bombay. At six rooms a day, that made for a pretty dismal success rate. I admired him. I admired them all. But I wasn’t made for this and I was going to have to accept that. By this point I had no idea what I was made for, but I wished them all luck and headed down to rush back to the pseudo comforts of Bandra. It had been a long day and I knew that tears were coming and I wanted to let them.

  I called Jay on the way home. I thought he would understand. In fact, maybe he would invite me over and I could cry on his shoulder while he cheered me up with funny stories about his days as a struggler. I held back the tears and called him. He sounded exasperated when he picked up. I just didn’t get it: he had chased and courted me all over the place, and was probably having multiple affairs with multiple genders, but it was me who felt nervous and uncomfortable when I called him. Why had the tables turned? When had they turned?

  ‘Naiya. What is it?’

  ‘I just went to the Oshiwara building where they hold ad auditions and it was so depressing. I wanted to talk.’

  ‘You auditioned for an ad? Cho chweet. Babe, I don’t have time for this. I have big things going on. What else?’

  ‘What? Well, nothing, really. I have a date tonight.’

  ‘Yeah? Excellent, darling. You need to be meeting more people. Have fun and I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’

  I was crying by the time I got home. The loneliness of Bombay had suddenly reached dizzying levels. Maybe I wasn’t made for this world. It was a lot easier to be ambitious and optimistic while sitting in Manhattan or while declaring myself an ‘actress’ to the man next to me on my British Airways flight to Bombay. I hadn’t really thought it through. There was nothing I had considered out of my reach and suddenly here it was, Bollywood, completely and utterly out of my reach. I didn’t want to sleep with old men; I didn’t want to change outfits in dilapidated buildings; I didn’t want to be here any more. But how was I supposed to admit defeat? To myself, to my father, to my friends, to the world that I had abandoned in favour of stardom? How was I supposed to return to reality? What on earth was my reality now? Was this what happened when you dared to venture off the beaten path? What happened when you wanted to get back on it?

  To: NalSharma84@gmail.com

  From: NaiyaKnows@gmail.com

  Hey Nal,

  I didn’t realize you hadn’t guessed about Jay. Yes, I suppose we are dating. I’m sure you wouldn’t say no to him if he asked you on a date. If James was out of the picture, of course. How are things with James, by the way? Has he got a bit more exciting by now? You poor thing. But he really cares about you and that’s what’s important. Stability is what you need at
this point.

  Things are going really well here. I’m thinking about doing an ad with Vipin Patel. Let’s see what kind of money they offer. Either way, I think modelling and ads are definitely the way to go for now. It’s a great way in.

  I think I’ll be auditioning for Sameer’s movie next week too. It’s been a bit slow, but Jay’s handling that for me so I’m not worried. It’s just such a big opportunity that I don’t want to rush anything.

  Anyway, hope things are good with you. Any news on Hamlet? A small theatre in Brooklyn sounds really perfect for you. Let me know.

  Love,

  Naiya

  To: NaiyaKnows@gmail.com

  From: NalSharma84@gmail.com

  Naiya,

  You make stability sound so boring! Dull or not, I like having the unconditional support of someone I love. You know, it’s nice being in a relationship that isn’t just a means to an end. It’s nice that we don’t have anything to gain from each other – professionally or financially or whatever.

  Great news about the ad, though. Who’s Vipin Patel?

  Here’s my exciting news. I got the role of Ophelia! It’s a six-week run, which means I’ll qualify for Union health insurance this year. Small theatre in Brooklyn or not, I need the health insurance. Given my new gym schedule, combined with my lack of athleticism, it’s probably best to be insured.

  Love,

  Nal

  Naiya Kapur needs to step out of her glass house. Or at least stop throwing rocks. on Sunday x

  Our very own Gandhi apparently said that ‘The future depends on what we do in the present’. By that same token, our future also depends on what we don’t do in the present. So his motivational words were of no use. Henry David Thoreau allegedly said that ‘We were born to succeed, not to fail’. He clearly hadn’t met any of the clones auditioning for ads in Oshiwara; so his words were not only useless, but irritating. I decided I would make myself breakfast and then return to my laptop to find more inspiring quotes. Or at least to find Jack Handey quotes that would make laugh through my misery.

  Damn it. There were no eggs in the fridge. Or milk. Or bread. The three of us really needed to work on our domestic issues. Half the time we were too fast asleep to even let the maid in. Dino refused to give her a key in case she stole something, but the only things she could steal from his room were dirty underwear or boxes of condoms, so I never understood why he was the one with the trust issues.

  When she did come, the floor was so littered with clothes and books and DVDs that she happily cleaned around it all in about ten minutes and raced out of the apartment. Couldn’t blame her. Couldn’t really blame us either. The flat came unfurnished. Meaning we had no bookshelves, no tables, no dressers, nothing. Jess’s room had a bed in it, so she had somewhere to sleep. Dino and I had mattresses on the floor. How he got endless women to share his little mattress was beyond me. Our living room had cushions on the floor that we used to sit on. Cleaning, when it happened, was easy and there was something cosy and lovely about it and I didn’t want to change it. It was nice to cling on to college days for as long as possible.

  I decided I would have a black coffee. And maybe a cigarette to curb my hunger, and then if Jess or Dino woke up, we could go and have breakfast out. That was easier than going downstairs and getting groceries.

  Doorbell. Grr. I wasn’t done smoking the cigarette and reading Bombay Times. I opened the door and found Jay standing there with a white plastic bag in his hand. He smiled and kissed me on my forehead. I melted. He walked in and said, ‘Keep doing what you were doing. Pretend I’m not here. Just thought I’d make you some breakfast. Sounds like you’ve been having a rough week. Ignore me. Shhh. Keep reading the paper.’ But of course, by this point, I had flung away the Bombay Times and was arbitrarily reading an article in the Economic Times. I didn’t even know we subscribed to that.

  And with that, he went into the kitchen and hummed softly to himself while clanking dishes around. He didn’t allow me to help.

  I didn’t know who this man was! Maybe he had registered me mentioning the date and was actually jealous. Maybe I would admit that I didn’t really have a date and we would both have a good laugh over it. All was forgiven as I smiled to myself in the living room. Maybe Thoreau had been right. And this time, I was going to take the initiative and get Sameer’s number and force Jay to talk about From London to Lucknow.

  Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen with scrambled eggs, buttered toast and a mango. Peeled and cut. He sat down with me, but only for ten minutes; he had a meeting he had to rush off to. I wanted to eat, wanted to tell him about the ads, about Mini, my week. I wanted to find out about Sameer. I wanted to talk to someone I liked. But so did he. So, instead of talking, I ate and listened to him talk. About the terrible producers, the sell-out directors, the asshole journalists, the slutty actresses, the formulaic writers. I craftily stopped him at that point and said, ‘So are you writing the screenplay for From London to Lucknow yourself?’

  ‘What? Why did you bring that up all of a sudden?’

  ‘Oh, I was just thinking about it. Because I think you had mentioned it when I first met you, right? You were going to audition for it or something?’

  ‘Oh. Well, no. I’m not auditioning yet. And the script isn’t ready. I’ll show it to you when it is. Relax.’

  ‘Oh good. I can’t wait. Oh my god. That reminds me, can you give me Sameer’s number? God, that had slipped my mind completely!’

  ‘Oh right. Right, of course. Yeah. Take his assistant’s number and send a text.’

  ‘But … well, it’s just … Sameer was so friendly that day that I thought maybe—’

  ‘Just trust me. More coffee?’

  He tried to leave without giving me Sameer’s assistant’s number again, but I wasn’t having it. I had my hands on Namit’s number at last. Whoever this Namit fellow was, he was bound to be easier to manipulate than Jay. As soon as Jay left, I sent a text to Namit saying,

  Hello. This is Naiya Kapur. Sameer and I were supposed to meet. Could you please let me know when that might be possible?

  Later that evening, encouraged by the proceedings at breakfast, I decided to call Jay and see if he wanted to catch a late show of a movie. I hadn’t heard back from Namit yet, so I also wanted to try getting Sameer’s number out of Jay’s phone. I gave him a call around seven in the evening and my optimism was crushed immediately when he responded to my suggestions with, ‘Naiya. I’m busy, okay. I know you don’t do much, but I can’t just take time off like that. Call the guy you’ve been dating.’ I thought I had just called the guy I was dating. The lord giveth and the lord taketh away. Why had I allowed myself to raise my expectations based on one random act of kindness?

  By the time I woke up the next morning, there was a text message from Namit waiting on my phone. It said,

  Thank you for your interest. I will call you shortly.

  I would conquer things on my own. I began my day with that thought and a spring in my step. I didn’t have much to do with my day until I heard from Namit, but I was still determined to maintain the spring. Breakfast. I would make myself breakfast. I put on some Lady Gaga, danced around, shaking my hips and waving my arms, and took out eggs, bread, and coffee. It was a new day with new beginnings and I needed nobody – a little delusion never hurt anybody.

  My phone rang as I was pottering about the kitchen. I was sick of my phone ringing. It never seemed to be the bearer of good news. This time it was a blocked number. I loved that. I loved the momentary anticipation of a blocked or unknown number. In the moments when it rang, before you answered, the possibilities were endless. Who could the mystery caller be? More often than not, it was Vodafone, but the excitement still abounded. I answered.

  ‘Hello, is that Naiya? This is Namit. I’m calling from Sameer Bhatia’s office. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Hi, Namit. Thanks for calling.’

  ‘Ya, ya. What can I do for you?’

  �
��Well, I met Sameer recently and I was supposed to come and meet him about an audition.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, he hasn’t told me about that,’ Namit said haughtily.

  ‘Well, you can check with him. I met him with Jay Gupta. They’ve been discussing me for Sameer’s new film.’

  ‘Oh. You’re one of Jay’s girls?’

  Did he say ‘one of’? He was probably just trying to be snarky because his own life sucked. More than likely, this little Namit twit was an aspiring actor who thought being Sameer’s assistant would propel him into the limelight.

  ‘Okay … Naiya? Odd name. Okay, Naiya. You can come meet Sameer this afternoon at one. Please don’t be late. One means one. It doesn’t mean one-fifteen, not one-thirty. It means one. So if you’re coming from Lokhandwala, please prepare accordingly. Sameer is a very busy man. I will text you our address. We’re near Hill Road in Bandra.’

  I finished my breakfast right as Jess emerged from her bedroom with a dishevelled-looking Vishal right behind her. She was wearing beige capris, a black tank top and a huge, post-orgasmic smile.

  ‘Hello, Miss Naiya. Busy becoming the next Madhuri?’ Vishal asked.

  ‘Good morning, you two. I am, I am. I have a big audition today. Sameer Bhatia!’

  ‘Do you? Well, break a leg. His films are huge! And listen, I want to meet Jay. Let’s all grab a drink some night.’

  I just gave him a quick non-committal nod. He turned to Jess, kissed her on her forehead and said, ‘Chal, I’m off. Send me those lyrics and I’ll see you tonight. Bye, Naiya.’

  Jess was the queen of cheer after he left and so we decided to be decadent and go out for an overpriced cup of coffee. ‘On me,’ said Jess, ‘I have some good news.’

  We walked down to a trendy Bandra café and, since she was paying, I ordered a grande vanilla latte. Jess, super cool woman that she was, settled in with her black coffee.

  ‘You know why I’m paying for your ridiculously priced latte?’