Opening Night

by Diksha Basu

  ‘Nothing. He didn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘This is going to be an interesting night,’ Riteish said. ‘Here, have my drink. You need it more than I do.’

  We looked over at the bar where Jay was holding Seher tightly by her elbow and speaking angrily into her ear. She was looking away and trying desperately to keep up appearances. Unfortunately, it was too exciting a sight, and a few cameras had clearly already managed to click photographs. Seher managed to push him off her and rushed out of the party with Sonal. She even waved weakly in my direction as she ran for the door.

  Jay waited to get another drink from the bar, downed it in two seconds and continued to move shakily through the party. He went up behind Namit and slapped him on the back as if they were old pals. But the slap was so hard that Namit’s Kingfisher bottle went flying out of his hand and shattered against the floor. All eyes were now on Jay. An eerie silence came over the room.

  Jay continued stumbling around, leaving destruction in his wake. He made his way to Rajat and shook his hands vigorously, then slumped into a longer-than-necessary hug. And then I saw him pushing through people and heading determinedly in my direction.

  Riteish whispered, ‘Go. Leave,’ and vanished. I was stuck, though. Like a deer in headlights, I just stood there as he made his way towards me. He came up to me and squeezed my shoulder. He was squeezing far too tightly and it hurt, but I didn’t want to create a scene. He took the drink from my hand and downed it. Then he handed the glass back to me and smiled. It wasn’t Jay. It was somebody else in Jay’s body. A stranger.

  ‘You look amazing,’ he slurred. ‘What fucking cleavage.’

  I winced. I didn’t want him near me but he wasn’t loosening his grip on my shoulder.

  ‘Thanks. I was just leaving,’ I said.

  ‘Leaving? Good. I’ll come with you. To your place. Let’s go.’

  ‘No. No, Jay. I’m leaving alone.’

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Hot cold hot cold.’

  ‘Look, Jay, you’re drunk. Go home. Don’t do something stupid. Seher’s a nice a girl.’

  ‘HA!’ he yelled into my face, ‘Seher’s a nice girl? That’s rich, Naiya. That’s just fucking rich. If you like her so much, why did you tell her not to do the film?’

  I stood there in silence. I didn’t owe him an explanation.

  ‘What? You have nothing to say? Nothing at all? Come, then. Let’s make it a simple transaction. Come home with me, come be with me, and I’ll get you the role.’

  By now he had his hand wrapped around my upper arm and I could feel his fingers digging into my flesh.

  ‘Jay, let me go.’

  He let go, stepped back, and laughed at me. ‘Go. I’m letting you go,’ he said and stumbled away. Swaying left and right, he made his way towards the door as people watched and whispered. Matthew caught Jay’s arm near the door and tried to help steady him, but Jay just pushed him off, yelled, ‘FUCK OFF,’ and walked out of the door.

  Riteish and Jess came rushing towards me. I was in a daze and most certainly was not in the mood to discuss my conversation with Jay. I answered vaguely, ‘Nothing. He was just trying to be flirty.’

  ‘What a creep,’ Jess said.

  ‘Hey, if you guys don’t mind, I think I’m going to head home. I knew I wasn’t in the mood for a night like this,’ I said.

  ‘Come, I’ll take you back to Bandra,’ Riteish said. ‘Jess has met a lovely little lady.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll get home by myself. You stay.’ I just wanted to be alone and didn’t want to chat with him during the ride back. Riteish sensed that and said, ‘Naiya, I’m coming with you. We don’t have to talk. I’ll just drop you home. I’m done here. Trust me, I’ve got enough to write about.’

  Riteish was wonderful. He sat in silence next to me in the rickshaw all the way to Bandra. As my eyes began to prick with tears, he held my hand and we continued not talking. And I rested my head against his shoulder and let a few tears drop as we bumped down Linking Road.

  While I was making myself a cup of tea before bed, my phone rang. Jay. I rejected. About four minutes later it rang again. Jay. I rejected again. I then got a text from him that read,

  Need to speak to you. Call.

  I turned my phone off and went to sleep.

  Naiya Kapur will be off Facebook. on Saturday x

  When I woke up and turned my phone on the next morning, I could see that it had been a good decision to switch it off. I had seven more missed calls from Jay. He had finally given up at two thirty. I couldn’t take it any more. The first thing I did was check the prices for tickets back to New York. I was done. I wasn’t cut out for this world. I didn’t think I was cut out for cubicles and pencil skirts either, but the monotony of that life was beginning to look appealing. I didn’t know what I was going to do next but was sure I would figure it out. The first thing I wanted to do was go home and sit in front of my TV and chat with my father about Jay Leno and the US Open. I wanted to be average. I wanted to be boring. Looking at how expensive the tickets to the US were just made me even more depressed. How much worse could things get? Apparently, a lot worse.

  It was about noon when Riteish called me, his voice shaky. ‘Naiya, are you okay? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at home. Right where you left me. Why?’

  ‘Shit. You haven’t heard.’

  I had no idea what he was talking about. What had happened? Was it my father? Oh dear god, no. Please, no. What was it?

  ‘Jay. He died last night.’

  The phone slipped from my hand, my head started spinning and I slumped to the floor, too shocked to speak. My voice was stuck, and so were the tears and my emotions. What was I supposed to do? Whom could I call? Whom did I even have the right to call? Why would Jay have done this to me?

  I got up mechanically, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and just stood there. Now what?

  While I was trying to figure out where to go, it hit me. It started at the tips of my toes and inched its way over my entire body. The pain, the tears, the emotions, the misery, the confusion, the self-pity … everything that had been suppressed burst out. I collapsed down to my knees and the tears just wouldn’t stop. I lost track of time, space, thoughts, self, surroundings, the world, and I cried with abandon. I cried without my mind, without registering why I was crying, and without an end in sight.

  I cried for everything the city had showed me. I cried for Jess, for Seher, for Jay; I cried for everything and everyone; but most of all, I cried for myself.

  Through the tears, though, I could feel a hint of something else. Something light. I think it was relief, a hint of it. Something felt complete. A weight felt lifted. But right then, that feeling was just a sliver. The rest was an excruciating emptiness and pain.

  I lay on the floor for god knows how long. I don’t remember exactly what happened or how things unfolded, but there was a point when Jess rushed into the room and brought a glass of water to my lips, and then Dino came in and sat next to me and gently stroked my hair. I remember my phone ringing and Jess rushing to silence it. I remember my tears finally drying up only to come flooding down again when Riteish walked in through the door.

  He lit a cigarette and told us everything he knew. The details were still blurry since Jay’s body had been discovered just a few hours ago by his maid. Initial indications were that it was an overdose – whether accidental or intentional had not been determined. A glass crack pipe was found at the scene. A glass crack pipe? I didn’t even know what that was – other than that it was one of the clichéd items found at scenes of rock star deaths. I just sat there listening to Riteish, Jess and Dino theorize over the death. I had nothing to contribute and didn’t know what I should be feeling. The only overpowering thought I could isolate from the jumble of emotions was that I was feeling less than I ought to.

  After a while, all four of us sat in silence. Nobody knew what to do. I desperately wanted something, anything to do. Were we
, was I, supposed to do something? Go to Jay’s place? Call Seher? Call one of Jay’s friends? But who were his friends? He didn’t have any real friends. He had acquaintances and colleagues he worked with, and men and women he slept with, but nobody who was really a friend. Was I to continue my day as if a distant friend had tragically died? What did one do when a distant friend died? When my mother died, I had so much to do, I barely had time to stop and think. And, what was I supposed to do about the increasing awareness of the missed calls? As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I had to go to the bathroom and vomit. Riteish, Dino and Jess followed and I knew I had to tell them about the missed calls. I couldn’t handle it on my own. I told them that I suspected that if I had answered one of those calls, he might not be breaking news right then. But I also suspected that he always wanted that front page and he was finally going to get it. My confession was followed by silence. Jess broke it with one word. ‘Shit.’ And then she erupted.

  ‘You will not feel responsible for this. Is this understood? You made the mistake of getting involved with a mentally disturbed person but this is absolutely not your fault and don’t you dare think so. You aren’t his mother. It is not your responsibility to answer calls from people who are destroying you on the off chance that they decide to kill themselves. Okay? He was insane and everyone saw that. You saw that. So stop being an idiot.’

  I had never heard Jess react so violently before. She stormed out of the apartment and Dino, Riteish and I were left sitting there in complete silence. Dino, calm and collected and wonderful as he was, said, ‘Eh. You must be tired, si? Do one thing. Spend the day in bed, watch a movie, eat some food. I bring you food. I don’t know what to say, actually, but … ah, Jess … eh … maybe she is right. But you don’t need her to be yelling right now. I’m home all day, so I’ll check in on you.’

  I knew he was right. I had never had him speak to me so softly before. Sympathy appeared to have improved his English too. I didn’t know what to do and so decided to just follow Dino’s advice. I switched my phone off, changed out of my jeans and got back into bed.

  I lay in bed for many, many hours. Dino and Jess kept checking in on me. They brought me soup, they brought me Maggi, they brought me tea, and they brought me love. Every time they stepped into my room, I would have a fresh burst of tears and would then go back to lying in bed with a sense of complete hollowness. I would hear the doorbell ring outside, and the hushed voices. Everything else, I was blind and deaf to. I wanted to turn my phone on but was scared. Scared to find out how my involvement in the whole business was going to unravel. This was India and the press was always determined to label a suicide or accidental death a murder. And if Jay’s dialled calls list got out, I was sure to be put under the scanner.

  When I woke up next morning, for a moment, everything felt normal. I had forgotten all about the previous day. But everything came rushing back instantly. Scared that my face was going to be on the front page of the newspaper for the wrong reasons, I jumped out of bed and ran to get the paper. There it was. In all its salacious glory: JAY GUPTA FOUND DEAD IN HIS ANDHERI APARTMENT

  The article had the same basic details that Riteish had told us. While the cause of death was officially being called an ‘accidental overdose’, the press had decided to call it a suicide. Anyway, more details were promised in the inside pages and then, of course, there was a detailed synopsis of the life and times of Jay himself. I allowed myself a sigh of relief when I read that he and Seher had been facing difficulties and were seen in a heated argument the night of his demise. Seher was going to be taken in for questioning later in the week. Apparently, she was not available for comment despite repeated attempts.

  As I read more, I suddenly saw it – my first newspaper appearance. My heart raced. This was not how I wanted to first appear in the newspapers. I was in the background of a picture of Jay pushing Matthew aside. I wasn’t named, but it was clearly me. My involvement was documented.

  Reading the article, I realized that while I was trying to calculate my involvement in his death, so was everyone else. A few of his ‘colleagues and friends’ had given quotes, and each one of them seemed to be using this as a publicity forum. Rajat gave a quote saying, ‘Yes, Jay was at the screening of my movie. He came and was very happy that my movie might be releasing in multiplexes later this year. I am shocked and saddened to hear of his death today.’

  I turned my phone on. Surprisingly, there weren’t too many text messages or missed calls. Amidst some calls and texts from Riteish and Nal was an unknown number and a troubling text message from Seher that read,

  I need to speak to u. Please. Desperately. Why is ur phone off?

  I wondered if the unknown number was from the police or a journalist. Scared and nervous, I called back.

  ‘Naiya?’ came a whisper.

  ‘Yes. Who is this?’ I asked, ready to say ‘no comment’ and slam the phone down.

  ‘Namit. It’s Namit. From Sameer’s office. Sameer gets back to Bombay this evening and you need to be at the office to see him. This is your chance.’

  ‘What? Are you crazy? Jay just died.’

  ‘Yes, he did, but that doesn’t mean the world stops turning. The movie still needs to get made. So I suggest you show up here at seven thirty in the evening to give your condolences to Sameer. You didn’t hear it from me.’ And Namit disconnected the call.

  I allowed myself just a little smile and called Seher back. She answered after several rings and sounded hoarse and terrible. She had obviously been crying. My call brought with it a fresh burst of tears. Before I even said a thing, voice quivering, she sobbed, ‘Naiya. Everyone’s saying it was me. I swear I didn’t do anything. I swear.’

  ‘I know, Seher. Let people say what they want to. It wasn’t you. You chill.’

  ‘No. No, I can’t chill. It isn’t that simple. I loved him. I really did. I don’t know what happened. And I’m getting fucked now. Nobody is talking to me properly. The newspapers and magazines keep calling me. I can’t handle this.’ By this point, she was just shrieking and I didn’t know what to suggest. She was going through everything I thought I would be.

  The bastard. He did it. He destroyed her posthumously.

  ‘Seher. Calm down, okay? Calm down. You aren’t to blame.’ I searched for Jess’s words to me. ‘He’s insane. He was insane. That isn’t your responsibility, okay? You just got stuck in the wrong place at the wrong time. Get a hold of yourself.’

  ‘No, Naiya, no. It was me.’

  I couldn’t handle her any more. I felt horrible for feeling relieved. ‘Seher. Where are you? Is Sonal with you? Turn your phone off, leave the newspapers and the TV, and just spend some time alone with Sonal, okay? There isn’t much else you can do right now.’

  ‘I just can’t handle this. I thought you would understand since he’d been trying to reach you that night too,’ Seher said. ‘But you obviously don’t give a shit.’ And then she cut the call abruptly.

  I wanted to call her back, help her through this, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t be involved. I couldn’t hold myself responsible for anyone else. These were not things I could handle. All I had wanted was to have some fun and be a star. Simple. I didn’t sign up for any of this. I wanted to rewind to the day I graduated from Princeton and do it all over again. Part of me knew that maybe I wouldn’t have done it much differently, but who knows? Maybe none of this would have happened. But then what? Maybe I’d still be stuck in that stupid cubicle, getting uglier and older and crabbier by the day.

  I felt sad for Seher. So sad that I called Namit back and told him that I wouldn’t be visiting Sameer’s office.

  Naiya Kapur is on the brink of something scary. on Wednesday x

  I avoided everything for the next few days. My phone stopped ringing as often, and the newspapers stopped printing as much muck about Jay. Jess and Dino were no longer treating me like a fragile egg. Despite all that, I felt this strange anxiety every time I stepped out of our apartment. I found myse
lf going out less and less, and when I did step out, I kept Dino, Jess or Riteish around me like shields. When a motorbike sped past particularly close, I stumbled backwards, expecting a splash of acid to burn my face off. I felt as though I was living someone else’s life. I don’t quite know what I was scared of. Scared may not even be the right word. Paranoid. Nervous. Insecure. Guilty. A cocktail of all? I was sure someone would know, someone would accuse me, someone would think I killed Jay. I despised myself. I looked into the mirror and didn’t recognize or like the person looking back at me.

  Dusk was the worst. As darkness descended, my anxiety would get unbearable. I found myself drinking alone in the evenings and looking for cheap flights back to New York or staring blankly out of the window. I stopped answering calls. I didn’t care about auditions, about the way I looked, or about going to the gym.

  Reality felt skewed in this little suburb of Bandra. I felt I was losing touch with the world. Everything felt so fleeting and fragile, yet weighed down by its own importance. My emotional spectrum fluctuated on a daily basis, sometimes hourly, and it was exhausting. I wanted the glamour, the glitz and the excitement of Bollywood, but where had I ended up? I had never desired a world that pushed me to a point where I wanted to give up everything and just hide. Or die.

  What did success even mean? Seher was the pretty young thing in town and now she was being blamed for someone’s death. Jay himself was the hot model and then became, as far as the world could see, the hot producer-in-the-making, but look at how he ended up. Dead. And those were the supposed success stories. We don’t even hear about the complete failures. But they are there. Hundreds of thousands of failures fill the streets of Bandra, Juhu, Andheri, Lokhandwala and even Malad. Hundreds of thousands of People Who Didn’t Make It allow themselves to be stripped of their dignity and self-respect on a daily basis. For what? What was I looking for? What were any of us looking for?

  After a few days, amongst the few uncomfortably worded condolences, there came a disconcerting text message from an unknown number. It read,