by Shobhaa De
The phone had rung then. Linda. All honeyed charm and glib persuasion as she’d urged Amma to grant Showbiz an exclusive. Not that Amma had required any urging. She had had her quotes all worked out.
The next week had been full of Amma-isms. Hoardings all over the city had blazed headlines such as, “My Daughter Is a Whore,” “Aasha Rani Betrayed Me.” “Mother Disowns Aasha Rani,” “Sweetheart of Millions Turns Vamp.” Spewing anger and bitterness Amma had lashed out at her daughter, providing intimate details of her life and cataloging all her affairs. Amma had begun to revel in the spotlight. It had given her quite a thrill to feel wanted. She had experienced a hitherto unknown sense of power each time she picked up the phone to grant appointments to scoop-hungry journalists. She’d even had a photo session with one of the regular film photographers so that she’d have a set of pictures ready when the reporters arrived.
The first thing Amma had done after she realized that there was nothing she could do about Aasha Rani’s marriage was to place a call to the Shethji. “You must have heard the news about my foolish daughter’s sudden marriage, yes, yes, to some foreigner in some country I don’t know. God has really let me down. I worry about her future. I don’t know where she is, how she is, but I have also to worry about my other child. Yes, Shethji, I have one more. What is a helpless woman like me to do all alone? Aasha Rani has conveniently run away from her responsibilities. But I can’t do that. That is why I’m phoning you, Shethji. No, not to ask for favors; I only want to present my younger daughter to you. I’d be honored if you made a little time to see her. Yes, I know you are busy with the elections, but try to squeeze us in, bahut meharbani, Shethji. Sudha is young, and innocent—you will not be disappointed. Aasha Rani, in any case, is dead to us. I have to take care of Sudha’s future now. You are very kind, Shethji. God will shower his blessings on you. It’s not for nothing that all of Bombay says Sheth Amirchand is the only man who cares for his people. I now put the younger one into your hands as well, since I know that you alone will take good care of her.”
Sudha had been sent to the Shethji’s house with Kishenbhai. But she was spared the torture Aasha Rani had been subjected to. The Shethji had summoned both of them into his room. He had taken a good, hard look at Sudha. Then he asked her to wait outside while he spoke privately to Kishenbhai. “I like the girl,” he had told him. “In fact, she’s better-looking than her sister. Fairer also. Figure is good, everything is good. But kuch jamta nahi hai—there’s something missing. Aasha Rani had sex appeal. A man had only to take one look at her and he’d feel aroused—like an animal. I know men who couldn’t wait to tear off her clothes. She had such a powerful effect on them. This girl is OK. Chaalu cheez. But I don’t want her. Maybe I’m getting old. Prostrate problem bhi hai. And all this elections ka jhamela. You know how it is. But that girl Aasha Rani, I liked her. She was clever. She understood men. She knew how to please them. Khair, I will help this one—what is the girl’s name? Sudha? I’ll help her, only because I liked her sister. Their mother is a shameless woman. An unfeeling bitch. She has ruined her innocent children. But I’ll let God take care of her in His own way. You stay in touch and tell me what I can do for this ladki. Party-sharty to be arranged? Any other tamasha? I can call her for our functions. We can always do with pretty girls. What else? I’ll introduce her to my producer friends. After that, it’s her destiny. Tell her mother not to bother me. But if you hear from Aasha Rani and if she requires any help, I’m always there. Achcha, business over. This girl has my blessings. You can drop my name to introduce her around; Sheth Amirchand still counts in the right circles, theek hai?” Kishenbhai had touched his feet before leaving. He knew Sudha was made. And he had been glad she hadn’t had to go through what her sister had. Very glad.
Kishenbhai was getting on himself. He’d given up his old dreams of becoming a full-fledged producer after a couple of disastrous efforts in which he had lost just about all he had. Now he was only a small-time distributor. Occasionally he took on individual star aspirants. But the days of running around and putting deals together were over for him. Funnily, he didn’t miss them one bit. It had seemed inevitable for Sudha to move into the roles vacated by Aasha Rani. That was what Amma had wanted, so that was the way it had worked out.
Kishenbhai had smoothly moved in to perform the job he had already handled for Aasha Rani. “I made her a star then,” he told Amma, “and I’ll make Sudha one now—a bigger star than her sister. That is my challenge. And my goal.” Sudha had initially been nervous about stepping into her akka’s shoes. “Will people accept me?” she had tearfully asked Amma as she faced her first camera in Bombay. Amma had shut her up quickly, “Don’t ever say that, understand? People accept anything. You have to prove yourself worthy; that’s all. Do you think audiences are loyal? Do you think they really miss their favorites once they’re out? No. Ask me. Audiences are fickle. They have short memories. They don’t care who is on the screen as long as they are entertained. Now, you must always remember that. Forget about akka. She is dead to us. Forget what she did on the screen. You are a better dancer, a better actress. You have a better figure, and you are fairer. What was akka? Just a dark lump! It is we—Kishenbhai and I—who made her into what she was. Plus, that girl was lazy and indifferent—obsessed with that womanizer. You are not like that. You have everything in your favor—age, looks, talent. Make the most of them. Don’t throw your career away like your stupid sister did. She could have made so much money. Achieved so much fame. But what did she do? Spent all her time on useless men. And now? She has gone and married some white farmer! Can you imagine the life she must be leading? He must be making her work night and day. Clean bathrooms, cook, polish the windows, sweep, scrub, do dishes. I tell you, that man must have been looking for an ayah, not a wife. And that foolish girl went and got caught in his trap. But you—you listen to your Amma. Stay away from men. I will be with you all the time. Speak to nobody. Trust no one. Whatever you want will be given to you by me and me alone. Kishenbhai will handle your other work. He will deal with your producers. But I don’t want you to speak directly to him either. You keep your mouth shut and do your work. That is all. We will make you the biggest heroine in the film industry. Just you wait and see.”
AMMA’S WELCOME TO AASHA RANI was guarded but not hostile. She greeted her daughter and son-in-law with a traditional aarti to welcome them home. Aasha Rani stared at her mother’s face over the dancing flames of the oil lamps in the silver thali and wondered if this was the same woman who had been so vicious toward her. With an enormous effort she shrugged off the past and smiled at her mother. What a sad life she led, really. Still suspicious, still cautious, still worried that someone—even her own child—would get the better of her. Aasha Rani wanted to hug her mother, fall into her arms, hold her close and say, “It’s all right. Whatever happened, it’s over now. All is in the past. Let’s forget everything. Let’s just enjoy each other’s happiness.” But she didn’t dare.
It was ages since there had been any physical closeness between the two of them. But watching her mother’s frown of concentration as she meticulously performed all the little rituals of welcome, she felt protective toward her. And forgiving. Amma looked old and tired. There were lines around her eyes and mouth. Her breasts sagged inside the ill-fitting sari blouse. And Amma, ever frugal, was obviously still washing all her Kanjeevarams at home, Aasha Rani guessed. Aasha Rani sighed. Even after all these years of living luxuriously Amma still saved on laundry bills!
There was the usual fuss over the child. Sasha was smothered by half a dozen people—all at once. She was completely bewildered by the strangeness of the experience. The language was new, and so were all the persons hugging and kissing her. She began to cry. “Mommy, I want my mommy.” That led to a new rush of ladies dying to comfort her. They marveled at her accent, touched her hair with disbelief and kept repeating, “Just like a dolly! So fair and with golden hair!” Aasha Rani hastily looked at Jay, checking to see w
hether he was embarrassed. But he seemed unperturbed. He was watching the proceedings in amused silence, waiting for the fuss to subside. Amma told her son-in-law, “We have kept her room exactly the way it was. The same. No change. Pink. Everything pink. We knew she’d come back, and then she’d get upset if anything was different.” “I hate pink! Always have,” Aasha Rani had protested mildly. But Jay caught Sasha’s hand and said, “Let’s go and see Mommy’s old room. She has lots of toys in it.” After he’d left, Amma fixed Aasha Rani with a look that dared her to lie. “Is he a good man?” Aasha Rani looked back at her steadily and said, “Yes, Amma. Jay is wonderful. You can say he saved my life. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t met him. I didn’t want to come back to India. And I couldn’t have stayed there.” Amma nodded and then said: “Your Appa is old now. Very old. He knows you are in India. It will make him happy to see you and his grandchild.” Aasha Rani said nothing. Amma waited for her to say something. “Well?” she finally demanded. “I’ll think about it,” Aasha Rani said, “but first, tell me about Sudha. Her pictures, her price—what are they paying top heroines nowadays? Five lakhs?” Amma laughed. “Baby, days are different now. Sudha gets double that—about ten lakhs.” Aasha Rani gasped. “Ten? My God! How many films were released this year?” Amma said smugly, “So far only five—two hits. Four more in the next few months. Big release at Diwali opposite Amar.”
“Why didn’t you move out of this place if she’s earning so much? Or does she hoard all her money? Are you still looking after her earnings?”
Amma hesitated before answering. “Well, actually Sudha’s affairs are handled professionally by a banker friend of hers. He tells her where and when to invest. They have what is called a portfolio. I don’t interfere. Stocks, shares, property, Sudha takes care of it herself, along with her secretary and Amar.” Aasha Rani thought for a while. “What about you? How do you manage?” “Well, we had some of your money, you know, when you left, the collection continued to come in. And now Sudha gives us a fixed allowance. She is very generous. We have more than enough to live on. Sudha doesn’t stay here; she has bought a grand bungalow at Vile Parle. She is with Amar there. God knows what is going on. No marriage plans, nothing. They simply stay together. Shamelessly. But what can Amma say? I don’t utter a word. That girl was always so jealous. You know, Baby, she hates you.”
Kishenbhai joined them. He sat slouched in a chair. “Why did you cut your hair?” he asked Aasha Rani. “Now you look like a pucca phirangi.”
The servant brought in the coffee and snacks. Aasha Rani noticed the frayed napkins, the plastic trays and the unbreakable cups and saucers. Kishenbhai caught her observing the air of general seediness about the place, and when Amma had left the room to check on Jay and Sasha, he said quietly: “Aasha Rani, things are not what they used to be when you were here. Amma has been having a lot of problems. Your sister is not like you. She’s different. Selfish. Very selfish. And hard on Amma. They fight all the time. Over money, over everything. Even if Amma wants a new sari, she has to ask Sudha’s permission. That hopeless fellow she’s involved with…I don’t have to tell you about Amar; you know what he’s like—a bastard number one. Now he has become a big star. His head is also big. Too big. They think nobody can beat them. They think nobody knows about their plan! There is no love between them. It is all a pretense. Every day she needs a new man. And Amar goes to common prostitutes. He says he doesn’t like film girls. But they stay together to show the world they are a team. He is a smart, shrewd businessman. Nothing is kept in India. Everything abroad. Havala transactions. Saala, he’s so smart, he can’t be caught; all benaami business. His investments are solid. Ekdum solid. He doesn’t have to bother about films. But films are a nasha, a madness. You can never get out. Unless audiences throw you out. Unless you are rejected by them.” Kishenbhai paused for breath and looked at Aasha Rani. “Tell me, Aasha Rani—what are your plans? Chalo, now you have a husband, a nice daughter. What do you want to do? You are still young, and don’t mind my saying—sexy. Producers were asking me…I said, ‘Baba, let her first come to India; then we shall see.’ You have a good chance if you want to come back. Your fan mail still comes. People have not forgotten you.
“Sudha gets asked questions about you. And Amma. If you get the right role in the right film, you should do it. Chalo, you’ll have to lose some weight first. But that is not the problem. We could get Saroj, your old dance director—your dancing must have become a little dheela, you know; don’t get me wrong. But we can organize all that. The most important thing is—do you want to come back? And your miya? What is his opinion? Will he mind? You’ll have to think. Don’t answer me now. But remember, even your fans can’t wait forever. You’ll be too old later if you change your mind. And look at the competition. Young girls not much older than your child—not even menstruating! And they’re playing heroines opposite heroes old enough to be their grandfathers! Two films, four films and they’re out. There are two hundred others waiting to take their place. But you were different. You had a following. You were a national craze. You really were the ‘Sweetheart of Millions.’ People still sing your songs. They go crazy when they’re shown on TV. For you it will be easy. Niteshji was wondering…”
But Aasha Rani was far away. She’d heard every word—but only just. She was thinking of her last days in Bombay. Of Abhijit and Akshay and the state she’d been in. Of Amma’s harsh words, and Amirchand’s unexpected support. It seemed so unreal, so far away. And here was this man, this fixer (he wore funny dark glasses these days, and his hands had a tremor) tempting her to jump right back into the well from which she had barely escaped. “No,” she said abruptly. “No. I’m not interested. I’m very happy where I am; I like my life there. I want to be just a wife and mother. I want to bring up my daughter well and look after my husband. That’s all. There’s no question of a comeback!”
Jay walked in just then. He’d heard the last few words, “Comeback?” he said quizzically. “What’s all this about a comeback? Aasha Rani, are you thinking of going back into films?” Aasha Rani rushed toward him and put her hands around his waist. “No way, darling. I just told Kishenbhai that.” Jay looked at her indulgently. “She’s tired today,” he said to Kishenbhai. “It’s been too much for her, all the excitement of getting home, meeting everybody, seeing her family. She needs time to rest and time to think. Maybe we’ll go off to Goa for the weekend. The change will do her good. And I could do with some sun.”
AASHA RANI WELCOMED Jay’s idea. Bombay after five years of being away had overwhelmed her. Particularly the insistent suggestions from Kishenbhai that she should consider a comeback. “I am tempted. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered by the attention,” Aasha Rani had confessed to Jay as their plane wobbled along to Dabolim Airport. “It makes me feel wanted. Is there something wrong with that?” “Of course not, baby,” Jay had reassured her, saying, “I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t been affected by all this. That wouldn’t have been normal. You are only human, Aasha Rani. You have experienced the sort of adulation and success that very few human beings experience. I’m amazed you haven’t missed it in all these years that you’ve been away. Unless you have and you haven’t told me.”
Aasha Rani gazed out at the stunningly beautiful coastline below her. She pointed out the palm trees and sandy beaches of Goa to Sasha, whose nose was pressed to the window. She tried not to think of Bombay and what Kishenbhai had told her. She didn’t want to confront the dilemma. She didn’t want to make any decisions. “I was very happy in New Zealand,” she finally said.
Jay smiled. “Was? You spoke in the past tense without realizing it.” Aasha Rani hastily corrected herself: “Oh! I didn’t mean it that way. I was just saying—” Jay interrupted her. “It’s all right, my darling. I knew when I married you that New Zealand was only going to be a stopover. A restful phase. You needed it. You’d earned it. Like Goa right now. Only difference being Goa is five days and New Zea
land was five years. A matter of perspective. That’s all.” “How can you say that?” Aasha Rani asked Jay, genuinely puzzled. “I haven’t made up my mind about the comeback. I haven’t even thought about it clearly as yet. All I said was that I felt flattered people still want to see me on the screen.”
The plane had begun its descent. They could clearly see the whitewashed churches standing out like chalky dollhouses amid the lush paddy fields. “Oh look!” Aasha Rani said. “How beautiful it is. I had almost forgotten what a lovely place it was. Baby Doll was filmed here. Not all of it, but quite a bit.” “I know,” Jay said. “Shall I sing that famous song where you were dressed like a Goan fishergirl and were trying to seduce that stud; I forget his name—Umesh?” Aasha Rani giggled. “You’ve seen that silly film, then?” “I’ve seen all your films, darling.” Jay laughed. “Some of them five times over.”
Sasha was very excited. “Look, Mommy, look at the sea! Just like in Sydney.” The stewardess came up to tell them to fasten their seat belts. Suddenly, she noticed Aasha Rani. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were on this flight. What a surprise! I’d read you were back, of course, and also that you’d signed up for a few films.” Aasha Rani was astonished. “Where did you read that rubbish?” she asked irritatedly. “Oh, it was in a trade paper. One of those, I forget.”
