by Saranya Rai
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You do remember you’ve promised me a portrait series? I was thinking we might do it a couple of weeks from now. On the day that we have off right before Dussehra. Unless, of course, you have other plans?’
Sudarshana blinked. ‘You were serious about that?’
‘I never joke about portraits.’
In the past couple of weeks, their working relationship had been as volatile as ever and Sudarshana was suddenly a little wary of going forward with this shoot. What had seemed like a mildly exciting idea initially had the potential to grow several horns. Her lead couple was already having some kind of personal problem. The last thing Sudarshana needed was for the director and cinematographer to have a falling out over something that wasn’t even film-related.
‘Honestly, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.’
His brow creased, betraying just how much he’d been looking forward to it. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m not sure how well I’d take to being directed and I’d rather not argue with you any more than strictly necessary.’
His face split into a massive grin, leaving Sudarshana slightly dazed. She had never seen Arun smile like that. The crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes deepened and the cleft in his chin became more prominent. It was . . . unexpectedly attractive.
‘I can tell you, there won’t be that much direction involved. My style is minimum interference with my subjects. And you did promise.’
‘I don’t have all day. And I will not get dolled up for it.’
Sensing her reluctant agreement, his grin seemed to get bigger.
‘We’ll do it in the late afternoon. Three hours. You’ll have the rest of the day to yourself. And you don’t have to dress up for it. Just a couple of your favourite outfits—everyday clothes, maybe those kurtas you wear over your jeans. We can discuss details as we get closer to the date.’
Positive that she was going to regret everything, Sudarshana gave him a terse nod.
Taking the pitch that she had just finished reading, she marched off to look for her lead actors. She needed to talk to them about this event, which may turn out to be a recipe for disaster. Or it may give their film the boost in public interest it needed to sustain until release. There really was no reason for all her endeavours to have this doom-or-glory quality, she told herself.
Vicky and Kritika were not difficult to find. They sat in the emptying lunch area, revising their parts for the next set of shots. There was quite a bit of long-winded dialogue involved.
She dropped the set of papers on the table.
‘I received this from Akshay this morning. It’s a pitch. CandyFloss wants to do a Facebook live event with the two of you any evening that you can manage it. I think it’s a good idea to sustain interest in the film. I can rearrange the schedule a little to give you the next Wednesday evening off for this—speak to your managers.’
Kritika picked up the printouts with a perplexed frown.
‘Isn’t it too early to be doing promotional work for Ranjha Ranjha together?’
‘CandyFloss wants to air your first live interview together. And considering their viewership, absolutely no other platform is going to give us an audience this size without significant investment. Viral buzz about an upcoming film always helps opening ticket sales.’
Kritika did not look convinced, but Vicky nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve worked with CandyFloss before. They’re a bunch of really great kids—and absolutely bound to keep the buzz going.’
‘It’s settled then. The two of you will appear live on Facebook next Wednesday for your first formal interview together about this film. I’ll have PR brief you beforehand and clear it with your management.’
Before Kritika could protest further, Sudarshana walked away. It was a tactic that had helped her win all kinds of disagreements over the years. Too bad it didn’t work on a certain stubborn photographer.
~
Kriti waited patiently as Meher’s phone rang almost to the unavailable tone-beep. Getting hold of Meher was always an ordeal. Between being a single parent to her four-year-old son Shahzad, running her couture label, picking up occasional styling gigs for well-known friends, various media appearances and her volunteer work, Meher was probably busier than Kriti herself. She answered on pretty much the last ring with a breathless ‘hello’.
‘Busy?’
‘Never for you. What is it, a wardrobe emergency?’
‘I don’t only call you for wardrobe emergencies, Meher,’ Kriti huffed indignantly.
‘When you’re away on a shoot? You kiiiinda do.’
‘Rude. I just called to say I love you.’
‘I miss you too, ya. It’s been ages since we’ve had a catch-up session. How is everything going?’
Kriti stretched out on the pull-out-bed-cum-couch in her vanity van. The last dance sequence had been murder on her back.
‘Trudging along, I guess.’ Some of Kriti’s tiredness must have seeped into her voice because Meher’s tone immediately became more concerned.
‘Are you sure? You don’t sound like yourself. You’re not sick, na?’
‘No, no, not sick. Just tired. It’s been a physically and mentally exhausting week. And now, Sudarshana wants me to do this interview with Vicky for CandyFloss. I’m just not in the mood for any press appearances.’
‘Oho, CandyFloss’s interview segments are fun! They don’t ask your typical ghisa-pita “what was it like working with your co-star?” type questions. As though anyone’s going to come out and say it was awful and they hated it. It’s like when people go into a restaurant and ask someone who works there whether a particular dish is good. Matlab why ask these redundant questions?’
Despite herself, Kriti’s spirits lifted and she laughed. ‘People just like hearing their choices validated, na? This is why I like eating at places with a prix fixe menu. I hate choosing food at restaurants.’
‘That is the coward’s way out. I make a decision and commit to it. If my food sucks, I deal with it.’
‘What to say, Meher? Not all of us have your gumption.’
‘Achha, but you don’t hate working with your co-star, no?’
‘No! He’s been lovely. Very pleasant and easy to work with.’
‘Chhee, you sound like you’re describing the weather. “Pleasant” and “lovely”. How boring! Can’t believe Vicky hasn’t given you any grief yet.’
‘Do you want him to give me grief, Meher?’ Kriti asked with a snort.
‘Of course not. I’m just spoiling for a fight. I found out today that a shipment of Belgian lace got caught in customs despite having all the requisite paperwork in place. Of course, my admin will sort it out, but it will delay the production of our winter bridal collection, and I can’t have that. I’m just going to have to hire more seamstresses, and you know what a pain that is at short notice.’
‘Ugh, those designs are gorgeous. Save me one for when I get married.’
‘Darling, I’ll custom-make one for you when you get married. Just say the word.’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Kriti promised. And then, with a reluctant sigh, she said, ‘I have to go soon. I took a quick break before my next change to make this call. How’s Shahzad?’
‘Turning all my hair grey before my fortieth birthday. I should get back to my workout too, I’m trying out a new pilates routine. It’s the worst. You’ll love it.’
‘I’ll tell Anisha to hook me up when I’m back in Mumbai. Talk to you later, M. Bye!’
‘Take care, Kriti.’ Meher blew her a loud kiss over the phone before disconnecting.
Kriti sat up, crossing her legs, waiting for Chinu to bring her change of costume, the remnant of a smile still on her face. She hadn’t been able to tell Meher everything that had gone down with Vicky. However, the phone call had still helped.
8
‘Heer!’
She sat bolt upright, panic clogging her throat. Striding towards them, fury etched into every
movement and a heartbroken expression on his face, was her father. Her mother followed closely behind, running to keep up with her taller husband.
Ranjha stood up next to her, and placed a reassuring hand on her back.
Chuchak noticed the gesture and it only seemed to incense him further.
‘Don’t you dare touch her!’ She could feel Ranjha stiffen next to her, but he made no move to remove his hand.
In a moment, Heer’s father was upon them. He yanked his daughter away from Ranjha, squaring up to meet the younger man.
Belatedly, Heer noticed a scythe in her father’s hand.
‘How dare you? I sheltered you, fed you, gave you a job when no one in your own village would. And this is how you repay me?’
Heer had never heard rage this deep reverberate in her father’s voice. Ranjha was curiously calm in the face of her father’s anger.
‘I am grateful for everything you have done for me. But I am in love with Heer and have never meant any disrespect towards her or you. I want to marry Heer, and we would’ve come to you for your blessing ourselves.’
Even before her father had raised his weapon, Heer saw it coming. Wrenching herself out of her mother’s hold, she threw herself at Ranjha. The impact toppled Ranjha and her to the ground and she felt a sharp sting glance across her arm.
Ranjha’s cry tore through the air and he was up in a trice, the scythe wrested from Heer’s father’s numb fingers.
She caught his hand before any further damage was done, and turned to face her father.
‘I love Ranjha, father, and will never be happy with anyone else. I beg of you, stop this. Give us your blessing.’
Ashen-faced, her father pulled her back to his side and Heer went without complaint.
‘I had never thought it possible, but you have shamed me, my daughter. My pride, my joy, my Heer. You have shamed me.’
She swallowed the lump in her throat, tears blurring her vision. The hazy form of her lover stood in front of her father, scythe hanging lifeless from his fingers.
‘Leave, Ranjha. Disappear from Jhang and let your shadow never cross my path again.’
Throwing a long, burning look at Heer, Ranjha picked up his flute, tucked it into his waistband, and made his way across the fields.
~
Mini had surreptitiously moved to the neglected dessert table to pick up a second bowl of crème brûlée, reasonably certain that no one was looking. The party had been thrown by one of her father’s film-industry friends, which basically meant that food was low on the list of priorities for most guests. Her protective parents had only started taking her to these larger parties over the last year but Mini was a quick learner. She’d definitely had too much to drink, but the dinner buffet was on the far side of the room. She didn’t want to risk pushing through that crowd when she was unsteady on her feet. Her only salvation was the tiny pot of creamy vanilla-and-caramel heaven on this side, although it was absolutely ridiculous what passed as a serving size. It was a little gauche to get a second helping of dessert at these events, but what was a girl to do when the rest of the food was too far away?
‘Mrinalini Behl!’ a masculine voice called out from behind her and Mini cringed, hoping against hope it wasn’t one of her parents’ judgemental friends.
But when she turned around to put a face to the voice, she noted with some surprise that it was a complete stranger. Well, not a complete stranger. He did look like someone she knew, but the pulsing lights, loud music and her own state of slight inebriation did not help place him at all.
He walked right up to her, his face set in a pleasantly vacuous smile. He was a middle-aged man of average build, rather short, with plenty of grey at his temples. He was dressed unremarkably in a pair of ill-fitted jeans and dark button-down shirt, and sported a pair of rimless glasses. Mrinalini was baffled. She was positive she did not know the man, and yet he had spoken to her with such familiarity.
‘I’m sorry, do I know you?’
The man held out a hand. ‘We’ve never been introduced formally, but I know who you are. My name is Bhaskar Joshi and I’m a journalist. I know your brother well.’
Her eyes widened with panic. How could she have not recognized him? And now she was stuck. Bhaskar Joshi was never good news for anyone he focused his attention on. The man had an uncanny way of reporting half-truths and gossip that meant he never got into serious trouble, but as the editor of one of the most widely read entertainment and gossip magazines, he was too powerful to ignore.
Nervously, she transferred her bowl of crème brûlée to her left hand, belatedly shaking the one he had offered.
‘Yes, of course, Mr Joshi. I didn’t quite recognize you in this light.’
‘Understandable. And how are you, my dear? A belated happy birthday.’
Mini blinked. No question the dude was creepy. How had he known about her birthday? She murmured a polite thanks, shifting from one foot to another.
‘Now that you’re twenty-one, any plans of following in your brother’s footsteps?’
‘Not at all.’ This Mini was firm on. ‘I have absolutely no desire at all to work in the film industry.’
‘Impressive that you’re so firm on that decision. Of course, one never knows about the future, but where do you see yourself in a few years?’
‘Academia,’ Mini said vaguely, praying he wouldn’t ask any further questions given she’d decided on this career path just the previous minute.
‘The future Dr Mrinalini Behl, eh? And what line is your calling?’
Mini had had less awkward and nervous conversations with the terrifying principal of the school she and her brother had gone to.
‘Sociology.’
‘Wonderful! And how is your brother doing? He’s going to be away from the city for quite a while, isn’t he? How’s he getting along with Kritika?’
Mini was so glad that he had changed his track of questions that she didn’t entirely think her next words through.
‘Oh, he’s fine. Kritika and he get along like a house on fire. Everyone says they have great chemistry and I can’t wait to watch the finished movie.’
Joshi raised an eyebrow in speculation, and the significance of Mini’s words dawned on her. She could have kicked herself. Scrambling, she tried to cover up. ‘Not that they’re more than friends in real life. That’s not what I meant to imply at all.’
‘Didn’t you?’
Mrinalini was beginning to hate that fixed smile on his face. No wonder her brother reacted so explosively whenever Bhaskar Joshi was mentioned in his hearing. She was only digging herself further into a hole with her protestations, and the last thing Vicky needed was Joshi speculating about his relationship with Kritika in his magazine. So, she permitted herself a tiny lie. A lie that couldn’t possibly hurt anyone, she consoled herself.
‘No, not at all. I mean, Kriti has a boyfriend. It would be really irresponsible of me to gossip about my brother and her when she’s seeing someone else.’
‘Is she? Who is she seeing?’ Mini could sense Joshi’s growing excitement. She suppressed a giggle. She was going to enjoy sending him on this wild goose chase.
‘I really have no idea, I’m afraid. Vicky bhaiya mentioned it in passing to me once and I didn’t ask. I do know that he’s not an actor, though. Vicky bhaiya had said something about him being a film buff.’
‘A random film buff dating an actress?’
Mini instantly regretted the overkill. Coming up with an imaginary boyfriend on the go, for someone else, was a lot harder than she had expected. Joshi had begun to look sceptical and she needed him to buy her story. If she ended the conversation and walked away, who knew what angle he’d pursue? Desperate to convince him, she continued with her lie.
‘Yeah. In fact, Kriti’s been considering doing more indie-sorta cinema lately, I hear. That’s probably a common interest. I think they met at a film festival or something. I really don’t know anything else.’
With a satisfied gle
am behind his glasses, Joshi held out his hand again.
‘I won’t keep you any longer, Ms Behl. It was lovely talking to you.’
Somehow, the relief Mini felt as he walked away had a fair bit of dread mingled with it.
~
‘Okay, but have you seen each other’s debut films?’
Kriti groaned, covering her face with her hands. ‘Please, no.’
‘Look at her, haan, pretending she didn’t make her debut with a huge blockbuster and one of the biggest stars in the industry. Modesty is her middle name. Kritika Modesty Vadukut.’
Throwing the cushion she’d been holding at Vicky, Kriti gasped, torn between laughter and faux outrage.
‘It’s not that, okay. Aaj Kal was the best debut vehicle that anyone could ask for and I will always, always be grateful to Anant Puri for casting me and having so much faith in a newcomer. It’s just that I’m always so embarrassed when I watch my old work. And that was my very first film!’
Lakshya, their curly haired interviewer from CandyFloss, shared a look with Vicky.
‘Sure, Kritika, but why are you evading the question? Anyway, Vicky, have you watched Aaj Kal? What did you think of it?’
Vicky rocked back into the bright orange beanbag he had flopped into. ‘I’ve watched Aaj Kal at least five times—the first time in a theatre. That should tell you how I feel about it. Now ask her how many times she’s seen Mahi Ve.’
Kriti picked up another graphic printed cushion off the low couch she was sitting on and hid behind it.
The interviewer tsked. ‘You haven’t seen Mahi Ve? Ever?’
Kriti emerged from behind her cushion to offer a defence. ‘Arre, when Mahi Ve released, I was in Slovenia for something like two months. By the time I came back, and had an evening free to watch it, it was gone from the theatres! And I just haven’t been able to catch the whole thing since.’
‘Yeah, Lakshya, you know just how difficult it is to rent a movie these days, na . . . If only we had things like laptops and the Internet literally everywhere . . .’
‘Oh my God, I’ll watch it! I promise!’
