by Saranya Rai
Shaking his head in mock disapproval, Lakshya looked over at the cue card a crew member was holding up.
‘All right, we have time for just one more question from the live viewers. Natasha Sampath from Bangalore asks “In the zombie apocalypse, who would make the better ally—Heer or Ranjha?”’
Vicky whistled softly. ‘That’s a great question, so thank you for that, Natasha. I don’t know; that’s a hard pick. I want to say the obvious answer is Ranjha because he’s this jacked cowherd-musician, right? But I’m not sure those are skills that would be useful in the zombie apocalypse. Heer, on the other hand, is really fast on her feet and much better at survival skills like building a fire, cooking and looking for water. She’s pretty fierce.’
‘Are you saying Heer would be the better ally?’
‘I’m saying Heer would be the better ally.’
Kriti grinned at Lakshya. ‘I have to agree. Firstly, I don’t even know how Ranjha is so shredded. He literally sits and plays his flute all day. Secondly, he doesn’t have a practical bone in his body. The dude couldn’t survive one day out there on his own.’
‘Ranjha works out, okay. Look, this was not the most interesting time in history. There were no gadgets, no phone, no Internet, no Candy Crush, no social networks, absolutely no distractions. I guarantee even the lazy layabout types worked out occasionally out of sheer boredom.’
‘Ranjha was a medieval gym bro?’
‘Pretty much.’
Lakshya stopped laughing with some difficulty and looked at the main camera again.
‘Okay, that’s all the time we have. Thank you, Vicky Behl and Kritika Vadukut for hanging out with us today. It’s been so much fun! We wish you good luck with Ranjha Ranjha!’
‘It was our pleasure.’ Kriti dimpled at the camera one last time, surprised to find she actually meant it, and Vicky nodded in agreement.
‘And . . . cut!’
Kriti uncrossed her long legs, standing up. Lakshya came forward to shake hands with her and Vicky jumped out of his beanbag with enviable agility. ‘We really appreciate you guys taking an evening out of a busy shooting schedule to do this! We’ve had an amazing time and can’t wait to see what the movie looks like. I’m really digging the man bun, Vicky.’
‘Thanks, man, it’s convenient while my hair is this long. My goal is to have prettier hair than Kritika some day, but she won’t share her haircare secrets with me.’
Kriti pursed her lips, looking away determinedly. ‘There are some things that must be earned and cannot be given. You need to go on your own haircare journey like I did.’
More of the crew members began drifting over to thank them and say goodbye.
While a small group, they were rapidly dismantling the makeshift set they had created in a small conference room of the Jahanara itself.
‘Are you flying out tonight?’ Vicky asked.
Akshita, the DoP nodded. ‘We have the late flight back to Mumbai, so we need to pack up and leave within the next couple of hours.’
‘All right, then, we’ll leave you to it. Thank you for having us on the show.’ A last round of hugs later, Vicky had marshalled Kriti out of the door and towards the elevators before she’d quite realized it.
And suddenly, Kriti didn’t want the evening to end. She’d been having such fun with Vicky and the kids from CandyFloss, her heart rebelled at the thought of returning to her empty hotel room. This evening, she’d had the old, playful Vicky back, even if it had been for the cameras, and she wasn’t ready to say goodnight to him yet. He’d walked her almost to her door before she’d mustered the courage to ask for what she really wanted.
‘Hey Vicky, are you hungry?’
Vicky stared at her, obviously unsure of where she was going with this.
‘I’m always hungry.’
‘I know I was a real bitch the last time you suggested we get something to eat, but . . . do you maybe want to get dinner? We don’t have to leave the hotel. My treat—to make up for being unreasonable the last time.’
For a second, she was sure he would refuse her. But as a slow, Grinch-like grin spread over his face, Kriti knew she’d made the right decision.
~
‘Tell me a secret. Something most people don’t know,’ Kriti asked.
‘What is this, a Bollywood gossip chat show?’ Vicky retorted.
Vicky and Kriti were ensconced in a private corner of the Jahanara’s Asian restaurant, surrounded by muted lighting, delicious smells and faint sounds of sizzle coming from the live stir-fry counter. The remains of several plates of sushi and empty bowls of miso soup littered their table, but they were in no hurry to leave.
‘Tell me!’
‘I have to think about it! I don’t walk around with answers prepared for this kind of shit, in case Ravi Khanna surprise-invites me to his talk show! Why don’t you go first?’ he protested.
Kriti grinned gleefully. ‘I actually do have answers mentally prepared for Ravi Khanna–style chat show questions at any given moment. I watch his show, and pretty much every other late-night-style Bollywood show out there, and mentally participate in all the rapid-fire rounds really seriously.’
Vicky looked like Christmas had come early.
‘No way! You absolute, total nerd! he exclaimed.
‘Now, your turn.’
‘It is not my turn already. That was not a real answer. It was . . . an explanation of the question. You said you have an answer prepared, no? I want to hear that one,’ he persisted.
Kriti fidgeted with the hem of her dress. ‘Fine, fine. I’m . . . not a nerd at all. The truth is, I don’t read very much. I never did. Not in school, not now. It’s not a time thing. I don’t like it. I don’t like reading books for fun.’
Vicky gasped dramatically, and Kriti’s sheepish embarrassment dissolved into laughter.
‘I know, your sister would disown me.’
‘Nah, she’d only judge you a little bit. Chal, I’ll tell you a similar-ish secret. I don’t read a lot either. Mine is more of a time and habit thing. I did read a lot in school . . . fell out of the habit in college. No time now. I read the occasional film biography but I haven’t read any fiction outside my scripts in a long time. That’s why all my references are from children’s books.’
‘That’s why I get most of your references!’ Kriti was relieved. ‘It’s because I was probably forced to read the same books in school.’
‘There you go. That’s my secret,’ Vicky said.
‘Wait, no. That was a cop-out. You can’t tag along with my secret. You have to tell me something original.’
‘This is original! Just because we happen to have similar ones doesn’t make my secret invalid!’
‘You’re losing the imaginary hamper in the balance,’ Kriti taunted.
Vicky let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘All right. I . . . have always wanted a tattoo, but never got one in college because I was shit scared of my parents finding out. I knew I would unmindfully walk out of my room in chaddis one day and Mom would see it and have a fit. So, I never got one.’
Kriti choked on her jasmine tea, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Then, I became an actor, and it’s convenient not to have tattoos now. But when Mini turned eighteen, she begged me to go with her to get a tattoo on the sly. And I did. I helped her do a bunch of research. Just after her birthday, we were all at a wedding in the south of France. Before flying out of Paris, I took her to this fancy-ass place and paid for her first tattoo.’
Wiping her eyes, Kriti patted the hand resting on the table.
‘You’re a good guy, Vicky Behl. Even if you’re a frat bro most of the time.’
‘I really was, you know.’
‘Were what?’
‘A frat bro. During my undergraduate years at UPenn. Delta Phi. Though, it was a co-ed frat and not really as much of a typical frat as you’d think.’
‘I . . . that’s so on-brand, I don’t know how to respond to that.’
�
�Where did you go to college?’ he asked.
‘Here only. Meaning in the country. Bangalore, to be specific. Mount Carmel. Studied psychology until I dropped out in my second year to fulfil my Miss India obligations. Never really went back, though I do think about it sometimes. What did you study?’
‘Liberal arts with a focus on drama. And then NYU Tisch. Spent a lot of time in school, getting very expensive degrees, that I’m not sure would not have been better spent working.’
‘Your parents didn’t mind your liberal-arts focus right from the beginning?’
‘No. Unexpected, right? But Mom and Dad have always been the “beta, follow your dreams” type. It’s been very helpful. I’m appalling at math and had business studies in class 11 and 12. Flubbed it so badly, Dad knew right away I had no future in business. Took a lot of the pressure off.’
‘Tell me something, how come Mini goes to college here in Mumbai? She didn’t want to go to college in America like you?’
‘Mini is a little vague on what she wants to do. So, it was her decision to get her undergraduate degree here first, before making any big decisions.’
‘That’s smart.’
‘Yeah, if Mini is any one thing, it’s smart. Just needs to figure out where to channel all that smartness.’
‘I’m slightly jealous of everyone with a sister, you know. I always wanted one, but alas, I’m an only child.’
‘You poor thing, so the burden of all parental expectations was on you alone?’
‘Yep. You should’ve seen the fit they threw when I announced I wanted to participate in the Miss India pageant. You’d think I was asking to train as a clown and join the circus.’
‘Okay, I know clowns are very demonized because of some cultural thing I don’t understand, but it’s a perfectly respectable profession.’
Kriti rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, it went from bad to worse when I decided to become an actor.’
‘Surely, they’re not mad any more, now that they see how well it’s working out for you?’
His voice had softened, and he was looking at her with so much heartfelt concern, a comforting warmth settled in Kriti’s chest. She shrugged.
‘No, they’re not mad any more. But they don’t entirely approve either. Add my impossible work schedule to that, and we’ve just . . . drifted apart. I call every week for a few minutes. Try to visit at least twice a year. It’s just an irreparable breach now. I’ve resigned myself to conversations always being a little strained and family functions always feeling slightly awkward.’
‘Hey, no matter how well you get along with your family, family functions always have the potential to feel awkward.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I mean, I get along well enough with my parents but we all have our own lives, you know? So, much as I hate it, there are sometimes these gaps in conversation during family dinners that we don’t know how to fill.’
‘You don’t know how to fill some gaps in conversation?’ Kriti asked, rather sceptically.
‘Hard to believe but it’s true. Thank God for smartphones that you can hide the awkwardness behind, eh?’ He held up his half-filled porcelain cup.
‘Amen.’
As Kriti clinked the last of her jasmine tea against his cup in a silent toast and felt a warm fuzzy feeling envelop her, she knew the lines between professional and personal had blurred just a little bit more.
9
Watery moonlight filtered into Heer’s room through the monsoon clouds that had finally rolled in. Heer sat listlessly on her bed, sleep a distant dream. She raised her head at a muffled thump. The figure that had entered through her window, swaddled in dark cloth, was one she had missed desperately for days.
She gasped as his face came into view. Bruises marred his brow and an ugly gash gleamed near his hairline. Bounding off her bed, she ran into his arms.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for days. You had promised you would come for me.’
‘I did come for you, Heer. Every scar on my body is a calling card that I tried to leave with your father.’
She grabbed a fistful of his shawl, breathing him in.
‘Come away with me, Heer. You are to be married tomorrow, and I cannot stand by and watch.’
‘My father will relent, Ranjha. I know it. I cannot break his heart and flee like this.’
‘Heer, you have been begging him for as long as I have been trying to plead with him. He is not going to give in. Our only option is to run away now.’
‘I cannot.’
Ranjha pushed her away from him. ‘I cannot fight for you if you are not willing to fight for us.’
‘You don’t understand. There is nothing my father has refused me till today. I cannot run away and prove true every whisper about my father’s failure as a parent. He will come around. He will not refuse the most important thing I have ever asked of him.’
‘What do you want me to do, Heer? Stand witness as you marry another man?’
‘No! Wait for me by the old temple on the eastern edge of my father’s land. I will come for you before midday. I will convince my father.’
A bitter smile twisted his bleeding lip. ‘Till tomorrow, then?’
Heer stepped forward, wrapping him in her embrace, pressing her lips to his bare chest. ‘Stay. I’ve waited for so long. Whatever tomorrow brings, stay the night.’
~
‘How did you find this place?’
Sudarshana looked around in awe at the silk threads of the richly worked Persian tapestries glowing iridescent in the dusty sunlight coming in through the blinds. The tapestries lined the walls in an antechamber leading to a small library of what appeared to be a private residence. The house obviously belonged to someone wealthy, but Sudarshana was beginning to realize that the wealth had a more interesting source than immediately obvious. Everywhere she turned, a piece of treasure caught her eye—a cabinet full of eighteenth-century Sèvres porcelain, an ornately carved teak table with what looked to be an early Ming vase on it, and Mughal miniatures on a corner wall, to name a few. Either they were all clever copies. Or all of it belonged to someone with not just money but also generations of remarkably influential connections. There was also no discernible order or cohesion to the arrangement. While very well maintained, the house was an explosion of heady colour and texture that frankly appealed very much to Sudarshana’s baroque soul.
‘Someone owed me a favour.’
Arun looked sophisticated in a pale-blue cotton kurta, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, over comfortable-looking white chinos. Busy adjusting his tripod, he didn’t bother looking up. He knew exactly what she meant.
‘What kind of Godfather-talk is that? Whose house is this? And how did you get them to let you in?’
‘You know perfectly well whose house this is. And it’s not particularly difficult for me to access places for my work. I do have some experience in this field, you know?’
‘It really belongs to . . . ?’
‘The family of the last Nizam? Yes. I’m not sure who specifically owns it now but it’s definitely a family property. No one actually lives here full-time. I saw it when I’d done a series of portraits for the youngest members a few years ago. For their private collection.’
‘Remind me to get their number from you later. My location scouts would have a field day in this house.’
Arun snorted, having moved on to fiddling with the lights he’d brought along with him. ‘Give me some credit for picking the perfect place. I knew you would enjoy this.’
Sudarshana felt rather foolish and underdressed in the opulent room, sitting straight on a settee in her jeans and a cream chikan kurta, doing absolutely nothing while Arun walked around, making efficient adjustments to all his equipment. She admired the easy confidence with which he made minute adjustments to the camera, setting up the shot just how he wanted.
‘I’m almost done. Are you ready?’
She shook her head. ‘Yo
u haven’t told me what you want me to do!’
A half smile twisted the edge of his mouth. ‘I don’t want you to do anything. Sit exactly as you are. Answer my questions and keep looking at the camera.’
‘Answer your questions?’ Sudarshana peered suspiciously at the analogue camera through which he was looking at her. ‘You never said anything about any questions.’
‘It’s just casual conversation, Sudarshana. To get you comfortable in front of the camera. I’m not going to be interviewing you.’
‘What kind of casual conversation?’
‘Like where did you go to school?’
Not entirely convinced, Sudarshana took a moment to answer.
‘In Pune. A little convent school. I grew up there.’
‘What was your favourite subject in school?’
‘Uh . . . history. Is this really going to work? I still feel very conscious.’
Arun took a step back from the tripod. ‘Trust me. You’re doing well. All right, why history?’
‘I guess . . . I really enjoyed the stories. We had a great history teacher in middle school. She had a way of making even the driest treaty negotiations and war conferences sound fascinating.’
‘And you always wanted to be a film-maker?’
‘Not until college, no. In school, I wanted to become an art historian—maybe an archaeologist or curator even. I really did—do—care a lot about history.’
‘So, what changed?’
‘I watched Shatranj ke Khilari at a film festival in my first year and had an epiphany.’
The camera clicked and Sudarshana noted with surprise that she had indeed forgotten about it.
‘How many films have you directed till date?’
‘Ranjha Ranjha is my thirteenth.’
‘Yet your first historical-slash-epic film?’
‘Yes.’
The camera clicked again and Sudarshana barely registered it.
‘How come?’
‘I needed to get here first. A film like Ranjha Ranjha is a vanity project that a young woman making her directorial debut, or even directing her third or fourth film cannot afford.’ A bitter smile appeared for a second before she collected herself. The camera clicked again. ‘And then, I wasn’t entirely happy with anything I wrote. If I had waited all those years to make that historical epic, I could wait a few more until I figured out what I really wanted to make.’
