Bollywood Nights

by N. J. Winnington

  “Positions please everybodyyyy...!” he yelled, and all the people in the mall took their starting positions. “Cameras...!” he looked back to the director who said nothing, but nodded approvingly, “...Aaaaand....ACTION!”

  Priya smiled as Raj entered stage right, with the young actress playing his daughter. They walked to the middle of the mall and the star playing her romantic lead entered stage left.

  There was a small amount of choreographed slapstick comedy as the villains entered the scene to try to catch them, before the music fired up on a nod from the director and the whole set transformed into a massive dance sequence of the sort Bollywood does best.

  All the people on every inch of the mall, on every floor and tier started to dance in a perfectly choreographed sequence. It was a sensory overload of colour and magic with dancers sliding down the escalators to jump seamlessly into the dance sequences being performed on the level below.

  Everywhere you looked there was a new wonder to behold and there were cameras seemingly everywhere to capture it all.

  Almost as suddenly as it started the sequence ended with Raj and the other lead characters escaping in the confusion leaving the villains looking confused.

  The director waved his hand dismissively and his assistant shouted, “CUT!”

  Then he turned on his heels and all eyes fell on the director who remained motionless as he considered his response. “...Wonderful!”

  A big cheer erupted and everyone congratulated each other.

  “That’s a wrap on this scene everybody...!” shouted the assistant director, “let’s set up for the final Mall scene!”

  Eventually Priya found her friend resting and catching his breath. As he saw her approach a big smile crossed his face.

  “Hello, My Dear!” he greeted her warmly.

  “Hello Raj!” Priya took a seat next to her friend.

  “What did you think?”

  “It was wonderful!”

  “We put a lot of work into that. It’ll look amazing in the cinema.”

  “Yes, I will look forward to seeing it.”

  “Now... you wanted to ask me something?” he smiled softly.

  “Yes,” Priya began, knowing there was history between Raj and Rattan Singh, “I’ve been invited to an audition in a hotel room...” she said, looking uncomfortable.

  “Rattan Singh!” Raj said angrily.

  “How did you know?”

  “Did you hear the story of my fight with him?”

  “Yes... but...”

  “Rattan Singh tried to audition my Yasmin once...”

  “...So that’s why you hit him?

  “Well she slapped him and ran out... then I punched him in the nose when I saw him next,” he laughed.

  “What should I do?”

  “Well he’s not very professional holding auditions in a hotel room,” Raj began thoughtfully, “but I think the answer to your problem is standing behind you.”

  Priya turned to see her bodyguard standing with his arms folded, and turned back to her friend with a smile on her face.

  “And if he tries anything, I’ll punch him in the nose again,” Raj laughed, “Now. I have something to ask you!”

  “Me?”

  “A rumour tells me that you have been spending time with an English man.”

  “...A rumour?” Priya giggled.

  “It’s a small town,” Raj smiled, “...and I like him. He’s a genius!”

  “A genius?”

  “Why yes. All I have to do is this...” he began, waving his hands as though he was playing a tiny invisible harp, “...and Yasmin gets a shiver of excitement,” he giggled.

  “Really?” Priya laughed, “Well thank you for the advice.”

  “My pleasure. You have always been like the daughter I never had.”

  “Awww.”

  As Priya stood up Raj mimed the invisible harp again, “I want an invite to the wedding!”

  “Wedding?” she blushed, “Oh behave yourself!”

  She watched the preparations for the next scene in a cake shop and laughed as the scene was filmed, with Raj and the other actors revelling in a big cake fight. It was clearly going to be a film worth waiting for.

  Still smiling, Priya left the set with her bodyguard and went home to call her agent and find out if the role being offered in Rattan Singh’s new film was worth the worry she was going through about the dirty man’s intentions.

  Chapter Six

  “I can make, or break your career!”

  Sarika Asha was only 19 and had grown up in Britain. She had done a little modelling work over there, but her dream was to be a Bollywood star. She had grown up watching classic Bollywood films on video with her Grandfather and her English Father was also a big fan of the great Indian film productions.

  It was the pursuit of that dream that brought her to Mumbai and the different culture she was experiencing. She had managed to get a few small roles in little productions, but the call out of the blue to audition for Rattan Singh was vindication of the hard work and sacrifice she had made to get there.

  She spoke enthusiastically to her boyfriend about it when he phoned her...

  “Yes, I have everything ready. I have learned the script I was sent and am taking dancing lessons... Yes, yes, it’s tomorrow!”

  She smiled again as the voice at the other end of the line reminded her how much he loved her...

  “I love you too...! If I get the role I’ll come home when filming is over, and if I don’t get this one I’m coming back for good... Yes, I promised you, remember?”

  She put the phone down and butterflies once again filled her stomach. She picked up the script and walked up and down her small dirty room rehearsing the lines she had memorised already.

  The next morning she put on her favourite skirt, and a blouse she thought struck the right balance between respectful formality and casual. She applied a little makeup, but not too much, having learned in the UK that casting directors for models at least preferred to see a more natural look.

  She left her long hair down. And made sure she had everything ready to meet one of the legendary actors she remembered from her youth. If nothing else she was going to meet a hero and that could only be a good thing, but she was ambitious, and determined to carve a career for herself in making films in India.

  She took a taxi to the hotel and went through the entrance and straight to the reception desk.

  “Can I help you?” the man standing on the opposite side of the desk enquired.

  “Yes. I have an appointment to meet Rattan Singh at 2pm. I am a little early.”

  The man looked her up and down as he dialled a number on the phone. After a hushed conversation during which he seemed to be nodding he returned to the front desk and told her to go to room 221. She was expected.

  Nervously she took the elevator to the second floor and walked the corridor until she found room 217... 219... 221. She paused, took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  Rattan Singh was lying on the bed looking for all the World like a Roman emperor wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the cuffs and three buttons from the top, a heavy gold chain resting on his matted greying hairy chest. The buttons lower down fought a battle to contain his large belly which poked through the gaps underneath, and he wore white trousers, which were turned up at the ankles.

  “Enter!” he bellowed, “It’s open!”

  Sarika was expecting a group of men sitting behind a desk, so as the door swung open the vision of a sloppily dressed middle aged man on a king size bed made her heart sink. She may be naive, but it was pretty clear what was expected, and she dreaded the door closing behind her as she stepped forward and hoped she was wrong.

  “Close the door,” the man called to her,
“and come closer so I can see you!”

  Reluctantly she did as she was told and edged forward like a nervous schoolgirl facing a teacher for detention. Rattan liked what he saw and smiled before opening the file she handed to him and flicked through the pages.

  “You are from England?” he asked, looking up from the file.

  “Yes, I’ve been here a couple of months.”

  “You have family here?”

  “Some,” she answered guardedly.

  “Your accent is very sweet,” he smiled, “but can you do an Indian accent?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe that I can,” she replied in a dialect she copied from her Grandfather.

  “Excellent!” smiled Rattan, rolling off the bed and onto his feet, walking around the bed and sitting on the end.

  He patted the bed to suggest she sat beside him, and reluctantly she complied albeit a little further away than he had indicated.

  “Have you auditioned for any other roles since you got to Mumbai?” he asked, still smiling.

  “...A few, but never in a hotel room.”

  “I apologise,” he explained, “I don’t have an office in Mumbai and the manager here is an old friend of mine. I have a lot of influential friends,” he explained confidently. “Has it always been a dream of yours to be a star in Bollywood?”

  Sarika nodded, but edged herself right to the corner of the bed as the overweight older man sat closer.

  “You have travelled a long way to achieve your dream.”

  She nodded nervously, and shivered as he placed his hot sweaty hand on her knee.

  “Maybe we can help each other...” he said, sliding his hand up her thigh until it met the hem of her skirt, “I can make, or break your career!”

  Sarika recoiled a little, “I came here to audition for a legitimate film role, not for sex!” she declared bravely, but the older man lost the smile from his face and reddened with anger.

  “Not only can I make or break your chances of appearing in my film, but I can make sure you never work anywhere in this town!” he snarled, almost spitting out the words, “Now you can walk out that door and never work again, or be smart and share a little pleasure.”

  Sarika wiped away a tear and parted her legs slightly. She closed her eyes tightly as his hand slipped further up her skirt and again she shivered as his finger brushed against her cotton knickers.

  “It’s hot in here,” he said lustily, “why don’t you unbutton your top.”

  With a sick feeling in her stomach she slowly started to unbutton her blouse and closed her eyes as he reached up and pushed the blouse open to reveal her beasts only covered by her bra.

  Her young firm body excited her tormentor even more and he pushed her blouse off her shoulders, then her bra straps. He gestured with her hands to remove the bra. With a tear in her eye she did and as the bra fell away her pert breasts stood proud and his big hand reached up and squeezed one of them. His smile told how he liked what he saw. The pained look on her face said the opposite.

  “Why don’t you take your skirt off and lie down on the bed?” he suggested pointing further up the bed.

  She stood up and slowly removed her skirt, stepping out when it fell to the floor, and resigned to her fate she climbed onto the bed and lay down in the middle. The old man walked around the bed, stripped down to his y-front underpants and climbed on to lie beside her.

  He leaned across to kiss her on the lips but she just lay there refusing to respond.

  He carried on regardless and leaned lower to lick and suck one of her nipples while squeezing the other breast with his hand. The sensation made her gasp, but her pleasure at the feeling was tempered by her disgust at the old man touching her.

  He kissed her belly before rising to his knees to free his hands, reaching down to grab her knickers on both sides and started pulling them down.

  She stared at the ceiling through blurred tear filled eyes, closing them so she didn’t have to see the lustful delight on his face as her shaved pussy hove into view. He pulled her panties right past her ankles and off. He then pushed her ankles up so her knees were bent and as she shook with fear he put his clammy hands between her knees and pushed them apart.

  She then felt him lie down on top of her with his belly squidging onto hers and the bulge in his y-fronts resting on top of her pussy. She turned her face to one side and felt his breath on her cheek. Then she felt him reach down and pull his y-front underpants down to his upper thighs.

  His hand stayed down and guided his hardening penis toward her vagina. Her heart sank as she felt the head probing for her entrance and then he pushed. It stung slightly as she was still pretty dry. She tried thinking of her boyfriend, but quickly stopped as that just made her feel even more guilty.

  He pushed deeper and she grunted involuntarily as the air left her lungs in little pants as he poked a little deeper. Her pussy slowly lubricated taking the slight pain away, but she lay still and waited for it all to be over.

  His hard cock now sliding more easily in and out he rolled up and down moving his young victim up and down as he enjoyed her.

  Thankfully he wasn’t a long stayer but as he pushed in with a loud grunt, his hard shaft stiffening, Sarika whimpered as she felt with horror his sperm splattering into her. The bastard hadn’t even pulled out, and she wasn’t on the pill.

  He collapsed onto her and she waited motionless for him to get off. As he rolled to one side she quickly got up and rushed to the bathroom. Grabbing some tissue she tried to clean herself up and burst into tears.

  She ran back into the room and hurriedly put her clothes back on. Sniffing through her tears she asked the question that would make this bearable, “Do I get the part?”

  “I’ll be in touch, but I am sure there’s a role for you,” he said casually standing there in his y-fronts as through this was a perfectly acceptable casting method.

  Now fully dressed Sarika ran from the room, trying to hold back her tears and feeling the eyes of everyone she saw upon her. She felt dirty and felt sure they all thought she was a dirty little whore. She felt like one.

  The journey back to her rented hovel of an apartment seemed to go on forever. So many people she saw on the way. Everyone seemed to be staring at her and thinking she was a dirty little whore. She felt like one. They were right. It was her fault. She let it happen.

  She made her way back to her room and didn’t speak to anyone. She bathed but it never seemed to remove the stench in her nostrils from that man or the feeling of being dirty. Her tears mingled with the brown water which ran from the shower head in this hovel.

  Then she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, the stinging in her pussy made worse as cum from the dirty old man dribbled out. She thought about suicide. She was desperate and alone. She lay there for hours with these thoughts going through her head.

  Then as she thought about how she would end it all for the umpteenth time her phone rang. It was a familiar voice. The man she loved.

  She desperately wanted to tell him, but feared he might despise her. She realised how much she missed him though and hiding her distress like the actress she could have been, she decided on something on the spot, “No... I don’t think I got the part and I miss everyone so much,” she smiled as though he could see her putting on her act, “...so I’ve decided there’s more to life than being a Bollywood actress, and I’m coming home... I know, but I’d rather be with you!”

  She put the phone down and burst into tears, crying herself to sleep. She never wanted to be an actress any more, and she never told anyone what had happened in that hotel.

  Chapter Seven

  Beaten at his own game!

  After four potential starlets in as many days had auditioned for him Rattan Singh was feeling very confident about what he could get away with and today was to be the cr
owning achievement was to be squiring Priya who he wanted to “enjoy” frequently if he gave her the part. After all, once a girl gave in to him he had power over them, shame being enough to keep them quiet.

  He decided to wear a white linen shirt and shorts, so he could undress easily, and he was sure of his prize because, like other men who looked purely at her sex symbol image he assumed she would be easy meat, as black American men would say in exploitation films in the 1970’s.

  Priya had no intention of being easy meat for any man, let alone the nasty Rattan Singh. Still, even armed with Raj’s idea to take her bodyguard into the room she had her stomach in knots as she ran through unsavoury images in her mind.

  She was miserable as the car took her to the hotel, which was becoming a familiar destination because Damian was staying there. She hoped he wouldn’t see her, feeling ashamed just meeting Rattan, even if it was supposed to be business.

  Building herself up to prepare for a confrontation she marched through the revolving door to the reception desk. She announced herself and the purpose of her visit and the man behind the desk walked over to a phone.

  As he was nodding in the distance a familiar voice made her heart sink.

  “Are you stalking me?” the familiar, soft English voice asked.

  She spun on her heels to see Damian and her face transformed into a well practiced smile.

  “No, I am here on business,” she explained apologetically.

  “I know,” Damian confessed, “Rattan Singh.”

  “How did you kno...” she began before noticing Raj sitting at a table across the lobby, who raised a glass when she looked in his direction.

  “I bumped into a mutual friend, who came because he was worried about you.”

  “Aw, he’s so sweet,” she began as Raj started walking toward them, “but I’m a big girl now and I can look after myself.”

  “We know,” Damian agreed, with Raj nodding as he arrived, “but this is not an acceptable situation and we feel it’s time to turn the tables on Mr Singh.”

  “You’re expected,” interrupted the man at the desk, “he’s in room 221!”