by Diksha Basu
this is matthew. need to speak. please call asap.
I did. I didn’t want to, but I did. What on earth could he want?
‘Naiya? Hi, babe. How are you holding up?’
‘I’m doing okay. I hadn’t really had much contact with him anyway. How are you?’
‘Eh, listen, you around? Are you at home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, cool, will drop by in fifteen minutes. Text me the directions.’
Exactly fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on my door and there stood Matthew. He looked rushed and dishevelled and manly as usual. He brushed past me saying, ‘You got some beer? Fuck, it’s hot as fucking shit outside.’ He settled into our new, bright-yellow couch with a beer and lit up a joint. ‘So, crazy fucking shit, huh?’
I took a cigarette too, and answered with a non-committal ‘yeah’.
‘Got to give the bastard credit, though. He’s getting a fuckload of press. He went out in style.’
I shrugged and smoked. He finished the first beer and quickly moved on to his second.
‘You knew, right?’ he asked.
‘Knew what?’
‘You knew. You saw. But you never said anything. You knew, right?’
‘Yeah, I guess I did.’
‘You never said anything. I told him you saw. He said you hadn’t mentioned anything.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why?’ Matthew asked.
‘I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. I was never exactly planning to spend the rest of my life with him; so I didn’t think it mattered.’ I shrugged and smoked some more.
‘He would have just denied it anyway. It was too much for anyone to handle,’ I said.
‘Yeah, sure, whatever. Fair enough,’ Matthew answered.
Silence. I had nothing to say. He didn’t seem to want me to say anything and just stared blankly out of the window. After a long pause, he spoke again.
‘He told me he was with you again once recently.’
‘Yeah,’ I admitted.
‘Me too.’
‘You too what?’
‘He was with me recently too. Not just once. Several times,’ Matthew said.
‘That’s fine. I don’t really need to know.’
‘He said he thought you were the one. You know, the one who would save him from himself. He really cared about you.’
And then I lost it.
‘Matthew, are you here to make me feel guilty? To tell me I ruined his fucking life? I can’t figure out why the fuck you are here. I see no reason for you to be sitting here drinking my fucking beer right now. I am going through enough of my own shit.’
Silence. Smoke. Drink. No more shrugs. More silence. Finally, he broke it.
‘I need to know if he ever spoke to you about me the way he did to me about you. I need to know if he loved me, even just a little bit, and to know how guilty I should feel.’ Matthew’s eyes were big and wide and desperate.
I calmed down a bit.
‘What makes you think I want to chat about it? I don’t want you sitting here in my flat, trying to make me feel guilty.’
‘Please. You’re the only one who knew. I need you.’
‘God damn it, Matthew. No, he never mentioned you, okay? I didn’t bring you up, he didn’t bring you up. So take your fucking ego somewhere else. This isn’t about you.’
‘Naiya, the night he died, I ignored about a dozen missed calls from him,’ he said slowly.
Silence. This time, I broke it.
‘So did I.’
‘I’m worried they’ll look through his call log and find out about me.’
‘So am I.’
‘Do you think he called other people too? Maybe we weren’t the only ones?’
‘I hope so,’ I said softly, sickened by this camaraderie.
‘I don’t know what to do if people find out.’
‘That you’re gay?’
‘I’m not gay, okay? I just had a stupid fling. I am in a happy, beautiful, public relationship. I am not fucking gay.’
‘But did you love him?’
‘Did you?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘He controlled me. I don’t know how … don’t understand it,’ Matthew said.
‘Same.’
‘Poor Seher. He didn’t even care for her and she’s taking the brunt of it. Are you reading the shit people are saying about her? I’m glad it’s not me,’ Matthew said, stubbing out the end of his joint.
This time I stopped myself from agreeing. I did agree, and I too was glad it wasn’t me, but hearing him say it like that made me realize what a bitch I was for thinking that.
‘Naiya, nobody can know, okay?’
‘Matthew, I don’t care about you and him. I’m not bothered. So if you’re here to make sure your little secret is safe with me, it is. I don’t give a shit.’
‘But you’re the only one who knows, okay? So if it gets out I’ll know it was you.’
‘Is that a fucking threat? Did you come into my home to spill your secrets and then threaten me?’
‘No, no, of course not. No threats. Just please understand what I’m going through, okay? Please use a bit of discretion if you talk to the press.’
‘I have no intention of talking to the press.’
‘I said “if” god damn it,’ Matthew said.
‘Are you done here? Can you leave, please?’
‘You’re sure I wasn’t the one to blame?’
‘Matthew, please go away. No, you are not to blame. Nobody is to blame. He took his own fucking life. He was the coward. We all just happened to be the idiots who fell into his life. Now please, for the love of god, get out of my apartment and leave me alone.’
‘Yeah. You want to grab a drink sometime?’
‘No.’
He shrugged and finally left.
After he left, I smiled. I smiled a genuine smile for the first time since the suicide. Jay sure did screw people over. I sighed the sigh of the one who had survived the massacre. It seemed true – whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I was so busy feeling guilty that I had begun to believe I had committed a crime. Jess had been right. I hadn’t done anything wrong but was holding myself up to trial. But the true trial was how I could use this, learn from this, and grow from the whole experience. The real challenge was to not let this defeat me. This was my crossroads and I could either tuck my tail between my legs and go back across the Atlantic a bitter, angry failure, or I could use this to fulfil my dream. I would get over this. I had to. And until I did, I would fake it. I was an actress, after all.
So, for the first time in days, I put on a yellow cotton halter dress, mascara and bronzer, tied my hair into a ponytail and stepped out of the apartment with my head held high. I hailed a rickshaw and headed straight to Sameer’s office. Namit opened the door, smiled and said, ‘About time. I’ll let Sameer know you’re here. Have a seat.’
‘What did I tell you?’ Sameer said once we had both delivered our obligatory tut-tuts about Jay’s tragedy. ‘No such thing as bad luck. Well, except for Jay. And maybe Seher. In any case, would you, beautiful sad-eyed wonder, do me the honour of being my leading lady?’
‘But Seher?’
‘Seher? Producers won’t touch her right now. Nothing to do with you or me. She won’t work.’
‘How did she take it?’ I asked.
‘Well, she doesn’t know yet. But she will. I’ll have her come in for a meeting this weekend.’
‘This weekend? Already? Shouldn’t you wait a while for the dust to settle?’
‘It’s been more than a month already, baby. This is Bollywood – the dust settles immediately … or never does. Either way, your time is now. Enjoy the next two days because I need you on Saturday for a costume fitting and table reading, and then that’s it. We start our first schedule in Film City exactly thirteen days from today. You’ll spend the time until then practising your choreograp
hy and doing a few rehearsals. I don’t think you’ll need much, though. You should be fine.’
‘Wait, what? You want me to start shooting in thirteen days? I’m not ready.’
‘You will be,’ he said confidently. ‘Now go, go. I wasn’t expecting you today. I’ll get Namit to do up the contracts and all, and you can sign over the weekend. There’ll be nothing to negotiate because, let’s be honest, you don’t have much choice; but I promise not to put in anything terrible. Go work out the details with Namit. Let me finish my work and get to my yoga class.’
‘Wait, Sameer. This is it? I’m in?’ I asked.
‘You’re in, baby. You’re about to be a star. It’s what you came here for.’
It was what I came to Bombay for. Finally. I walked out into the almost dark evening and stood there in shock. This was really going to be it. I walked from Sameer’s office all the way to Carter Road and sat there looking out to the sea and inhaling the warm, putrid air. Evening walkers of all sizes and shapes walked past. Aunties with paunches chatting with their friends, uncles with clean white sneakers and handkerchiefs to wipe their sweaty foreheads, young couples with their arms around each other, groups of boys with bidis in their hands. One day they would all recognize me. One day in the not-too-distant future, I wouldn’t be able to stare out at the ocean the way I was. I smiled and sat there until the last walkers of the evening had gone home to their families. And then I finally got up and headed back home to my Bombay family – Jess and Dino and Riteish.
We opened bottles of Sula Brut to celebrate my contract and the changes in all of our lives. Riteish was getting ready to depart for SOAS the following week. He dramatically held my hands in his and said, ‘You were my project, Naiya. You’ll do well. You’ve proven your strength. As my parting gift, you could grant Bollywood Babu the exclusive rights to your first interview. What say? It’ll be mutually beneficial – he’ll write only what you want him to write. Promise.’
Dino, who had invested in a few big pieces of garbage from Chor Bazaar – massive old ship lights, some Coca-Cola paraphernalia, and countless old Bollywood posters – was heading off to Italy to lay the groundwork for his business.
That left Jess and me. Jess had spent nearly every night since Rajat’s screening with Kamini, the beautiful dusky curator she had met there. Chugging sparkling wine, Jess laughed and said, ‘Naiya, I think I might just have found my Happily Ever After.’
‘Don’t you dare start believing that,’ I said. ‘Not after you’ve convinced me to live life permanently single.’
Dino said, ‘Ah, si, but for you, Naiya, it is different. Because for you, people die.’
An awkward silence followed, to break which Riteish said, ‘Too soon?’
I nodded. It was too soon. Maybe this was going to be my cross to bear. It was a big, heavy cross, but it was part of what had got me where I was that night. I felt strong. I was truly ready for Bollywood.
On Saturday morning I walked into Sameer’s office for my fitting and saw a red-eyed Seher walking out. She looked me in the eye, dramatically allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek, and walked out without a word. If pain in the eyes was what Sameer was looking for, Seher would have been a better choice that day. I turned around and watched her go. I considered going after her, ensuring she was okay, but before I could do anything, a cute, plump woman with dyed red hair and an eyebrow piercing grabbed me by the elbow and said, ‘Naiya. My star. Look at that face! You are going to be such fun to style for this film. Come. Walk with me. Talk with me. I want to explain the look to you. I think you’ll love it …’
That was when I finally met Sayali Chandran, the designer for Sameer’s movie. I had never had the chance to see her designs at her launch, but here she was, acting like my best friend. Since then, she has become a close friend. Stylists become privy to your insecurities very fast and you have to have full trust that they will do everything in their power to make your hips look smaller. I never bothered telling her that I had attended her launch ages ago. I wanted to bury the Jay episode fully.
It wasn’t easy. The shoot started very soon and there were constant mentions of Jay’s death, the latest tragedy in the entertainment world. While the newspapers quickly went back to the ongoing Salman–Katrina saga, Jay’s death remained a topic of conversation on set. Particularly since he had been attached to the movie before the tragedy.
On the first day, I showed up bright and early at Film City – which, by the way, is really far and awkward to get to by rickshaw, and even more painful if you are the only one to get there by rickshaw since even the boom operator had a little scooter – and was pushed into a trailer which had a man and a woman inside.
The man, Rajiv, looked me up and down, sighed, and said, ‘We’ll have to make your nose smaller. And your chin might be a bit too prominent. I knew I’d need more than an hour. They never listen to me. Sit down, sit down. No! Not with that T-shirt on! How will you take it off after I’ve finished the make-up? Take the tee off and put on a shirt with buttons. Be quick, be quick. My god, what is this?’ I guessed he was my make-up artist.
I tried to act cool and confident but felt ugly and horribly aware of my nose and chin. I thought Bombay had helped me develop thick skin, but had no way of knowing that some of the biggest blows to my ego were going to come after I had made my way onto a movie set.
That morning, as I got in a rickshaw at 6 a.m., I thought I looked pretty decent. I didn’t know whom I would see first on set, so I had worn my contacts, ignoring the fact that my eyes burned and screamed in protest. I had forced on two coats of mascara and a swipe of lipstick. My nails were trimmed, cleaned, and filed. I had shaved my legs and had put on perfume. Given the time of day and the harrowing trip to Film City, I thought I looked pretty decent.
As Rajiv, exasperated, started dabbing at my face, the woman, Anu, joined in with the insults. She was, fortunately, a bit more maternal with her insults. She almost seemed concerned. ‘Oh dear. What did you do? Fly here? You hair is a tangled mess! Where will I even begin?’ I smiled wearily. I had been so nervous all night, I had tossed and turned in bed and was now beginning to feel exhausted.
‘No. I came by rickshaw.’
Anu nearly fainted with horror. ‘You came by rickshaw! Oh ho. Why, baby? Car trouble? Oh no … driver didn’t come, na? These drivers these days, I tell you. Just get another one.’
‘No. Ha ha. A driver would be useless. I don’t have a car.’
Anu and Rajiv stared at each other in utter disbelief and, thanks to their embarrassed contemplation of my miserable life, I managed to get a few minutes of silence. I took advantage of this lull to put on my iPod. They soon settled into quietly doing their work while I tried to listen to music and forget about my chin and nose. I felt prepared. I had learned my lines, had worked through the character, watched the movies Sameer had recommended, read the books he had given me, and done all the research in the world. I had spent hours practising the choreography, and was even listening to a particular Dizzy Gillespie soundtrack that I thought suited the scene I was going to be shooting on the first day. I don’t even like Dizzy Gillespie, but it felt very ‘method’ and appropriate.
Then, during my hair and make-up routine, one of the assistants knocked, came in, and offered me milky, sugary coffee and a copy of the day’s scene. I took the coffee – I hate milky, sugary coffee, but on the set, it was either that or no coffee – and proudly told the assistant that I didn’t need the script. I had come prepared.
‘But you don’t have the new version. Here, take it. Be ready to go in about thirty-five minutes. When you’re done with your hair and make-up, Anu will help you with the costumes. Rajiv, cut the nose more,’ he said, and left.
When the assistant walked out, Rajiv sighed and said, ‘What more can I do with the nose?’
Anu turned to him as if I wasn’t there and said, ‘What is your problem?’ I smiled, thinking she was about to stand up for me when she continued, ‘Think about me.
All the clothes are fitted to Seher. Now how do I fit them here? Sayali Ma’am didn’t make all the alterations. Look at her hips – I’ll need safety pins to hold the lehnga together.’
At the mention of Seher’s name, I swallowed hard and tried to look casual. I asked Anu, ‘You know Seher?’
‘Of course I know Seher, baba. She was supposed to play your role.’
I felt small and miserable and alone, but was determined to not let the mere mention of Seher’s name make my career go for a toss.
Anu continued, ‘You toh knew Jay also, no? So sad what happened. Chhi chhi.’
I nodded and kept my eyes down.
Rajiv joined in and said to Anu, ‘What do you think? He killed himself, no? Guaranteed. Why, do you think?’
I turned my iPod as loud as it would go, rummaged through my purse, found my anti-anxiety pills and swallowed one in a rush. I couldn’t break into tears on my first day on set. I was just beginning to calm down when Sameer walked in. I gathered that my morning of being relaxed and mentally prepared was over. It was time to go. Seeing Sameer, though, comforted me. I nearly jumped out of my chair and into his arms.
In his voice that sounded like home, Sameer said, ‘Hello, hello, my lovely leading lady. Did you see the new script? We’re shooting a different scene today. Woh wedding scene.’
‘What?’ I almost choked on the coffee. ‘A different scene? No, no, Sameer, wait, I prepared the other scene. I have all the lines memorized, everything. No please, Sameer. I’m not ready for the wedding scene. It’s the one where I have to plot against the hero. No Sameer, please.’
‘Calm down, calm down, baby. It isn’t that different. The plotting scene will be easy for you.’
Had he just suggested that plotting came easily for me because I was evil and manipulative and had caused Jay’s death? I searched Sameer’s face for a hint of accusation or sarcasm, but he was just standing there, looking calm and collected.
‘Sameer, you could have sent it to me yesterday. Please I can’t do this scene today. Or just give me a bit more time. Another hour. That’s all. I just need to prepare,’ I begged.
