F
78
FICTION
FRAGMENTS By Anita Goveas
The phone is ringing when she walks into the room but Deepika ignores it. She doesn’t want the husky, anonymous voice to spoil her day. Everything is going perfectly. Her cleavage is mesmerising her ageing co-star, Chet, into speechlessness, and she’s slowly upstaging him. Her ability to turn up sober and on time is making sure the director, Hanif Masood, is letting her get away with it. If she has a reputation for being over-friendly, she might as well use it. This is shaping up to be her second big break, what she needs to banish the spectre of Sajani for good. She kicks off her shoes, and throws her peach and gold dopatta over the violet plush armchair. The colours clash magnificently. There have been fresh flowers every few days, and this time it’s jasmine, sweet and heady. The phone is finally silent, and her hand hovers over it. She could call Jayvita, but their father will be preparing for bed and wouldn’t let her answer. They keep early hours in Shirgaon. She decides to test the kitchen at the Novotel and her starlet status, and order room-service. She could get ukdiche modak, truly commemorate where her resurgence started, meeting Adarsh at the Ganesh festival. That might be tempting fate, the movie is only halfway through. She settles for mango poli, made with Alphonso mangoes, and ginger tea. She’s soaking in the tub with the marble surround, in the bathroom that’s the same size as her flat in Kolad, when the phone rings again. She takes it off the hook, and settles into the king-size bed, into well-pressed, lavender-scented sheets. She’ll need to be rested for tomorrow. The hotel’s almost inperceptible aircon has tamed the Mumbai humidity, but they’re filming on Juju beach tomorrow. Even with the sea breeze, the temperature will be exhausting. *** “I was surprised to see you at the Ganesh festival. I thought you’d left Shirgaon for good, the film career was going well?” “You must be the only person who didn’t hear the horrible things my co-star said after we finished shooting Sajani. I’m taking a rest from the drama.” *** Deepika’s kept the studio taxi waiting, looking for her powder-blue high-heeled mules, which she’ll need for the scene in the nightclub today. She wasn’t supposed to take them off set, but they match her favourite sequinned top. She’s five minutes late walking to the lot and she’s mobbed by reporters as she tries to cross the street. They’re waving cameras and microphones at her face, but she’s learnt her lesson after Sajani, so adjusts her Donna Karan sunglasses and holds one beringed hand up to block them out. The trick is to feed them enough for them to think you’re worthwhile but not let them devour you. The blaring of horns and the shouting of a panni puri vendor is almost drowning them out. “Deepti, Deepti, what’s your relationship with the happily married Legislative Member Tandon?” “He knows my father.”
