For the charms you cast over a million fanatics...
For the inspirations you were to so many FFs...
You will forever remain the undisputed chemistry couple of Indian television...
Everything seemed just as the end of another day: the spot boys cleaning sparkling paper off the floor, yards of white cloth being drawn over the rails of the staircase and over the upstairs furniture, coils of dark film being rushed to the editor's office and the creatives in a buoyant discussion with the visiting production unit. And yet there was a peculiar silence that often came with a much embraced show's last shoot. Fake smiles and corrupt cheer hung around like uninvited friends, while a few men industriously prepared one corner of the set, secretly laden with images of the next place their talented hands would decorate. The filming of the song sequence that was to be the last scene of the long running show remained to be completed and the glorified leads were locked away in their trailers for a long break before the intensive picturization was to begin. If the swarming depressed fans were not enough, the teams from SBB, SBS and other entertainment shows were piling inside making the already stuffy set, suffocating.
She shut the door behind, after peeking momentarily at the buzz outside, the mere sight of the pacing crowd tiring her. Staring at the mirror, she picked up the blush lazily as it occurred to her that it was the last touch up in the company trailer there.
Her morning had been no different than the others - spooning a mouthful of grape fruit in a hurry, she'd scuttled all over the house hunting for her car keys and scarf that she insisted to having left them at the foyer chest - however, there was a sudden heaviness in her limbs that felt like she had granite for muscle. Her hand dropped onto her lap and she watched her reflection in the mirror, taking in the smooth wisp of hair that fell to one side of her temple; the thin line of red sindhoor streaked in the middle of her forehead; the sparkling border of her sari that was the costume for the day. Strangely the woman in the mirror wasn't as boring as she'd come to think of and the pseudo-identity she'd carried for more than a year - the one adored for her sickeningly sweet acts, frequently for the sultry body the wrapped sari had revealed, particularly for the corny dialogues, and more for the words that she was forced to speak with her eyes locked against his - was nothing short of a TV icon, she realized; the acceptance coming at a time when the woman in the mirror was only hours from fading away.
She was reminded of her last day in college when she'd impatiently felt a rush to do over a few exams she thought she could have genuinely done well. As fragments of scenes she yearned to do a retake of flashed in her eyes, the same remnants of familiar regret rose inside her. One more time - she wouldn't mind facing one more time, the fan that'd directed at her a cold blast of air to make her duppatta fly. She still had some cache to cry out 'Hai Babaji' with a perfect rising pitch accompanying a helpless flutter of her hands.
Clutching the blush brush to her chest, she wondered if they would play the cloying tune of "Mahi..." towards the end. Was she required to slip and fall once more, before they called it quits? It was then, she understood the odd trust she'd come to share with her co-star. He'd never let her down during all those times he'd yanked her close or when she'd had to fake a trip. For all the sizzle their presence created onscreen, they were far too unalike in real life. In the beginning the differences had set off an unsettling churn in her stomach, but later they had turned out to be nothing more than jitters from having little to say to a reticent co-star. As days turned into weeks, the lively crew had come to her rescue keeping her entertained when her cell phone couldn't see to her end. And somehow she 'd stumbled her way through bottles of glycerin, miles of running, hoards of gifts from her fans and seasons of wardrobes, making it to the present...trying to live those months in a moment.
"Shot ready madam" A spot girl called, ruffling her thoughts, while she stretched the creased smile on her lips a little wider.
"I can't wait to go home...Rajsri ben" She slipped out of her trailer, missing a hop in her usual spry step.
The ever present lint on his black jacket fazed him, as he ran a lint roller down the length of his arm. He titled his head sideways, observing the many folds in his hair that was still there. The blinding lights almost always tricked into showing a smoothed back hairstyle, but that never stopped him from devoutly having to work gel into his hair every morning. That would be one less task the next day and it would perhaps be left to look rumpled for the rest of the week, unless there was a party to attend. Though it was not him to display a wild streak, his unruly hair did everything it could, to stay out of place. Just then he remembered the few times he was asked to wash the gel out of his hair and let the thick wet strands dangle over his forehead. And with that came the distant memories of the moments he hovered shirtless among the sets with a towel over his shoulders. At first, the air that surrounded his naked torso had been too much to bear, picturing the million televised living rooms the image would be relayed to. Later the awkwardness had dissolved into the focus that the strenuous stunts had required taking with it the sense of embarrassment that had eventually left him altogether. However, more disturbing was the minute long gazes, the jerking embraces and the constant lingering of his hands around her back. They would all to come to an end after repeating them once in the next hour or so. But it didn't seem so terrible suddenly to perform the last scene with the professional commitment it deserved and without the reservations that normally overwhelmed him.
Somehow he was certain, he would miss the structure and discipline that the show gave to his everyday life. He would no longer be required to fit his rigorous workout schedule outside the shoot hours and he was beginning to think, he'd come to like the hustle and bustle that it stirred in his compressed free time. It escaped him, what part of his true self he'd lent to the character that had come to become his second identity. During the initial stages of the show, he'd identified with the character's endless reserve to stay angry at everything that came into his way, but as the story had progressed, it had moved onto so many other facets of the lead character's personality.
He closed his eyes down, as it occurred to him that the male lead had seeped deep into the ravines of him, so much so that the impatience he once harbored to be clean shaved had withered and the idea of running a blade over his yearlong stubble didn't appeal to him anymore. Perhaps he'd keep it for another day or two, he decided right when a spot boy came looking for him to finish the final scene of the show.
The energy was spontaneous as the crew silenced and the air hung thick with a clammy anticipation from the crowds that bordered the room. They moved into the middle of the spotlight, lacing each others fingers to their sides, steadying for a dance step. His hold was surprisingly firm over the small of her back and she sprightly took a step towards him, that was all her. Maan came alive with the expectant eyes that always searched for her and Geet took form in her, with the same ardor she ever claimed for him.
"Lights...Camera...Action..." the director called out for the one last time.
One Tale at a Time: 6thElement Fiction Index
Bade Achche Lagte Hain Naya Season
