Dating : Twisted Fate

Life in the world of cinema is stranger than fiction. Sometimes weirder than the story we pen down. This is the first and foremost fact I initially learned after my foray into the world of cinema.

Having made two well-received films at the Bollywood box-office in the past 3 years, I don’t mind calling myself a filmmaker now. Well, not a successful name to reckon with, for now. But yes, I’m working my ass off to get there. During my initial years, I felt overjoyed when people around me addressed as “Director Dibankar or Director Debu”. An immediate rush of adrenaline and pride gushed through my body when someone called me “Director.” Though it’s obvious that a film director is addressed as director, but for me, it’s a matter of pride and achievement since I started as an intern writer and made this far. Turned into a filmmaker within a very short span of 5 years while some of my peers still struggled to make their way into a successful directorial team.

Being part of films is all that I dreamed to do after graduating. So, I decided to make my career in films. Though I started off as an intern/writer initially at a newly started production house, I very well knew that it would easily pave the way for me to turn as a director after a few successful writing gigs.

On-screen presence never excited me. That’s not what I had in my mind. I rather preferred to be the miracle man behind the camera.

Man, who called the shots.

My initial stint began as an assistant director to Javed Khan. An established and renowned filmmaker, Javed sir, as he’s fondly known worked with almost all the top actors of the Indian film industry with a solid record of hits under his belt over the last two decades. I had to seek favors from many to make it into his direction team.

After couple of years of working as an assistant director, the money I made was good. However, I realized that it’s not as easy as it seemed to become a filmmaker. The thought of turning into a filmmaker seemed dwindling by every passing day as I struggled to find producers and actors who were keen to work on the scripts that I developed. I felt as though I wouldn’t turn a director anytime soon. Fortunately, I got my break when one of the producers agreed to co-produce for me along with one of his business partners. To my luck, the producer agreed instantly after I narrated part of my script which I’ve been relentlessly working and refining for the last nine months.

But I never, not even for once in my wildest dreams thought that my manuscript will entirely be re-drafted. And the most intriguing part was that it was an actress, who not only dictated and molded my entire script but also turned my life upside down with her intimidating actions.

Its been a year since that fateful night and I’m still unable to shake off the events and its repercussions which led me into a haunt-like coma and I’ve been struggling hard to find ‘the end’ resolution for the invisible dilemma that nobody knows. Neither my family nor my friends.

Only one person in this entire world is aware of my mental dilemma, cause she’s the one that planted it into my life.

Even to this day, the events of that horrid night still seem fresh as my morning coffee and only God knows how I struggled ever since to hide my grief from my family and friends. I even sought spiritual help to cleanse my soul but in vain.

I clearly remember that fateful night. It started to pour heavily when I got into my car and headed to the hotel to meet the actress. The tiny digital clock on my sedan’s dashboard ticked 8:30 pm. I ranted at myself for starting late. I set my destination as “Hotel Aristocrat” on the mobile GPS as I steered amidst heavy drizzle.

Situated in the prime area of Chowpatty Road Mumbai, the 10-storeyed Aristocrat hotel was the most preferable second home for many film celebrities. It took me almost an hour to reach the Chowpatty Road. The tall and magnificent hotel was faintly visible through my car’s windshield as the wipers on it swiped left and right tirelessly.

‘Kilometer or so,’ I convinced myself.

But the destination appeared farther. Blame it on the unrelenting traffic, mindless maneuvering of two-wheelers, and a few senseless drivers honking constantly. All of it had a heavy toll over my head. And thanks to the heavy drizzle which added more annoyance to my already-stressed mind.

‘Relax Dibankar. This is not the first time you’re narrating a script to an actor’, I consoled myself.

Yes. but it’s my first time narrating a script to an actress though. Not just any actress but ‘Anika Kapoor’. The Bollywood’s most revered and critically acclaimed actress. Hot, zero-size, tall enough to share the equal screen space with the male actors of her rank. And of course, filthy rich and the most-envied actresses among the Bollywood circles.

As I drove forward, my thoughts veered over to my previous films. Though my two previous films attained success, I truly didn’t accept them to my heart. Reason — I went off-track and made films of rom-com genre which I totally hated to the core. Horror, paranormal, thriller were the genres that excited me, and I believed that working on such subjects will bring up the best in me and eventually get me noticed in Bollywood by one and all.

However, to play safe and make a mark for myself during my initial days as a filmmaker, I ended up directing romance dramas scripted by other writers. While during my leisure time, I worked hard on developing my debut script. It perfectly fits into my favorite genres — Thriller / Horror.

“Hey, move it, man,” regaining my senses, I screamed at the biker in front who was literally obstructing my path. He didn’t care to look back but gave way to my vehicle.

I glanced sideways at the script lying next to me on the passenger seat nicely tucked inside a heavy file.

Will she like it? What will she say? Would she even spare enough time to let me narrate the entire script?

As the traffic in front cleared, I steered ahead. But more such questions began popping, especially when Anika Kapoor’s face flashed in my mind. I heard many rumors about her. Good and bad. Of course, gossips and hearsay stuff always hovered around beautiful and successful actresses like her. Brushing my thoughts away for an infinite time tonight, I said to myself — Relax Dibankar, Relax.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief as soon as I steered into the driveway of the hotel. Braking precisely at the lobby entrance, I looked at my appearance in the rear-view mirror and adjusted my hair. I retrieved a couple of fresh lavender-flavored face tissues from the glove compartment and wiped my face afresh.

The hotel’s doorman dressed in a costume of what resembled like that of a magician from a stage show descended down the stairs, held the car door open for me and greeted in a bold voice — “Good evening sir. Welcome to Hotel Aristocrat!”

I thanked the doorman but didn’t tip him since I was in a hurry to grab my script and my other hand busy adjusting my neck-length dark wavy hair. I didn’t want to appear shabby like all the other directors. I’m young, tall and to some extent, if I may admit, handsome. At least that’s what my team of associate directors say to me. I must at least impress her with my looks, behavior and communication skills if not by my script, I thought and stepped out of my sedan.

“Park it and please be gentle with the brakes!” I said, handing over my car keys to the waiting youngster behind the valet desk.

The hotel doorman now sprinted upstairs and held open the hotel’s entrance door for me. An instant wave of cold air blew my just-adjusted hair backwards. It even sent along a mild whiff of a room freshener. Could be pink roses flavored freshener, I guessed as I stepped inside the hotel’s lobby.

I glanced at my mobile. The home screen displayed 9:30pm. Shit, I’m late. I headed straight towards the front office desk.

“Good evening sir. Welcome to Hotel Aristocrat,” greeted one of the young concierges.

I acknowledged and without wasting any minute, said, “Hi, I’m here to meet Ms. Anika Kapoor, the actress. Could you please ring and inform her that Director Dibankar Basu is here to meet her? I believe she is put up in room number 9009.”

“Sure, I’ll check that for you. Please give me a minute sir,” the youngster replied in a polite tone and glanced at the computer in front. He started keying in some details and paused for a moment, and replied, “Yes. She’s in room no 9009. However,”

That one little pause from the concierge felt like a deep stab on my chest. My mind instantly ran a vague thought that after all the pain and preparation on this drenched night, am I now about to be told that she’s not here in the hotel?

The concierge guy shot back a quick glance at the computer again and without looking at me said, “She left a message for you Mr. Dibankar Basu. Here, the note says that she’d be waiting for you at ‘Spirits’, the bar.”

Oh, thank god. I uttered to myself and asked him, “Which floor?”.

“The ‘Spirits’ bar is on the mezzanine level sir.”

“Excuse me. ‘Mezzanine’ level?”

“Yes. There, between the first and the ground floor”, the concierge said pointing diagonally from the front office desk.

I turned around and took a moment to look at the bar. It had a wide glass door. A set of bright red letters above the glass door blinked, ‘Spirits — Lounge Bar’, and next to it were another set of letters that blinked ‘Open’ in bright green neon lights.

Loads of curiosity and excitement crawled all over me as I reached the bar’s entrance on the mezzanine level. I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped inside the bar. My nostrils instantly deduced the hint of alcohol and cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the air. The temperature inside felt a lot colder compared to the lobby. Most parts of the interior walls were furnished with sleek gleaming mirrors that gave off a classy appearance. The interior lightning had a touch of low-gold hue lights that would easily implore any guests like me to instantly order for a drink and get wasted.

My vision was a little hazy for the first few seconds due to the low lightening inside the bar. I somehow managed to find the bar stand. Dressed in a maroon sleeveless vest over white shirt and matching trousers, I spotted two waiters. One behind the bar’s reception and the other standing near the bar stand waiting tables. I walked straight to the barman behind the reception and inquired, “Did Anika Kapoor come here, the actress?”

The barman, busy arranging the freshly brought in beer tumblers looked at me and asked my name. That moment, I felt a sharp sting again. A sting of insult. However, owing to my lesser known status as a young debutante director, I humbly replied, “Dibankar Basu”.

“Ah, yes. She’s waiting for you sir, seated there”, said the barman pointing to a corner table.

I turned around and could hardly see anything in the low lightening but a silhouette of a woman. Holding my manuscript firm, I advanced towards the corner table. The silhouetted figure now gradually morphed into a physical figure of a woman and there she was — Anika Kapoor, the actress herself.

She was dressed in a red sleeveless party gown that ended in a curvy cut at knee length exposing part of her well-toned waxy legs. She sat comfortably on the huge sofa and her neck craned down and eyes glued to her mobile screen.

“Good evening ma’am”, I greeted her with a broad smile. She looked up in surprise.

“Oh, Dibankar Basu! Glad that you made to meet up tonight! I thought you wouldn’t…given the heavy pouring outside. Good. Please, be seated!”

She moved her drink. It was vodka, diluted in orange juice. I deduced within a second. She hailed for the waiter standing idle next to the bar reception and ordered to clear up the table. Within a minute, the bar waiter cleared the table. Now there was enough empty space to lay my script on the table, except for her vodka glass and a neat glass ashtray.

I sat down facing her, with my smile still intact. My eyes began skimming the beautiful actress. I remember seeing her countless times during various award ceremonies and film premiers, but not this close. So close I was to her today, that I could smell both her mystifying evening perfume and her vodka-laced sweet breath. Anika was indeed, a stunning beauty. Her skin tone, milky and moist, glistened with full of life even in the dark and lowest lights of the bar. By the skin tone, one could easily tell that she originally hailed from one of the hill-stations, up north.

Either Shimla or Nainital. One of the coldest and sun-deprived regions after Kashmir. Or, in Anika’s case, the same could be attributed to less exposure to the sun and more time spent resting inside the luxurious air-conditioned hotel rooms, I thought.

It took me a few seconds to realize that she had hardly applied any makeup. From her overall appearance and nice curved outline, she looked no lesser than thirty years old. While magazines and other journals flashed about her age quoting that she had recently turned thirty-two.

“So, Dibankar”, she said but paused for a second. “Is it okay if call you by your first name?”

“Just call me Debu, ma’am,” I replied with confidence.

“Anika. Just Anika will do. Please don’t ma’am me, Debu! I feel annoyed when someone ma’am’s me. At least not the director with whom I may work”, she shot back.

“Sure, ma’am. Oops…Anika”, I corrected myself!

“Well, I thought Debu as a person, would be anywhere around forty or something! But you look a lot younger. If my intuition is right, then you must be around twenty-eight” said Anika trying to guess my age.

“You’re almost close to that number, Anika”, I hinted and revealed my age, “I’m thirty.”

“Oh, is it! But you don’t look like one. At least by your young looks and built.” Now her dark brown eyes began skimming me!

“Oh, thanks, Anika. But yes, I recently turned thirty though. I moved into the direction team of Javed sir’s as soon as I finished my internship”, I clarified.

“Hmm, and how old do you think your heroine could be”, she asked. “Not the one from the script, but me,” she smiled and raised her brows up, twice in excitement.

I, like everyone, knew that most actresses lie when it comes to revealing their age. So, keeping in mind the interests of my future film starring her, I didn’t want to be blunt. Hence, I decided to bluff and replied in a soft tone, “Well, I believe you’re 30 as well. Hope I’m not wrong!”

She laughed out loud. Her cheeks turned pink instantly. “I’m 32 though, Debu,” she said!

“I’m sorry Anika, but nobody would believe that…cause, you look a lot younger.” I lied again just to keep her in good spirits.

“Well Debu, before you open your script and start narrating, I wish to lay down a few ground rules of mine that I religiously follow during my ‘script hearing-sessions’. And I believe and hope that you’ll abide by them.”

“Oh yes. Sure Anika”, I replied.

Anika had no idea that I already knew few of her ‘ground rules’ which I sourced from people that worked with her earlier.

“You’d not listen to the entire script if you sense the character is something that you’ve already portrayed earlier. Isn’t that one of the many of your ground rules?” I probed.

“Oh, so you’ve done your homework! Good. Yes, that’s right. And coming to the rest”, she paused and reached for her tall vodka-diluted juice glass and drained it down her throat. Bottoms up!

Her eyes closed forcefully, and she finally finished the act by raising her head up and let out a mild gasp.

“Sorry”, she confessed and continued.

“Like I was saying, the rules are like these- I won’t portray a repetitive role…My character should equally share the screen space with the male lead if there’s one in your script. I’d agree to assign my dates first to films that are female-oriented, followed by the ones with female lead/heroine role. I’ll straight away reject your script if it’s a triangle love drama. These are few of my work’s dictum. Just letting you know beforehand so that you don’t bite over it later!”

“Oh, yes”, I acknowledged. “I’m very much aware of Anika Kapoor’s work rules. Just like anybody else in the film industry!” I added, trying to make her feel special again.

“Oh, good Debu. Seems like you’re very much aware of my work-things! So, go ahead. What kinda story you got for me inside this file of yours”, she asked, pointing at my file lying in front of her?

“Well, It’s a story about”…?

“Excuse me, ma’am!” A voice intervened. It was the bygone waiter returning to our table again. Now holding a tray containing a fresh glass of large vodka, another tall tumbler filled with fresh orange juice and a steamy Paneer Tikka sizzler. He placed the two glasses close to her and the snack dish right in the center of the table.

“Anything else ma’am?” He asked as he refilled her empty vodka glass and then diluting it with the fresh orange juice.

Any onlooker passing by our table could surely mistake Anika’s drink for a “Sex on the beach” mocktail! But the ravishing actress, like most in Bollywood, won’t accept anything less than vodka to kick off a conversation.

“Yes”, she shot back. “Need a lighter or a match, please.”

“Oh, sure ma’am.” The waiter acknowledged and placed the hotel’s complimentary matchbox on the table and left.

“Hope you won’t mind if I”…she paused, took out a Marlboro stick from her tiny purse and waved it at me.

“No please. Go ahead!”

She lit her cigarette and dragged a long puff. Inhaling a large amount of smoke, Anika breathed out a thick cloud of white smoke. I could clearly notice that her glossy pink lips left a stain on the tip of her cigarette butt. She took two more desperate drags. I really liked the way she smoked. Only a regular smoker could enjoy such a feel. I, being a habitual smoker myself, would’ve enjoyed smoking with someone like Anika. If only, she had asked.

‘Lucky Marlboro. For it got pressed between her soft and candy pink lips’, I thought. Brushing away my feelings, I took the script out of my file and placed it on the table.

“And yes, forgive my manners. But I didn’t ask what you’ll have…Am so sorry, Debu.” She cut through again as I readied myself to narrate.

“Nothing, I’m good. Thanks for asking Anika.” I replied in a hesitant tone.

Though the outside weather and the bar’s ambiance kind of implored me to gulp down a whole bottle of Jack Daniels. I would’ve gone for it if only I had walked into this bar tonight, all alone only to drink. However tonight, I’m here for a much-better reason- Narrate my script to Anika. Simple as that.

“You don’t drink? Come ‘on Debu. I can easily sense your reluctance. Loosen up a little. Go ahead, just order your poison.”

“It’s not that I’m reluctant, Anika. I’ll order…Maybe later, or during my script narration. Just to moisten my dry throat.”

“Cool, I like it Debu.” She smiled and said, “Fine. Go ahead then.”

“Well Anika,” I started off with all excitement, “this story is inspired partly from myths and truths surrounding the life of the princess of Bhangarh. And her tragic end at the hands of an evil tantric. I’ve altered the story-line and included a few Indian cinematic elements. Just to spice up the story, you know!”

“Tantric”, she paused intermittently. “Hmm, okay. Go on!”

A moment later, she grinned but I witnessed that her grin instantly turned into serious thought. It seemed as though she was lost deep in her own thoughts. Her final drag of Marlboro was more intense. The way she inhaled the smoke, I sensed that this time, the smoke might make its way deeper than just her throat. Probably could’ve hit her lungs.

…to be continued…