Our love is like the wind. I can't see it. But I can feel it.
-A walk to remember (2002)
Sahil
"Lights, Camera and ACTION." The director screamed.
I walked to the girl or the actress (I can say) and held a broken heart face as she stared at me. I stepped too close to her and recited my dialogue,
"I stain the floor with my love. It runs from my mouth, and I choke on the air. It bleeds from my ears and drips from my chin. My head hangs low, heavy with thoughts of you."
As a special effect, I pretended to wipe a tear as she bent her head low. She was a really good actor too. She looked up and stared into my eyes, and I did the same. Tears rolled down both our cheeks.
"And......CUT" the director screamed, and I stepped back. "Excellent Sahil, outstanding."
I nodded a thank you, sighing in relief. The director had freaked me out when he told me about the effect he wanted. He told me he wanted drama and tears rolling down the audience's face; he had told us to get into the character and feel the pain and act accordingly. And now that this scene was done, I felt thoroughly mitigated.
I stepped out of the set and then rested on an armchair as the director wanted to shoot a scene of the actress's guilt. I watch her act confused and frustrated and screams in the open air for cheating on me. I must admit she really is a good actor.
I was impressed.
I receive a text message on my phone, from Kumar.
Can I call?
I stood up and gestured the crew that I will be out. I didn't want to disturb the director as he seemed too involved like his life clung to that camera.
Once out, I called Kumar.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked. Kumar was a man I loved a lot. If not for him, I wouldn't have been here. He offered me a chance to cast in The Love Story and had made me famous.
"Hey, Sahil. You doing good?"
"Ya, I think so," I replied. He must have sensed my anger on the recent events that happened.
"Okay, Sahil I was thinking of doing a new film."
"Oh, wow congratulations," I said, feeling happy for him. I knew Kumar took films as his life and worked on them very seriously; this is truly good news.
"Uh, thanks. So... So..." He trailed away.
"Go on," I said.
"Um, Sahil, I know the recent events have left you...distraught. Firstly, Rhea cheating on you, and then snatching back films by famous directors and then working on only selective films." He said slowly, as if unsure of what he is saying.
And your point is? I wanted to ask but remained silent. He took that opportunity and continued,
"But that changes nothing between us. So, this script is... bold and tough. I know your acting skills and I am sure only you can do them, so. .. So, if you can come over here and read the script and decide... I will be happy to cast you."
"Okay, " I said after a minute of silence. "When can I come?"
"Now, if you are free?"
"Now? Uh...I will be there in an hour."
"Sure."
I walked to the set again, where the actress was being appreciated for her acting. A towel was wrapping her, and as I expected, they had poured water on her to make it appear like it was raining. She was shivering with cold. She smiled at me when I entered, and I smiled back. We all stood there when the director came to us and screaming, "it's a wrap."
We all clapped, happily. Then someone brought a cake from nowhere and kept it in front of us,
"A celebration, for the completion of the second schedule, " the director screamed brightly. They handed me and my costar a knife and asked us to cut the cake. We cut pieces of cake and fed each other and everyone else in the crew.
"Okay folks, " the director shrieked again after at least half an hour of celebration, "the third schedule is in Delhi as you all know. And we shall be starting that on August 1st. Cool?"
We all nodded, yes. And I felt relieved. Today was July 1; I had a break of a month. I deserved the break. I have been working hard for three months. I will probably take a flight to Delhi and spend some time with her.
Thinking of Ayesha made my mood light and happy; it made me smile involuntarily. I felt pleased and satisfied thinking of her. That was the effect she had on me.
I asked the driver to pull out at Kumar's house. I went in and greeted him with a man hug. He welcomed me in and took me to the hall, where there were two armchairs and a bunch of papers tied neatly, kept on the table, which I guess is the script for the film.
"Coffee?" He asked me, with his hands in his pockets, I shrugged to say yes.
He made two cups of coffee. Mine was black with no sugar, and man; it tasted heavenly. I inhaled the steam and felt satisfied. I smiled in appreciation and sat down opposite to Kumar, and we both took the bundle. I would read it and pass it to Kumar, who would reread it and watch my expression.
An hour passed, and I was very happy with the script. It was set in the scenario of the second world war. It was a simple love story, a man searching for his love. He falls in love with a woman who reciprocates his feelings. But unfortunately, he had to leave for the war, and he promises her that after they would return, he would marry her and have two children. But he never returned as he attained martyrdom in the war. And the woman continued to wait.
Kumar had written it in his style, and it was beautiful. I am sure this story will be a super success because of the plot at least. And Kumar was known for selecting the best always. He chose the best music director, costume designer, makeup artists, everything he decided was best.
I loved the script. But why was he acting weird on the phone? He definitely knew I would accept this, but then why did he say it would be tough? Probably, the war scenes will be tough to enact.
"I love it, Kumar," I said, handing him the final sheet of the script. "I really like it."
We discussed the budget and my cost, which I gladly accepted to the price he was offering me. It seemed really reasonable.
"You do?" He asked, relieved. " Thank God. Well, can I count you in?"
"Yeah, you can. Who are the rest of the cast?" I asked, standing up and stretching?
"Um..." He trailed away. "Um, actually Sahil, "
I turned to look at him. Why is he acting weird? Did I ask something wrong?
"I have thought about the female costar. And she has consented to it, "
"Okay. Who?"
"I really think she will be okay. And I don't want anyone else other than her. She will be the perfect one for the female protagonist."
"Okay, who is this she?" I was beginning to lose patience now. What is with this she? Who was she?
"Rhea." He said and looking down averting my eyes.
And when he said that emotions passed through me. How can I work with her? After what she has done to me, how can I? It was like this movie also snatched away from me. I would work in anyone with the world except her. But I can't and won't work with her. She snatched away so many things from me. She was the cause of my depressions and failures.
"No," I said, right on his face. Harshly. "No, Kumar, I can't," I said, this time politer.
"Sahil, she has already said yes. I can't take her out now. She has already signed up the contract."
"So who's asking you to take her out? I am backing out. I am sure you can find so many actors willing for this. You can take anyone. "
"Like?" He questioned with his eyebrows raised, "like who Sahil? Tell me, one actor, who has your skill?"
"Like. .. I don't know man. Take anyone...take Varun" I said and immediately regretted my answer.
"Varun? Varun Bahl? He doesn't have even half of your skill."
I admit It felt good to hear that.
"I'm sorry, Kumar. But I can't work with Rhea. We have issues, and I have faced a lot, because of her."
"I understand Sahil, but please think about it, okay."
I took a deep breath. Kumar was the only reason I was here. In this big world of acting. After minutes of silence,
"Okay, I will think about it," I said in a calmer tone.
"Thanks, Sahil."
"I will get back to you about this. Thank you, " I said dashing towards the exit, desiring nothing more than to get out of here.
I get a beep on my phone. I received the call,
"Sir, your photoshoot schedule for the Times Magazine has arrived. Could you please be here at 4 p.m. today, for the shoot." My personal assistant recited.
"Okay, I am coming, " I said and cut the call.
I reached the production house where the editor in chief, cameraman and makeup artists we're seated, waiting for me. They warmly welcomed me and hugged me lightly.
It felt good that few people still loved me the way I was. And not run away from me.
"Hey, " the editor in chief said giving me a man hug. I smiled, and he gave me the details of the shoot, the budget and the locations. I listened in rapt attention to them. I liked taking my work very seriously.
"Okay, then. That's it, " the editor in chief smiled said after briefing me. He turned to the cameraman and the makeup artists for their suggestions.
I fiddle with my mobile, and when I found nothing significant in it, I look around and my eyes land on the draft copy of the July issue of the Times Magazine. I know I should have asked the editor, but my hands automatically reach for it, and I begin to flip the pages. I find nothing interesting, and I am about to close it when my eyes land on the index.
Fashion Family. 25
Trends of the month. 28
An exclusive interview
With Siya Malik, about
The struggle and her 31
Views on the Movie
Industry.
Mehras: A tragedy? 35
The name caught me. And I quickly turn to page 35,
Mehras; A tragedy?
Well, everyone is aware of the Mehras, aren't they? If not, ask yourself, have you ever heard of Mehra Infrastructures?
This surely is bound to be known. Mehra Infrastructures are one of the most reputed companies in the world. And the best in India. It deals with furniture and interior-designing. It is known to have an annual profit of more than 5000 million crores.
Mehra Infrastructures was once upon a time a small company. It was initially started by Aman Mehra, the younger brother after his graduation. Slowly, the company took over the world by its designs and quality, because of the combined efforts of Aman Mehra, of course. It was shortlisted for the Indian Companies Fest 2005 and won that. Slowly, it raced over, and by 2010, it became the first organisation in India, to establish a trade with the US companies.
In mid-December of 2010, Aman Mehra gave the position of the Junior Associate of the Mehra Infrastructure post to Satish Mehra, his elder brother. Satish Mehra, the elder of the two siblings slowly joined hands with Aman. Satish was reluctant in the beginning but gradually gave in. He began loving the company and often signed treaties with other organisations and slowly became wealthy enough to buy the shares and become a partner in the Mehra Infrastructure.
Aman was delighted. He approved his brother's action and lived a peaceful and contented life with his wife, Neeta Mehra and daughter Ayesha Mehra. Things were smooth. But one day, Aman died of cardiac arrest and a heart attack. The company fell in the hands of Satish Mehra, and Neeta Mehra married him later. Satish also took legal custody of the then underaged daughter of Aman, Ayesha Mehra.
Things were good under Satish's leadership. The company bagged the topmost position in the NIC list earlier this year which admittedly is a milestone. But, It seems that Mehras are no longer that, happy any more.
Neeta Mehra, the spouse of Satish Mehra and ex-wife of late Aman Mehra, committed suicide on 23rd June in the afternoon. The police hid the incident under the insistence of Satish Mehra. Though we fail to understand why his insistence had the intended effect. We did not know about this until the police told us. They (police) said that we now have the right to inform our readers about the suicide, after Ayesha Mehra, daughter of the late Aman and Neeta filed an FIR. Reports are that Satish did not want to file any case and wanted to get out of this, but Ayesha was firm.
It is reportedly said that Neeta grabbed a gun and killed herself by shooting a bullet in the heart with her daughter Ayesha watching. She died 2 minutes after the impact. She died even before the ambulance reached there.
Ayesha answered all the questions, police posed. How did Neeta get the gun is still unexplained, and why she committed suicide is unknown.
Ayesha, the next day, she came to the police station and filed a complaint against her uncle. What it is precisely; we do not know as the police refuse to tell us. But we can assure you it is something serious. And it is alarming.
Well, Aman died. Neeta joined him. That leaves Satish and Ayesha. Satish is presently handling the company, and Ayesha is residing in her home for the time being. Ayesha is 21 years old and studies at the Indian University, New Delhi.
Mehra Family is indeed a tragedy, is it not?
Down were the photographs of Aman Neeta, and Satish. There was a photo of Ayesha also. Ayesha was a replica of her mother but had her father's eyes. Ayesha had her father's black eyes.
But why didn't Ayesha tell me all of this? Why didn't she inform me she was in Mumbai?
I close my eyes, and a memory flashed before my eyes.
I slept down with Ayesha's head on my shoulder and my head on her shoulder, in the terrace of my hideout watching the beautiful stars. I looked at them smiling,
"You see that?" She pointed at a bright star. It was the most brilliant and close to the moon. "That's my father." She said.
In the moonlight, I could see her wipe the tears that had freshly emerged from her eyes.
I took her hand and squeezed it, thrice and stare at the star, "it's beautiful." I whispered.
"Yes. It is." Was her reply.
This was the first time she spoke about her family on her own accord. I closed my eyes as I felt her warm hands continue to remain with mine. Her palm was warm and welcoming. Her fingers interlocking mine and I never wanted her to take away her hand from mine.
"What happened to him?"
"A heart attack." She told her voice stiffening. I squeezed her hand again.
"Your mum?"
"Hmm?"
"Where is she? How is she?"
"She is in Mumbai. She married my stepfather and is happy, that's what I think at least. She never cared about me, and I didn't care for her either. We never had a proper mother-daughter relationship. "
"Oh." Was all I could say.
"Yeah, she never loved me the way my dad did. But, that's not a problem, I guess."
"Your stepdad?"
"What about him? I told you, he was an unfit man to marry my mother. There are rumours about him, and I don't like him. I hate him, in fact. I hate him a lot. "
"Why?"
"Hmm...reasons." She said in a tone that made it clear that she didn't want to speak about it. I understood that.
"So, when are you coming to Mumbai next, miss. Mehra?" I asked, cleverly changing the subject. She understood and smiled before squeezing my hand. Thrice.
"Oh, so you read my draft?" The editor said, dropping into a chair beside me.
"Yeah," I said,
and he saw the page I was reading. "We got this information on Tuesday, and we have to publish this magazine on Saturday. Imagine the stress, "
"Yeah...so it's true?"
"What is true?"
"This, Mehra tragedy?"
"100 per cent. I got this from one of my most trusted journalists. We have got to publish this before the other news sites come to know."
"Yeah." I nodded without actually listening.
Should I go now? To visit Ayesha? Why didn't she tell me about her mother's suicide? Why didn't she tell me she was coming to Mumbai? Why didn't I happen to know about the complaint she had filed in the police station? Why? What was the complaint she filed? Today was July 1, and her mother died on 23rd June, that is a week ago.
I felt incomplete after reading the article. I feel terrible for Ayesha and horrible that I wasn't there for her. As far as I knew Ayesha, she would never tell me all these because it would "bother." me. But no, not telling me stuff bothers me. And she doesn't understand that. Oh, God, what should I do now?
"Sir, sir" my PA, came forward with a book in her hand that had all my appointments. "Sir, the shoot for the Times Magazine had been scheduled on 3rd July, 5 pm."
I nodded without registering her words.
"Sir, right now, you have an appointment with Shaman Khanna, regarding his movie. He wants you to read his script. Shall I tell the driver-"
"No. "
" But sir, your appointment -"
"Cancel, please," I said and stood up. I was not going to waste my time reading a stupid script; I was going to go to Ayesha. She was way too important to me than just a movie. She had once said,
...He is not a good person, Sahil. He is not a good person...
I was suddenly engulfed in fear regarding the safety of Ayesha. Oh, God, I had to be there now.
"Tell the driver that I want to drive to Andheri. NOW." I said, saying the last word harsher than intended. My PA nodded and ran to the exit, frightened.
"You okay?" The editor asked me, concerned.
"Ya, "I manage to reply when I felt conflicted. The sudden desire to see Ayesha took over me and I had to be there. " see you, day after tomorrow" I said tossing the draft magazine back to him and hurrying down the stairs, two at a time.
The driver had already left, leaving the key on the car. I took the driver seat and drove the vehicle ferociously. I felt the cool air whipping my face. I exceeded the speed limit, as I was caught in a sudden fear regarding the safety of Ayesha. I drove like mad and reached Andheri in 15 minutes.
Mehra Residence was easy to find. It was a landmark by itself. I knew Ayesha stayed there though she hadn't told me.
I parked the car and reached the spot. I could already see a BMW parked, which I guess is her uncle's. I reach to the door and think of knocking it but decided against it.
I went ahead to the garden, where I had a clear view of the living room. I quickly hid up so that no one spots me. I see Satish Mehra, entering the room and I see a thin figure coming shortly after.
My Ayesha.
She was wearing a yellow dupatta around her neck, and a semi-white cum cream Kurti, and her hairs were left open behind her. She had lost that glow on her face, which she always had. Her eyes were sunken inside, and there were dark circles visible. Her face looked tired, and she did not glint her eyes. Her eyes look tired.
But she still looks beautiful.
I watch Satish advance closer to her, but she asks him to stay back. I can clearly overhear the conversation. I watch as Ayesha confronts her uncle about Ram Seth, Asha Jain and Taman Singh. I had indeed read an article days before, regarding their shocking murders.
Things were getting out of control. I don't like that evil glint and the tone in which Satish speaks; I feel more scared for Ayesha who is standing closer to him. I feel unsafe like I am in danger.
I immediately run out of the garden and dial 100. The police said they would arrive shortly. I wait outside the house, praying for the police to come quickly, and in that duration, I heard a gunshot, from inside the house.
I feel my heart racing out; I feel scared for Ayesha. I ran back to the garden to check on things, and what I saw shocked me. Ayesha is on the ground, writhing in pain, and Satish has a gun pointed towards her.
I feel tears boiling in my eyes when I saw Ayesha like that. I dashed to the entrance and am about to open the door when I hear the second gunshot. My hands freeze on the handle. I am not able to move from my spot. I feel hot tears falling on my hands as I hear Ayesha screaming in pain.
I opened the door and rush to the living room, where I can see, through a keyhole, Satish pointing the gun at Ayesha's head.
"Why don't I ease out your pain?" He asks delightfully, and I wanted to rip off his tongue.
I watch Ayesha writhe in pain. She was going to die, and I was not going to stay silent. I was about to open the door when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I freaked out completely and turned behind to see a police officer with troops behind him. I had forgotten that I had called the police.
He gestured me to step back, as I heard the counting 5,
4,
3,
2,
The police banged open the door. Satish looked shocked. But I didn't care how he looked for my eyes was for the girl who was lying behind.
Seeing her straight like this was a thousand times worse, her yellow dupatta was tainted red with blood. So much that it looked more like a red dupatta and it would be tough to think it was once upon a time yellow. Her semi-white cum cream Kurti was also dripping with blood. I look to her shoulder where the wound was fresh, and then my eyes land to her hands. Her one hand is covering the other. That bastard had fired her the second time there.
She was barely stirring. She was losing so much blood that, a puddle of blood, formed around her. Her brown hairs were trickling with blood too. She did not writhe in pain any longer and seemed almost lifeless.
I pushed two police officers apart and rushed to her. I put her head on my lap, shaking her vigorously. And she opened her eyes slightly, those black eyes I loved — a lot.
Her eyes showed surprise and shock; she managed to choke out my name, "S-S-Sahil?" I was so happy that she was at least alive.
But then, she suddenly began to twist and turn in pain. She closed her eyes and struggled. I placed my hands on her face, whispering "it's going to be fine Ayesha. Really fine." I say taking her left hand, which was uninjured and squeezing it. Thrice.
I don't know if I am giving the confidence to her or myself. But then, she suddenly moved no more. She remained in my arms there without fighting, just like that. But before that, she squeezed my hand. Thrice.
I remain motionless for a second or two, watching her still. But then, I immediately scream, "call the ambulance. Now"
Satish Mehra smirked at me how I want to wipe off that smirk. He was now standing with his hands raised to shoulder level and the police officers pointing their guns at him.
But one of them paid attention and called 108. Until the ambulance arrived, I remained to hold Ayesha in my arms. Tightly. Whispering it's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay. I held her uninjured hand and squeezed them thrice, alternatively.
The ambulance arrived in 5 minutes. The paramedics rushed to us, and one of them carried Ayesha away from my hands and placed her in the stretcher. She did not open her eyes or show any movement in the process. She had lost consciousness and showed no visible sign of progress.
One female doctor came forward and had a medical instrument with her. I don't know what it is called but, it looked like a pair of the iron box. She separated the pair, and a paramedic applied some ointment on it. She rubbed it and placed both the iron boxes on Ayesha 's heart.
Ayesha jumped almost immediately. And in that process, she grabbed my hand.
I take a breath of relief. That was a sign; she was alive.
The doctor again separated the iron boxes like an instrument and applied some ointment on it. She rubbed it and placed it back of Ayesha's heart.
She jumped again.
The doctor separated the instrument again and applied the ointment. And yet placed the boxes on Ayesha's heart.
This time she didn't immediately jump. I was starting to lose confidence; I knew that the paramedics would keep it there for 5 seconds before pronouncing anyone dead. I had watched it in movies.
My heart began to beat in the walls as if counting the time. My throat began to burn as I stood there, praying to the almighty for some miracle to happen.
I began counting subconsciously,
1,
Come on, Ayesha.
2,
Please, Ayesha. Please.
3,
Ayesha jumped. I sighed in relief, happy tears flowing down my eyes. The doctor nodded to the paramedics, and they placed her inside the ambulance on a ventilator.
I don't know if I imagined it, but before placing her in the ambulance, I felt three squeezes in my hand. Ayesha had squeezed my hand. Thrice.