In an attempt to truly transport you into a different world, I would recommend that you play the music below as you go through the story. I have chosen music that fits the theme and time period of the story the best, to ensure a wholesome experience as you make your way through the world of the past.
The sky crackled and a large bolt of light shot through its darkness. It would not lot be long now before the sky gave way to the heavy clouds that weighed down on it, water gushing through it in an outpour. What a perfectly horrible day to organise a premier. Gazing into the mirror, Mrinalini Roy took a long, hard look at her outfit for the night. A regal blue saree with gold embellishments and patterns on it, accompanied by a deeper blue blouse which ran just below her elbow. The blouse treaded dangerously close to her cleavage, exposing just enough to draw stares towards her but not enough to start soft, whispered gossip among the guests. A simple gold chain highlighted the curve of her neck, while dangling gold teardrop-shaped earrings and two sets of bangles adorned her wrists.
Stepping out of her large, almost palatial house, Mrinalini sat inside her car as her driver drove her towards the producer, Mr. Reza Ali’s large estate. Camera’s flashed all around her despite the heavy outpour that had threatened to ruin her big night, as reporters clashed with each other in an attempt to get a perfect shot of Indian Cinema’s biggest leading lady yet. Turning around, flashing her gentle, wide smile, Mrinalini walked into Reza Ali’s house greeted by a loud cheer from the guests. Joining her hands together, thanking everyone, she hugged Zafar Qureshi, her co-star and Kamal Dutt, her director as everyone watched on.
“You look particularly exquisite tonight,” Zafar whispered in her ear as he brushed past her long, loosely braided hair. He reached past her to pick up a glass of whiskey, his face intimately close to Mrinalini who looked at him with an all-knowing smile.
“I know I do. I had this blouse specially made for the sari. Remember when you gave it to me?” Mrinalini’s eyes tingled with a sense of mischief. She reached to grab herself a flute glass filled to the brim with sparkling golden champagne when Fatima walked towards the pair. Almost immediately and with a sense of effortlessness, the two straightened and greeted Fatima who slid her hand behind Zafar. To an outsider observing the trio, the entire scene would have looked as though it had been rehearsed to perfection.
Consciously distancing herself away from him, Mrinalini asked Fatima, “How are you Mrs. Qureshi? I must say, those earrings look absolutely beautiful on you.”
Giving her a stiff, yet graceful smile, Fatima laid her head on Zafar’s chest whose arm had wound around her waist by now, and responded, “I’m good. The earrings were a gift from Zafar, my favourite one so far.” She looked up at her husband with a loving smile, and something stabbed against Mrinalini’s heart. A pang of guilt and jealousy hit her ever so suddenly. Sending a stiff smile their way, Mrinalini excused herself and walked over to the bar where a seat lay vacant. Not long after, Kamal Dutt announced to the large party that the movie screening was about to begin, requesting everyone to make their way towards the theatre.
Mrinalini walked towards the very first row where seats were reserved for the actors, director and the producers of the film. The lights dimmed and the sound of the projector whirring to life drowned out as the music and the title flashed across the large screen – “Zaalim”. Mrinalini suddenly felt a hand slide underneath her fingers and she looked to her left to catch Zafar give her a sly look for a brief moment before he returned his gaze to the screen. Feeling an odd sense of discomfort come over her, Mrinalini uncoiled her fingers from his, stood up and walked towards the doors. She could hear the pattering of the rain get louder as she approached the entrance of the hall. Holding her saree in a small bunch in front of her, she rushed out and waved off her driver who was rushing to open the car door for her. She preferred to walk anyway.
Grabbing the umbrella from her car, Mrinalini walked out along the footpath, with no sense of where she was heading. As she walked, a flurry of thoughts filled her head. Thoughts that had been racking her brain for the past week, but one’s she’d managed to keep at bay for as long as she could. They now threatened to push through the gates and flood her mind with questions that she had no answers to. She suddenly realised that she was panting, breathless and out of air. Locating a small flight of stairs she found to her left, Mrinalini closed her umbrella and sat down on a dry spot under the safe shade of an intricately carved roof over her head. Behind her, she heard the pattering of ghungroos and the soft sitar and tabla, followed by a voice that sounded delicately beautiful. Curious, she turned around and bundled her partially wet sari on her lap settling down into a comfortable position as her head craned forward to catch a glimpse of the lady in the green lehenga.
Decked with jewelry that shone bright in the light of the yellow flames given off by the torches that decorated every corner of the room, the woman still managed to look elegantly, yet simply dressed. Her striking smile and grace as she danced, sang and entertained her guests, filled Mrinalini with a sense of unfamiliar jealousy. Her, one of independent India’s biggest stars, the one whom every woman in the country aspired to be and every man desired to be with – feeling a pang of jealousy over a woman in a common kotha? Peeking up at the hoarding which decorated the already beautifully-carved haveli, she read the name “Jameel Bai ki Mehfil”. The music came to a gradual halt, accompanied by a chorus of “Waah, waah!”. She heard footsteps, accompanied by the sound of ghungroos, draw closer. Turning to her left, Mrinalini saw the lady in the green lehenga sit down on the stairs not far from her and light a cigarette.
“Fancy seeing a lady here in the middle of the night, memsaab”, she let out a wry chuckle as she eyed her up and down. Taking a long puff in, she let the smoke escape her lips, awaiting an answer.
“Aapki aawaz kheech layi hamein, your voice pulled me into a trance”, Mrinalini replied honestly. “You truly do have a beautiful voice.”
“Main Zeenat, and I feel as though I’ve seen you somewhere before – an oddly familiar face”, scrunching up her eyebrows Zeenat rummaged through her brain for an answer. With a sudden sense of realisation dawning upon her, her face lifted into a wide smile, “Mrinalini Roy, isn’t it? The star who has managed to capture the eye of the nation.”
Chuckling in response, Mrinalini nodded her head in agreement and put out her fingers to borrow the cigarette from her new-found acquaintance. “A star indeed. But on days like today, something feels amiss.” Pausing for a few seconds, she took a long puff in, and continued. “How can it be that someone who knows she has almost everything that the world could possibly have to offer her, still feel as though she is missing out on a large part of what her life is meant to be?”
“Oddly enough, I do understand where you’re coming from”, a chuckling Zeenat responded. “I’d left home to be a singer. Par batwaare ne sab kuch bigaad diya, the partition managed to ruin everything thing, though. We were based in Bator, a small village in Punjab, or shall I now say Pakistan? A few years of training in music and dance at a nearby haveli is all I had the chance to do before we had to flee home. It’s been a few years now, since we came to Bombay, and I have managed to secure a job at Jamil Bai’s kotha. Well, at least this way I get the opportunity to do what I love the most – sing.”
A quiet, but attentive, Mrinalini heard her story with a soft smile on her face. “I’ll let you in on a secret, one that no one knows. I’m involved with a married man. A man, who also happens to be my co-star.” Scoffing, she continued, “I was just with him at the premier of our movie. Everything seemed to be so perfect, until his wife came along and he turned to flash her one of his giant smiles – a smile that I’d always thought was only meant for me.”
Her eyes moistened and they got wetter with every word she spoke, her voice turning into a whisper. “I knew what I was getting into when I decided to get into a relationship with a married man. I just never realised how intensely it would consume me.” Sniffing and dabbing at the edges around her eyes, Mrinalini let out a small grin and said, “Ayy hay, my problems must sound so immature to you.”
“No,” Zeenat shook her head. “No they don’t. I suppose everyone has some all-consuming problem in their life that seems to define their very existence. You and I seem to be in a similar boat though, in this journey. More often than not, I find myself in situations where I’m entertaining a married man. Over the years, I have, of course, mastered the art of keeping the personal and the professional separate. But the task gets extremely difficult when in my line of work the personal and professional collide so very often. Ek hain, jo baakiyon se zyaada karib hain, there is one who is dearer than the others.”
The two exchanged a bittersweet smile. Mrinalini suddenly realised that their proximity had reduced significantly. Their hands lay next to each other in a comfortable silence. For a few minutes, they sat quietly listening to the incessant patter of the rain on the road and roof, till it began to resemble a rhythm. Zeenat began humming almost involuntarily and Mrinalini, for the first time in a while, felt her mind and heart relax. Her shoulders sagged down as she pulled her arms and body into her lap, turning to face the soulful voice next to her. Sensing the motion, Zeenat smiled and turned her body towards Mrinalini’s completely, the sound of her bangles and ghungroos deftly cutting through the rain.
“I suppose that we all have some sort of role in the play of life. Yes, we write our destinies, but we also come with an assigned kirdar, a role that we all must take on. Yet, at times, two characters who seem poles apart, seem to form an unsaid, unspoken connection. I suppose this chance meeting then, was destined to happen. We willed it to happen.”
“That’s a good feeling, isn’t it?”, Mrinalini gave a genuine smile, her dimples showing. “To know that we do indeed exercise some form of control over our lives. Some relationships indeed don’t have a name. But I’m glad for them. I truly am.” The last words slipped out in a whisper as the two woman continued to gaze into each other’s eyes.
The rain continued to pour down on them as Zeenat pulled her eyes away and lit another cigarette. Edging closer towards the woman next to her, she began singing. Mrinalini sat up straighter and leaned her head on Zeenat’s shoulder. This conversation would have to last a lifetime – for who knows when the two would bump into each other again.