A Burning(47)

There is another dressed-up woman next to me, so I am tapping her arm and saying, “Sister, which way for toilet?”

    The woman is looking me up and down. “What kind of queen are you? Look around, it’s all fields and bushes. Go there.”

From the woman’s voice I am knowing that she is working in the film line for a long time. Her voice is heavy with experience. But how to go to toilet like this, in the bushes, with everybody around? What if the director is coming and I am missing my chance to impress? Worse, what if he is seeing me standing in the field and pissing like a man from under my dress?

I am sighing in frustration and opening WhatsApp to tell my sisters what a mess this shoot is. As soon as I am opening WhatsApp, I am seeing there are forty messages. My phone was on silent all this time.

You superstar! one sister is saying to me.

Good job! World is your stage, another sister is saying.

They are all seeing how my video is spreading!

Good theater Lovely. What is this? Even Arjuni Ma has written me a WhatsApp message! Must be she has forgiven me for testifying.

Now I am seeing WhatsApps from people I am not knowing only.

Great acting! they are saying. Where is this class? So cool!



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*

BACK HOME, I AM slapping the TV to come on, and there I am, on a local news channel, my video with Brijesh playing on a big screen while some men are sitting in front of it and discussing.

    “What is so refreshing about this, Aditya, is seeing these dreamers from all walks of life, gathering to pursue their dream in this authentic way.”

I am changing the channel. And there I am again!

“This amateur video of an acting class,” one bearded man is saying, “has become a viral sensation in the city. Given the brutal news of the recent days, is it any surprise that the public is hungry for a feel-good take, for a reminder that dreams and dreamers do exist in this city?”

I am pressing the button, and—

“While some people are calling the star of the show, Lovely, a ‘terrorist sympathizer,’ there are many who insist she is simply standing up for a person she sees as her good-hearted neighbor.”

“No doubt,” another man is saying, “many are questioning the fairness of Jivan’s trial, and Lovely’s courtroom performance has a lot to do with it. She is not a legal expert, or an investigator, of course, so it is her passion which is getting attention. Stay with us as we will be joined by—”

“What avenues does the ordinary person have to chase their dreams? Tell me, if you don’t go to an elite filmmaking academy and hobnob with—”

All these men are lecturing on me! They are having different opinions on whether I am right or foolish, whether Jivan is innocent or evil, but at least they are all discussing me on what they are calling prime-time news!

    While I am looking at the screen, somebody is knocking on my door, then peeking in the window and saying, “It’s me.”

“Arjuni Ma?” I am saying. Immediately I am opening the door, clearing my clothes from the bed, slapping my palms around some over-smart mosquitoes. Inside, she is not sitting. Instead, she is putting her two hands on my cheeks, as if I am a child, and looking at the TV which is still on.

“I am older than you,” she is saying to the TV, “isn’t it true, Lovely?”

I am looking at her.

“In life,” she is saying, “I have learned that we cannot be having everything. For example. To be putting fish on the plate, we are having to sacrifice dignity on the streets. We are having to beg. Why? Because we would be liking to eat. To be left alone by the police, we are having to—well, I don’t have to tell you. So this is a moment of sacrifice for you, Lovely. You are on TV. Your video is popular. Don’t let that criminal, that terrorist—”

I am opening my mouth to protest, but Arjuni Ma is raising a hand.

“Let her go from your life. You may be fond of that girl, but you must choose: Are you wanting to rise in the film world? Or are you wanting the public to see you as a person who is defending a terrorist? Don’t let that case drag you down, Lovely. That is my only advice for you.”

“But some people are saying,” I am telling Arjuni Ma, “that her trial is not fair—”

    “Is that your fight to fight?” Arjuni Ma is saying. “The trial brought you closer to your dream, so aren’t you going to reach for what you really want? You want to be a star, or you want to be that girl’s defender forever?”

Then she is going, and leaving me alone with the TV. I am muting the volume, which is seeming too high for this small room. On the screen is my practice video. I am watching it silently, feeling something heavy in my stomach which is keeping me sitting on the mattress, keeping my feet stuck to the floor, even though I am wanting to look away. I was never thinking of the question like how Arjuni Ma was putting it, but now I am finding that I am not being able to think of it any other way.

When I am lying down in bed and closing my eyes, I am feeling my heart teaching me its own lesson. My heart is saying: This is who you are, Lovely. You are growing from a family which was betraying you, so this is nothing new. Jivan can be going forward without you also. In fact, this heart is reminding in my chest, you are not even her family. Leave her, this cold box is saying. Weren’t you dreaming of being a movie star? Weren’t you dreaming of being so close to fame?