Six Suspects (43 page)

Rosie was not amused. 'Be prepared,
Stardust
will now
nickname you Dr Shabnam Ph.D.,' she said grimly and
shuddered.

Isn't it weird that the ultimate accolade in academia is
the ultimate insult in the glamour business?

15 December

I am in Lucknow today, the city where I spent three of the
best years of my life. I have come with Annu Sir's musical
troupe to give a charity performance to benefit a foundation
working for street children.

When I first arrived in Lucknow six years ago I was
fresh from Azamgarh, and the capital of Uttar Pradesh
seemed to me to be the greatest city in the world. It had
wonderful book stores, lovely markets, graceful gardens and,
above all, an air of elegance and culture. I fell in love with
the
adab
and
tehzeeb
of Lucknow, a welcome change from
the rustic rudeness of Azamgarh. The decadent grace of the
city has remained a lovely texture in my imagination ever
since.

Now when I look at Lucknow, I see it through the prism
of my travels around half the world. Compared to Mumbai,
Lucknow seems inadequate, a glorified mofussil town full of
the squalor and seediness, the clutter and chaos of smalltime
India. But it will always have a special place in my
heart. The city has moulded my life. If Azamgarh was the
abattoir of my ambition, Lucknow was the cradle of my
dreams. It is here that I learnt to believe in myself, to aspire,
to soar.

The Natya Kala Mandir hall was overflowing with
people. The moment I was introduced as a daughter of
Uttar Pradesh and a product of Lucknow, a great roar
erupted from the throng. Screams reverberated around the
hall like cannonball blasts. A girl caught hold of my hand
and just wouldn't let go, another swooned when she saw me
The Cinderella Project
361
up close. It reminded me of that night in Lucknow when I
first saw Madhuri Dixit and was blown away by her
ethereal beauty.

Today I was Madhuri Dixit, the cynosure of all eyes. The
capacity crowd had come to see me dance, but I was tense
and distracted. Throughout the stage show my eyes kept
darting to the front rows, searching for a familiar face. My
ears strained to hear a familiar voice. Azamgarh, after all, is
only 220 kilometres from Lucknow and I was hoping
against hope that Babuji or Ma or perhaps Sapna might
have heard about my visit and come to see me. But in that
sea of faces there was none from my past, and my gaze just
encountered the same lascivious grins and lusty eyes that I
see at every show from Agra to Amsterdam.

I repaid my debt to the city tonight, and I don't think I
shall ever return to it.

31 December

On this last day of the year, Rosie brought me a whole
bunch of letters written by some loser called Larry Page.
He's been writing me five letters per week since October.
What's even more intriguing is that he's American (or at
least he claims to be).

The guy is completely off his rocker. He claims that I
wrote to him posing as some Sapna Singh and even
promised to marry him. Now why a top actress would fall
for a goof like him boggles the mind. The poor sod professes
his love for me with lines like 'I'd walk through hell in
gasoline underwear for you.'

He also tries to give me life lessons. A sample: 'When
life gives you lemons . . . make lemonade.' Another gem:
'Life is like a turd sandwich – the more bread you've got,
the less shit you have to eat.'

But enough fun and merriment. Rosie is seriously
362
MOTIVES
worried this guy might be a psycho and the next I know I
may be running to the High Court to get a restraining order
against Mr Larry 'Stalker' Page. So as of today, I've
instructed Bahadur to carefully screen all visitors. Anyone
looking even remotely like an American is to be denied
entry and taken straight to the Andheri police station. I'll
also tell Bhola to have a word with DCP Godbole, just in
case the sicko has a police record.

Such is the price of fame!

7 January

Ram Dulari has proved to be a most adept pupil. She can
now speak English with the glibness of a tour guide. She
can wield a knife and fork at the dinner table with the
finesse of a dowager. She can pirouette in six-inch pencil
heels and eat chop suey with chopsticks.

I had hoped to complete the Cinderella Project in ten
months. Ram Dulari has passed with flying colours in just five.

This calls for a celebration.

13 January

Disaster struck me today. As I was getting out of the
bathtub after a leisurely bath, I slipped and badly twisted
my ankle. Forget walking, now I can't even hobble.

Since this morning Ram Dulari has been applying balm
to my swollen left foot and using hot compresses to bring
down the swelling. Dr Gupte says it will take at least ten
days to heal. Luckily the Guddu Dhanoa film to which I
was committed from 10 January has been shelved for the
time being, so no cancellations will be necessary. But I will
be unable to attend the première of my latest film,
Love in
Canada
, which takes place tomorrow at the IMAX theatre.
The producer is Deepak Hirani, my godfather, for whom I
have enormous respect, and it will be a huge blow to him to
have his leading lady missing from the première line-up.
Unfortunately an actress can never be seen in a plaster,
otherwise I would have dragged myself to Wadala, come
hell or high water.

I was about to call up Deepak Sir to apologize for
having to cry off when Bhola stopped me. 'I have an idea,
didi
.'

'What?'

'Why don't we send Ram Dulari to the première?'

'How will that help?'

'I mean we send her in your place, as Shabnam Saxena.'

I gave Bhola the piercing-gaze treatment, the one I use
to deal with producers who have a rather liberal
interpretation of my no-nudity clause. 'Are you a raving
lunatic? How can Ram Dulari become me?'

'Just think,
didi
. She looks just like you. Same height,
same build, same skin tone. Once she puts on make-up and
your clothes, I bet you no one will be able to tell the
difference.'

'But everyone knows she is just a cook.'

'Who knows,
didi
? No one. Ram Dulari never steps
out of the house. Even the watchman hasn't seen her.'

He had a point. We had indeed kept Ram Dulari hidden
inside the house like a family secret.

'I tell you,
didi
, it is a perfect plan. Ram Dulari will
attend the première, but everyone will think you are
attending. The crew will be happy. Deepak Sir will be
happy, no one will ever know.'

Bhola was persuasive, but I was not convinced. 'How can
you be so sure?'

'Because I will go with Ram Dulari,
didi
, be with her
throughout. She doesn't have to do much. We'll enter
through the rear gate to avoid the fans. She will climb up to
the stage to light the lamp and pose with the cast for some
photo-ops. Then after watching the film we'll leave again
through the rear exit.'

'Supposing someone asks her something?'

'Ram Dulari will not open her mouth. I will spread the
word that you have a sore throat. I tell you,
didi
, it's foolproof.'

I still had my doubts. 'But what if it is not? What if she
gets caught? What if Salman or Akshay finds out that she is
just a lookalike?'

'Then we will pretend it was all a stunt. The movie will
get even more publicity. Deepak Sir will certainly not
complain.'

It was lunacy, but I was getting caught up in it.

'OK,' I exhaled. 'I'm in. But there is one condition.'

'What?'

'I need to watch the whole thing on video.'

'Done. I'll get you the tape.'

14 January

She was perfect. I couldn't have done it any better. She
smiled when she was required to smile, lighted the lamp
with just the right touch of reverence, stood stock still for
the photographs, didn't flinch from the flashbulbs popping
in her face, shook hands with the demureness of a princess
and handled the presence of Bollywood stars around her
with the sang-froid of a fellow celebrity.

It is a blessing that Ram Dulari has not seen any Hindi
films. Any other girl would have started swooning on being
within kissing distance of Salman and Akshay. But she
wasn't overawed by them. She is herself a star. Created by
the Cinderella Project.

Azim Bhai, the stunt director of the movie, was also at
the première. I felt like calling him up and telling him that I
had pulled off the greatest stunt of them all, and even the
cameraman had not been able to spot it!

16 January

Bhola has become a tiger that has tasted blood. He came to
me today with another outrageous proposition. B. R.
Virmani, the textile magnate, has asked me to become
brand ambassador for a new line of jeans being launched by
his company. He has offered to pay me five hundred
thousand rupees for a five-minute appearance at the
opening of a new Liquid Jeans boutique on Friday, just two
days from now.

'Virmani's PR man is Rakesh Dattani. I know him very
well. He has confided in me that if you don't agree they
will offer the deal to Priyanka, your biggest competitor.
Now we wouldn't want that, would we?' Bhola said.

'But I can't go. My leg is in plaster.'

'Wrong,
didi
. You
can
go.' He winked and pointed at
Ram Dulari.

'This is madness. How the hell do you think Ram Dulari
can handle all those fans that will be thronging the store?'

'Simple. We tell Virmani to keep tight security and not
to allow any fans to come near her.'

'But doesn't she have to say something when she cuts
the ribbon?'

'Yes. Just three lines. Ram Dulari?' He gestured to her.

'So good to be here. I love Liquid Jeans. So will you,'
Ram Dulari intoned. Though she stood stiffly like a
mannequin, her delivery wasn't bad.

'So this is all a set-up. You two have been conspiring

behind my back,' I complained.
'No,
didi
, please don't blame Ram Dulari. I coached her,'
Bhola said contritely. 'I made her believe these were your
instructions. But if you don't want her to go, she will not go.
Your trust is worth much more to us than five lakh rupees.'

I relented. 'Go, we can use this money for Ram Dulari's
wedding. But don't forget my videotape.'

18 January

I saw the tape this evening. Ram Dulari was again superb.
There were at least three hundred people in that store,
mostly college students. She soaked up the adulation, the
cheering and the clapping like a circus ringmaster and
sashayed up to the podium in her jeans like a catwalk
model. I detected a hint of uncertainty when she was asked
to speak, a slight quivering, but she didn't stumble. And her
voice sounded remarkably like mine. She cut the ribbon like
a professional politician and the entire hall burst into
deafening applause.

Seeing the mass hysteria Ram Dulari was generating, I
had to remind myself that
I
was Shabnam Saxena and she
was just an impostor. I was the real deal, she was a fake.

The only mishap occurred as she was leaving, when
suddenly a bunch of teenage girls broke through security
and descended on her. 'Autograph please, Shabnamji' they
clamoured, thrusting autograph books and scraps of paper
at her. Ram Dulari froze for a second and the camera
captured the look on her face. A cross between baffled and
bewildered, like a schoolgirl who doesn't know the answer
in an exam. Then Bhola grabbed her by the arm and led her
away, trailed by the disappointed cries of my fans.

20 January

'What is autograph,
didi
?' Ram Dulari asked me as I was
having lunch.

'It is the last weapon I forgot to put in your armoury,' I
conceded.

'Will you teach me how to do autograph?'

So I proceeded to teach her how to sign her name and
mine – the waggle on the
S
, the uneven symmetry of the
habna
and the little flourish at the end on the
m
. She
caught on very fast and within a day was signing test
autographs with such panache that I was tempted to pass
on Rosie Mascarenhas's boilerplate replies to her.

'Why do you send me to these functions where I
pretend to be you,
didi
?' she asked me as I was about to
turn in for the night.

'It is a game, Ram Dulari, just a game,' I replied wearily.

For a second I thought I caught another look on her
face, a cross between frustration and resentment, then she
smiled at me and walked out of my bedroom.

21 January

My ankle has almost healed. But Dr Gupte says I should
not take off the plaster for another three days. Which means
that I will also miss the Cine Blitz Awards Night, where I
am supposed to receive the award for Best Actress in a
Negative Role for my performance in
A Woman's Revenge
.

This time
I
have decided to send Ram Dulari. This will
be her ultimate test. If she survives this, she will survive
anything.

I will coach her personally in what to say and what to
do. Then I will watch it all on TV when the Awards Night is
broadcast live.

24 January

I settled down on my bed and switched on the plasma TV.
The live coverage had begun and a young lady anchor was
showing the activity outside the Andheri Sports Complex as
stars pulled up in their cars and posed for the cameras.

Five minutes later my silver E500 Mercedes arrived and
Ram Dulari stepped out in a sexy white sari with a
sequined border. A very loud roar went up.

I sat on the bed, mesmerized, watching myself preening
on the red carpet. I got goosebumps when I waved my
hands and thousands of crazed fans began chanting my
name. I was blinded by the million flashbulbs which ripped
across my eyes as I smiled at the cameras.