'It's amazing you ask me about Everlasting Love. I too feel that I shouldn't have done that role.
All the credit for the film's success went to Sharmila, and I got a raw deal.'
'But you were fantastic in It's Raining over Bombay. I think the monologue that you deliver in the temple after your father's death is the most memorable scene in the whole film. You really should have got the Filmfare Award for it, but they gave it to you for Woman instead.'
'Yes. If I were to choose between Woman and It's Raining over Bombay, I would probably also choose the latter. I must say, you know a lot about my films. What is your name?'
'My name is Ranjeet Mistry. I am twenty-four years old. I have always wanted to ask you about Mumtaz Mahal, which I consider to be the greatest film ever made. That childbirth scene, when you are dying and Dileep Sahib, who plays the Emperor, is sitting by your bedside, you ask him to make a promise, and then you take off your gold bangle – but you never give it to him. Why did you do that?'
'This is amazing. You have gone into the minute details of that film. I will tell you the answer.
But why are you sitting on the ground? Come, sit here on the sofa. And Ram, what are you doing standing with a phone in your hand? Can't you see we have a guest in the house? Go, get two cups of tea and some biscuits. So as I was telling you, when Mumtaz Mahal was being conceptualized . . .'
By the time I return with two cups of tea, Neelima and the thief are laughing and sharing jokes like two long-lost friends. I shake my head in disbelief. This man had come to rob her and just because he has seen a few of her films she feeds him biscuits and tea.
What started as a thriller has turned out to be a family drama.
* * *
She calls me one evening. 'Ram, I want you to shift to the chawl tomorrow. Just for a day. I need privacy in the house.'
'But why, Madam?'
'Don't ask questions,' she says in an irritated voice. 'Just do as I tell you.'
These instructions are given to me three times in the next three months . I know that when I am away she will entertain her lover in the house, and does not want me to know about it. So the next time she tells me to stay in Ghatkopar and return the next day, I do not follow her instructions fully. I go back to Ghatkopar for the night, but instead of returning at seven am the next morning, I come back at five and hang around outside the flat. Sure enough, at six am the door opens and a man steps out. He is tall, with a decent face, but his bloodshot eyes and scruffy hair spoil the look. He is clad in blue jeans and a white shirt. He holds a sheaf of currency notes and a lighted cigarette in his left hand and twirls some car keys in his fingers. He seems vaguely familiar, but I cannot place him. He doesn't even glance at me before he walks down the stairs to the ground floor. I enter the house only at seven am.
I get my first shock on seeing the condition of the drawing room. There are cigarette butts and traces of ash everywhere. An upturned glass lies on the centre table, together with an empty bottle of whisky. Peanuts are scattered all over the carpet. There is a strong smell of alcohol in the room.
The second shock is on seeing Neelima Kumari. She has bruises all over her face and a black eye. 'Oh my God, Madam, what happened to you?' I cry.
'Nothing, Ram. I slipped from my bed and hurt myself. Nothing to worry about.'
I know she is lying. That man I saw leaving the flat has done this to her. And in return she has given him cigarettes, whisky and also money. I feel pained and angry, and powerless to protect her.
* * *
From that day, a subtle change comes over Neelima. She becomes more introverted and withdrawn. I think she starts drinking whisky, because I often smell it on her breath.
One morning I find her again with a black eye, and a cigarette burn on her arm. I can bear it no longer. 'Madam, I feel very sad seeing you in this condition. Who is doing this to you?' I ask her.
She could have said 'It is none of your business,' but she was in a reflective mood that morning.
'You know, Ram, someone has said that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. I wonder at times if this is true. I too have loved. I don't know whether I have lost as yet, but I have received a lot of pain. There is a man in my life. Sometimes I think he loves me.
Sometimes I think he hates me. He tortures me slowly, bit by bit.'
'Then why don't you leave him?' I cry.
'It is not that simple. There is some pleasure even in pain. A sweet ecstasy. Sometimes I feel if pain can be this sweet, how exquisitely pleasurable death will be. When he tortures me with cigarette butts I don't want to scream. I want to recite those memorable lines from my film Woman. The death scene. "O life, how fickle you are. It is death which is my real lover, my constant companion. Come, death, take me in your arms, whisper the sweet sound of silence in my ears, and waft me away to the land of eternal love."'
