Love, Take Two Read online

  ‘Risha does have a point, Kriti. This latest story sounds like exactly the kind of thing Vicky would do.’

  Kriti sighed, leaning harder against the back of her chair. ‘I don’t care, to be honest. Even if this story’s true, it’s none of my business. Sudarshana will handle it. And as long as Vicky stays out of my hair, he can continue with his vastly entertaining lifestyle.’

  ‘What is the bet Sudarshana will do zilch? She’s smitten with that overgrown man-child. Of course, the fact that he’s a man helps him bleddy get away with everything in the public eye too.’

  Kriti suppressed a giggle with difficulty. The animosity between Sudarshana Samarth and Meher Patel was common knowledge ever since they’d fallen out after a difference of opinion while working on one of Sudarshana’s early films.

  ‘Anyway, as long as his antics don’t affect you, mujhe kya? Sudarshana can deal with the mayhem he’ll no doubt wreak on set. There, your bags are packed and you can go to bed, you ungrateful brat. We’ll see ourselves out.’

  Kriti smiled sheepishly while holding her arms out for a goodbye hug. ‘What would I do without you two?’

  ‘Wander around forever in fashion purgatory, what else?’

  2

  She never wanted to leave Jhang, Heer had long ago decided. The emerald landscape stretching out for miles around her terrace only strengthened her conviction each day. It would kill her to be separated from the fragrant soil that was a gift from the river gods. At the twilight hour, the sky ran crimson into the river and if Heer listened carefully, she could hear them tell the story of centuries of bloody battles and clashing swords.

  ‘Are you even listening, Heer?’

  She nodded, wincing as some of her hair tangled in the comb her friend was running through her mane.

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I was telling you about your father’s new cowherd, the Ranjha boy. They say his music blesses whatever it touches. Have you heard him play his flute?’

  ‘No, I have not. And I don’t believe in such stories. My father has too soft a heart and will offer a job to any starving passer-by.’

  ‘It’s just as well he offered this Ranjha one. I’ve heard he’s beautiful.’

  Heer tossed her head, earning herself another painful tug. ‘He can’t be as beautiful as I am, so I don’t see how it matters.’

  ‘Heer, my vain friend, no one is as beautiful as you in these parts. But that does not mean there is no one else worth looking at.’

  ‘If you’re so enamoured of this Ranjha, why are you sitting here on the terrace with me? Why don’t you go seek him out in the fields?’

  ‘There, don’t be angry! I only wanted to tell you what everyone is saying around here. And warn you, should you bump into him some day.’

  ‘Warn me? Whatever for? Why should I fear some flute-playing cowherd?’

  ‘Because good-looking flute-players are also heartbreakers. Everyone knows that.’

  ‘If everyone knows it, there is no need to warn me, is there?’

  Heer tilted her head to grin up into the exasperated face of her friend.

  ~

  ‘Ooooof, he’s done it now. Param bhaiiii!’ Vicky grinned at the film’s choreographer, as Sudarshana’s annoyed voice sounded all the way to the rehearsal space. In his rust-coloured cotton kurta, with an unshaven jaw and artfully dishevelled long hair, he certainly looked every bit the dreamy mythical lover he was supposed to be.

  Kriti remembered being rather surprised by how tall he was the first time they’d very briefly been introduced to each other at a party a couple of years ago. It was a rarity among the industry’s leading men, although this generation was certainly better than the last in that respect. Vicky had also gained muscle for this role but he retained his characteristic loose, easy confidence that was . . . not unattractive.

  Contrary to Meher’s prophesying, Vikram Behl hadn’t been any trouble at all in his first few days on set. He’d been charming, compliant and infectiously enthusiastic every morning. Despite herself, Kriti found him affable.

  The real clashes were taking place between Sudarshana and her new director of photography, the moody Arun Jadhav, both of whom had very distinct and often clashing visions for each shot.

  ‘At this rate, the schedule is going to be twice as long. They argue before and after setting up almost every shot.’ Param bhai raised his eyes to the patchy plastered ceiling of the rehearsal hall. ‘This song sequence is going to be the death of me, I can just tell. Now I have to go see what the problem is.’

  ‘Oho, Param bhai, why are you fretting? You know you’ll conveniently vanish the moment it looks like trouble may be brewing on set and then reappear when we’re ready to roll.’

  ‘Itna badtameez hai yeh ladka. I never want to work with him again,’ Param bhai said to Kriti, with a twinkle in his eye. Vicky only laughed at his mock disapproval and Kriti shot Param bhai a sympathetic look, careful not to move her head too much. The massive Velcro rollers attached to her hair were fixed firmly, but she always felt stilted with the protuberances around her head. She was convinced she looked even sillier than she felt.

  ‘Achha Vicky, Kritika, please run through that last count of eight. You can mark. I want to make sure you have the timing right. And Kritika, your hair is still in place. I promise you it’ll be there even if you move your head a little more.’

  Kriti nodded, disregarding the rollers deliberately. How embarrassing that Param bhai had caught on! Just as the music came on, there was a knock at the door and a nervous-looking spot boy peeped in.

  ‘Woh Sudarshana ma’am is calling you, Param bhai. She wants your opinion on something.’

  A sour-faced Param made for the door with a dire look at Vicky, who was shaking with silent laughter. ‘I’ll be back soon. And I want you two to practise in the meantime.’

  The door slammed shut behind him and Kriti suddenly felt all the awkwardness of her early days in the film industry inexplicably return. Even the smell of fresh paint and sawdust added to her discomfiture, instead of being comfortingly familiar. This was the first time she’d been left alone with Vicky. And it shouldn’t bother her at all—she was hardly a debutante. If anything, she had twice the number of films behind her than he did. And casual conversation came easily to her, didn’t it? All she had to do was make innocuous remarks for maybe a half hour or so until Param bhai returned. Vicky was easy to talk to. He joked around with everybody! But then, why wasn’t he saying anything?

  Kriti shot him a furtive look from under her lashes. He’d turned to fidget with the air-conditioning remote control. He wasn’t even looking at her! She could still salvage this situation before her silence became any more uncomfortable.

  ‘Do you mind if I lower the AC temperature a little?’

  Kriti jumped, relieved that he’d spoken first.

  ‘Not at all. Go ahead.’

  Kill me now, why the fuck did I say yes?

  The room already felt arctic to Kriti, but she couldn’t backtrack now! What was he going to think of her? She had to work with this man for months to come!

  ‘Thanks, I hadn’t been expecting Hyderabad to be so hot. Not that I have much room to complain having come from Mumbai. At least I get to wear cotton, how’re you holding up in that salwar? The dupatta looks like it weighs a ton!’

  ‘No. Only about half a ton.’

  He grinned at that, but lapsed into silence again. The only sounds were the whirring of the air conditioner as it worked overtime to cool the hall, and the upbeat music that played on loop on the sound system.

  ‘Toh . . . shuru karein?’

  ‘Yeah! Although, I think we’ve lost the bit of the song we were supposed to be rehearsing.’

  ‘Let me fix that.’

  Vicky hopped over to the controls, replaying the song and zeroing in on the right section.

  ‘Do you want to take turns or just do it together?’

  ‘Do it together? Half the impact in this number comes from getting our sync pe
rfect.’

  ‘That’s true. Ready?’

  He turned the music on again and returned to her side, the two waiting for the right beat to start on. They spent the next half hour going over the forty-five seconds of choreography they’d be shooting that day. Kriti couldn’t help noticing how good both of them looked together, in the large mirrors lining the walls. Her tall, graceful form was complemented by his muscular frame and the boundless energy he brought to the dance. They kept up the dance till Kriti’s cheeks hurt from maintaining her default pleasantly vacuous smile. She hadn’t felt this tongue-tied in a very long time. An incessant light fluttering in her stomach had her almost nauseated. The last thing she needed was to come down with some kind of stomach bug less than a week into the shoot. But she had no other explanation for her lack of equilibrium around him.

  Kriti prided herself on her ability to navigate social situations well and it annoyed the heck out of her that she was having so much trouble with this one. She didn’t have to be friends with him, she only had to talk to him! That fixed smile was not only exhausting, it would give him the creeps sooner or later!

  Kriti, you’re a people pleaser. That is your problem. You don’t have to please everyone! There is no pressure. Just be cool. Be yourself. Think of that uplifting feeling you get for about five seconds after listening to a TED talk.

  ‘Is everything okay? You’re frowning,’ he said, interrupting the stern talking-to she’d been giving herself. Kriti racked her brains trying to come up with a good cover.

  ‘Yeah! It’s just . . . a little cold.’

  ‘Shit! Why didn’t you tell me? That’s why I’d asked—my sister is always complaining that I don’t feel comfortable unless the room is sub-zero. Apparently, I have no sense of “room temperature”.’

  Kritika pasted a bland smile of agreement on her face again but cursed herself on the inside. He was going to think that she was unbearably snooty or that she didn’t have a thought in her head. She didn’t know which would be more humiliating.

  At the very least, I won’t have to worry about freezing to death any more.

  As Param bhai returned to the rehearsal hall, Kriti could’ve hugged him out of gratitude.

  Nor will I have to worry about embarrassing myself to death in the next hour.

  ~

  Arun Jadhav, in his twenty-five-year career, had rarely met a woman as infuriating as Sudarshana Samarth. He didn’t know what had possessed him to sign on to this film. It wasn’t his usual fare at all. Sudarshana’s work was too . . . showy, too vivid, too Mughal-e-Azam for his taste. He didn’t believe in midlife crises but maybe he was having one anyway. It would explain a lot of his uncharacteristic behaviour around this project.

  They were supposed to be setting up the first shot of the first song they were shooting and if this afternoon was any indication, each song would take about a month to wrap up. He’d probably be working on this film until his fiftieth birthday, in a few years. This was madness. It was time to play his ace.

  ‘Sudarshana, you hired me because you believed me capable of doing this job. Tell me what the point of this micromanagement is. You either trust my judgement or you don’t.’

  Her eyes crackled with indignation but he could see he’d discomfited her. She still wasn’t used to his plain-speaking.

  ‘It’s not a question of your judgement. There’s also the little matter of how I’ve envisioned this. You can’t just decide to reframe the shot because you think it’ll be more effective this way!’

  ‘If you wanted a DoP who would follow your typed instructions to the letter, you should have hired some pompous punk fresh out of film school. I was under the impression that you’d offered me this film because you like my other work.’

  ‘If I didn’t respect your other work, I wouldn’t have considered you at all. Param bhai, tell him I’m right about this. That first shot needs this wider angle.’

  Arun wanted to laugh. The gentle choreographer looked like he’d been asked to walk straight into the lion’s den.

  ‘Ab main kya boloon, Sudarshana? You two only decide. But . . . Arun might have a point? Zooming out from Heer’s face would be more dramatic. And you can always get the wide angle shot with the hook step the second time the chorus plays.’

  Bravo, Param bhai! Arun silently applauded the man for overcoming his obvious distaste for confrontation and ending an argument that had already gone on too long.

  Sudarshana exhaled heavily. ‘I refuse to waste any more time on this. Arun, this is on your head. Param bhai, aap Kritika aur Vicky ko touch-up ke liye bhej do, please. We should be ready to roll in another twenty minutes.’

  Before he could respond, she’d walked off, all the bearing of a queen, even in her faded denims and wash-worn kurta. His eyes followed her for a few moments, observing her wild curly hair pulled back into a tight bun, and the gentle curves of her body, as she snapped out instructions to various people dashing around their corner of the ‘ruins’ they’d created for this sequence. In her late forties, even in her contemporary clothes, she looked striking and every bit at home among the piles of grey stone and artificial lamplight as young Kritika did with all the dolling-up to make her the legendary Heer of the folk tale.

  Damn me, she gets on my every nerve but she’d be an interesting subject.

  Aside from his career as a cinematographer, he dedicated much of his free time to his first love—still photography. And his instinct was rarely wrong.

  Would Sudarshana Samarth take as well to being directed in front of a camera as she was comfortable issuing directions from behind one? There was no way she’d agree, of course, but he’d certainly have liked to see it. The Director’s Gaze, he’d title it. Or perhaps, just The Gaze. A series of monochrome stills. Gelatin silver prints. So minimalist, Sudarshana would probably feel faint.

  He had windmills in his head. He’d eat his non-existent hat if Sudarshana would unbend enough to sit for a portrait series.

  ~

  It had been an exhausting day and Sudarshana Samarth thought longingly of her hotel room. Sure, it was an hour’s drive away but the place more than made up for the commute. The Taj Jahanara was the embodiment of all her fondness for opulence and luxury. Its marble, gilt and crystal interiors soothed her spirit and helped her unwind. The perfectly cooled spaces where her feet sank into the carpet and the delicate scent of hothouse blooms lingered. Too bad she could only enjoy her room for about six hours each day, five of which she spent asleep.

  Tonight, she’d be lucky if she got three. The crew was almost done packing up but they had a criminally early start the next day. The standard end-of-day hubbub was a pleasant background noise, and she breathed deeply, letting her familiar surroundings draw away some of her fatigue. She sat on the top step of the entrance to Heer’s house, waiting for a word with her least favourite person on set.

  He was engrossed in conversation with a couple of the grips and took his time coming to speak to her. The dim set lights picked out the liberal sprinkling of silver in his hair and darkened the hollows of his face. A late-evening stubble shadowed his square jaw and his nose looked like it had definitely been broken a time or two. She noted his approach with unease. No matter how much she admired his other work, she couldn’t fully trust him on this film. When making him an offer, she’d hoped that his style would bring out the raw, uncut beauty of her sets and clothes and characters, but his vision was too stark. He highlighted too many rough edges. And more than that, he refused to bow to her wishes. She often got the feeling that he didn’t respect her authority and that made her push harder.

  She sighed. This was not her usual way of doing things. She knew she had a reputation for being temperamental, but she didn’t actually enjoy constant friction of this sort. And now, despite their fatigue, she would have to argue over the next morning’s first shot given how early they began. The only way to prevent that would require her to be firm and uncompromising.

  Before he’d quite reached her
, she began, ‘I know what you’re going to say about the establishing shot of Ranjha coming over the hill, and it’s not going to work. This is not up for discussion. You’re going to follow my directions this time.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘No, you’re deliberately being contrary and I will not have you wasting time like this—wait, what?’

  ‘You’re right. We’ll shoot it exactly the way you want.’

  Sudarshana was so surprised, she couldn’t respond for several minutes.

  The barest touch of amusement lightened his usually stoic countenance. ‘You know, I don’t want to make things difficult for you and if I think your way will be the most effective, I won’t argue just for the sake of it.’

  ‘You’ll excuse me if it feels like that, sometimes. You haven’t exactly been a model of cooperation so far.’

  ‘Come now, Sudarshana, you’re above quibbling over that sort of thing. Even if I’m not.’

  She rolled her eyes. She had no idea why he’d decided to turn on the charm all of a sudden. No doubt he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security and get his way for the rest of the week. She really disliked the way he brought out her most juvenile side.

  ‘I refuse to be baited into anything so that you can have your fun. It’s been a long day and I’m ready to leave.’

  He seemed in no hurry to get moving, however, and settled down on the step below hers.

  ‘We can take the same car back to the hotel. I think I’ll sit here until we’re done.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Oof, you really won’t be baited into an argument, will you? Even if it means suffering my company on the drive back?’

  ‘Arun, I’m dead on my feet and can’t wait to get back to my hotel room. Drop it.’

  He sat silently for a while, leaning back on his elbows and absorbing the hum of noise and activity around them.