STAR STRUCK (Part fiction)

On sunday I had lunch with a film star.

A proper film star, an established leading lady. A household name, complete with screaming fans and ecstatic media discussions about her numero uno status. A beautiful, charming, graceful and confident super-star with the power (hopefully judiciously exercised) to break a million hearts with one look. [And a proper lunch it was too, at her home, lovingly served by her charming mother, not one of those corporate sponsored 5-star events with fancily named but mass manufactured food, and bored stars paid for dining with the winners of some SMS contest – but I run away with myself, more later about the lunch, and of course the charming mother].

I hope you, dear reader, are now all agog about the identity of this film star. Well, I’m not going to tell you. It was a totally private lunch that they had invited us to, just one other family besides us. And I believe that they – the whole family – deserve to be able to enjoy a relaxed Sunday without the paparazzi analyzing what a friend has written. So let me just call her Honeychild. Honey because she is really so sweet in a good-for-you comforting kind of way, and Child because she is a few years younger than my son Romit, with whom she incidentally shares her birthday. Of course, many of our friends, especially “My Girls”, know whom I’m talking about, and in their familiarity they may say “Oh why is he making such a big deal”, but what the heck, this is my blog, and I get to decide how much to reveal!

We landed at their place just after one in the afternoon, to a very warm welcome from her parents. I was more than a little nervous, as I am easily star-struck, some would say I am easily struck by pretty young ladies, stars or not, and they are probably right, and the stardom just makes the strike that much more intense. But Honeychild we were told was sleeping, feeling poorly after shooting for a whole week in – yes, in – a waterfall, complete with mucky slush and over-affectionate leeches – oh, how much the lying camera hides from us! Exploitation of the star class by unfeeling producers, I thought to myself.

And out came the eats, Honeychild’s mom had made so many starters, and was so warm in her hospitality, that I was soon at ease, the ice was completely melted, totally smashed (only the ice was smashed, not me – they neither consume nor serve alcohol, which is probably just as well, since I very likely would have overdone the Dutch courage bit). The way to men's hearts, goes the adage, and Honeychild's mum surely made an 8-lane expressway into ours!

Having done with the starters (which normally would have been a complete lunch and dinner), we decided to watch excerpts from one of Honeychild’s latest films. This was a very welcome suggestion, since despite being something of a movie buff (albeit part-time due to work & other pressures), I had so far not seen Honeychild on the screen. Immediately enthralled by her costumed beauty, extremely expressive acting and graceful dancing, I was kind of so captivated, watching the show with rapt attention, that it took a little while for the a murmur of hellos to penetrate my consciousness and I finally realized that Honeychild had joined us.

Wooosh! Star Strike!! My knees turned to jelly; I was super nervous all over again. More so after – during – watching her virtuoso performances, now I knew first hand that she is a star; so far it was hearsay from the media. My heart pounded, my palms became sweaty. I might have blushed. Like Belafonte, I stammered and I stuttered pathetically, or feared I would. With great effort I pulled myself together and somehow managed to a) keep standing and not drop anything; b) take the “Handshake or Hug?” confusion in my stride; and c) execute the hug to perfection – not too close and not too far.

I hugged a star! A movie heroine!!

That was it for me. Slumped back in my seat, while she fortunately sat at the other end of the semi-circle and pointed out some of the finer points of the shots. I took deep breaths and managed to gradually slow down my pulse, and then her mom announced a pani-puri break – saved by the (lunch) bell!!

By the way, did I tell you that Neelam is also Honeychild’s skin consultant? So a little time was spent discussing a rash Honeychild had developed courtesy of the slush or the leeches, or both. Occupational hazards or exploitation? I haven’t decided yet. But it kind of brought out the truth in the oft repeated but difficult to believe line that stars are also human, and made me feel a whole lot better.

After a post-pani-puri break, during which we heard adventure stories relating to shooting at various exotic locations (of course mum and / or dad travel with Honeychild), the lunch itself was served, and the conversation drifted to other actresses, all contenders for the top spot. And that led on to specific actresses in specific roles, and then I dropped a brick by asking about PC’s role in Dostana.

Prompt reply – That wasn’t a role, she was just supposed to be there, and wear small clothes. Right. Very right. Stupid question. Prof. M.M. (Mamu) Chaudhri, my TV Center Head at IIT, would have been appalled at my shallow thinking. But shucks, I’m a photographer; I am naturally more interested in the visual aspects. I am also a man. Neelam covered up for me by saying that PC had worked hard on her body for that film. And Shefu, my sweet Shefu, tried to bale me out by saying that she had loved PC in Fashion. But a brick is a brick, and will stay with me, like umpteen others, till my dying day.

But soon the sun came out again: “Uncle, that’s a very cute tattoo”. So I introduced her to Ariel, the mermaid on my left arm, and to the nameless shooting stars on my right – she got up and came to me for a closer look. And I got over my heebie-jeebies, and I joined in the larger conversation about Osho and spirituality, and I swanked that I am currently reading The Tibetain Book of Life and Death.

And then, as usual, just as things were beginning to warm up, it was time to leave. Clinging to straws I promised to send a copy of The Secret; something, anything to extend the connection. And I got another hug. This time I was steady. Tomorrow of course she will fly away again to some exotic location, but she’ll be back, and maybe she’ll come to our place for dinner, and I’ll ask her whether she got a chance to get at The Secret, and what she thought of it.

Like the girl said in the paint advertisement, I’ll wait.

***********

[I’m a photographer, why did I not take any pictures? Simple – you cannot just take pictures of a star; photo shoots have to be very carefully thought of, perfectly planned and professionally executed – not something you can do over lunch. And you cannot just take pictures with a star, anyone who sees them thinks you took them for a nefarious purpose, commercial or charitable or just to show off. On an occasion like this, you need pictures solely to record the memories of a good time spent together. Well, these are some of my memories of Sunday afternoon, perhaps they evoke some pictures. This, then, is my photo album, something like John Steinbeck’s box. And many thanks to Honeychild for being a star, (in spite of all the nervousness I faced) – had she not been one I would have taken pictures instead of reverting to writing, which was my first creative outlet, and which Neelam has been encouraging me to resume for more than a decade now]