Fallen Stardom
“If you don’t agree to our demand, we will throw you out of the movie. And once you’re out, no other production house will ever cast you.”
I couldn’t forget the chilling voice of Ranjeet, the director of my debut movie, when he whispered it in my ear.
The threat to cast me out of the film industry was sharp and dangerous, and I knew they had the power to do so. The power to silence me. To kill me.
“Natasha Jaykar.”
My head turned toward the 40-inch TV screen in my living room when I heard my name called by a reporter. It was a clip from that morning, when I had exited the building where my production house was located, and a group of enthusiastic reporters had rushed toward me.
As I watched the scene replay, Sakina—my house help, who was my age—stood beside me with a wide smile.
“Didi, aap kitni sundar dikh rahi hain!” (You’re looking beautiful, madam!), she said, oblivious to the English the reporters were speaking or to the dilemma I was facing.
“Natasha, we heard you declined DMK Production’s offer. Are the rumors true?”
I watch myself maintaining a poker face as the bodyguards escort me safely and open the backseat door of my Range Rover.
The last thing I heard before the door closed was speculation about me dating the secretly married actor from my upcoming film, Rishabh Singh Shekhawat.
Chuckling, I turned off the TV. My career was on the verge of destruction even before it began, and I see no way to salvage it.
Many said connections were everything. I tried to build strong relationships, but the barter was too much to handle, and I refused to offer my body to get a film.
I had done everything I could to stay in their good graces and help them through their worst times. But now, when I was in trouble, they had all turned their backs on me.
And it's fine.
Why would anyone want to be in the bad books of the Bollywood mafia—a force that could end not only their career but their life too?
“Didi, maine aapki favorite bhindi banai hai. Nayi recipe hai. Aapko bohot pasand aayegi." (Madam, I’ve made a new recipe of your favorite ladyfinger. You’ll like it.)
Sakina said this while serving me food, and at that moment, my driver, Ravi, entered through the front door, his expression gloomy.
“Madam, is there no way?” he asked.
I shook my head and picked up a spoon, determined to enjoy Sakina’s delicious food one last time.
“I love it!” I exclaimed, looking up at her, only to find her crying.
“Didi, aap mat jao na.” (Madam, please don’t go.)
Sakina was Muslim. She was the only daughter of her widowed mother. After her mother slipped down the stairs, Sakina had to leave her studies and take on household work to support her family.
Initially, the housing complex where I lived had opposed hiring a housekeeper from a different faith. It had taken me a lot of fighting to let her work in my house.
Now that I was leaving, part of her must have been heartbroken, but another part was surely worried about her livelihood, knowing no one else would hire her.
“Zindagi aage badhne ka naam hai. Ek jagah tikne se hum kabhi aage nhi badh sakte." (Life goes on. Sticking to one place stunted our progress.)
I took a deep breath.
“Maine paanch lakh rupaye bank mein fixed deposit kara diye hain tumhare naam se. Kabhi bhi zarurat ho to meri manager Sara ko call kar lena.” (I’ve made a fixed deposit of five lakh rupees in your name. If you ever need anything, call my manager, Sara.)
Sakina wiped her tears and then touched my feet.
I stood up. “Yeh kya kar rahi ho?” (What are you doing?)
“Aap khud itni pareshaniyan jhel rahi hain. Phir bhi aapko mera itna khayal hai.” (You’re going through so much trouble, yet you still care about me.)
“Maine tumse kaha tha na, mere hote hue tumhe kabhi pareshan hone ki zarurat nahi hai.” (I told you that you never have to worry as long as I’m around.) I said softly, wiping away her tears.
“Ab tum ghar jao. Aaj raat tumhe jaldi bhi to aana hai.” (Go home now. You have to come early tonight.)
She nodded and disappeared into a room to put on her hijab. A few minutes later, she emerged, covered from head to toe, and walked past me without a word.
I turned toward the main door, and my gaze met Ravi bhaiya, my driver.
“Unmein se kisi ko bhi chot nahi pahunchni chahiye jo meri madad kar rahe hain,” (No one helping me should get hurt.) I said firmly. “Aur aapko iska dhyaan rakhna hai." (You must make sure of it.)
Ravi bhaiya nodded, picked up the suitcase lying near the door, and walked out. The door shut with a dull thud.
I closed my eyes.
My legs gave way as I collapsed into the chair. A pounding headache made me groan, and goosebumps rippled across my skin with each passing minute. I was playing with fire, fire that could burn me alive.
The buzz of my phone on the coffee table pulled me back to the present. I walked into the living room and answered the call. It was my manager, Sara, who had become my friend over time.
“Hey, Sara. What’s up?”
“Natasha, where are you? I’ve been calling you like crazy!”
“Don’t even ask,” I said, exhaustion seeping into my voice. “I’m tired of answering calls from media agencies. I don’t even know what to tell them anymore.” I sighed.
“And the worst accusation they are putting against me is that I’m having an affair with Rishabh! Out of all the people, they’re accusing me of having an affair with my secret husband!”
Sara hummed. “Did you speak to Rishabh? Ask him to stop this.”
A bitter giggle escaped my lips.
“It’s him, Sara. Why would he even pick up my call? This is all his strategy, his connections. He’s the one behind my negative PR.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I bit my lip as anxiety crept in. The city I once dreamed of no longer felt safe. “I’m going back to my village. I don’t feel safe here anymore.”
“I need to tell everything to my grandma in person. She’d panic if I told her over a call.”
“Natasha, I really think you should go to the police.”
“You think they’ll help me?” I asked bitterly. “This is a mafia world, and we’re living in it. Rishabh has everyone wrapped around his finger. No one can help me.”
“You’ve worked so hard,” Sara said quietly, “and it’s all on the verge of destruction.”
“Sara, this will be our last phone call,” I said after a pause. “I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”
She went silent, understanding the weight of my words.
“You have my video confession,” I continued. “All their crimes. If I die, release it on social media, anonymously. Expose them. At least my death won’t be in vain.”
Sara gasped softly. “Is there really no way out?”
I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper.
“I wish someone could save me.”
Siliguri, India,
Sara was watching the rain when her brother appeared beside her with two steaming cups of coffee. “So, what do you plan to do next?” he asked.
“I have to hide for the next few days. Let’s see what Natasha decides.”
Her brother nodded. “Why doesn’t she seek help from her parents? They are well settled in Amsterdam. I am sure they have powerful connections.”
“She has severed all ties with them.”
“Yeah, but in the face of a crisis, she should put her ego aside and seek help from them. She is dealing with blood money and the Bollywood mafia, who could make anyone disappear in the blink of an eye."
Sara pressed her lips, silently acknowledging that each word her brother said was spot on.
"Do you remember what they did to Abhay Singh Rajput, ASR, and his agent, Mahira Khan? Natasha’s ego will get her killed.”
“Ego?” Sara lifted an eyebrow.
“It’s not an ego! She was abandoned. Abandoned by her own parents. Do you know what she went through because of them? She is hiding unhealed wounds beneath her thick skin. She never lets anyone peek into her vulnerable side, no matter how close you are to her.”
“Calm down!” her brother said, patting her shoulder. “She’s just your client, so why are you so invested in her?”
“Because she has endured much to get here, without any backup or godfather. If she fails, no outsider will thrive in this industry.” She pressed her lips. “I only wish someone would step up for her.”
“A hero?” her brother chuckled.
“Even a villain would work now!”
