Zindagi bhar nahin bhulegi vo barasaat ki raat
Ek anjaan haseena se mulaakaat ki raat
Zindagi bhar nahin bhulegi...
Swiveling in the chair, he held a contemptuous smile, swirling a glass of the amber cure that he was resorting to more often.
Haay vo reshami zulfon se barasata paani
Phool se gaalon pe ruk ne ko tarasata paani
Dil men toofaan uthaate hue
Bittuji came in like he was the next Bappi Lahiri in the making, with his dozen finger rings and a small store worth of gold chains around his neck. Perhaps, it was time to renegotiate his salary. For all he know, Bittuji was bleeding him dry, while he remained oblivious to it and be consumed by his other obsessions.
Dil men toofaan uthaate hue, haalaat ki raat
Zindagi bhar nahin bhulegi...
With a pained reluctance, he switched off the song.
"Chief, Don't you think this song has been on repeat for long?"
Tilting back to balance his chair on its hind legs, his eyes closed and ignored Bittuji's remark. It was as if the song's words were a filler in his head for the period it was on. Else, when it stopped, the images from that the long ago night came back to him. And then there was the morning after...
She'd been in a modest rosewater polka dot nightwear. Only it would have been nearly modest had her navel not showed from the four buttons she'd left open and had her shorts reached past her mid-thigh.
He took a swig and shook his head, feeling the burn slide smooth behind his throat.
"Chief, I have it all. Man! what a pain it was to get dirt on her", Bittuji slipped his mobile phone into his pocket and began dabbing the sweat on his forehead with a napkin nearby.
"Bittuji, you are paid to go out to the gutters," he said while his eyes remained on his crystal glass, speaking at his usual eerie pace, "If that is not as enticing as it was before, then I can always look for others who are willing to do that and more."
He looked at him over his shoulder and Bittuji had a fit.
"Chief! Common you must be joking. Who else do I have to crib. Sorry Chief..." Bittuji scratched his head and raised is brows in anticipation, shaking his head as a baboon in the wild, while his hand hysterically rolled the sheet of papers he held then, "So, do you want me to get started Chief?"
He nodded with his gaze unseeing at the wall, thinking the old fool had been faithful after all to deserve some incentive - in way of showing a modicum of tolerance towards Bittuji's cursory grievances over the work he assigned him.
It was a strange connection they'd made ever since they worked as junior artists and then he went onto do lead roles. Despite the master-employee class difference that had set in after Bittuji joined him as his assistant and notwithstanding, the boatload of insults he sometimes conferred on Bittuji, he still couldn't make himself call Bittuji without the 'ji', that now had morphed as part of his name; he was severely critical of himself when he still observed such past life behaviors that he wouldn't let go. He wondered if Bittuji had noted his way of addressing too, but, at present, he was merely glad he hadn't doled out that share of awkwardness by bringing that up.
"Given Name: Madhubala Kumar Gangule," Bittuji's saying of her name, pulled him out of his reverie.
"But, from the maternal side of the house, she is Sana Ruhee Dehlave. Age: 28. She was born and raised in Bandra, at Mridhulaji's home. Purana makhan, she calls it. Her mom died when she was 11 years old and she lost her father at 17. Kumarji did not visit her often, however she did go to see him at the studios he sang. Her grandfather was left as the legal guardian and he took care of her through schooling and college"
As always, he felt Bittuji's eyes on him for his approval to read ahead and given that his every body part seemed caught in a churning maelstrom, he sat still.
"At 21 she left for Sorbonne for a double masters in Literature and textiles," taking his inaction to be his cue, Bittuji, continued reading the summary off the agency's notes. All it had was 3 days worth of international and local snooping - an outcome after a long night of drinking and listening to her interview reruns, that her personal details galore had to have the key to her undoing.
"She came back to India after 3 years and started a Boutique on designer women's clothing in partnership with a friend - Ashwit. By the way, he is gay," he called out explicitly, "The boutique too - Enchante'- is at Bandra, a walking distance from her apartment. She is never at the shopfront. Ashwit manages all of the logistics from suppliers to the front desk with the help of two other women. She mainly sketches for them sitting in a back room, or prefers to do it by the seaside or in the small park that is in front of her apartment"
"After she came back from Sorbonne," Bittuji exhaled loudly then, as if that was a natural pause that had come in her life too, "She stayed at the Purana Makhan for 2 more years and only this last year, bought the apartment she is staying in. Her Nanaaji did not approve of the idea at first, but she convinced him and moved out"
He rustled the papers and turned a page, "She is fluent with four languages: English, Urdu, Hindi and French. Excellent pencil sketching, but no other notable crafty skills," he said, shaking his head with some mild disapproval, as if she was his own child who had disappointed him.
"Daily routine," his voice raised in pitch, reading the header of the next section and came to a curt stop before he once again started, "She wakes up early and goes for a run around the neighborhood before the streets get crowded. She has no help at home. Whatsoever", he enunciated the last word distinctly, "Their servants in the Purana Makhan say, it started after she came back from France. Can you believe that?"
Again, he had no reaction to Bittuji's personal incredulity, which he thought, Bittuji had no place to show.
"Her assistant Trishna comes in only to advise her of her social schedule. Her manager Kamal diwedi and Trishna sync up ahead of time and Kamal only meets her for legal procedures that require her signatures"
"She also went to part-time culinary school when she was in France and so, she cooks all of her food at home," he said nodding, pulling his lips tight as if in a difficult appraisal.
"She hosts small block parties at her apartment terrace, but its mostly children that she likes to invite. Of course their moms too. Gets her own groceries, does her own laundry. Ironing too. Spends a lot of time at the city library or at book shops. Not a social butterfly; as in no disco or pubs, but has friends over for the weekends. Doesn't drink or smoke. Never goes to temples or mosques. Hates kids or charities soliciting at her apartment"
By the time, Bittuji, turned over to another page, he got up and freshened his drink.
"There is no pattern to the parties she attends, but does go to most of them she is invited to and always RSVPs ahead of time No tickets, no late payments, no criminal records. Only plays old music records, at home. Geeta Dutt, Sulochana Kadam and the likes. Prefers black and white movies. Doesn't go to theaters, but makes an exception for Aamir Khan movies. Very rarely her neighbors have heard a female voice singing from her apartment, but she absolutely denies it was her," Bittuji said and with an unmistakable horror exclaimed, "Can you imagine that? Kumarji's daughter who is shy of singing in public"
Without his knowing he nodded and Bittuji flitted past the rest of the pages as a droning bee, "No public appearances, no interviews, no award ceremonies or film festivals. She did four charity dances for the mentally disabled when they were arranged in memory of her late mother. But she also made sure the organizers signed nifty checks to the foundations"
Bittuji, reached for a drink of water, "The only pictures of her in the internet are all obscured, she is either wearing glasses, or a scarf. Her first and only interview was for the book release and we have it on tape. No book signings. No acknowledgements and nor did she participate in the promotions"
"Weird routines," Bittuji said and he remembered it was something he'd asked for with great importance - to dig out the oddities in her activities, "Avacado is a must in her grocery bag. Every month on the 20th she offers prayers on the terrace."
Much to his disappointment, what Bittuji read from the paper hardly came off as a weakness.
"Best friends - 3 women and 2 men: Alice - Goan, Keerthi - Telugu, Ritu - Bengali, Luc - French, Ashwit - Delhi. Luc visits her once in a while. Except Keerthi, she met everyone else at Sorbonne"
His brows creased, feeling something was amiss, but he didn't stop Bittuji as he read on. "Innumerable Bollywood movie offers, but has declined them all. No movie celebrities frequent her apartment, if you don't count Dalip Kumar's sister - Maira Khan. Her neighbors told the detective that she absolutely has the sweetest temperament amongst all those who live there."
"Finances," He sat up from the chair and leaned on his table, with an obvious interest, "Another trust fund babe. A bit tight now, because they are closely monitored by her Naanaji. She manages with the monthly allowance and her share from the Boutique. A thrifty spender otherwise"
"Love life," A curiosity stirred, making him wonder if their kiss would have made it into the report too, "She didn't date anyone until she moved to France. Thierry was her first boyfriend. Tall, muscular french guy, but they broke up months before she returned to India. After that, she was single until she met Binoy last December. He holds a doctorate. Within..."
"Wait!" he cut him off and asked Bittuji with a sudden exasperation in his voice, "she didn't meet him at Sorbonne?"
"No chief. Binoy - Met fiancee in local train," Bittuji said in a clipped tone and looked at him in anticipation, sensing something was wrong.
His mind drifted elsewhere.
"I'm betrothed...I met him at Sorbonne. We will be married the next year..."
Their last encounter had been in August which made her excuse, just that - an excuse.
That lying bitch! He breathed out loud and tipped his head back, pushing his hair back with both his hands.
"Continue, Bittuji..." he said staying in that posture and with his eyes closed.
"Within 3 months of meeting her, he proposed and she accepted. They are getting married in 4 weeks. Its for Binoy that she was pressured to take up a 2 year old book deal. He invested in a french cosmetic company and lost all of his fortune. Debt in hundreds of thousands euros and she had little choice, but resort to publishing the content they requested. Her Naanaji opposed it, but she went ahead with it when he wouldn't let her break her trust fund either. As for the wedding invites go, its a private ceremony with no media or film personalities on the guest list. After their wedding in Mumbai, she too will be going back with him to Paris"
More crinkling of paper and he heard Bittuji again.
"That's it, Chief. I don't think even she would have ever noticed these details about her. Does that help at all, Chief?
"No..." he sounded decisive, however his anger was all gone and he went back to nursing himself with the drink in his hand, "You didn't tell me anything that I couldn't have figured out myself."
"In that case, do you know her from before, Chief?"
"Not really," he was swiveling in his chair again, "I don't know this person you read about from 3 sheafs of paper"
It seemed his play of words was lost on Bittuji, when he innocently sought assent for the task accomplished by him. "Chief, Is this information enough for you to plan?"
"I don't know, Bittuji..." he took another sip and turned to look out the window behind his desk, "We'll see..." It was dark and yet a lingering light showed shadows move in the street.
For a few minutes he didn't speak, ruminating on her life history presented to him as if they were only trivia - all of which appeared as one giant smoke screen and he couldn't be certain to dismiss them of not being to his full advantage.
"Bittuji" he spoke abruptly while Bittuji was serving himself a drink, "Did you find out who named her Madhubala?"
Placing the glass back on the bar top, Bittuji went through the sheets for a confirmation, his forehead puckered during that keen perusal, "It's not here, Chief" he said. Bittuji shrugged. "But, why is that important, Chief? It's just a name..."
"I agree..." he said, more to himself, long after Bittuji was gone from the room, "It may just be a name..."
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