There were a lot of people around me, at
least a few hundred. Most of them were jostling for space, pushing and elbowing
each other in their vain attempts to get through the crowd. A few, like me, who
had arrived early to have a clear view, were already in the front and aggressively
pushing back others who were trying to get ahead of us.
This was my first time in Mumbai and
maybe my only time. I had been diligently squirreling money for the past 5
years for this visit, to make my dream come true. Sometimes I would skip
breakfast, sometimes I would wear my old tattered filthy rags without buying
new clothes, sometimes I would walk bare feet even though the jagged stones
would tear open the skin on the soles of my feet leaving them wounded, but I
would doggedly plod on. My eyes would glaze as I would silently dream of the
day when I would finally meet him, when my God would be within touching
distance from me. Yes, he was no less than God to me.
Even as an unknown, strange man would
silently thrust away his frustrations on top of me, I would look at his dirty old
poster that I had stuck long back in my scanty shack. And I would be
transported into a different world. A world where he and I would be walking hand
in hand among rows and rows of tulips, where he would bury his face in my long
tresses and would declare his undying, eternal love and he would sing songs of
praises bestowed on my beauty, where he would write poems declaring that I was
born for him, that I was a shimmering star called down to earth just for him. It
made my life more endurable. And when the men left after receiving the
gratification for which they had paid for, it didn’t make me feel disgusted.
And now here I was, making my dream come
true. Suddenly there was a burst of activity and the crowd went berserk. I was
pushed from all sides but I firmly held onto the railing of the wrought iron
gates.
There was a small podium being brought
to the front of his princely mansion. Three small steps lead to the makeshift stage.
I had heard that this was to ensure that his fans at the end of the crowd had a
glimpse of the superstar.
Finally after hours of waiting he came
out wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. He looked just like in my dreams,
tall handsome and debonair. The cinema screens where I had once seen his film
had not done justice to his persona at all. His thick mop of dark unruly hair,
his broad shoulders, his manly arms, his chiseled lips all beckoned out to me.
I waved at him calling out his name in
fervor.
But my voice was drowned in a sea of
voices. Even as my face fell dejectedly, he came forward to where I was
standing and extended his hand. I looked at him startled and amazed. I took his
hand and kissed it. But before I could bask in the warmth and happiness of my dream come
true, I was pushed aside. Hordes of people dragged me back as they zealously tried
to touch the superstar. I fell down and some stomped on me too.
I mouthed profanities as I shuffled and
struggled to get up on my feet and have a final glimpse of my idol.
But by the time I was up on my feet he
had gone back inside his house. The crowd dispersed.
Many can lay claim to my body, many may
use me to satisfy their whims of pleasure but my soul belongs to him and him
only.
Image Source: Google Images.
Indians and Bollywood are inseperable.
ReplyDeleteThey are obsessed with stars :) Thanks :)
DeleteThe worshipping of bollywood stars :D
ReplyDeleteThank you :)
DeleteAnything for these gods!
ReplyDeleteDefinitely :) We even build temples for them :)
DeleteHmm! Now that is true obsession :)
ReplyDeleteBtw, temples are built only for goddesses - at least as of now :)