It’s not very often that your past comes revisiting. And if that past is part of a history that you have buried deep within your subconscious mind, never to visit again, then those memories can cause more pain than nostalgia. This is what happened to me yesterday when, slouched on the couch and mindlessly surfing through the TV channels I came across a news channel airing a segment on ‘Famous models who have disappeared from the face of earth’.
My
mind willed my fingers to grab the remote and turn off the TV but my body had
frozen. I simply sat, with hands trembling, listening to the anchor on the
Entertainment news segment speak.
“Many
of us still remember this tall, dusky, svelte who ruled the ramp for more than
5 years. The beautiful and stunning model, Mia Tandon created furor when she
modeled for a sports gear company in nude. Mia captured millions of men’s
imagination as she swished and swayed on the ramp.
She
was on the top of her game when her career spiraled down dramatically. A
fashion faux pas when walking on the ramp for Lakme India Fashion Week drew a
lot of flak.”
I
saw myself walking in a halter gown on the ramp and as the screen moved in slow
motion, I saw my dress falling down and with a look that conveyed surprise,
shock, confusion and dismay, I quickly took hold of the garment and walked back
with as much dignity as I could muster. But those few seconds, when my body was
on display for everyone’s viewing, created a fear so deep in my heart that I
could never gather enough courage to walk on the ramp ever again.
Though
I had done a few ad campaigns in nude I had never felt vulnerable or exposed.
The cameras were clicking like crazy as I looked dazed like a deer caught in the
headlights. I knew my career was finished. The weeks following the disaster
were nerve-wrecking for me. My phone never stopped ringing. Media hounded me
everywhere I went. There were women’s organizations holding protests against me,
demanding that I be arrested for being a disgrace in the society.
I
took solace by locking myself in my room with the curtains drawn and spending
all the time drinking and smoking. I did not want to step out of my room.
Things reached a new low when one night, very drunk and unable to walk, I fell
into a dumpster in a back alley of my house. That night, as I cried
inconsolably, I felt sorry for myself. The next morning, just before dawn, I
packed a few of my things and enrolled into a detox program in a rehabilitation
center.
As
the anchor moved on to the other models in her list, I walked unsteadily over
to the drinks cabinet. A year back I had given up drinking completely but I
badly needed some alcohol within me to calm my frayed nerves.
With
the drink in my hand, I moved towards the couch but stopped suddenly as I saw my
image in the mirror beside the bar. I inched closer to my reflection and
noticed the fine lines that had begun to form near my eyes. When I was a model,
I never went outside my room without wearing makeup but now, I rarely wore any
makeup.
Did
I miss the glamour, the fame, the adulation?
Maybe
but being away from the arc lights, in my own secluded space, had given me
immense peace and rebuilt my shattered confidence. I was free to roam the
streets, free to do whatever my heart wished, without thinking about the
paparazzi following me and judging my actions.
The
last day at my rehab center, I stood at the gates and pondered over my next
steps. Did I really want to return? Did I want to go back to that world where
people hugged and air kissed me, but the moment I turned my back, they were
ready with a dagger to tear me down?
I
had made my decision. I travelled to Dehradun, the place where I had come from,
where I had started my journey, the place where I really belonged. I was coming
back a full circle.
Yes,
I had lost the world of glamour and fame, but in return I had received
something more valuable. I had regained my freedom, my peace and my sense of
belonging.
A wonderful take on freedom, Prasanna. Often we don't know what is tying us down.....it takes a trigger to pull us into the reality....!
ReplyDeleteA very interesting story about how one's fame can actually create a prison around oneself. Nicely told!
ReplyDeleteBeauty Interprets, Expresses, Manifests the Eternal
as long as she i shappy with what she has......
ReplyDeleteThe most important of all:your own freedom and sense of inner peace and happiness.. that's life at its best:-)
ReplyDeleteIt's all the matter of heart.....good for her....she found her freedom....well said
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post!! Freedom is being yourself without permission! :)
ReplyDeleteWhoa!! That's so brilliant!! Freedom - well explored and narrated!!
ReplyDelete~S(t)ri
Participant|AtoZ Challenge 2014
Smile, it makes (y)our day!
wow Prasanna...I don't know what to say..This post was so full of depth...Good for her no...You have got me with this piece ... I felt for her while reading this..
ReplyDeleteRandom Thoughts Naba
Prasanna, such a touching story, a look at the glamour world and the vulnerability of the people in it, well done :)
ReplyDeleteSuch a beautifully written tale, Prasanna, filled with learning, wisdom,pain and bouncing back. You had me gripped from the beginning till the very end. Reminded me of the movie 'Fashion'.
ReplyDeletesuch is life... it comes to a full circle. Wonderful story and narration.
ReplyDeletePrasanna what is scary is that these things are more real than fiction. But your end was very good, freedom is many things but most definitely peace.
ReplyDeleteRicha
Freedom do have its price! ... Loved this one..
ReplyDeleteReminds of the real incident that had happened and Kangana in the movie Fashion !! The last line was amazing :)
ReplyDeleteFreedom can mean so many different things for people! I'm so glad to read your take on it!
ReplyDeleteMany people are unhappy in their professions, but they can't leave as they are trapped by various compulsions, mainly financial commitments. Mia's fashion faux pas was a blessing in disguise. Of course, she had a traumatic immediate aftermath.
ReplyDeleteGood for you. That is a tough choice to make. Thank you for sharing such a personal story.
ReplyDeletehttp://katloveswriting.blogspot.com/2014/04/m-is-for-manuscript.html