Monday, 8 September 2014

The Heroine

There was an ocean of people pushing, pulling and jostling eagerly waiting to catch at least a glimpse of their favourite star. Cameras, mobile phones and eyes watched athirst with bated breath. Journalists were ready to take notes, critics to shoot questions, policemen positioned to take action at the slightest sign of trouble. She was on her way and would arrive soon. The crowd was ready to wait an eternity for that blessed moment of sensory treat.

Maya was a recent addition to the film industry but her magical looks, effortless acting and impeccable style had already transformed her to a demigoddess. Youthful romeos dreamt about her day and night, the middle aged drooled over her pictures that seemed to be omnipresent (someone had even pasted her poster inside a public toilet) and the older men remorsefully remembering their prime as they thought of her.

The wait was over. Their goddess had landed from heaven among their midst. Each look of hers, the turn of her neck, her graceful gait, everything about her was lapped up like a sponge and relished like nectar by her fans. She walked over to the stage, escorted by her assistants and took a seat among the other guests. The press conference pertaining to her upcoming release was about to begin.

She patiently answered all the questions with honesty, stopping once in a while to sip some ice cold water. She felt comfortable to be amidst people who showered her with love and admiration. She could see people arguing with the guards, trying desperately to gain entry into the hall. Cameras clicked, slurping up every bit of her. She felt important. She was on top of the world. This was what she had dreamt of all her life and now she was living her charismatic dream.

Somewhere far away a whistle blew. Perhaps some fans were trying in vain to catch sight of her. No cause for worry. Then a second whistle by a policeman. Would the crowd go crazy as they sometimes did when they saw their superstar? The third one was really loud and with it the smell of overcooked lentils wafted into her nostrils. The crowd, the admirers, the press, the policemen, the banners, bouquets and cameras vanished into thin air. She was greeted by spices and vegetables, greasy utensils and a bucketful of smelly clothes.

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