Skip to main content

Confessions of an actress..



She was standing in the limelight of the 77th annual cine awards, her sketch being portrayed as perfectly as ever. She stood there smiling blissfully with her teeth of pure white, her flexible skin elongating to produce a perfect upward curve. She had been plastered with a silky white gown portraying her clevage and strapped to 7 inch stilletos that she had never been comfortable with.

She was a woman of strong moral fiber, at least she had been so, until she was forced to act because of her stunning radiance and sharp features. A girl of 16 she was, when the first opportunity of playing a modest role in a tv series came her way. She was least interested as she had been doing exceedingly well in her academics. She had already set her goals of becoming a chartered accountant, unlike her mother, an actress of the 1970s, least successful and in debt, a drunkard who couldn't make it till her 60th birthday.

She was very disappointed in ending up the same way her mother did. She had gained the fame of a super star, the money as a millionaire, she drove a lamborghini and few other biggies were parked right in the garage of her large bungalow, but she could never gain one thing, happiness. Her dream of becoming a chartered accountant shattered when she found her mother dead on the porch after one of her alcohol sprees. She was indebted to pay the creditors of her mother 50 lakh rupees.

She was baffled to do anything about it, until a friend of her mother lent her a helping hand. He introduced her to a television series and in a movie as a second heroine with a well-known director due to his influence. And in return, she had to be his mistress for many a time at his call. She had let tears of sorrow in her shower when she got ready for his night, had even tried to rip the veins off her arm, when she was caught red-handed by an NGO while in pursuit of her last breath.

She had passed many nights with him in intense sorrow and shame. While she bloomed into a successful actress, there were the public thronging at her in the roads to take a snap of her, to hold her hand, to get her autograph, but she never liked any of these. For when she launched herself into a temple or a shopping mall, men crowded her, taking the bad advantage of touching her in an unmannered way without anyone noticing and the photographers clicking away at her most awkward and revealing postures. Moreover all the snaps made the press and gossips about her personal life flew in the air.

She was a person of solitude, enjoyed the fresh air and sunshine, not the chill and conditioned air from the AC or the expensive shades which smeared black on her sunshine. An intellectually sound person she was, who liked to write on social issues, not dance like a ragged doll on screen at the director's call. She had travelled the world, but she would have done anything to stay home for one whole day.

Her name was listed in the nominees of the annual cine awards, a big event which will shower her with more rewards and fame. As she was speaking over the mic on how happy she was on being nominated and how wonderful it would be if she got the award with a smile plastered on her face, she was weeping inside, wanting no more fame, no more money or rewards, no more of the media.

She wanted people who looked up to her purely impressed by her inner serenity, to love her for her wisdom and sensibility, not her blemish-free skin or her well-exposed body. She did receive the award for 'the best actress' and a lot of fame and money along with it. She won even more admirers, stalkers and media cover-ups, but never got what she wanted with all her heart.

I dedicate this post to every woman who had faced such fearful events in their lives. To get what one doesn't want is the biggest fear of all and the women of today who boldly face such extremities are to be truly respected, cared for and loved, for what their heart craves for is real love and not our admiration of their outer beauty at the peak of their fame.

Image courtesy: Daniel Weisser Photography

Comments

  1. Nice post . . Reminds me of stranger in the night by Sydney. And will fame comes pressures and people do like it. Don't we all talk about cbc being in limelight? If that happens then obviously we can't afford to make mistakes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Very true Kappu... Being in the limelight might be flattering, but it is double-sided. :) Thank you for your comment. :)

      Delete
  2. Remainds me the tamil movie Oru Nadigaiyin Vaaku moolam! 80% coincidence :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you for reading and commenting Jothi sir. :)

      Delete
  3. Amazing read !! Love the way her emotions are captured !! :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. Surprised to read the story, did you happen to watch the movie "Dirty picture" starring Vidya Balan.

    The story is well written to fine details, awesome

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you vv :) Yeah I did watch the movie lng back and it was really impactful I'd say. :)

      Delete
  5. I can relate this post to so many famous people who are judged based on their outward appearance and media exposure. It's very sad indeed. Our lives are beautiful when we think of the lives they are leading.

    Lovely to see prose here, Gayathree. Nice.

    Joy always,
    Susan

    P. S.: Gayathree it would be good if you cite the source of the picture you're using. Otherwise it might be violation of copyright.
    You can do it the way I do it, by stating the website at the end of your post.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks a lot Susan. We are blessed in many ways... the poorest man in the world is the one who lacks love and happiness. :)

      Sure I'll make it a point to cite the source of the pics I use from now on... even though they are all googled. :) :)

      Best,
      Gayathree

      Delete
    2. Nice post. Reminded me of something similar I read long ago.

      Delete
  6. Could almost visualise a poem/song in this post..

    Also, do credit the photograph else you could get into trouble..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for reading Aarti.. :) Yes will find the name of the person to be credited soon nd will post it. :)

      Delete
  7. The life of many of the celebrities are like this. They come up in life with all money and fame they wanted but their inner always unfulfilled. A beggar on the road sleep well than these less fortunate beings. A beautiful story portrayed well in a smooth silky style. Weldone Gayathree!

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thank you so much MOM :) So nice of you to drop in :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Speak your mind

Popular posts from this blog

Within

Image courtesy: world wide web

The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside that is abstract, the abstract is opaque, yet translucent, the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at daw…

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012





















What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.