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Once upon a time
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"Ah, yes..." Neeraj nodded his head.
"So that's it. I have to thank this new trend of re-releasing the old film in coloured version." The woman laughed and then put her hand on her mouth as if embarrassed. "Sorry, I forgot my manners. You came to wish me on my birthday from I don't know where and I am just standing here mumbling away to glory. Please come in."
"It's okay," said Neeraj.
"No. It's not okay. Please do come in."
Even after this when Neeraj hesitated, the woman gave him an understanding smile. And said, "Perhaps you are thinking that how to enter the house of such a famous star Nayantara. But don't worry. I am not like those other snobbish actors. I may be a big film star but you are my fan and have taken the trouble of coming all the way here, I won't send you back just like this. Please come in."
Neeraj stepped into the house. For a moment he thought he had stepped on to the set of some grand old film. Dark and heavy wooden furniture with intricate carving, thick carpet on the floor, a big crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling... The heavy brocade curtains on the window kept the daylight out. It was evening here.
"Be seated, I will just come," said Nayantara and disappeared inside the house.
Neeraj went and sat on a big sofa. Once made with care and of course lots of money, the cushions on the sofa had now lost its colour and softness. Neeraj looked around. The other furniture in the room was no better. Each corner of the spacious living room was a testament to the glamour and glory that was long past. Everything looked faded and jaded. "Just like the lady herself," Neeraj couldn't help thinking.
At that moment she walked in with a whiff of heavy perfume. "Tell me your name," she asked. Now there was a coat of glossy pink lipstick on her smiling lips, which matched the colour of her salwar kameez.
"Neeraj," he said looking at her somewhat changed appearance. The woman who had opened the door wearing a crumpled caftan and dishevelled hair was gone and now in her place was a lady wearing an old-fashioned but beautifully embroidered silk outfit. Gold jewellery adorned her neck, wrists and ears. She had gone to the trouble of brushing her hair and putting on lots of make-up. But in trying to make herself more presentable perhaps she had gone overboard. Now she was looking exactly what she was. An aged woman trying to look young and beautiful, in vain. All of a sudden Neeraj felt a rush of pity in his heart.
The woman went and sat in an armchair positioned against the wall. Behind her there was a large framed photograph of her younger self. It was a black-and-white print but from it radiated a mesmerising kind of beauty. It gave a strange kind of dignity to the wall from which the colour and plaster were peeling.
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