Broken Images - Indeed!!!

I was taught in my childhood that one should never scribble over books, which I was following untill I met this veteran actress - Shabana Azmi.

I am usually a no-autograph-for-me-please-type person, but I don't know why I felt like asking Shabana (sorry can't call her Shabanaji for various reasons) for one. What followed is a lesson for life.

We (Me and two other friends from XIMB days) had gone for this new play by Girish Karnad - Broken Images.

The play arose some interest in me for two reasons: 1) Shabana Azmi, the protagonist; and 2) Use of technology.

The plot of the play is simple and yet has a suspense that unfolds beautifully towards the end. Manjula Sharma (played by Shabana) is an English lecturer and a small time Hindi writer till she comes up with her magnum opus - a novel in English which becomes a worldwide bestseller. Manjula is at a TV studio launching her book in India when she gets face to face with her conscience. What follows is a dialogue between the two that takes us through Manjula's life and her eventual breakdown in front of her own self.

Shabana Azmi, as anyone would have guessed, was superb.

What added more stars to the act is that the Shabana's conscience was also played by Shabana albeit through a pre-recorded video being played on a large plasma TV. There was perfect coordination between the video and Shabana just as it would have been between two actors.

The play got over and as we were walking out, my friend started bugging me with her whimsical whim to meet Shabana in flesh and blood. I ignored it completely and soon we were standing out in the crowd doing some star gazing (the smalltime actors of tellytown were there to make their presence felt in the social circles, but no-one seemed to be noticing them except us). But this lady's urge to meet Shabana was so strong that she cajoled my other friend to get back to the green room and meet her dear actress, while I waited downstairs for both of them to be shooed away by the guard.

Quite a few minutes passed by and there was no sign of the two of them. I was getting curious, so I also decided to join them. To my astonishment I found the duo engrossed in a blah-blah that Alyque Padmsee was delivering in some strange accent. Shabana was nowhere around till this friend of mine decided to venture in the green room. The assistant informed she would be coming out soon. Suddenly the door opened and there was a little commotion. It took us quite some time to realize we were standing next to Shabana.

My friend didn't loose a moment to "catch hold of" her dear actress and congratulate her for the lovely performance. This poor little girl had thought Shabana would be all ooh-aah at her praise. Instead she got a cold response. Shabana scribbled her illegible signature on a book that my friend was carrying without even looking up in her eyes.

It is precisely at this moment when I suddenly felt this inner urge to get rid of my habit of keeping my books clean. I dug out a copy of Pather Panchali that I had purchased barely an hour ago and slyly forwarded it. Her hands once again moved in the same mechanical movements to scribble.

Once I had the book back in my hands, I realised my mistake. I felt like tearing off the page or throwing the book away. Alas! I could not do so. I had purchased it from my own hard earned money. It would always stand as a testimony to my fallen self respect in front of a damsel from the tinsel town.

This page, dirtied by the illegible signature of Shabana, would always remind me to continue to be a no-autograph-for-me-please-type person.

I would always remember those words from Shabana, as she climbed down a flight (just one flight) of stairs - "Yahan lift nahin hai kya".

I wish Shabana would not have said this. I wish she would have at least looked up in my eyes for one moment as she scribbled on my book. I wish she would have courteously replied, or at least smiled, to my friend’s wishes.

Then, I would have never minded calling her Shabanaji.