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to take my help. The inevitable destiny of a tragedy queen tugs at her with renewed urgency. She
becomes more depressed. Her drinking increases to such an extent that she is hardly conscious of
the world around her. She dismisses her maid and cook. I am the only one left in the flat. And
then she prepares for the greatest role of her life.
Neelima Kumari asks me to stack all the film magazines with her pictures in neatly in a pile. She
arranges all her trophies and awards personally, putting the platinum jubilee ones in front,
followed by the golden jubilees and the silver jubilees. She wears her most expensive sari and
puts on her finest jewellery. She spends three hours in front of the mirror making her face look
the best it has ever looked. Afterwards, she flushes all her cosmetic creams down the toilet. She
goes to the medicine cabinet and throws away all her beauty aids. Then she opens a jar
containing painkillers prescribed for her mother. I don't know how many of these tablets she
gulps down.
Finally, she enters her bedroom and inserts into the VCR the cassette of her film Mumtaz Mahal.
She sits down on the bed and presses the 'Play' button on the remote. The film begins on the TV
screen. She orders me to get vegetables from the market and settles down to wait.
I find her the same evening on my return from the market, looking like a beautiful new bride
sleeping on the bed. But I don't have to touch her cold skin to know that she is dead. In her hand
she holds a trophy. It says, 'National Award for Best Actress. Awarded to Ms Neelima Kumari
for her role in Mumtaz Mahal, 1985.'
What I see before me can only be described as the height of drama.
* * *
I gaze at Neelima Kumari's dead body and I do not know what to do. The only thing I am certain
of is that I will not go to the police. They are quite capable of pinning the blame on me and
arresting me for murder. So I do the only logical thing. I run away to the chawl in Ghatkopar.
'Why have you come here?' Salim asks me. 'I have also been dismissed by Madam, just like she
dismissed the maid and the cook.' 'What will we do now? How will we pay rent for this chawl?'
'Don't worry, she has already paid advance rent for the next two months. By then I am sure I will
get a new job.'
* * *
Every day that I stay in the chawl I fear that a jeep with a flashing red light will come to take me
away, but nothing happens. There is also no news in the papers about Neelima Kumari's death.
Meanwhile, I get a job in a foundry.
They discover her body after a month, and only then because one of the neighbours complains
about the smell. So they break open the door and enter. They find nothing in the drawing room or
the first four bedrooms. Then they discover a rotting corpse in the master bedroom. The sari
looks new, the jewellery sparkles, but the face and body have decomposed beyond recognition.
They cart away the body with white masks on their faces and dump the trophy in the dustbin.
They confirm her identity only from her dental records. And when they discover who she was,
they publish the picture of her rotting body on the front page of all the newspapers. 'Neelima
Kumari, famous Tragedy Queen of yesteryear, has committed suicide. She was forty-four. Her
badly decomposed body was discovered in her flat only after a month.'
Now this I call a real tragedy.
* * *
Smita lets out a long breath. 'No wonder film stars are neurotic! You know, I have seen Mumtaz
Mahal and I too have always wanted to know the mystery behind that gold bangle. I wonder
what Neelima Kumari told that thief.'
'Unfortunately, that will remain a mystery. Now are we just going to talk about Neelima Kumari,
or shall I tell you what happened next on the quiz show?'
With a reluctant expression, Smita presses 'Play'.
There is a flurry of activity inside the studio. We are in the middle of a long break. The producer
of the show, a tall man with long hair like a woman  or a rock star  is busy conferring with
Prem Kumar in a corner. After he leaves, Prem Kumar gestures me to join him.
'Look, Mr Thomas,' Prem Kumar tells me, 'you have done fantastically well on the show. You
are sitting pretty with a million rupees in your kitty. Tell me, what do you intend to do now?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean are you going to just walk away or will you play for the billion-rupee prize? Remember
it is Play or Pay now.'
'Well then, I'm going to walk away. I have been lucky up till now, but my luck might just be
running out.'
'Now that would be a real pity, Mr Thomas. We think that if you go on to win this quiz you can
become the biggest role model for the youth of our country. So we in W3B have decided to make
it easier for you to win. You remember how I helped you on the second question? If I had not
changed the question for you then, you would have been out with not even a rupee in your
pocket. I want to do the same for you on the next three questions. I promise you, if you agree to
go into Play or Pay we will help you win, because we want you to win. It will be the best thing
that ever happened to our show.'
'What kind of questions did you have in mind?'
'It doesn't really matter, because we will secretly tell you the answers beforehand. If you could
trust me on question number two, I am sure you can trust me on questions ten, eleven and
twelve. So do we have a deal?'
'Well, if you are guaranteeing my victory, I can hardly say no. So tell me, what is the next
question?'
'Excellent.' Prem Kumar claps his hands. 'Billy,' he tells the producer, 'Mr Thomas has agreed to
go into the Play or Pay rounds.' He turns back to me and whispers, 'OK, let me tell you about the
next question. I am going to ask you, "What is the length of the Palk Strait between India and Sri
Lanka? The choices are going to be a) 64 km, b) 94 km, c) 137 km, and d) 209 km. The correct
answer will be c) 137 km. Have you understood?'
'Yes. But how can I be certain that it is the correct answer?'
'Oh, don't you trust us, Mr Thomas? Well, I don't blame you. After all, we are talking about a
billion rupees here. So I will prove it to you. Here, look in this book. I am sure you can read
numbers.' He pulls out a diary which has page upon page of questions and answers, like a quiz
book. He jabs at a question. It is the same question that he has asked me. And it has the same
answer: 137 km.
'Are you satisfied now that I am not going to pull a fast one over you?'
I nod my head. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]