She crinkled her nose — “Like threesomes… or open relationship.”
Ritu let out an incredulous scoff at the audacity of people. She glanced at the man in question. Maya had mentioned something to that effect, about his dual tastes. Maybe he liked men and never made it public officially. She respected where he came from. The society wasn’t as accepting yet, even if his industry was. A pinch somewhere deep inside her chest jolted her. She did not like that he was not for women. Not that she wanted him for herself…
“So it’s the latter then?” The makeup artist inquired.
“What?”
“Open relationships? It’s the most common kind here.”
“No!”
“The former?”
“Oh my god, are you living in the real world?”
Yasmin giggled. “Don’t blame the labourer who has nothing but gossip to go on until the next shot,” she held her hands up again.
“Well, Yasmin, I don’t gossip.”
“Likeat all?”
Ritu stared at her, pointedly.
She clicked her tongue — “You are the good one then?”
“If that’s what it means.”
“What do you do?”
“On a break, currently.”
“Break? What does that pesky thing look like? The last break I had was in 2018, when my college gave me my degree and said goodbye.”
Ritu chuckled. “It’s… not bad.”
“Sound?” A loud holler brought their conversation to a close.
“Rolling!”
There was no loud ‘Action,’ but like clockwork, under the sun, like dials of time, models started strutting down the alleys of the stepwell. A haunting folk melody began to play on a loudspeaker, bringing the mood of the space to a low mellow. Ritu came to her feet, eyeing it all from the highest vantage. Multiple cameras and cameramen at multiple spots, dozens of models walking like they were each in their own worlds, chins up, eyes to the sky, bodies taut. Some wore heavy, wide ghaghras in rich, bright patolas, some were wrapped in muted patola sarees, and three women were scintillating in golden ensembles, weaving through shortcuts down to the very end of the well. All perfect bodies, all perfect faces.
“Wow…”
“You like it?” Nilay’s voice sounded from behind her. Ritu turned, only to find the chair beside hers empty. They were all alone. All eyes, all attention was on the spectacle unfolding down below.
“It’s like a dream,” Ritu observed. “I thought shoots meant ‘cut’ and ‘action.’”
“My shoots are one-take. One walk, one glance, one swish. That’s it.”
She turned back to the show. “Why aren’t you down there?”
“Because my work here is done.”
“Done?” Her eyes widened. “They haven’t even finished yet?”
“They will.”
She turned back to him — “And how do you know they won’t mess up this one take?”
