Diva for a Day

Back home after a late-night shift, I did a super-quick fix-it. Shampoo, condition, shave my legs, file my nails…and arranged an assorted wardrobe. There were saris, salwar kameezes, skirts, denims, and even a fetching bandhini shawl.

All bound, along with me, for the hotel. I made it 15 minutes after the appointed time. Fashionably late? Already!

Dabboo clicked away. A model pirouetted. The rest of the jetset smoked their Marlboros in the hall outside. Soon, I was a work-in-progress. Meraj, with ten years of experience on famous faces, dabbed some foundation onto my skin. Bits of ghastly yellow and pink powder were blended to bring out my skin tone under the lights. “It’s essential for Indian skin tones,” he said. A swift stroke of eyeliner was applied to make my eyes look a little smaller. Blusher to sharpen my cheekbones, jaw line, nose.

It was soon try-out time. I pulled on a cocktail black dress, then a gypsy skirt, and finally jeans and a tee. Trotted out on heels, Osho chappals, the works. ‘‘Whatever you do, don’t make me look fat,’’ I implored.

Dabboo had settled for an all-black scenario. Black background, black top, blackout. Wow! Two thermocol slabs on either side, lights focused on my face, peppy pick-me-up songs on the stereo… action! ‘‘Look straight at the lens,’’ instructed Dabboo, ‘‘and give me your best smile.’’ Easy. I pouted, giggled and seduced 18 frames. All praise, Dabboo encouraged: “Come on, perfect! You are a professional.’’

The next round was Indian. They pulled down the black and put up red paper. I chose a sari in contrast. Hairdresser Saru Ansari draped the garment. Tied low at the waist, she pulled in a stray piece from the pleats to tighten the silhouette. So that’s how actresses get that figure-hugging look. High heels, bangles, earrings, and a choker later, she did my hair. The natural curls had been teased into a wet look with mousse and gel for the ‘western look.’ Now she whipped out a straightening iron. I almost didn’t recognise myself. Next: Light meter, adjustments, thermocol. Meraj fussed over my bindi.

Dabboo lay on the carpet at a distance. “Why are you so nervous? Relax,’’ he said. I laughed anxiously and tried to follow the barrage of instructions. “Tilt, incline the head, throw the hair back, laugh, hand on waist… yes, that’s right.” A rock star huskily crooned in the background, You’re simply unbelievable.

Yes, unbelievable, no doubt.