‘I’m in touch with nobody, I have no friends’

A domestic help opens the door, you’re ushered into the hall. Babi’s voice floats in from inside the bedroom, asking if you have a mobile phone. When you reply, ‘yes’, she asks you to call her on hers.

‘‘You don’t have an appointment,’’ she snaps when you comply, and says she won’t see you, not until you’ve read the 18-page affidavit, the 22-page petition, and the 33-page complaint she has just drafted, and which she intends to submit to the TADA court.

The maid returns with the documents. You are instructed to accompany her downstairs, photocopy them, come back and send the photocopies into Babi’s room, where she will personally attest the first and the last page with her signature and append her testament that the same has been handed over to you.

Babi informs you that she will see you the next day after you have studied the documents. The next morning she calls and instructs you to bring along a tape recorder, so there’s no possibility of being misquoted. And yes, she’s willing to be photographed, ‘‘but make sure your photographer brings two umbrella flashes and a digital camera—because digital cameras give you the best pictures’’.

That afternoon, you’re shown into the same room. It’s clear the flat has not been cared for. The maroon curtains haven’t been washed for months. The cushions on the sofa are torn in the corners, and books and newspapers strewn across the floor. All the doors and windows are shut.

Babi peeps from behind a door and says she’ll be with you shortly, after she’s done with her make-up. Some 45 minutes later, she emerges from her room in white pyjamas and a cream kurta, lipstick in place, face powdered, and a smile on her lips. It is decided that the photosession will be taken care of first. But before she’s ready to look into the camera, Babi insists on taking a look at the lens. When she’s satisfied, she settles into a chair in the balcony outside.

When the photographer asks her to tilt her head slightly to the right, she brushes him off saying, ‘‘Oh come on… I’ll do the posing. After all, I’ve been an actress for ten years.’’ After the session, she brings out an automatic camera of her own, to take a picture of the photographer and reporter—‘‘just for the record’’.

Over the next three hours, Babi attempts to explain all that’s been bothering her. She has a tape recorder of her own, which, along with yours, captures her every word on tape. She is the victim of a criminal ring, she says, involving personalities ranging from Robert Redford to Amitabh Bachchan. She claims she has evidence against Sanjay Dutt.

But before that she wants to make clear she’s not the disturbed person she’s painted out to be. ‘‘I’m not suffering from any mental disorder. I don’t have a lawyer, and all the affidavits I possess have been filed by me,’’ she says.

‘‘Filing an affidavit is a complicated process, and certainly not a mad man’s job. I conduct all my legal activities myself, I draft my legal documents myself, and I take all legal decisions. That should be enough to prove my sanity.’’ She argues her case referring to hundreds of notebooks she has collected over the years. ‘‘That’s all the evidence I have to support what I’m saying,’’ she points to the notebooks, each filled from start to finish with her own handwriting.

If there is any bitterness towards her colleagues, it’s justified, she says. ‘‘I never severed ties with the film industry. They broke their ties with me…. They didn’t respond to my phone calls or my party invitations. They didn’t even invite me to their parties.’’

Today, the former Glam Girl is a recluse. ‘‘I’m not in touch with anyone. Occasionally, I might bump into someone I have known, and I might say hello, but I have no friends at all.’’