Rekha is a common Indian name. Perhaps the oldest reference to the word is in the Ramayana the Lakshman Rekha, the line Sita was not to cross. In the event, she did, and the rest, as we all know, is history. Of course, here I'm talking about the name Rekha and not lines and circles. That's stuff for kids in geometry class.And again, there are Rekhas and Rekhas. For now, let me concentrate on the one and only, the seemingly ageless screen goddess, and how I met her.I think it was in 1988. I was returning from a business trip and had boarded the Air India flight at JFK airport in New York. I had an aisle seat in the last row of the 747's upper deck. As a habit, I don't drink or eat much on flights. Flying east, it's even more important to get some rest because one loses so much time. In any case, my days of flirting with the air hostesses and ogling leggy Europeans are over. So it's a pretty set routine. Get rid of jacket, tie, shoes. `Do not disturb' sticker on the backrest, mask over the eyes, cottonwool in the ears. Get a little shut-eye. When I woke up, the German in the next seat was getting ready to disembark we had reached London. The hostess announced that transit passengers were to stay on board. I shifted to the window seat and went back to sleep.Suddenly there was a commotion. A smart young woman had come in and the hostesses were fussing over her, falling over each other in escorting her to her seat. She came and stood by my seat, surveyed the entire cabin as an empress would survey her subjects. ``Do you mind shifting? I prefer the window seat.'' She appeared to address no one in particular. I could've ignored her, but I didn't. I was in the wrong seat anyway. So I complied and she sat down, looking more out of the window than at the crowd courting her. She seemed lost in her own thoughts. Finally, the hangers-on left after enquiring a hundred times if she needed anything.I was wondering who she was. The face was very familiar and yet I couldn't recall the name. I kept glancing sidewaysand her presence bothered me because I couldn't recognise her. Even she turned her head several times and smiled vaguely. Obviously, she was waiting to be recognised. Maybe it bothered her too. Without her admirers, she looked so vulnerable.Soon the seat-belt sign went off. Again there was a row of callers, some just saying hello, others asking for autographs. Several times I had to get up so someone could have a picture taken with the queen. I could've asked who she was but didn't want to show my ignorance. Obviously she was important. I sneaked a look at the signatures being doled out. It was only a scrawl. God, what was happening? Half the passengers in the aircraft knew this gorgeous woman, and here was this country hick, sitting next to her, who didn't even know her name.The meal service started. I couldn't concentrate on the food. She seemed to be enjoying her rice and chicken curry, eating with her fingers like a native Madrasi for us North Indians, everyone below the Vindhyas is a Madrasi. Butof course she was a Madrasi! How could I be so naive? She was none other than the the famous film star Rekha Ganesan. Still not sure of my great discovery, I asked very tentatively, ``Aren't you Rekha?'' ``Indeed, I am'' she laughed heartily, ``I was beginning to get a complex; I thought you'll never recognise me. You know, for us filmi folk, this is very important. We might say we dread it; secretly we love it. We revel in the adulation.''The rest of the flight was very enjoyable. Suddenly she was a new person; no aloofness, no hauteur; just a normal, sensitive human being. This candid superstar turned out to be an excellent conversationalist and she found a good listener in the next seat.Krishan Kalra
