On Feb 24th, I woke up to hear the news of Sridevi’s death. I felt sick in the stomach. I had met her just 5 days ago and I won’t say she looked fine. Here is the whole anecdote.
Last week, I was invited to the Sangeet and wedding of Mohit Marwah from the Kapoor family. I was excited at the prospect of seeing the Kapoor and other Bollywood superstars in a small and natural gathering. It wouldn’t be a place for selfies and autographs but somewhere you would see the human side of India’s demigods.
The event was hosted at the grandiose Waldorf Astoria, Ras Al Khaimah. As I entered the venue, I saw that the Sangeet hall held a relatively small and private gathering buzzing with loud music and washed with shocking pink light. At the farthest end of the venue, I saw Arjun Kapoor upon the center of the stage, comically hosting the crowd. His hosting was alternated with adrenaline pumping dance performances every 10 minutes. Opposite the stage was a large seating area packed with people who wanted to enjoy the performances. I caught a glimpse of the silver-haired Jaya Bachan, the gazelle-like Sonam Kapoor, and Anil Kapoor.
And standing on the outskirts of the hall, I was amidst a couple hundred of men and women in exquisite eveningwear who were enjoying the social scene. A few feet away from me spotted was Sanjay Kapoor. And next to him was Karan Johar. He was taller than I thought he was. I went to the venue with my niece, holding my gown up, preventing it from being stepped on. My 2-year-old joined me too. He started dancing to a certain song and his silly antics caught Karan Johar and a couple other people’s eyes for quite a while.
Exhausted with handling my son, I decided to join my family at their table which was right at the entrance, farthest from the stage. As I approached them, I was told that Sridevi and her family are also seated with us. And that’s when my eyes grew large. A seat away from my mother in law was THE Sridevi. And next to her, were her daughter and husband, Boney Kapoor, Anil Kapoor’s brother. But soon enough, I noticed that she was certainly not happy. She had reclusively turned her seat towards the left so she wouldn’t have to face the stage. She looked remote and spoke with neither husband nor daughter.
Now, what I am about to write might seem made up but I’d never do something like that especially about someone who has passed away.
Looking at Sridevi, I felt bad. All the who’s who at the party were having a nice time but she was not. No one approached her nor she joined others. She was at the event but she looked quite distant. Not just from the party, but from her daughters and her husband too. I had barely caught some breath from handling my son but I felt like talking to her. And I told my husband that I was going to her to have a small word. My niece said that she would take a photo of me while I was talking to her and I asked her not to. My plan was to talk to her and later if I felt appropriate, I’d ask her permission for a photo together.
So, off I went to her. As I approached Sridevi, the fangirl in me was bubbling out. The dozens of times that I’ve watched Mr. India… oh God… I’ve started to cry by now writing this… her performance in Judaai and Lamhe and her recent English Vinglish. All these were in super contrast with the person right before me. The instant I lay eyes on her face (earlier her back was towards us) I was taken aback. I saw a very weak looking woman, whose face was so thin that it felt wrong. And yet her skin was stretched tight, her lips were plump and makeup was flawless. The effects of extreme dieting and accelerated aging had been covered up by going under the knife. But her eyes gave her away. The wrinkles around her eyes were, in fact, worse than those of a 65-year-old woman. These wrinkles made her look so fragile, almost vulnerable.
And right away, I told her that I adored her in her films and how I cried watching English Vinglish. My expressions came out as genuine as my actual feelings, thankfully. She nodded as if she was half with me and half somewhere else. It didn’t cheer her the least bit, something I had come to her for. Right then, my niece clicked a photo at which Sridevi slightly raised her hand and asked her not to. I felt embarrassed. This wasn’t my intent. To make her feel like a celebrity. Rather have a human interaction, something that is soothing to a troubled heart.
I lightly reprimanded my niece instantly and then bowed away with a ‘thank you’. It was already midnight and the party was in full swing. We decided to leave since it was a long way to Dubai. On our way back, we chattered about the people. How there was one thing too common to overlook – the women were stuck thin – the kind of look you get from starving. It was a little disturbing. My nieces were happy that they were able to get a picture with Arjun Kapoor and so was I. We stopped at a fuel station and had a few hot dogs and drinks before moving on.
Five days later, I found of Sridevi’s death. I felt sick. It was very untimely and it sounded sad and suspicious. Why did she get a heart stroke at this age was a question that lingered. And then a day later, “accidental drowning” was the cause found to be on the official papers. Her husband had found her unconscious submerged in the hotel’s bathtub. She had alcohol in her bloodstream.
Why, oh why, did this happen? Was this preventable? Did Sridevi’s family have any idea of her struggles? Were they helping her in any way? Was she open to help? I don’t have the answers but I will always remember going up to her, to try to cheer her up for a few moments, a few days before she passed away.
Shared by Maryam Aurangzaib – Facebook / Hijabi on the Go