Whisky, Women and World

Chapter 17

Apu made his way into the dressing room, completing his performance, and stood before the mirror. The orange bulbs surrounding the mirror cast a radiant glow, yet Apu found himself reluctant to remove his makeup. He yearned to immerse himself entirely in his character, seeking refuge within its embrace. Although he believed he had performed well, anxiety gnawed at him, wondering how the audience perceived his act. He even noticed some people leaving during his performance, adding to his unease. Nevertheless, when he finished, the audience erupted in applause, leaving him waiting anxiously for their feedback.

Unfortunately, the face paint artist bailed at the last moment, forcing Apu to relearn his skills and paint his own face. He hired a few other Kathakali artists from his village, who would play along with him. Amidst the frenzied activity in the dressing room, Apu asked for a mirror of his own and patiently and meticulously layered his face with paint. The process began in the afternoon and persisted for five hours, even after the show began at seven in the evening. Despite his relentless efforts, Bejoy wasn't pleased with Apu's decision, fearing it would result in a chaotic outcome.

Apu decided to enact the same play he performed the last time he left his home. The play revolved around the story of 'The Triumph of Virtue,' which is a single-act Kathakali play that revolves around the clash between good and evil, embodied by Prince Vikram and the malevolent Demoness Maneka. Set against the backdrop of ancient India, the play explores themes of bravery, righteousness, and the power of virtue to overcome darkness. Their Kathakali performance weaved together expressive gestures, rhythmic footwork, and elaborate costumes to bring this timeless tale to life. In this play, Apu portrayed the role of the great Prince Vikram. He wore a traditional, brightly colored costume known as a 'Chutti.' Although it was difficult to get the exact costume at the last minute, he felt convinced with the one he found. It typically consists of a vibrant skirt, ornate waistbands, and a stylized, embroidered jacket called 'Chatta.' He painted his face with traditional green and yellow to depict the character, signifying his virtuous and noble nature. The green color symbolizes virtue and heroism, while yellow represents a divine aura.

As a child, Apu's brother, rather than his father, had taught him the art and knowledge of face painting. Nevertheless, Apu credited his father for nurturing his artistic talent. Wishing his brother could be there to witness his performance, he reluctantly pushed away the optimism, knowing it was unlikely. Standing before the mirror now, memories of the night he left his hometown resurfaced. The boy, who once attempted to rub off the makeup from his face and remove the costume hastily, now found himself two decades later surrendering to his character. He buried himself within the layers of this costume, embracing the role with all his heart and soul.

Apu's cheek muscles subtly moved as he remained immersed in his character. With grace, he rotated by pushing his toes, returning to the position where he had stood before. Bringing his hands close to his chest, he bowed before the mirror, expressing gratitude for everything that had happened to him. Maya interrupted his solo show in front of the mirror, and Apu replied with his eyes, winking multiple times while his hands remained bowed in front of the mirror. Blushing, Maya pulled a chair next to him to appreciate his performance. Apu slowly released himself from his posture and gently removed his crown. The distant crowd's enthusiasm still echoed as Apu heard their chatter about the other artists' speeches, but he remained fixated on his reflection in the mirror. When Maya asked, "What do you see in that mirror?" Apu replied, saying the mirror reminded him of his last day as an actor.

"I have heard a lot about it. Your controversies. But now looking at you, I can be certain none of it can be true," said Maya.

After contemplating for a few seconds, he began to unfold his past. "It was one afternoon I woke up intoxicated after being drunk all night. Usually, my cook, Seetha akka, would be preparing lunch in the kitchen while her baby played in the living area. The television would be on, as Seetha akka loved to stay updated with current affairs. But that day, she was absent, leaving behind traces of her hurried departure—the baby's kerchief lying on the floor and the partially switched-off TV. I then walked to the garden, searching for Tenali, my gardener, who also seemed to have left abruptly, leaving scattered trimmed bushes and the garden scissors lying unattended. I then made some black coffee and turned on the television. What appeared there put me in a terrible shock. My face was plastered on every news channel, reporters excitedly sharing stories about me, of which I was oblivious. I rushed towards my mobile phone to call my lawyer, only to find there were ninety-six missed calls, thirteen of them from my lawyer, all while I was drunk. I was broken so deep. Unknowing of what next, I halted in the center of my sprawling garden with a glass and bottle of whisky. The garden was a vast expanse capable of accommodating over fifty cars or welcoming more than a thousand guests. And I lived here alone. I loved that house; I purchased it for a huge sum when everyone stood against my decision, as the building was too old. But it always reminded me of home."