13 The Cinderella Project

8 August

I have sent Bhola to Patna to fetch Ram Dulari – my lookalike – and I just can't wait to see her.

9 August

Rosie Mascarenhas announced the news today that Celebrity House, a clone of Big Brother, has asked me to participate in their next reality show, starting in six months' time. She was insistent that I accept. 'You saw how Shilpa Shetty's career got a new lease of life after she won Big Brother. Now she has tea with the Queen of England, meets Prime Ministers and gets Honorary Doctorates. There is even talk of a biopic being made about her.'

'But my career doesn't need a boost,' I said.

'Still, the extra spotlight can do us no harm. Every actress in Bollywood is dying to get on to Celebrity House. They are offering it to you on a platter. The script looks pretty good. They want you to have a big cat-fight with another contestant and then walk off in a huff. You'll be out of the house within a week, but the publicity will last for months.'

'But isn't this supposed to be reality TV?' I asked.

'It is,' my publicist said sheepishly. 'But no one will know.'

'Is life not a thousand times too short for us to bore ourselves?' I said and instructed her to turn down the offer.

Reality TV was touted as the great new hope for the digital era. A new genre featuring real people in real situations, laughing real laughs and shedding real tears. But it has fallen prey to the easy temptation of pre-packaged programming, degenerating into a scripted charade controlled by off-screen handlers in which contestants shed fake tears and throw sham tantrums to wring a few drops of interest from the blasé viewers. And why blame the viewers? All entertainment nowadays is prefabricated. Even war. No wonder death has also lost its capacity to move us.

That is why I am waiting for Ram Dulari with bated breath. In a universe in which everything is rigged and predictable, she alone might hold the power to surprise me.

10 August

Ram Dulari arrived today from Patna.

Bhola, who escorted her by train, appeared to be in a daze. He said he had to pinch himself to make sure that he was not with me. Even the watchman downstairs saluted Ram Dulari, mistaking her for me returning from a film shoot.

The resemblance is indeed unsettling. She is slim, a bit less heavy on the hips and exactly the same height as me: five foot four. It felt as if I was staring at myself in the mirror.

I have done only one film in which I had a double role, playing identical twins, but standing in front of Ram Dulari I wondered whether art imitated life or life imitated art. Here we were, Seeta and Geeta, Anju and Manju, Ram and Shyam, together in a single frame. I could hit my identical twin, pull her hair, hold her hand or paint her lips without recourse to special effects.

The poor girl was shaking, whether from exhaustion or fear I didn't know. She had come wearing a ragged green sari – probably the same one in which she had got herself photographed, and her only possession was a battered tan suitcase which would, no doubt, contain similar rags. So I led her to the small empty bedroom next to mine, gave her a couple of my old saris, and told her she would be staying with me. Her eyes grew wide on seeing the opulence of the room and she fell at my feet, sobbing in gratitude.

In the evening she came into my bedroom unannounced, sat down on the carpet and started massaging my legs. I told her this was not necessary, but she was insistent. She rubbed my feet for a full hour and eventually had to be forced to stop, whereupon she started mopping the tiles in my bathroom.

A little while later, when I took dinner to her room I found her sleeping on the floor, curled up in a foetal position. Seeing the childlike innocence of her posture, a strange, indefinable emotion welled up in me, a mixture of tenderness and pity. I sat down beside her on the carpet and gently stroked her hair, transported to the dusty by-lanes of Azamgarh and the dreamy innocence of my own childhood.

I wonder, though, what will I do with her.

12 August

I was still wondering what to do with Ram Dulari when the issue resolved itself. Shanti Bai, my Maharashtrian Brahmin cook for the last three years, has fallen pregnant and suddenly left the job. Ram Dulari has eased into the position immediately. She made me some kadhi and sooji ka halwa for lunch. I tasted these long-forgotten dishes with relish. Not only was the food yummy, it brought to mind Ma's cooking, the true taste of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar.

Like me, Ram Dulari is a vegetarian. Looks like finding her has been one of my luckiest breaks.

24 August

It's been a fortnight since Ram Dulari came to my flat and she has charmed me completely. It is hard to believe that people like her still exist in the world. Not only is she a great cook, she is also a very hard-working, devoted, honest person who believes in the old-fashioned values of duty and fealty. But her utter naivety and blind trust in everyone are also troubling. This city will gobble her up.

She reminds me so much of my younger sister. I have not been able to do anything for Sapna, but I can at least do something for Ram Dulari. She is an orphan; I will make her my surrogate sister.

26 August

I have thought long and hard about what I can do for Ram Dulari and I have come to a decision. I will transform this gauche village belle into a suave sophisticate. She can never become Shabnam Saxena, but she can at least talk and walk like me. And then I will find a suitable groom for her, give her a lavish wedding.

I know this will be quite a task. She is just an illeducated villager. But I see in her a certain shy polish. She is a fair-skinned Brahmin, after all, not some vulgar low-caste. With proper grooming, she can be made presentable. Her voice is harsh and grating. With practice, it can be made mellow and refined. She is artless and callow. Through imitation she will become urbane and genteel.

I have also found a perfect name for my mission of transforming an ingénue into a lady.

I will call it the Cinderella Project.

27 August

I called Ram Dulari to my bedroom and told her of my plan. 'I am going to change you into a new person. Look at me. I am offering you the opportunity of becoming just like me. What do you say?'

'But why, didi?' she asked. 'How can a servant become like her mistress? It is not right. I am happy as I am.'

'But I am not happy with you as you are.' I made a face. 'If I am your mistress then you have to comply with my wish.'

'Ji, didi.' She bowed her head. 'Whatever you command.'

'Good. Then we'll begin tomorrow.'

28 August

The first phase of the transformation began today.

I started with a haircut, snipping away at Ram Dulari's long black tresses, giving her what my Chinese hairstylist Lori would have called an 'easy shoulder-length flippy brunette hairstyle'.

Then I handed her a slinky pink dress, the one I wore in International Moll, and told her to go into the bathroom and put it on. It is one of my hottest outfits, with a corset ribbon lace-up front, sexy thigh slits and a handkerchief hemline.

After fifteen minutes, Ram Dulari had still not emerged from the bathroom. So I knocked, entered and nearly died of laughter. She was trying to wear the dress over her blouse and petticoat. It was a struggle to make her understand that the spaghetti straps, low-cut front and exposed back meant she couldn't even wear her bra underneath it.

'Come on, out with your clothes.' I snapped my fingers.

She unfastened her blouse and stopped. I gestured that the bra had to come off too. Her whole frame shook as she unhooked it. Her bra was one of those cheap white shoddy ten-rupee things they sell on the pavement. She tried to cover her bare chest with her hands, but I pushed them down.