Seeing the mass hysteria Ram Dulari was generating, I had to remind myself that I was Shabnam Saxena and she was just an impostor. I was the real deal, she was a fake.

The only mishap occurred as she was leaving, when suddenly a bunch of teenage girls broke through security and descended on her. 'Autograph please, Shabnamji' they clamoured, thrusting autograph books and scraps of paper at her. Ram Dulari froze for a second and the camera captured the look on her face. A cross between baffled and bewildered, like a schoolgirl who doesn't know the answer in an exam. Then Bhola grabbed her by the arm and led her away, trailed by the disappointed cries of my fans.

20 January

'What is autograph, didi?' Ram Dulari asked me as I was having lunch.

'It is the last weapon I forgot to put in your armoury,' I conceded.

'Will you teach me how to do autograph?'

So I proceeded to teach her how to sign her name and mine – the waggle on the S, the uneven symmetry of the habna and the little flourish at the end on the m. She caught on very fast and within a day was signing test autographs with such panache that I was tempted to pass on Rosie Mascarenhas's boilerplate replies to her.

'Why do you send me to these functions where I pretend to be you, didi?' she asked me as I was about to turn in for the night.

'It is a game, Ram Dulari, just a game,' I replied wearily.

For a second I thought I caught another look on her face, a cross between frustration and resentment, then she smiled at me and walked out of my bedroom.

21 January

My ankle has almost healed. But Dr Gupte says I should not take off the plaster for another three days. Which means that I will also miss the Cine Blitz Awards Night, where I am supposed to receive the award for Best Actress in a Negative Role for my performance in A Woman's Revenge.

This time I have decided to send Ram Dulari. This will be her ultimate test. If she survives this, she will survive anything.

I will coach her personally in what to say and what to do. Then I will watch it all on TV when the Awards Night is broadcast live.

24 January

I settled down on my bed and switched on the plasma TV. The live coverage had begun and a young lady anchor was showing the activity outside the Andheri Sports Complex as stars pulled up in their cars and posed for the cameras.

Five minutes later my silver E500 Mercedes arrived and Ram Dulari stepped out in a sexy white sari with a sequined border. A very loud roar went up.

I sat on the bed, mesmerized, watching myself preening on the red carpet. I got goosebumps when I waved my hands and thousands of crazed fans began chanting my name. I was blinded by the million flashbulbs which ripped across my eyes as I smiled at the cameras.

Ram Dulari gave a flawless performance once again, not showing any nerves when facing twenty thousand screaming fans. Seeing her receive my award, I felt the same pride in her that Michelangelo must have felt in David, Leonardo da Vinci in Mona Lisa and Nabokov in Lolita. It was the thrill of an artist who sees his creation come to life. But the thrill I received was greater than that of any painter or writer, because my creation was much more than a sterile collection of words or a blotch of colour on a canvas. It was living flesh, not dead marble – thinking, breathing, moving protoplasm. It was imbued with the vitality and fluency of life, which all art aspires to but can never replicate.

'We have seen who is the biggest star of them all,' the anchor said as the camera panned over thousands of fans chanting, 'Shabnam… Shabnam.' 'This appears to be the year of Shabnam Saxena, who is looking younger and more beautiful than she has ever looked,' the anchor continued. 'She has already shown her versatility by winning the award for Best Actress in a Negative Role. And she appears set to win many more laurels and conquer many more hearts in the years to come.' The fans went into a frenzy as Ram Dulari signed an autograph on the chest of a teenage boy whose T-shirt proclaimed 'I ♥ Shabbo' and the broadcast went into a momentary freeze-frame.

The Master said, 'Experience, as a desire for experience, does not come off. We must not study ourselves while having an experience.' Watching that freeze frame of mine, I discerned what he meant.

I had suddenly been freed from the mask of celebrity, the mask 'which eats into the face'. For the first time I could watch myself without the psychological baggage of watching myself. I revelled in seeing my popularity from the outside, as it were. It was a strange kind of thrill, like an out-of-body experience without leaving the body.

Tonight Ram Dulari had liberated Shabnam Saxena.

Ram Dulari and Bhola returned at one a.m.

'Well done, Ram Dulari, you didn't miss a step. You were perfect. I am really proud of you,' I beamed at her.

Ram Dulari gazed at me. 'So, didi, when are you going to teach me acting?' she asked.

I couldn't believe my ears. Was she out of her mind? I immediately put on my angry-teacher expression, the one I use when dealing with unruly fans.

'Just because you look like me doesn't mean you can act like me, Ram Dulari,' I said in a tone which would have frozen a fire.

'But I can, didi. Here, just listen to this,' she said and glibly recited some of my dialogue from International Moll.

She must have spent hours watching DVDs of my movies because it was a bravura performance. Her dialogue delivery was flawless. And she put in just the right amount of emotional heft. I had to admit that she could be a bloody good actor. A fist of jealousy squeezed my heart.

'You've had your fun for today. Now go and soak rajma for tomorrow's lunch,' I dismissed her.

I glared at Bhola as soon as she had left the room. 'Bas. Enough. Ram Dulari is not impersonating me any more. I think all this adulation is going to her head.'

'Yes, didi,' he admitted sheepishly. 'No more outings for her.'

I felt it was important for Ram Dulari to be reminded of her true station in life. She was simply my cook, and had been transformed into Cinderella at my bidding. And just as Cinderella's fun ended at the stroke of midnight, hers must too.

As I write this, I am thinking, what should I do with her? She is a toy I created for my own amusement. But what do you do with a toy once you tire of it? Where do you throw away a thinking, breathing, moving mass of protoplasm?

I tried to remember what Geppetto had done with Pinocchio and that is when it dawned on me that in the original version, Pinocchio had died a gruesome death – hanged for his innumerable faults.

15 February

I was shooting today for Sriram Raghavan's untitled production in Mehboob Studios. But no one seemed to be able to concentrate on work. There was a strange kind of electric tension in the air. I realized that everyone was waiting for the verdict in Vicky Rai's case.

At lunchtime the entire crew gathered in the screening room, where the projector had been hooked up to cable TV. I was in the make-up van and entered the hall to catch Barkha Das grimacing on the big screen. 'We've just received word from inside the courtroom. Vicky Rai has been acquitted for the murder of Ruby Gill,' she announced.

There was stunned silence in the studio. No one could believe the news. For once, even Barkha Das appeared to be lost for words. 'Well, what can I say? This is an absolutely shattering verdict, but not entirely unexpected. For years, India 's rich and famous have been able to manipulate the law and get away with murder. Vicky Rai joins that list today. For the common man, it seems, justice is just a dream. It is a sad day not only for the family of Ruby Gill, but for every ordinary Indian.'