Megastar Kasab – Hits and Misses

The shooting ended late in the night and Kasab felt very tired as he entered the hotel room in Mumbai. He could sleep only for a few hours since he had to catch a flight to Pune early in the morning. Late or not, Kasab never failed to stand on the balcony of the hotel room to view the night skyline of the city. It was his way of thanking Mumbai for all that it gave him, and he always made sure that his manager booked a room with a good view of the city. He liked to watch the orange skylines and the planes that plunged into them. He liked to watch the long array of lights from vehicles. He liked to feel the cool breeze from the sea and enjoy the sounds of the city. Mumbai meant Bollywood, and the city was a dream destination for any Pakistani youth. “Four years ago, I was nobody -- just a Pakistani village boy. I must thank Bollywood. I must thank the large-hearted filmmakers like Ram Singh. I must thank India, I must thank the people, my fellow actors and political leaders here for making me what I am,” he used to tell everybody who appreciated him. And whenever he felt more realistic, which happened at times, he would say: “My presence means business. A Pakistani’s presence in a Hindi movie will make its release in my country smooth. It is as simple as that.” “No, Kasab, your presence means business in India too. See how people here like you,” his mentor Ram Singh told him. Kasab thanked Allah in silence and thanked Singh loudly: “I thank you for everything good that has happened to me.” Kasab recalled the first day of shooting in India. “We don’t want a puppet from Pakistan. We want somebody who can emote, act, give life to the character,” Ram Singh told him. Of course, Singh said it after wasting six or seven takes. When each take disappointed him, Singh looked upwards, and Kasab realized that Singh was silently accusing himself for his choice. Singh initially used to call Kasab “Paki.” “Hey Paki, can’t you comprehend what I say? Your eyes should emote; they should convey meaning.” “Paki, why do you stand like a scarecrow? Use your hands. Your hands should convey meanings.” Ram Singh abused him always. Some of these abuses would have stirred a commotion on the LoC like: “Pakis are fools. How can I expect this fool to act?” “Pakis know only to f—k.” But Kasab suffered all these abuses since he knew what Bollywood meant to him and his fellow nationals. ********* Back in Islamabad, Kasab held a press conference where he faced some uneasy questions. “Do you know what our national interest is?” a senior journalist asked him. “I do.” “Then tell us, what it is.” The journalist was adamant like a school teacher. Kasab immediately knew where the journalist was leading him. So he gave a smart reply. “Make Pakistan a prosperous and peaceful country.” “Do you think that is the national interest?” “For me, that’s the national interest. I don’t know what answer you expect from me. But I want to see Pakistan as a developed, peaceful and peace-loving country.” “There are rumours that you are a traitor. How do you react?” “What? I haven’t heard of such a rumour. I am a loyal Pakistani citizen who happened to work in some Indian movies, as you all know. I use a part of the money I make in India for some noble purposes here - for charity and for poor pupils’ education,” Kasab said. “You speak about peace with India. But do you think Pakistan can afford to be at peace with India?” another journalist asked. “I would have asked the same question if I had not been to India. But now, after working for a couple of years in India and traveling to many Indian cities and interacting with the people there, I do not ask it. My answer to your question is - go to India and see for yourself,“ Kasab replied. ***** It was a Saturday evening. The Thippasandra market in Bangalore was busy, as usual on any Saturday. People were purchasing vegetables and fruits while some others shopped at the textile shops there. Vehicles moved slowly, honking. A group of young people were having chaat at a food joint. They were chatting and cracking jokes as they ate. A huge explosion from a car parked nearby ripped through them. The vehicle was on fire. There was smoke all around and nothing could be seen. People screamed and ran for safety in the confusion that followed. Dead bodies lay scattered on the road and body parts could be found hundred meters away. In an hour, the whole world came to know about the blast in India’s IT capital. The Indian government blamed Pakistani militant groups. India asked Pakistan to crack down on those groups. “Raid terror camps in Pakistan,” the opposition parties demanded. “Destroy Pakistan with a nuclear bomb for nurturing terrorists,” many people demanded. India suspended trade with Pakistan. Once again there was war-mongering. There were unconfirmed reports of troop movements in Pakistan and India. Kasab felt very sad. Priya pulled Kasab’s head to her bosom and let it rest it in between her breasts. She patted his back. “Terrorists don’t want India and Pakistan to be friendly,” he said. “Everything will be alright… everything will be alright,” Priya replied. “That’s what you say. But you know it will be back to square one again. Nothing is permanent when it comes to India-Pakistan relations,” he said. A militant was arrested in Pakistan and the Indian government was elated. It gradually resumed the suspended trade with Pakistan and everything returned to the status called apparently normal. Kasab noticed that whenever there was an election in India or Pakistan, the relations between the two countries went for a toss. “Is it the deliberate work of politicians on both sides?” Kasab wondered. Both sides raised issues like Kashmir, Balochistan, water sharing and ceasefire violations as and when their leaders decided. He noticed that there would be a sudden disturbance a week after an apparently peaceful dialogue between the leaders of both nations – either Pakistan would raise the Kashmir issue in international fora or India would demand bringing a terror mastermind in Pakistan to book. Whenever Kasab appeared agitated, Priya would sit near him, take his hands and let them rest on her breasts. He would soon forget everything.