Staring at the moving Mumbai skyline through her car window, it seemed to Deepika, the sky was decorated with thousand lights of the windows of the sky-high buildings against the backdrop of a starless night. The rented BMW she sat in, that the production house was paying for, rushed through the ever-busy Marine Drive. She was returning from a rigorous dance rehearsal for her upcoming movie, Padmavati, her third with Ranveer.

She has been rehearsing continuously for a week now but Mr. Meticulous Bhansali always had another detail to add. Even the choreographer couldn't say if the audience would notice such minute nuances, but Bhansali pressed on anyway. Deepika herself couldn't see any improvement in her performance but Bhansali did and so did Ranveer. So Deepika Padukone, playing the majestic Rani Padmavati, had to put in endless hours perfecting the swing of the hips and the swirl of the shoulders, so that the moves appear as the queen's unrehearsed expression on screen.

Her legs and back ached with physical exhaustion, which now was taking a toll on her mind as well. Only the other day, she was left in tears when a sharp pain rose in her back while she was bathing. Thankfully it wasn't a serious cramp.

She leaned against the window in a desperate attempt to find stars behind the towering skyscrapers. She missed Bangalore, her hometown, where stars showed up in the evening itself. Her dark eyes longed for the soothing light of the evening sun and the cool dry winds that played with her young uncolored ponytail, the time when the stars filled her with dreams of unending possibilities. When she looked up, she could be the best swimmer in the world diving under the sea with schools of fish rushing around her. She held them in her palm but they never swam away. Instead, they circle and carry her with the tides. Or she could play badminton through days and nights. Her shots would cut through the storms and land inside the line every time. The crowds cheered. Her parents were proud. The night sky was the glittery canvas waiting for her to paint it the way she wanted. But that sky was lost now. And so was that young girl.

No. She cut her thoughts. I must think of what makes me happy, now. I am responsible for my happiness. She sat back straight. Her eyes returned to the claustrophobic posh insides of the vehicle. The millions of dollars spent on design, look, and ambiance of the interior of this luxury car for the most comfortable experience couldn't make her feel welcome. This wasn't her space. And everything around her screamed of this fact. The driver sat in his seat, unaware his customer was cascading into a breakdown behind him. It sickened Deepika to imagine that a stranger would be the first to find if something were to happen with her.

She looked at her options.

Talk to someone on the phone?

No. It is a non-issue. For now, at least. I can handle it.

Next option.

Get out of the car.

Too risky. It might work the other way. She remembered the numerous stories where the so-called fans chased the Bollywood stars only to be clueless about what to say when they met them. So they screamed in their faces, held them close, slapped them, pawed them, and even ripped their clothes until they were broken away from their idols. Deepika shuddered at the thought of public humiliation by people who supposedly loved her.

Calm yourself. She said to herself. The driver moved and she looked up at the rearview mirror. "It's okay." She lipped the words as she faked a stony smile she had learned during her modeling days. The driver must think of her crazy. Or arrogant, perhaps. But the smile worked and he went back to his job. Deepika hid behind the seat so the driver couldn't see her.

Think positive. She remembered shrink's advice.

Yes. Maybe the driver doesn't care. Maybe he is rolled up in his thoughts. And the fans. Yes. they don't know what they are doing when they do those awful things. Not that it is excusable but they probably never expect to meet stars and the next moment their star is breathing the same air as them.

She imagined what she would do if she met Meryl Streep when no camera was around. Would I pounce onto her? No. I would just observe. Yes. that is what I will do. I could never talk to someone so elegant and poised. She is just too good to be in my company.

Stop beating yourself down. She recalled more advice from the overpriced psychiatrist whose sessions had worked like wonder.

Recalling advice didn't help much as the interior of the car started closing in on her. Her breathing increased as she focussed more and more on it. The muscles around the chest tightened around the lungs as she panted making grunting noises as she pulled in the air.

Distract yourself. Distract yourself. Distract yourself. Her brain screamed.

She tapped the back seat IPad alive. She fingered through various options before she played a hard metal song turning the volume to the highest the device allowed.

The driver almost hit the brakes when the music burst through the speakers. He quickly got control over the ride and looked up at the rear-view as he was trained to do. 'Must always check on the passenger in even a hint of crisis, especially while you chauffeured film stars. They feel pleased with the attention and it adds to your career longevity.' But what he saw in the back seat was enough to be etched in his memory forever, making for a good story for inebriated times.

Deepika Padukone, the highest-paid actress in the entire subcontinent was dancing like a crazy teenager in the backseat. Her hair flew in all directions as she mouthed some lyrics he couldn't fathom. He gazed back at the road and when ensured it won't require attention, looked back at rear-view. Deepika had her right hand in her left armpit, miserably failing at making fart noises. The driver smirked to himself and tried to hum to the tune of this dreaded noise blaring from behind as he drove through the busy road of Mumbai surrounded by the concrete jungle under the night sky.

Deepika stopped when her phone on the seat beside her began ringing. She had come out of her dark thoughts and her mind was ready for the world. But her body was still not. She massaged her back with one hand and reached for her phone kept face down. The star-studded back cover with a picture of power-puff girls lit up the moment she picked the phone up, and so did her face when she saw it was from her baby. Her baby, as was his habit, had changed his name in her phone-book. Again. She chuckled as she read the name Ranveer had chosen for himself.

Khilju calling. . . .

Deepika was never good with pet names, so Ranveer had taken upon himself to choose names on her behalf.

"We're here, ma'am." The driver said.

"Oh!" Deepika tapped the answer button. "Thank you."

"What!" Ranveer said from the other side.

"Not you. Hold on." Deepika had opened the door of the car when the driver called.

She looked back in, with one foot outside on the pavement.

"Cup your hands to trap the air for better sounds." He said.

Deepika knew what he meant. She smiled at him and left the car.

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