Call it vanity or plain bad manners. The very moment a measure of popularity aka stardom is achieved, success bloats a film personality’s head. Normal behaviour gives way to put-on smileys, a la-di-dah-dum-dum manner of speaking, and worst of all, the conviction that the world revolves around their axis.

Cinema may just be a form of entertainment for the nation, at large, but it also breeds manic adulation and hysterical star following. Those who retain their equilibrium survive to bat on for a lengthy innings. Others fade into anonymity, leaving bad vibes among their disillusioned devotees. It happened to superstar Rajesh Khanna, and it continues to happen even among the ranks of the middling order of the Bollywood elite today.
Today, I’ll just give you three instances of actresses (male actors deserve an entire tome really) who’ve botched up their careers because they just couldn’t handle that crown called fame. They’ve been insolent, double-faced, Lady Machiavellis pretending to be Pretty Pollyanas.
I’d like to cite the example of Dia Mirza right off, with whom I had the misfortune of working in the film Tehzeeb. Admittedly, she took on the role of a psychologically-unhinged girl spontaneously. Our first meeting was a marathon of smiles wider than the Howrah Bridge. And wonderful, she said she would consult a psychoanalyst to delve into the mindscape of her character. I felt warmer than a glow bunny.
At the shoot, she was focused. I glowed some more. And then the foul play. An hour before the premiere, she cellphoned to say she couldn’t make it, she was stuck in Pune or some such. Being human, I reacted, “I don’t know what to say… don’t come then.” Immediately a piercing shriek, a flood of tears and the wail, “I was joking... I’ve even bought a new dress.” Joking? “At this point of time? Okay come then,” was all I could mutter. The entire cast of actors fetched up, she didn’t.
Subsequently, the premiere incident was buried in the memory files. And I found myself on the same aircraft as her en route to Cape Town. I was to cover the shoot of Acid Factory at the invitation of its producer Sanjay Gupta. On flight, she treated me as if I were her long-lost pomeranian. I glowed. Next: at the shoot, she began bitching behind my back, even to my steadfast friend Manoj Bajpayee. To gain sympathy of her other co-stars, she cried that I had written something nasty about her father, an artist, when he passed away.
Wow, this was news to me, I didn’t know her father and neither would I ever do something as insensitive as that. I cut short my trip, Sanjay Gupta apologised on her behalf, “You know how she is... a kid!” Sorry I don’t know how she is, neither do I have to accept allegations, or the lady’s dimwitted tantrums.
I don’t know who Ms Mirza has subjected to such behaviour, but her career is virtually zilch today. She has to produce her own films, and let’s hope she does make it to their premieres. No joking!
Over to Kangna Ranaut. She fetched up at a film producer’s apartment to listen to a script narration of a woman-centric film which I had written. Glassy-eyed, she listened to me droning away. At the end of an hour or two, she asked airily, “But what is my motivation? And will this film be a super-hit? I only act in super hits.” I wanted to go hyuk-hyuk but chose silence. Not a good idea to enter her honk-honk zone.
Actually, Ms Ranaut had another agenda. Practically every newspaper in town was writing about her on-and-off liaison with Aditya Panscholi. She looked at me, still glassy, and drawled, “Why you people have to write all that? I don’t want you to write that. Or else I will have to take strong action against you!” Me, moi? What about all the other papers? La Ranaut, pulled at her curls, glared, hissed, “You understand?” I don’t, never will.
Today, the lady has raised the hackles of Sanjay Dutt and Ajay Devgn. She claims that they are great friends of her, etc., and more etc… and they’re miffed, issuing counter-statements. Wonder what her motivation is.
Whether it’s showbiz or any biz, need-based relationships are a downer. Praise, praise, praise them or be damned. Preity Zinta obviously suffers from this affliction. A news item vis-a-vis Ness Wadia had appeared in the paper I was editing, as well as every other paper in town. Cellphone buzzed again, with Zinta, screaming fire and brimstone. Take light, ma’am. To that she responded that she would issue a contradiction via a Patna-based journalist who’d get it printed in the 17 papers he writes for. 17? Cool number.
More thunder and lightning later, she eased. I offered to send her a set of questions on email. Her answers would be printed prominently. No response. I SMSed her, she said she had received no mail. Blame it on cyberspace then.
Today Ms Zinta is in the shadows, at best designing her own projects in which she acts as a Parisienne mademoiselle. Some Euro-style etiquette would help actually to restore her image as the peppy, feisty heroine she used to be, once upon a time.
To be honest, there are a gazillion more examples of obnoxious star behaviour. Don’t know whether to store them… or delete them. Just thought I’d let you know that most stars could at least learn how to spell the word — m.a.n.n.e.r.s.