Her place wasn’t bad. Recent redecoration, some modern furniture, and incandescent lights, not the dim tube lighting I’d come to expect. I complimented her on her taste, and she smiled. I could see why she thought a career in the movies might be possible. She was pretty enough. The question was whether she had that spark that made a star. And could she dance? Starlets in Bombay needed a good figure, beautiful hair, a pretty face, and excellent dancing. A singing voice wasn’t required, since they dubbed all the songs with playback singers.

“Please sit,” she said, indicating the divan, a brand-new white-leather number that looked as if it had come straight off the set of a Hindi-language film.

“What can you tell me about Mukesh Sharma’s arrest?” I asked.

“You won’t make me look critical of Mrs. Gandhi, will you?” she asked. “Because she’s only trying to protect the nation.”

I sensed Ruchika was playing it safe, in case I wanted to write a political piece.

“Of course she is,” I said. “I’m not writing about protests or criticism of the government. I’m only trying to take the temperature of the film industry. Has it been affected by the Emergency, or are things going on as usual?”

“Mukesh was arrested,” she said. “How can you avoid that in your article?”

“I can’t be sure until I know why. Where is he? Are they treating him well? That kind of thing.”

She seemed doubtful, but she told me he’d been picked up at his home in Bandra. I asked about his politics, and she said he was a Congress man. Critical of Mrs. Gandhi? Never.

“He made that film, Nyaay!” she said. “A love story about a workingman who fights injustice and wins the girl. Nothing more.”

I told her maybe the authorities will realize their mistake and let him go. Then I asked how they’d met.

“I had a small part in a film last year. The sister of the lead actress. Mukesh saw me at Sun-n-Sand Hotel in Juhu. I was hoping to catch the eye of a producer, so I sometimes went to the swimming pool and permit room there.”

“I see. And he noticed you.”

“Yes. He was very nice. Not arrogant like most directors. He treated me with respect and bought me things. This flat, for instance.”

I cast my gaze around the room, admiring, and told her it was lovely. A shame Mukesh hadn’t put his mother in something as nice.

“But now I don’t know how I’ll manage,” she said. “There’s the society dues and my cook. And the sweeper who comes to clean every day. I don’t know how I’ll pay them.”

“No roles coming your way?”