The Memories We Hold

Note: this story was inspired by the 2007 Bollywood film ‘Om Shanti Om’ which was a huge part of my childhood.

Shanaya stood in the doorway of the old film set, a strange feeling brewing in her stomach. It wasn’t exactly the excitement she usually felt when they were about to start filming a new movie, but it also wasn’t the dread of having to work with Amir. It was something strange, something she hadn’t felt before.

Taking her first step beyond the threshold, she scanned the place. It was more than suitable for their needs — an old, abandoned, half–burnt hall. It would have been stunning in its own time. Despite her awe, the unease in her stomach only grew. Her eyes settled on the charred remains of a mirror, stuck to the wall on her left. Shanaya walked over to it, her footsteps echoing in the eerie silence of the set.

Where was that idiot Amir? He was supposed to be here by now.

Approaching the soot–covered mirror, she took a look at her own reflection. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement behind her — a figure ducking behind a pillar. She spun around, clutching her bag to her body.

“Amir?” Her voice echoed. “This isn’t funny!”

She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. Something was off about this place. The longer she stayed here, the worse she felt. Her stomach was churning and her head was hurting. She had to get out.

Shanaya stumbled towards the door, but once again she noticed something — this time near the mirror. It must have been a shadow, because when she looked towards where she had just been, there was nothing. She was halfway to the door now, so close to leaving. But something about that mirror was drawing her back.

Amir will be here soon.

He would make fun of her if she was too scared to be here alone.

Besides, logically, Shanaya knew there was no one else here. Just her, eventually Amir, and, in an hour or so, the film crew. This was meant to be her big break. Learning from none other than the legendary director Mukesh ‘Mike’ Bhatia. In fact, she could remember reading that Mike had been about to film at this very location thirty years ago, before it burnt down.

Remaining where she was, she looked towards the mirror again. There was something so beautiful

about it. Perhaps it was the golden frame? Or the way the soot had seeped into every groove? She wandered back to it for a closer look. Reaching out to touch the frame, she felt something surge through her body.

White hot pain.

She wanted to scream but found she could not move. When she forced open her eyes, everything was different — everything including her.

Rather than her jeans and shoulder bag, she was wearing an ornate ghagra choli, black with thousands of beads sewn onto it. Her hair was no longer in a neat ponytail, but instead it lay across her shoulders in soft black curls, a deep red rose tucked just behind her ear. Her bag was nowhere to be found.

Behind her reflection, she spotted a person. Spinning around, she barely had a moment to take in the state of the set. It was perfect. Unblemished, as though it had never been engulfed by flames. And the man she saw? He was somehow familiar.

As though she had no control over her body, she ran up to him with a smile. He wrapped his arms around her waist. Words came out of her mouth that she had never even thought of before.

“It’s beautiful! We should get married here!”

The smile fell from his face. He held her away, at arm’s length.

“No, we will discuss marriage later. No one can know about us.”

She glanced down at where her midriff was visible between her blouse and skirt, rubbing her stomach.

“We can’t hide it for much longer.”

Shanaya felt sick. This — whoever this was — was not her talking. Even though it was her mouth moving, her body in his, her voice echoing in the hall — it was foreign.

Suddenly, that white hot pain was back, and when she opened her eyes, she was back in her own body, and the building was in ruins around her. Turning around, she almost expected to see someone standing there, but she was still alone. Wandering further into the set, she stood below the dangling remains of a chandelier.

To her horror, the pain was back, and this time stronger.

When she opened her eyes again, she was back in the other body, sprawled on the floor in the other place, in the other time. She was surrounded by something on the floor. A liquid. And the man? He had a lighter.

Before she could do or say anything, he dropped the lighter on the floor and walked out of the door. Flames erupted around her, and she tried to stand, the weight of her clothing and the pain in her head both making the task infinitely more difficult.

By the time she stumbled to her feet, he was gone, and her path to the entrance was blocked, the door shut, probably locked.

The fire was getting closer and closer. Shanaya could feel her throat becoming raw from screaming, but she could not hear the sound of her own voice. Tears and sweat dripped down her face and she struggled to breathe through the smoke. Again, she felt pain, but she could not tell if it was from the fire or from whatever had been happening to her since she walked in here.

A moment later, she was back in her own body, gasping for air, her cheeks wet with tears. She stood from the floor, casting her gaze up. A shiver ran through her body. She was not alone. That much was for certain now. Her eyes darted towards the pillar where she first thought she had seen someone. No one was there.

But then she turned around.

Behind her was a woman. No, it was the woman. It was her, yet different. The woman she had seen herself as stood in front of her.

Shanaya’s heart raced.

“Burn him,” came her raspy voice.

The sound of another person walking in made Shanaya turn around. Amir was walking through the door. Spinning back around, she expected to see the woman — or for Amir to make some sort of comment about why there were two versions of her. But there was no one there.

“What are you doing?” Amir wandered over to her, surveying the place for himself.

“Nothing,” Shanaya quickly replied.

Amir ignored her, opting to keep talking. He loved the sound of his own voice. “I had to go pick up Mike.”

She didn’t respond, her mind working in overdrive.

“He wasn’t too keen about coming back here,” Amir added.

“Why?”

“You know,” his voice dropped to a low whisper. “His fiancée died here.”

Just then, the man in question walked in, followed by his film crew. Shanaya’s heart lurched.

He was older now. Much older. There were lines on his face and his hair had long since turned grey. But his eyes — and the way he carried himself — were both still the same.

When he saw her, his face paled. And when she looked behind him at the reflection in the faraway mirror, she could just make out a dark figure standing behind the pillar.