When ladies vanish, I worry. Are they spending their time gainfully? Are they watching the clouds drift by? Smelling the florist’s roses?

I certainly don’t know why my mast mahaul ma’am Sushmita Sen is frittering away the peak time of her career. Last time I met her, she pulled my hair to threaten, “Let’s talk or I’ll kill you.” Urmila Matondkar is addicted to sms messages which go, “Hey! Let’s meet up asap.” That turns out to be never. Just forget it, ladies.
Manisha Koirala, I met at her ethnic chic apartment to rekindle bygone camaraderie. She’s a net-buddy, I’m up to date on her travels, marriage blues and pinks. She’s calm, cool, collected, no way retired from the scene, but “there must be something special, no?” she says, her face a portrait painter’s delight. Nothing special seems to have happened after she acted in a film directed by friend Dipti Naval. I still have to see the film. Meanwhile, Dipti has already released a book of short stories, and paints soulful canvases.
Now why am I mooning over Manisha this Sunday? It’s simply because I’ve chatted with her about theatre endlessly. She’d like to make an impact on stage. After all, Nicole Kidman, Vanessa Redgrave, Meryl Streep and Demi Moore have acted in theatre, to take their acting skills to another level. Yes, she would love to do a play.
Unlike most of the pretty faces, she can memorise reams of dialogue, use her emotional memory to personalise a performance, and work on her dialogue pitch, which has to be heard till the last row of the theatre. No retakes either.
So Manisha may take to theatre some day. Dipti is interested but is unsure about tackling extensive passages of dialogue. Such technicalities have never obstructed Shabana Azmi (whose Tumhari Amrita still goes house full), but then that’s Ms Azmi. No comparisons please. Ms Azmi is a cut above. When I’d once suggested that Dimple Kapadia would be wonderful in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, she had snapped, “Do you even know what you’re talking about?” In retrospect, she was right. Ms Kapadia has never challenged herself as an actress. Horrifyingly, she is now reduced to playing the stereotyped, grey-haired mummyji. Evidence: Dabangg and Patiala House in which she was a hamming machine.
Another discouraging factor about theatre: it doesn’t pay big bucks. Arduous rehearsals, rounds of ginger tea, and minimal pay packets aren’t exactly a Bollywood heroine’s dream come true. Then there’s the question of retaining an image: has this movie star taken to the stage because she has no other work? Let’s face it, though. The fact is, there is little or no work, with the accent on heroines who’re younger-by-half the age of the three reigning Khans.
Try to tell Rekha that serious theatre would be a terrific option and you’ll be ticked off with stories about hundreds of movie moghuls and television CEOs offering gunny sacks of money for Ma’am Re’s go-ahead. Kaun banegi crorepati, huh?
Tabu won’t contemplate theatre either. Raveena Tandon rationalises, “TV is better, I have fixed schedules, I can spend time with my kids.” Juhi Chawla? “No, no,” she’ll shudder, but add. “Actually why not? I’d love to do a musical. I’m learning classical singing but for me to sing now… oooooh, the audience will throw rotten eggs at me.”
Come on ladies, for an artiste, no form of acting should be impossible. All the vanishing ladies — Sushmita, Urmila, Manisha, Dipti, Juhi, Raveena and Rekha — would be terrific on stage. But who’s to tell them that... except the dreamer in me?