Long ago, when we lived in Calcutta, my parents went on a visit to Shantiniketan. In the train, they were seated opposite a handsome couple. The woman was strikingly beautiful with sharp features and bore a resemblance to mother’s favourite actress, Sharmila Tagore. Though mother tried not to stare, she could not help her gaze straying again and again to the beauty opposite her. Once, their eyes met and the lady smiled slightly. Encouraged, mother beamed and apologised for staring at her. “You look so much like Sharmila Tagore,” she gushed. “I suppose people tell you that all the time.” “Yes. People tell me my daughter resembles me,” said the lady. Mother’s jaw dropped. “You mean…,” she faltered. “Yes, I am Sharmila’s mother,” said the lady, her dimples as pretty as those of her daughter.
On another occasion, my cousin Roopa was seated next to a handsome young man on a flight to Mangalore. He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him. A loquacious woman, she soon began to chat with him. Being in the insurance business, she viewed all strangers as potential clients and so she began to tell him about her company’s plans. He listened politely for a while and then remarked he had already purchased several policies from her firm but most were in his sister’s name. After that, they began talking about other things. Roopa, however, was burning with curiosity to know who his sister was who had so much insurance. She did not ask him point blank for fear of seeming too prying. As soon as they landed in Mangalore, she rushed to her office to look up the mystery client in the company database. Her jaws dropped when she saw that it was Aishwarya Rai! No wonder the young man was so good-looking. He resembled his sister, the most beautiful woman in the world.
Many years ago, my husband’s uncle was waiting with his friends for a train in Nagpur. There he noticed a bald man sitting nearby. “Doesn’t that fellow look like Shetty, the Hindi film villain?” he remarked to his friends. They all agreed. “He could be his double,” said one. They began walking towards him and as they drew nearer, their remarks became more appreciative of the resemblance of the man to the celluloid villain. They spoke in Tulu, a regional language of Karnataka, believing the man couldn’t understand them as he was probably a native of Maharashtra. Suddenly, the man stood up and smiled at them. “Yaane Shetty!” he blurted out in Tulu. (I am Shetty himself!)
Pragati Nayak
Email: pragati.16017@gmail.com