AN: I am seeing a few people agree, and a few people disagreeing with polygamy.
So I am going to do this one more time.
Do you want a harem?
(of just 2-3 members)
Just a few steps into the T-Series office, Sid felt the weight of pressure start to lift.
He trailed behind an assistant down a quiet hallway adorned with gold-framed album covers, classic film posters, and portraits of legendary playback singers.
The distant sound of phones ringing echoed from behind closed doors, while snippets of music floated out from editing suites.
Runners zipped by, juggling scripts and steaming cups of chai.
No one paid him any mind.
At Dharma, every assistant knew who he was.
Here, he was just another tall, nervous kid showing up for an audition, and honestly, he preferred it that way.
His palms were clammy with cold sweat.
He discreetly wiped one against his jeans as the staff member glanced back at him.
“First time?”
Sid managed a dry smile.
“Is it that obvious?”
“A little.”
Fantastic.
Sid took a slow breath through his nose, letting his shoulders drop.
Breathe first, Barry’s voice echoed in his mind.
He exhaled.
The guide halted in front of an unmarked wooden door.
“They’re inside.”
“They?”
“Mohit sir.
The director.”
That was standard enough.
But then came the surprise: “Bhushan sir is here today, too.”
Bhushan Kumar?
That caught him off guard.
Before Sid could fully process it, the man turned the handle.
“And Bhatt saab.”
Sid nearly stumbled over his own feet.
Mahesh Bhatt.
Of course.
Why wouldn’t his girlfriend’s father be in the very room where he was about to make a fool of himself?
Just perfect.
“Go on.”
Sid stepped inside.
The room was surprisingly small, a cozy space with a single camera on a tripod, two static lights, and a rough strip of tape marking the spot on the floor.
Across from the setup sat four men behind a long table.
Mohit Suri leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Bhushan Kumar was beside him, flipping through an open folder, while Mahesh Bhatt lounged further back in his chair, his expression unreadable.
The fourth man was likely the casting director.
Every head turned.
For a brief, nerve-wracking moment, Sid felt completely exposed.
His hair, his stance, his outfit, his hands—the old instincts from his modeling days kicked in, urging him to stand tall and flash a smile.
Be the polished model he once was.
He caught himself just in time, relaxing into a more natural posture.
Mohit scrutinized him with the keen, analytical gaze of a director sizing up his actor.
Too young, too pristine.
Sid could almost hear the thoughts racing through Mohit’s mind.
“Sidharth?” Mohit motioned toward an empty chair.
“Yes, sir.” Sid walked over, greeting each person individually before settling into the seat.
Mahesh Bhatt watched him in silence.
Sid fought the urge to fidget under that intense gaze.
Technically, the original Sid had probably crossed paths with Mahesh before, thanks to Karan or Alia.
But being here, under his scrutiny, felt surreal.
In Mahesh’s eyes, the assessment was straightforward: Handsome.
Extremely handsome.
Perhaps even too handsome.
He understood why Karan would want to launch him in a glamorous way and why young women would be drawn to him.
What puzzled him was Alia’s choice.
Varun seemed more vibrant, more magnetic.
Sidharth was quiet, reserved.
But daughters rarely chose partners to satisfy their fathers.
Mahesh leaned back, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Bhushan closed his folder.
“Karan has spoken very highly of you.”
“That’s very kind of him, sir.”
“He personally recommended you.”
Karan didn’t send newcomers to rival producers unless he truly believed in their potential.
Bhushan was eager to find out if he was looking at genuine talent or just another pretty face.
Mohit jumped in.
“So, do you know what this project is all about?”
“Broadly speaking,” Sid replied cautiously.
“It’s a romantic drama that leans heavily on music.
The male lead is a successful singer, but he’s on a self-destructive path.”
Mohit’s eyes narrowed a bit.
“And what happens next?”
“He drinks way too much, enough to ruin his career.
Then he meets a girl with incredible talent, helps her out, falls for her… Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
and as her star starts to shine, his begins to fade.”
Mahesh leaned in, a spark of genuine curiosity lighting up his face.
“Who came up with the storyline?” Mohit probed.
Sid didn’t flinch.
“Just some industry gossip.”
Bhushan let out a soft chuckle.
Mohit studied Sid for a moment before shrugging.
“Fair enough.”
The casting director leaned in closer.
“Do you have any prior acting experience?”
Sid hesitated, almost revealing that he had none.
“I was in Student of the Year.”
“And before that?”
“Modeling.”
“Modeling isn’t acting.”
“I know,” Sid quickly agreed.
The casting director seemed a bit pleased that Sid hadn’t pushed back.
“Are you currently training?” Mohit asked.
“With Barry John.”
That got a noticeable reaction from the room.
“For how long?”
“A little over a week,” Sid confessed.
Bhushan smirked, and Mahesh’s mouth twitched.
Mohit looked at him in disbelief.
“A week?”
“Everyone has to start somewhere,” Sid said softly.
Mohit burst into laughter.
“Fair enough.
Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Sid followed Mohit to the taped mark on the floor, his heart racing.
The cameraman adjusted the frame, but no script was handed out.
“Where’s the script?” Sid asked.
“No script,” Mohit replied, crossing his arms.
Improvisation.
Barry had prepared him for this, but facing the reality was still nerve-wracking.
“You’re drunk,” Mohit said firmly.
“You’re angry at everything—life, yourself, even the people who are trying to help you.
You’ve messed up every opportunity you’ve had, yet everyone keeps telling you that you can turn it around.
But deep down, you don’t want to hear it.
You don’t want to be saved.”
“Who am I even talking to?”
“Someone who cares about you.
Just make it up.”
Don’t wait for the lines; create the reality.
Sid swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and let the chaos of the room fade away.
He didn’t play “drunk” by slurring his words like a cartoon character; instead, he embodied the struggle of a man trying desperately to sound sober while clearly not being so.
He glanced slightly off-camera.
“Don’t…
Please.”
His voice was soft, worn down.
He rubbed his mouth, swaying slightly on his feet.
“You’ve been saying the same thing for…
what?
Two years?
Three?” A bitter, breathless laugh slipped out.
“Every single time.
‘You can fix this.
You just need to put in the effort.
You used to be good.'”
Bhushan’s smile faded away.
“I know I was good,” Sid replied, his voice tightening before he caught himself and softened it again.
“I was there.
I remember the crowds waiting outside.
I remember their cheers.
I remember stepping onto that stage, knowing I could conquer anything.”
He paused, staring into the dark corner of the room.
“And then…
nothing.
Nobody warns you when it starts to slip away.
They still cheer.
They still ask for selfies.
But the calls start to dwindle.
The venues shrink.
The people who used to wait for you…
they move on.”
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Sid wasn’t acting anymore; he was tapping into the haunting memories of Bunty’s fading career back in 2026.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sid snapped, stepping closer to the imaginary figure, his eyes shimmering.
“You think I wake up and don’t know?
The driver knows.
The bartender knows.
His voice trembled, weighed down by fatigue.
“You want to save me?
Why?
Is it just to make yourself feel better?
I’m exhausted.
I don’t want another doctor.
I don’t want to wake up to another day where everyone pretends to be thrilled because I managed to stay sober for twelve hours.
‘Congratulations, you didn’t ruin your life today—here’s a medal.'”
He let the anger seep out of him, his head drooping in defeat.
“Just leave me alone,” he murmured.
“Why can’t you just hate me?
It would make things so much simpler…
for both of us.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room.
Sid let out a slow breath, breaking character as he glanced at Mohit.
His confidence took a nosedive.
Was that too much?
Did I overstep?
Mohit shared a look with the casting director, who was scribbling notes furiously.
Bhushan appeared genuinely impressed, already envisioning music videos and movie posters in his mind.
Mahesh was studying Sid’s expression, still pondering Alia’s taste in men, but recognizing the raw, sensitive energy that Sid had just revealed.
“Again,” Mohit commanded suddenly.
Sid blinked in surprise.
“Again?”
“The last thirty seconds.
‘Why can’t you hate me?’ But dial it back by fifty percent.
Don’t try to elicit sympathy; you just want them to give up on you.”
Sid inhaled deeply, adjusted his stance, and focused on the empty space before him.
“Why can’t you just hate me?” His tone was flat, hollow, stripped of any theatrics.
“It would be easier.
Whatever man you’re waiting for…” He glanced down, his voice barely a whisper.
“…he’s gone.”
“Stop,” Mohit said softly.
Sid froze in place.
“Better,” Mohit nodded in approval.
After a few standard profile shots for the casting director, Mohit gestured for Sid to take a seat again.
“You have a vocal control issue,” Mohit stated matter-of-factly.
“You go flat when you think, and you push too hard when emotions hit.”
“I know,” Sid replied.
“I’m working on it.”
“Good.
You listen well and adapt quickly.” Mohit closed his folder.
“We’re still testing others, but we’ll keep you posted.”
Sid stood up, giving a slight bow.
“Thank you, sir.”
As he turned to leave, Mahesh Bhatt casually chimed in, “How’s Alia?”
Sid nearly choked on his breath.
“She’s…
she’s doing really well, sir.”
Mahesh smirked, clearly amused.
Mohit glanced between them, a look of sudden understanding crossing his face.
“Oh.”
“You can go now,” Mahesh said with a chuckle.
Sid didn’t need to be told twice.
He hurried out into the hallway, letting out a huge sigh of relief.
Once outside on the busy street, Sid immediately called Reshma.
“How did it go?” she asked as a greeting.
“I made it through,” Sid replied, leaning against a cool stone wall.
“Mohit had me improvise a drunken breakdown, then he wanted me to redo the ending with less emotion.”
“That’s a good sign,” Reshma said, her tone shifting to all business.
“It means he wanted to see if you can take direction.
What about Bhushan?”
“He seemed pleased.
And Mahesh Bhatt was there too…
he mentioned Alia.”
Reshma laughed on the other end.
“That guy is a total wild card.
Don’t stress about it.
I’ll reach out to Bhushan’s office, gauge the vibe, and have a word with Karan.”
“Can you push them a bit?”
“I can steer the conversation,” she corrected smoothly.
“If it comes down to you and another candidate, good representation can make all the difference.
Now, get back to your acting classes.”
“Right now?”
“If you land the part, you’ll need the prep.
If not, you’ll need it for the next audition.
You got in the room, Sid—that’s the first step.”
“Thanks, Reshma.”
He ended the call and tucked his phone into his pocket.
Standing in the sweltering Mumbai afternoon, watching the chaotic traffic whiz by, Sid felt a strange mix of sheer terror and quiet excitement.