The morning chorus of Aram Nagar was an abrasive symphony of spitting autorickshaws, sputtering water tankers, and unhinged domestic panic.
Inside a suffocating, two-room chawl flat with damp cream paint and clotheslines strung across the ceiling.
The floor was an absolute war zone of tangled trousers, mismatched socks, and flying Kolhapuri chappals.
“Arrey bhaisahab, Ram-Ram!
Satyanaas ho gaya!” Jaideep Ahlawat’s booming Haryanvi roar tore through the plywood partitions like a shotgun blast.
(Oh my goodness, Ram-Ram!
It’s a disaster!)
He scrambled across the thin cotton mattress.
His rugged, stubbled face painted with raw terror.
“Vijay!
Utthega ya lath bajaun tere pe?!”
(Vijay!
Will you get up, or should I beat you with a stick?!)
“Ten past eight!
We were supposed to be at Maya Mirage by seven-thirty for the costume look-tests!”
“Pehle din hi lead role se nikaal ke road pe phenk denge!”
(On the very first day, they’ll remove me from the lead role and throw me out on the street!)
In the corner.
Rajkummar Rao was hyperventilating into a frayed towel, frantic tears wetting his lashes as he buttoned an ironed checkered shirt with trembling fingers.
“I’m dead…
Dibakar Banerjee is going to butcher me,” Rajkummar whimpered, his voice cracking into tragic theatrical despair.
“My debut in Love Sex Aur Dhokha is murdered before the clapperboard even snaps!”
“People will say this Haryana boy got a parallel lead and started behaving like an arrogant nepo star kid before his first breakfast!”
Sitting cross-legged by the balcony window.
Vijay Varma stood completely frozen in a faded undershirt and cotton lungi, toothbrush jutting from his mouth, staring with profound, Zen-like intensity at the cheap plastic wall clock ticking above the kerosene stove.
THWACK!
A heavy, calloused hand connected with the back of Vijay’s skull in a sharp, thunderous tapli!
“What the hell is wrong with you, Babban?!” Jaideep barked, his tall, broad frame looming over him like an enraged Jat general.
“Staring at the second hand like you’re going to freeze time with your eyes?!
Move your skinny ass!”
Vijay blinked through the lather of mint toothpaste, slowly turning his head with an expression of calm, heroic pity.
“Jaideep bhai…” Vijay murmured around the foaming brush.
“This ancestral clock died yesterday because I forgot to buy a ten-rupee pencil battery.”
“Look at my Titan wrist-watch.
It is exactly eight in the morning.
Our workshop call-sheet is for eleven.”
A profound, suffocating silence fell over the small room.
Rajkummar’s frantic buttoning froze mid-chest.
Jaideep stood with his hand raised in mid-air.
His massive chest heaving beneath his vest, processing the chronometric revelation.
A slow, heavy sigh tore from Jaideep’s lungs, and he dropped his face into both hands, cursing under his breath in pure, exhausted relief:
“Bhenchod…
Main toh sach mein darr hi gaya tha!”
(Sisterfucker…
I was genuinely terrified out of my mind!)
He dragged a hand down his stubble, shaking his head.
In the quiet hours of midnight.
He had wept into his pillow after calling his girlfriend Jyoti, swearing to her that after years of starving in the theatre circuit.
This lead break would finally give them a dignified life.
He was terrified of squandering it by five minutes of tardiness.
Jaideep looked up and his eyes instantly narrowed into dangerous slits.
Vijay was no longer checking the time.
The lanky actor had abandoned his toothbrush, leaning against the doorframe.
His dark eyes glazed over in complete, wanton romantic delirium as he stared at a glossy wall poster of Vidya Balan from Heyy Babyy, draped in a tight white saree.
Vijay wrapped his thin arms around his own torso.
Hugging himself tightly, rocking on his bare heels while making exaggerated, moist smooching sounds against his own forearm!
“Oho, Vidya meri jaan…” Vijay groaned dreamily into his own skin.
“Tera asli mard aa raha hai tujhe apni baahon mein dabochne ke liye…
Babban Hussain tera intezaar nahi kar sakta, rani sahiba!”
(Oh, Vidya, my darling…
Your real man is coming to hold you in his arms…
Babban Hussain can’t wait for you, my queen!)
Beside the stove.
Rajkummar’s jaw dropped in absolute disbelief, his head shaking in profound second-hand embarrassment.
Jaideep’s brow twitched.
A massive, throbbing red vein pulsed on his temple.
He crossed the room in two thunderous strides, leaning directly into Vijay’s ear, and unleashed a feral, parade-ground bellow:
“BSDK!
Meri Vidya nahi, Vidya Ma’am bol!”
“Saala aise bol raha hai jaise sadiyon se jaanta hai usse!
‘Mera Vijay aayega, mera Babban aayega’—tere sapne mein aayi thi kya woh?!”
“Yeh chichori randaap harkatein agar production house mein ki na, toh pehle main tera gala ghotunga, phir Mohini madam tujhe building se phenkegi!”
“Samajh raha hai na tu?!”
(You motherless bastard!
Not ‘My Vidya’, call her Vidya Ma’am!; The asshole talks like they’ve known each other for centuries!; ‘My Vijay will come, my Babban will arrive’—did she send you a personal invitation in your wet dreams?!; If you pull these shameless, lustful stunts inside the production house, I will personally strangle you before Mohini Madam throws your carcass off the roof!; Are you understanding my language or not?!)
Vijay snapped out of his trance, clutching his ringing ear, shooting a defensive glare at the towering Haryanvi.
Yet seeing the deadly, cold promise of violence in Jaideep’s dark eyes.
Vijay swallowed hard, backing down with a nervous, appeasing chuckle.
“Arrey bhai…
movie mein Vidya ji ka aashiq hi toh bann raha hoon!
Script mein romance likha hai, main bas method acting ki taiyyari kar raha tha!”
“Ab dekh, time ho gaya, chal washroom khaali kar, mujhe taiyyar hone de!”
(Hey bro…
I’m just becoming Vidya ji’s lover in the movie!
The script has romance written in it, I was just preparing for method acting!
Now look, it’s time, come on, clear out the washroom and let me get ready!)
Jaideep grunted, snatching his towel with a dismissive scoff, disappearing into the corridor bath.
Two hours later.
The Aram Nagar lanes were bathed in harsh morning sunlight.
Rajkummar Rao had departed for the suburbs with an emotional, bone-crushing group hug.
While Jaideep and Vijay strode down the asphalt toward the Maya Mirage bungalow.
Turning the corner near the Versova cross-section, both actors ground to an absolute, paralyzed halt!
The entire street in front of the local magazine depot was engulfed in a frantic, screaming sea of hundreds of young women!
College girls, aspiring models, and young housewives were shrieking at the top of their lungs, waving cash, clawing over counters, and violently tearing into one another’s hair!
“SHE PUSHED ME FIRST, THAT WHORE!”
“LET GO OF THE CORNER, YOU SLUT!
I WAS IN LINE SINCE SEVEN AM!”
Vijay stood frozen, his eyes wide in stunned awe.
Pasted across the entire storefront, fluttering from bamboo poles, and plastered over brick walls were hundreds of high-resolution, full-bleed posters from the Worli concert:
Rudra standing beneath the full moon, laughing through crystalline tears while crimson droplets scattered from his bleeding fingers across the black acoustic strings.
“Madarchod…” Vijay whispered, a knot of pure artistic envy tightening in his throat.
“Yesterday the man walked into Aram Nagar without a portfolio…
and today his face is an international currency.”
“God…
what kind of celestial lottery did that bastard win?”
“He looks hotter than Hrithik Roshan.
God, why couldn’t you carve my cheekbones like that?
I’d sell three years of my life for that jawline!”
FLUTTER.
A sudden gust of coastal wind tore a loose, glossy print from an overhead wire.
The poster drifted through the air, landing directly across Vijay’s chest!
Vijay caught it, looking down into Rudra’s piercing, liquid-gold gaze.
A soft, reverent whistle escaped his lips.
“Damn…
he really is a masterpiece.”
“HEY!
YOU FILTHY BASTARD!” This story is hosted at g.com.
A blood-curdling screech sliced through the morning air!
Vijay’s head snapped up.
A pack of thirty rabid, poster-starved college girls had spotted the glossy paper clutched in his hands!
“HE STOLE THE LAST ONE!
LOOK AT HIS UGLY FACE TOUCHING OUR RUDRA!”
“BEAT THAT HOMOSEXUAL ABOMINATION TO A PULP!
GET HIM!”
The mob surged forward with wild, feral war-cries, high heels stomping, umbrellas raised like lances!
Vijay went cold.
His knees knocked together as he turned toward his broad-shouldered companion in sheer terror:
“Jaideep bhai…
Bhai, what do we do?!
They’re coming to kill us!”
There was no answer.
Vijay blinked, looking to his left.
The street was empty.
Fifty yards down the pavement.
A dust-cloud was settling as a massive, broad-shouldered silhouette sprinted away with Olympic velocity!
Jaideep was already halfway down the lane.
His long legs pumping like piston engines, shouting over his shoulder at the top of his lungs:
“Behen log!
Main nahi jaanta iss bhosdiwaale ko!
Jo karna hai karo iske saath, mujhe baksh do!”
(Sisters of the city!; I have no connection to this motherless bastard!; Do whatever you want with his body, just spare my life!)
Vijay stood paralyzed for half a second.
The taste of supreme, historic betrayal burning his tongue!
“JAIDEEP, MADARCHOD!
APNE BHAI KO DHOKHA DEKE BHAAG GAYA!”
(JAIDEEP, YOU FUCKING CUNT!; YOU ABANDONED YOUR OWN BROTHER TO DIE!)
“CATCH THE PERVERT!” the mob shrieked!
Vijay bolted!
He ran like a hunted deer.
His Kolhapuri sandals flapping wildly against the tarmac, clutching the crumpled poster against his ribs like a stolen royal decree!
Within thirty seconds.
His frantic stride brought him shoulder-to-shoulder with the wheezing Haryanvi giant!
Jaideep glanced sideways, nearly choking on his own spit as he saw Vijay matching his pace, still holding the damn paper!
“Saale!
Tu abhi bhi iska poster pakde hue hai?!” Jaideep roared, dodging an oncoming vegetable cart.
“Agar jaan bachani hai toh fek usse, varna yeh paagal auratein hume kacha chaba jaayengi!”
(You idiot!; Are you still clutching his damn poster?!; If you want to survive this morning, throw it away, or these rabid women will devour our flesh raw!)
Jaideep’s massive hand reached out, ripped the poster from Vijay’s fingers, and hurled it high into the air behind them!
“MY POSTER!” Vijay wailed—
SKRRRRR!
The pursuing mob screeched to a halt, fifty girls diving onto the asphalt in a chaotic, screaming pile to claim the falling paper!
Taking advantage of the diversion.
The two actors sprinted down the private cul-de-sac of Maya Mirage Productions, tumbling through the iron gates, slamming their backs against the brick pillars, wheezing and clutching their knees.
Jaideep wiped a deluge of sweat from his neck, shooting a mocking, triumphant smirk at Vijay:
“Lega aisi fan following?
Sab paagal hain bhai!
Mujhe nahi chahiye aisi aafat…
Mere liye meri Jyoti kaafi hai!”
(Still want a fan following like that?; They are completely insane, brother!; I want zero part of that madness…
My sweet Jyoti is more than enough for me!)
Vijay folded his hands, bowing toward the sky in absolute submission:
“Bhai, maafi…
Mujhe bhi nahi chahiye.
Mujhe toh ab Rudra ke liye darr lag raha hai…
woh zinda kaise bachega iss shehar mein?”
(Brother, I repent…
I want no part of it either; Now I’m genuinely terrified for Rudra…
how on earth is that boy going to survive this city alive?)
Laughing through their exhaustion.
The two men dusted off their shirts, squared their shoulders, and walked into the air-conditioned sanctuary of the production bungalow.
(Earlier That Morning — Khar West)
In the sunlit master bedroom of an expansive 4BHK apartment in Khar.
Thirty-one-year-old Vidya Balan stirred beneath her Egyptian cotton sheets.
Her thick, dark curls tumbled across the silk pillows, framing a face of breath-taking, classical Indian splendour.
Her skin was a warm, glowing honey-caramel.
Her full, plush lips curved into a drowsy, contented smile as the resonant, velvety echoes of Rudra’s Sawaare drifted from her plasma television.
She had fallen asleep with the Worli Coke Studio replay running on loop.
Vidya propped herself up on her elbows.
Her hazel-brown eyes glistening with lingering warmth.
“Such an ancient ache in a boy so young…” she murmured softly.
Her fingers gently smoothing down the cotton over her hip.
“He sings like a man who carried a kingdom across the flames.
Every woman in this town is going to lose her mind over him.”
She patted her own cheeks with a sudden, professional chuckle:
“Focus, Vidya.
Today is Day One.”
She stepped into the en-suite bathroom, humming the haunting acoustic progression beneath her breath.
Her heart was lighter than it had been in years.
When Mohini Kashyap had called her yesterday evening to announce that veteran stalwarts Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi had been replaced by two hungry, unknown theater actors.
Vidya had privately exhaled a massive sigh of relief.
Naseeruddin’s legendary presence was an intimidating, suffocating shadow.
His intolerance for retakes was infamous.
With two newcomers.
Vidya was the undisputed queen of the canvas.
She held the center of gravity; the narrative belonged to her Krishna Varma role.
She stripped off her silk robe, stepping into the glass shower enclosure.
As the hot streams cascaded over her ripe, voluptuous curves- washing over her heavy, swelling breasts and the lush, feminine flare of her hips.
Her mind drifted.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back into the water.
In the steamy mist.
The image of the Worli concert returned with terrifying, carnal clarity.
She pictured the 6’3″ titan stepping into the shower behind her.
She envisioned his massive, bronzed hands wrapping around her waist, pulling her water-slicked back flush against the rock-solid slabs of his eight-pack core.
She imagined his dark stubble grazing her neck.
The intoxicating scent of crushed dark vanilla, wild honey, and burning cedarwood filling her nostrils.
“Haaah…”
Vidya’s breath turned shallow and ragged.
Her manicured hands slid down her own chest.
Her fingers trembling as they cups her heavy, aching breasts, pinching her sensitive, erect nipples through the soapy water!
“More, Rudra…” she moaned huskily into the tiles, her knees trembling beneath her weight.
“Take me…
Pound all that bleeding sorrow straight into my soul…”
Her hand reached blindly for the wall.
Her hips undulating against the phantom heat- until her fingers clamped over a slippery, square bar of Mysore Santoor Sandal soap!
She squeezed it and the wet bar shot across the shower floor with a sharp SPLAT!
Vidya’s eyes snapped wide.
She stood frozen in the cold reality of the bathroom.
Her cheeks burning in radioactive embarrassment as she buried her face in her wet palms!
“Devi Maa…
what on earth is wrong with me?!” Vidya groaned, laughing at her own carnal madness.
“Thirty-one years old…
She stepped out, furiously drying her hair, throwing a playful, sultry kiss at Rudra’s image on the bedroom screen:
“You’re a dangerous little monster, Rudra.
A very dangerous monster.”
Forty minutes later.
Vidya was behind the wheel of her new Mercedes-Benz E-Class, gliding through the coastal traffic of Linking Road.
The car stereo was tuned to 93.5 Red FM.
The eccentric, high-energy voice of RJ Malishka was screaming into the microphone with breathless, manic enthusiasm:
“MUMBAAAAAAI!
Good morning!”
“If you are a woman with a functional pulse and you didn’t see the Worli concert last night, what rock were you sleeping under?!”
“This new boy, Rudra…
My God, that voice!
That raw, magnetic, bleeding baritone!
Every girl in Bandra is shivering today!”
“A statutory warning to all female drivers on the Western Express Highway right now: pull over before you listen to his chorus, or your car will end up in a ditch!”
“He is Mumbai’s first official Rockstar God!”
Vidya burst into rich, melodic laughter, tapping her steering wheel.
“You have no idea, Malishka…
He almost caused an accident in my shower this morning.”
At a red light near the Juhu circle.
A teenage vendor approached her car window, waving a stack of fresh, oversized glossy posters.
Vidya rolled down the tinted glass, offering a crisp five-hundred-rupee note.
Triple the asking price to snatch a clean print of Rudra beneath the moon.
She unrolled it across the passenger seat.
Her fingers traced the chiselled jaw, the full lips, and those haunting, liquid-gold irises.
A sudden, irrational urge seized her chest; leaning across the console, she pressed her lips against the printed mouth, lingering with soft, breathless curiosity before a cacophony of horns snapped her back to reality.
She accelerated through the green light, whispering dreamily:
“Let’s see if our paths cross, little king.”
(Aram Nagar — Maya Mirage Executive Wing)
Vidya had spent an hour in the rehearsal hall, working through the opening dialect read-throughs with Jaideep and Vijay.
She had been thoroughly, wonderfully captivated.
The two men carried none of the superficial vanity of mainstream actors.
They possessed the raw, hungry, and unyielding fire of pure theatre craftsmen.
Jaideep’s brooding intensity and Vijay’s wired, unpredictable charisma balanced her earthy, seductive presence perfectly.
‘They are diamonds,’ Vidya had noted with immense professional satisfaction.
Then—
While standing by the corridor drinking her tea.
The atmosphere had shifted.
A towering figure had entered the outer reception.
Even completely masked behind a windbreaker and dark sunglasses.
The sheer Olympian scale of his frame and the devastating, unearthly scent of dark vanilla and burning cedarwood had caused the hairs on her neck to stand on end.
She had watched, paralyzed, as Mohini Kashyap tore her office door open.
Pulling the masked giant into her suite with the manic desperation of a drowning woman, slamming the deadbolt shut.
Ten minutes later.
Mohan had sprinted out of that very room, clutching a black USB drive like a holy relic, shouting about an “AS-Engine” as he raced toward the camera department.
Vidya stood alone in the hallway, holding a stack of costume contact sheets.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
‘Was that him…?’ The thought was an electric shock to her nervous system.
‘Could that giant actually be Rudra?’
She stepped toward the executive office.
The heavy mahogany door was unlatched- resting ajar by a mere half-inch where Mohan had forgotten to pull it tight.
“I’m just delivering the costume approvals…” Vidya whispered to herself, taking a deep, stabilizing breath.
“Mohini said her door was always open.”
She reached out, gently pressing her fingertips against the wood.
The heavy door swung open on silent hinges.
The sight that greeted her eyes struck her soul like a concussive thunderbolt!
Vidya’s feet froze to the parquet floor.
Her throat seized.
Standing in the centre of the sunlit room was Rudra.
His dark windbreaker was unzipped, exposing the magnificent, carved marble terrain of his eight-pack core.
His denim jeans and briefs had been pulled down to mid-thigh, framing his dense, athletic hips.
And kneeling on the Persian rug directly between his legs.
Her head tilted upward.
Her eyes rolled back in pure, carnal worship- was the fearsome, untouchable producer of Maya Mirage, Mohini Kashyap.
Vidya watched, her mind completely short-circuiting, as Mohini flicked her tongue outward, catching a thick, glistening drop of pearlescent pre-cum from the flared crown of his manhood, savouring the nectar with a dazed, euphoric whimper:
“Tum sach mein insaan ho ya koi bhagwaan…?”
(Are you truly a mortal man, or are you a living God…?)
Then, Mohini opened her jaw wide, preparing to swallow the weapon whole.
Vidya’s gaze dropped.
And in that fraction of a second.
She beheld the Carnal Dick.
It was a monstrosity of raw, virile perfection.
An iron-dense, thick bronze monolith—heavily corded with purple veins, radiating an aura of suffocating masculine heat that seemed to warp the very air around it.
It was easily nine inches of unyielding, imperial steel, its girth so intimidating that no mortal woman could hope to contain it without total surrender.
SLIP.
The stack of glossy contact sheets slipped from Vidya’s paralyzed fingers.
The heavy cardstock fluttered down, slapping the hardwood floor with a soft, echoing rustle!
Mohini froze, her lips hovering half an inch from the throbbing crown.
Rudra’s head turned slowly, his piercing, liquid-gold irises locking dead onto the intruder.
Vidya stood trapped in the doorway.
Her breath sawing in her chest.
Her voluptuous body trembling beneath her mustard silk saree as a heavy, scalding wave of liquid arousal flooded her chocolate brown pussy!
Her lips parted, a single, dazed, and breathless whimper escaping into the room:
“Hey Devi Maa…
Kitna bada hai…”
(Holy Mother of God…
It is monstrously huge…)
Rudra’s eyebrows twitched.
A slow, devilish, and entirely unrepentant Casanova smirk spread across his chiselled face.
Recognizing the golden gaze from her morning poster.
Vidya gasped in sheer, overwhelming panic!
SLAM!
She violently yanked the mahogany door shut, backing away down the corridor with her hands pressed over her burning face.
Her heart hammering like a trapped bird!
Inside the office.
Rudra burst into a low, rumbling chuckle, casually pulling his briefs and denim back over his waist.
Down on her knees.
Mohini let out an ear-piercing, furious shriek of unadulterated sexual frustration!
“MOHAN, EK NUMBER KA BHADWA HAI TU!” Mohini roared, slamming her fists into the rug.
(Mohan, you are a complete bastard!)
“You ruined my moment, you useless bastard!
I am going to fucking murder you!”
She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her kurti with manic fury, glaring at Rudra with predatory desperation:
“Don’t you dare leave this room!
I’m getting my taste, you hear me?!”
“I’m dealing with Vidya first!”
Rudra merely laughed, leaning against the desk as the demoness of Versova stormed into the hallway to face the peeping empress.
[ Chapter End ]
Haha, I laugh so much whenever I write the banter between Vijay and Jaideep — their chaos always cracks me up!
This chapter was originally scheduled to launch tomorrow, but I’m so thrilled with it that I’m releasing it tonight instead!
It’s also my way of thanking all the readers who gave me 5‑star ratings because of you, my story is now visible to a wider audience.
I know many of you will laugh hard at Vijay and Jaideep’s back‑and‑forth madness, so enjoy the ride!
One more thing I want to mention: my 10th reviewer, Atharava_Tonapi, who gave me a 5‑star review – thank you, brother, your support means the world!
Now, a little heads‑up: the upcoming chapters are going to get heavy, so be prepared for the ride.