She glances towards the television. She freezes.
Regaining her composure and inhaling a straw of nicotine, she walks closer to the television and helplessly falls on her knees.
There it was,
Her avantgarde life,
Her fifteen minutes.
“...a follow up from our top story this morning, Sonia Bose embroiled in yet another scandal...how much longer can India's fashion darling last? The once great show stopper is now more often seen in men's corridors or bars than on cat walks. It now seems only a matter of time until she falls out of the fashion world altogether..." - Alisha Hajj, Star News”
Hunched like a weary beggar, she narrows her eyes to the “Easy Stay Inn” room card and the remains of last night’s intoxicants, strewn carelessly across the threadbare carpet.
The tainted glamour had consumed her soul, and continued to drown her present and future. Sonia knew that the television was right but she forced herself to think (not believe) that she was innocent…that the conventions of high society life had led her here…that the pressures to be a sanctimonious celebrity had fueled this dishevelled state…that she was forced to disregard her morals and conform to the values of a diva.
Looking back at the beginning, her life was nothing less than perfect. From walking into interviews with her mother, Sonia became the grand ambassador for Kimaya fashion. Her straight hair transformed into untamable waves, while her hair ties turned into fascinators. She was brilliant, radiant, but alone. Sonia Bose needed no one.
She was a butterfly and her ambitions were her wings. Her trademark of elegance with a rough edge, redefined Indian fashion. Ninety percent of the billboards in New Delhi and Mumbai were plastered with her photos while celebrities paid for seconds with her.
Despite her fragile beauty, Sonia’s wings were coloured with wildness and decadence. She didn’t care about anything...
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