SWARA BHASKAR

If you were a product of the late 80s and early 90s, admiration of Sridevi was not a matter of conscious choice, it was more a cultural habit. The wide-eyed days of our childhood were populated with the image of her face. We saw posters with her alluring gaze smiling at us each time we looked right or left at the back panels of auto rickshaws, her magnetic presence and fiery dancing captivated us as we tuned into Chitrahaar on Doordarshan.

The devastating news of Sridevi ji’s sudden demise arrived like all terrible news comes — simply. A Whatsapp message at 2:34am — “Sridevi is no more” — I desperately hoped that it was a hoax, a sick joke, or some terrible misunderstanding. I never considered myself a Sridevi fan. I never thought I would be so shocked and saddened by her passing. I’d met her only once at a Diwali party just last year. I was struck that this first female superstar of Indian cinema was sitting quietly in a corner of a glittering filmy party. I went up and introduced myself and said I had grown up watching her films and it was an honour to meet her in person. It turned out that the bigger honour was that she had seen one of my films and appreciated my work. I sprouted wings and floated out of that party smiling.

I have worked with a lot of people who had worked with Sridevi ji in various capacities. Never once have I heard anything but the highest praise for her professionalism, hard work, talent and artistic integrity. As an artiste who faced the