Year 12 English Extension 2

	[For best reading experience, please view on desktop. Not all footnotes, formatting and creative elements will be visible on mobile] I’ve learnt that stories left without endings are the most frustrating of all. People hear of girls born on nights of life and fire and expect them to rise, shine, to burn down the world. The night I fell from the sky left people with questions only I could answer. Where are you now? How did no one notice, because wherever they go, stars always burn. Perhaps I should begin with an apology. The space I left let memory run wild, imagination leap and bound. It left you breathless, empty with unknowing. But I won’t apologise. I might answer your questions, or not. I don’t know. But that choice I have is freedom, yes? You seem to enjoy metaphors, so I’ll say my story this way. I never was a star, was nothing more than a piece of rock in space whose burning speed gave it a false light. When I fell to the earth, sank with the briefest splash to the bottom of the ocean, transformed into nothing more than a stone, you realised that anything ordinary can be made extraordinary with belief. But putting it like that makes it seem as if I have ended, that my end was small and pathetic. When light becomes darkness we are taught to feel as if something has been lost, but I disagree. I moved to Mumbai soon after that night. Did you know that? You couldn’t have. No one did. For the first time in my life, I had true anonymity. It bothered me those early nights being only myself, and yet no one all the same. But I could see the whole city alive with light from my balcony window, and I learnt the beauty of darkness. I feel as if it’s tradition to end with something inspiring; to tell you I have found myself amongst all the sacrifice, the carnage. But really, the most I can say is I am no longer lost. Maybe I will be brave and dare to offer you this – I am happier. When people see me these days, they seem to see a blankness and move on. There’s a freedom in remaining unseen and to be able to choose who sees you. That might sound strange, but it makes me happy, because in the end we must all be able to find the words to understand our lives and name our stories. I think I’ve found it. Mine. * Behind the scenes of Lost and Found (pre-release) with Reshmi Varghese– @FortheYouthMag (22.04.20XX) Interview with Aileen Nguyen (AN) : off-mic [BTSLostandFound(1).mpeg transcript 00:00:30] AN: Hi everyone! I’m Aileen and I’m here today on the set of the upcoming and much anticipated ‘Lost and Found’ television series! {Insert: Lost and Found trailer + show excerpts for 00:00:15} AN: Today, I’ll be interviewing a very special guest. We know her as the nation’s Golden Girl who first blessed our screens in the role of Anita in ‘Often’ and has finally received her first main acting role, it’s the beautiful Reshmi Varghese! Reshmi: Hi everyone!!
Camera Crew (CC) : We’d like a quick tour of the set, just as an introduction to the video.
	Reshmi: Yeah sure! So we’re at the cast member caravans right now… and if we go a bit further – oh, hello.. haha…anyway … a little bit further and we get to the makeup and prop caravans. I’d love to go in but I don’t think we have that much time… And then off to the left here we have the setup of the high school which is the central stage for much of the… show… and then -hello!- This is my house! Not completely built… right now we have the dining room and bedroom but I think they’re planning to expand a little more by next season…hopefully… and then-	Cut from “oh, hello…. haha.. anyway (00:01:15 – 00:01:48)
CC : We’ll have to wrap up this section soon. RV : Oh yes, okay …
	[BTSLostandFound(1).mpeg transcript 00:03:59. END] ***
	The birth of the new is the death of the old. But Shyla Varghese didn’t want to die. In the maternity ward, she is just another woman in mourning, the culmination of her pain and the subtraction of her dreams laid out, screaming, beside her. “Do you know what you’ve taken from me?” Shyla asks her child, “Do you know what I’ve lost?” In the haze of exhaustion, Shyla’s mind bites, burns, until she is no longer sure whether what she feels is hate or love. The hospital walls are filled with blank stories of mothers who have lost themselves here, and Shyla too can feel herself blurring, being destroyed and reborn. The Shyla of the past whose words made her powerful, who had grown drunk with the taste of creation was lost, burnt to wisps of smoke that slipped through her hands. What is she now? Another girl turned woman turned mother, who, like her mother-in-law, will age, wrinkle, grow bitter, watching and waiting for the dreams of others to shatter just as hers did. The child’s crying is ceaseless. Shyla watches it writhe against its yellow blanket, chest heaving. “You’re cursed too,” she murmurs. This child, her newborn daughter, will live a life already written. Perhaps a sense of pity drives her to take the girl in her arms, hold it soft against her chest. Or maybe it’s sadness. The girl will be young, and full of dreams, only to lose them one by one to this man-made, man-filled world. One day, she too will lose herself. And that thought ignites Shyla with anger, or something deeper that burns white-hot at the base of her stomach and leaves her mouth tasting of ash. Who cares for the old stories, she rages, when I can write a new one myself. “Your name is Reshmi,” The words whip like fire across her tongue. Her daughter is silent for just a moment, eyes wide, but it seems like eternity, “Ray of light.” Shyla remembers that night as one of life and fire, where new-mother and new-daughter stared at each other until she could no longer tell whether the burning light she saw was her child’s or her own, reflected upon mottled skin and misshapen limbs, not yet moulded into place. *** [BTSLostandFound(2).mpeg transcript 00:00:39]
	RV: And this is my little caravan! My mother told me that if there was something I should want to be, it is perfect. AN: Oh!! It’s so cute! Where should I go? RV: Oh yeah, just right here let me just…take another chair…	Cut from 00:00:39-00:01:03
	In this world imperfection is weakness. It marks you as prey, to be torn apart till you are flesh, blood, bone, nothing. AN: Okay, let’s jump right in! So Reshmi! How do you feel finally getting your first main acting role after fourteen years of acting? RV: I’m…ridiculously honoured. Like, everyday I’m on set I’ll get these moments of complete euphoria…as if I’m really where I belong. People are piranhas. Right, Amma? [BTSLostandFound(2).mpeg transcript 00:01:48] * Leela Varghese has a message for her husband. “Your grand-daughter had another interview yesterday,” Leela speaks to his name, indented on black marble, “ I watched it. She’s becoming quite the star,” No one visits the graveyard this early in the morning. She is alone and even the air stands still. The silence reminds her of the funeral ceremony where she had marvelled at the way death turns even the largest of presences into nothing. That man is now no more than a name inscribed into the family vault, a date every year where she will produce the same tears, hear the same consolations. The thought makes her smile. There is always more that cannot be said out loud. After his death people’s eyes had changed when they looked at her, and their fear-mingled respect tasted sweet in her mouth. She’d almost understood why he had loved her most when she cowered. That there was no need for happiness if there was peace, even if peace was not kindness, but secrets held in silence. And that he, now forever silent, would never be able to claim Reshmi as his own, or stop Leela from doing so. Her hands against cold marble reminds Leela of the past. The speckled floor of her childhood home cool against her head, listening to her grandmother’s stories of women becoming queens, queens becoming heroes, heroes becoming Gods, teaching her to dream. It has been far too long since Leela was a child, and she has become disillusioned. There is nothing heroic in her stories made of half-truths, about dying husbands, lost families, girls that shine like stars. Just survival. * [BTSLostandFound(2).mpeg transcript 00:02:30] AN: This is a very popular question I got from our ‘FortheYouth’ viewers – what’s your favourite part of the set?
	RV: Oh…definitely my bedroom. I think we briefly saw it during the set tour but the whole concept around my character, Lila, is that she’s very imaginative, very artistic… She has a deep interest in like mythology, legend so the entire bedroom is covered in stars and constellations and there’s lots of drawings and books on ancient legends from so many different parts of the world including Greek, Egyptian, Indian…	Add clips of bedroom from 02:33 – 02:35
	My mother still lives in her stories. In these stories, she is the heroine, and I, her weapon, a flame to burn down the world that burnt down her dreams. AN: Oh yes, the bedroom! Is there any particular reason you like it or… just because it’s pretty? But a flame lit in an enclosed space burns down nothing but itself. RV: Haha, well the aesthetic is part of it but …I think it’s just that it really reminds me of my mother. In the character of Lila, I really see – or I imagine, I guess- what my mother was like when she was younger, because she was also really into mythology, very creative. She had a fascination with light and stars…that’s the reason for my name – Reshmi, it means ray of light. When I step into that room, I’m reminded of her belief that I would become something great. I hope I’m making her proud. When I am nothing more than dusty ash, will you love me all the same? [BTSLostandFound(2).mpeg transcript 00:03:08. END] *** Mai Aoki is not the first journalist to ask Abel to write about his sister. “She’s your sister, Abel” she had rolled her eyes after his first refusal, “You’re telling me you lived with her your entire childhood, and you don’t have a single story about her?” At that point, their conversation was interrupted by a phone call for Mai, who, ever-restless, proceeded to answer before speeding away. He had never been able to tell her that storytelling was his mother’s speciality, not his, or that his mind was filled with stories. But stories can not just be told. Nevertheless, he ends up trying. In the wavering light of Sunday morning, he finds himself slouched at his desk yet again. My father named me Abel because in this tumultuous world, it would bode well to be God’s favourite. He said the night I was born was a particularly suffocating Chennai night, so he had gone for a walk. Standing outside the hospital entrance, he had looked up to the sky, saw the stars covered by smokey haze and been filled with fear. He told himself it was love. Abel had always hated the name his father chose. After all, his namesake had not been saved by God’s favouritism. My mother named my sister. She named her Reshmi, ‘ray of light’, because she saw fire in her eyes that first night. My father had had a name for her too, but the name and his protests died that day, burnt away by Amma’s determination. When he sees Reshmi on the screen, he is dizzied by the speed with which she spins real life into a story. Their memories, shared, were no longer theirs – they were the world’s to pick and choose. Abel’s old stories had torn him apart. Even now his nights are marred by memories of strange hands and webs of beautiful lies. He wakes up with his back sticky with sweat, mouth bitter, thinking of Reshmi. And maybe this is where the difference begins. My father named me out of fear, believing I would need some kind of extra blessing to get through life. My sister was named out of something stronger, some unnameable force my mother saw which I will have to diminish when I refer to it as power. In our culture a baby girl, and a second child as well, is condemned to a life of passing glances. But Reshmi shone with a light that none could ignore, and that all wanted claim to. Time would pass and countries would shift, and yet she was the one whom they flocked to: a treasure that rejected tradition, culture, normality. It would be a lie to say I don’t get jealous sometimes. It is undeniably the most truthful thing Abel has ever written. It scares him, fear curling around his throat. He drops his pen and scrunches the paper into a tight ball, thinking of his sister, mother, of restless journalists, strange fathers, lonely old women thousands of kilometres away, of the lies that bind them together. He imagines writing a story filled with truth, where its blinding light frees them. His paper ball lands with a soft thud in the trash. * ‘Golden Girl’ Reshmi Varghese from Lost and Found answers your Fan Questions*– @LibertyAir (13.05.20XX) —(self-interviewed) —- [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:00:05] RV: Hi everyone, I’m Reshmi Varghese! I play Lila in Lost and Found and I’m here today to answer your questions. Let’s get started! People love stories.*
(Insert show theme until 00:00:10)
	Question: First audition? It seems we have a fascination with beginnings. RV: First audition? Well… I think I auditioned for a clothing commercial for Fosara Global when I was about… five? With my brother because we did everything together at that point and… we both got in! It was our first proper acting gig and I remember… being so excited. And everyone adores a success story. Rags to riches, Cinderella type plot, you know? Question: Hobbies/passions outside of acting? RV: Oh! Recently I’ve gotten into going to art museums when I have a day off and seeing new exhibitions. It’s a pretty creative sort of hobby, on theme with the rest of my family. My mum was really into writing when she was younger and my brother is an art curator now so… yeah. I suppose that love for creativity has really influenced me. But it is as my mother said. Imperfection is weakness. In these interviews, in this life as Reshmi Varghese, I must only tell the most beautiful stories , even if they are lies. [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:00:40] * Contrary to popular belief, Shyla is not divorced. In three weeks time, Abraham and Shyla Varghese will have been married for twenty-two years, a number symbolic of Abraham’s pride more than anything else, or perhaps fear. It seems that even living continents away from family, he can still hear their whispers, judging. In their farce of a marriage, one of survival, tradition remains unchanged. They meet up for dinner on the second Monday of each month, although Shyla really has no reason still to come. But she has always been a dreamer, hopeful. She realises her foolishness yet again, half an hour into dinner. “You’ve put her on a stage she’ll never escape. She’ll always be watched.” Abraham critiques her nonchalantly, eyes on plate, cutlery sliding as it separates fleshy meat. She hides her nausea with a scoff, and it is only then that he meets her eyes. Shyla had always found her marriage ironic. She had written thousands of stories of love, beautiful, hopeful, passionate love. But she would only know this, two decades of empty distance. If she was a dreamer then Abraham was a coward stuck in tradition. He had heard his children’s stories of the fear taught by the smells of smoke, the taste of alcohol from foreign lips and proclaimed his daughter ‘ruined’, told his son he would “never be a man, was less than nothing”. That day she had realised he wasn’t hers. She could not write out his flaws, could not dream him to perfection. Distance has become a void, and her mind is heavy with thought. She is tired of hoping. “Don’t pretend you care.” * [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:06:01] Question: What do you think of your nickname, Golden Girl? It is my job to keep you dreaming. So these beautiful lies become your beautiful dreams, and my lies, they make me beautiful. RV: Oh, Golden Girl haha… well…I think it’s quite generous. I don’t really know where it came from? I mean…I don’t know if I’ve done anything to make me…golden… Being beautiful made me loved. Your love was suffocating, all-consuming. I never wanted it. Question: Brief summary of Lost and Found plot? RV: Lost and Found is a coming-of-age series that circles around a group of young teenagers in modern day America as they navigate aspects of growing up. I play the main character, Lila, who is a young Indian-American girl whose parents migrated before she was born and grew up without much interaction with her culture. The majority of season one focuses on her attempts to learn more and reconnect with her culture in order to, I guess, provide her a sense of belonging. She is helped by her friends who all have struggles of their own which (hopefully) we will go deeper into depth into in later seasons! At its core I would say this series is not just about providing representation for the diverse nature of individuals in America, but also acknowledging how essential our relationships with others are in providing a sense of belonging. And beautiful children don’t stay children for long at all, don’t even feel beautiful in the end. In the darkness we cannot see the light. We are nothing, less than nothing. [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:06:57] *** In the display in the living room, there is a photo of Leela holding her grandchildren, Reshmi on the right, Abel on the left. It was taken years ago, in a time when she had wanted to be a grandmother, wanted to love and feel loved by little hands and bright eyes. But children grow and families shift. When her grandchildren returned, their eyes regarded her with the same wariness she sees in their mother. A child’s love is shaped by the words of the powerful, and Leela’s power is irrelevant in the face of seemingly endless distance, eight thousand miles of land and sea. But you cannot mourn something you never really had, so its absence is reduced to a slight ache when she sees Reshmi on the screen, or when Abel occasionally calls and forces them both into twenty minutes of polite conversation. In those moments, she asks herself, would it be better if I could love you? Abel had video called just last night. Reshmi had been nominated for an award. “It’s quite a big deal. I wanted to know if you wanted to come see the ceremony,” “To America?” Leela has lived eighty years and her longest plane trip was a domestic flight from Chennai to Lucknow. America is a place that exists only on screens, as mythical as Reshmi. She sees Abel smile. “Yes Ammachi. Come to America. See your granddaughter win an award. I’ll pay for the ticket,” he looks away, “It’ll sound pretty impressive to the neighbours.” And in the moment she had laughed, but it was laughter laced with sadness. A sadness because children grow and learn to lie, and when she looks in the mirror, she can only see herself for all she is. An old woman. Sad, scared and alone. * [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:13:41] Question: What made you audition for/accept this role? They say my brother saved me. I don’t disagree. The choice to speak about years of sexual assault was his sacrifice, especially in this world, where men do not speak about being touched by other men, at least, not in that way. People love beauty, and being held by loveless hands is terrifyingly, undeniably ugly. RV:** Oh, it was definitely driven by personal experience. While I am not as isolated from my culture as Lila is – I was born in India and lived there when I was young – I can definitely relate with her feelings of, I guess…not being quite ‘Indian’ enough to fit in. Like, at family gatherings when we used to visit, my brother and I were treated like… exotic animals or something even though we spoke the same language and, to some extent, held the same belief systems. I found it really frustrating. Another big part of me accepting this role was because of my brother, my one…consistent role model throughout life, I’d say. As an actor he was just so talented and I was always trying to be as good as him. He would have loved an opportunity like this to represent issues he was passionate about. It just seemed right to take this role… a little tribute to him. But tell me, if I was the one who was saved, if he was the sacrifice, the scapegoat, how come I can only look at his eyes and wish for a mere fraction of the happiness I see there? Question: Recently you were nominated for the prestigious Eternity Awards as Best Main Role in a television show. How do you feel? I’m not a fool, brother. This was not completely your sacrifice. RV: It’s… exciting? I’ve worked so hard all my life, and I guess in some way it feels like it’s all been leading up to this. Honestly, I’m still thinking of Abel. I always thought he’d get an award first. It was also your freedom. [RVFanQuestionsONETAKE.mpeg transcript 00:14:23. END] *** They grew up pretending to believe. Nothing ever stopped Amma from waking them up on Sunday mornings to read the Bible. As a child, Abel found himself wondering if his mother believed this was the way to save them. From what, he wasn’t sure. Herself? Appa? The world? And when he was fourteen, he discovered that no mother ever saves her children completely, that beauty is a curse and there is no devil worse than the men that surround them. He grew to understand that cabs were a place of loss. He would enter, exit, and lose parts of himself forever. The memories of managers, directors, producers slipping clammy hands under the fabric of his shirt, breathing hard against his ear turned the days into nightmares. Sometime in high school Abel discovered acrylic paints. He was inexperienced and a slow learner but he loved the texture, the feel of a paintbrush on canvas. Paint spreading under his control. In those days when everything seemed at war, where he was less than anything, something he never wanted to be, he found painting was a way for him to lose it, almost freeing. Him. Almost Free. And perhaps it gave him things too. Gave sight, anger, courage because Reshmi was only a child, only a girl, and they had no one but each other. And what was a brother if not a protector, a saviour? So he became a sacrifice at eighteen. To die felt freeing, and he promised himself that Reshmi’s tears were joy, as were his. His paintings dripped with colour; blue, pink, red, yellow. He has a studio in his garage now. He plays the radio as he paints, as canvas becomes full, filled, fulfilled. “Actress Reshmi Varghese is one of five finalists in contention for the Best New Actor at the prestigious Eternity Awards, where she will be competing against…” Abel is no idealist. Words are only words and power is given to those who deserve it least. But he enjoyed the way the men that had once ruled them turned fearful in court, eyes scittering, the way the crowd had hung on his words, eyes bright. He has seen them again and they have turned away, bodies stiff, because in him was a chance, the memory of their undoing. His mother had hoped they would find freedom in belief but it had been three years since he died and Abel knew better. No gods would ever give him the freedom of chance, of endless possibilities, a canvas, blank and waiting. * —LIVE BROADCAST—Eternity Awards, Channel 61, 03/07/20XX Hosts: Jaycee Faoud (Actor, model), Steph White(Comedian) [Transcript from 01:35:15] Faoud:** Hello everyone! We are thrilled to be back to announce the award for Best Main Role in a television show! It is our most anticipated award of the night, and no wonder, because this year has seen spectacular performances from our young actors, whose roles continue to push the boundaries of television. Our stories tell us love is noble. They lied. White: Yes, we should be placing an emphasis on young, because that’s what the majority of our nominees are! Lila Wang, Jada Boateng, Reshmi Varghese…so much talent at such a young age! Makes me think about how little I’d done as a teenager…
[Audience laughter]
	Real love is not noble, not a wife waiting for a lost husband, not young lovers under moonlight dying for each other. It is anger, reflection, selfishness. Us and our webs of lies.. Faoud: Let’s take a look at our nominees.
Television Director (TD) : Okay Graphics 2 play for 1 minute 30 …now.	[Clip for 00:01:30. Nominations – Lila Wang- Thereafter, Jada Boateng – Me and You, Christian Tasopoulos – The Bookstore on 9th street, Reshmi Varghese – Lost and Found, Eve Mckay – Nirvana]
	I’ve been taught to fight for the love of strangers, to keep smiling, acting, to prove I am worth the attention they give. But they say eyes are the windows to the soul, and in the twisted depths of your eyes, I do not see love. I see my death, written amongst the stars. White: It pains us to choose just one winner from all these amazing nominees… but it has to be done. The winner of the Best Main Role in a Television Show goes to… How much more must I give? How much more love, life, breath must I lose? Faoud+White: Reshmi Varghese! Congratulations! If someone could give me a time limit, it would be easier. [Transcript- 01:37:31] * On the morning of the award ceremony, her daughter had asked her what love was. Staring at the mirror, Reshmi looked uncharacteristically dull, and the tiredness in her eyes made Shyla want to lie. But then she remembered the lies in her own life, that she would reach great places and achieve her dreams, or at the very least, marry a husband who would love her. Lies had not done her favours. “Love is made, kutta,” she had said, “With the things you do, and what you are,” There is a long moment before Reshmi turns and offers a smile. “I’ll go get changed,” She wonders if she imagines tears in her daughter’s eyes reflected in the mirror as the door closes. When Reshmi comes out, beautiful in a blue halter-neck, she reassures herself she has. But lies are poison to the teller as much as the told, and as Reshmi goes up to receive her award, Shyla can not shake the twisting feeling in her chest that the machinery of their world, memories, dreams, are just waiting to be wrenched apart. The yellow-white stage lights turn Reshmi unnaturally pale, almost see-through, and in a moment Shyla sees what she has done. Her daughter made of glass has a skin laced with cracks. She has been made to break. Perhaps Shyla should be angry when Reshmi runs from the stage, or at least sad. But in the moment she is breathless, only wishes she had told her daughter. I lied, kutta, love isn’t made, it is taught. And no one has taught me love more than you. * [Transcript from 01:37:31]
TD : Floor Camera 3 medium close up. Good, good. Now Stage Camera 1, focus downstage. medium full shot, allow zoom in	Once, in some series I watched, the main character said “Aren’t we all just actors? Always acting?”. I found that so funny that I had slipped off the couch laughing, and Abel and Amma were left laughing with me out of shock. When they asked why, I couldn’t find the courage to tell them. Reshmi: Oh my goodness… wow… this is so unbelievable… I have just, so much to say, so many people to thank…I started my journey in this industry so young. I was acting in commercials and doing child modelling from as young as five but I really couldn’t have imagined … getting up here, achieving such a prestigious award. But it was so funny. The way it took only a moment to expose us all as liars, characters on a stage. A moment for everything to become nothing, something undeniably fake. And it was sad. In the mirror last night, I saw a girl cry, because in the bathroom she is free, but on this stage, I am not. I would, for once, like to be the girl in the mirror, to cry for no one but herself, to speak words that speak alone and aren’t someone else’s whispers.
* Technical Crew (TC)* : 30 seconds left for acceptance speech TD : Right, thanks.	Reshmi: I feel like for so much of our lives, we are taught to believe that there’s this division between the actor and the audience, that there’s just something about actors that make them special and allow them to…shine on such big stages and receive big awards, but I want to tell you that is not true. I remember being a child, and then a rookie, getting small roles here and there, watching other actors getting this award and going…wow…that can’t ever be me. But the reality is that I wouldn’t be here without the support of all the people watching me through this screen, without the help of so many family, friends, managers, producers. What makes someone great is not just their ability or their experience… it’s the people around them and…I guess what I’m trying to say is … anyone can be great. I’m tired. I’ve said that before, haven’t I? Why does no one hear me? [Transcript- 01:38:10] * Leela knows failure when she sees it. Reshmi’s eyes widen, and the panic that fills them makes Leela pity her, for just a moment. The hall has become loud, whispers rising, eyes fastening on the falling star. Destruction is the most beautiful thing in the world. Reshmi runs. Leela is grateful for her seat at the end of the row. She offers a brief glance to Shyla and Abel, before tapping Abraham, indicating the exit. She is a shadow, nothing in the face of the fall of something great. In the car Abraham gives a frustrated sigh, massaging his eyebrows the way he’d seen his father do. “That woman,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “She ruined them both. What am I supposed to do now?” To follow the rise and fall of stories is a skill Leela has perfected. The drive to her hotel is spent reassuring her son and preparing herself for her return, where she will be given the power and trust given only to characters, the chance to tell a story entirely her own. A selfish mother who force fed unrealistic dreams to her daughter. A family that Leela mourns over saying, if only they hadn’t left, if only they were with me, I would love them, protect them. Her mind is filled with questions, the possibility of the word ‘perhaps’ – perhaps, if they had stayed, if she had tried, if everyone had wanted. But the past remains the past even if the questions linger. She notices her tears with a little shock in the dark reflection of the car window closes her eyes, thinking about almost truths and always lies, stories spun to survive. * [Transcript from 01:38:10]
TC : five seconds… cue music? TD : Not yet, giver her ten more…	The press has a name for me. Golden Girl. This was even before they knew what my name meant. They say it’s because I shine. Reshmi: …I…I need to thank people… so many have made me who I am today. My family in India, who may or may not be watching this. My grandmother who travelled all the way here to see me… Reshmi: My…father and mother… my brother… the wonderful Abel Varghese. I love you all. I…
TC : Five… TD : What is she doing? Someone tell her she needs to wrap up now. Okay you know what… cue music in 5…	My brother still calls me Kochu, child. I am small in his eyes, precious. My mother calls me kutta, darling. When we were still talking, my father called me his pride. “This is her,” he would tell family, friends “My pride and joy.” Reshmi: …um… I have a thousand names, and none of them mine. I am made of a thousand dreams, a thousand burning fires, but in the end, I am just one moment.
TC 1 : She’s …gone… TC 2 : Is that…? TD : No. Not part of the script. All : …	Reshmi: …sorry… The great stories do not remember scattered moments lost in the wind. I am crying, and it is me, not the girl in the mirror, Reshmi Varghese, the star, the light, but what meaning do names really have? [Transcript end 01:39:04]
	*** When Abel was ten, they lost Reshmi in a supermarket. The fifteen minutes until they found her huddled next to the freezer aisle trying not to cry had felt like the longest moments of his life. He had been young, and at that time their story of two was a world with only the other. He had promised to never lose his sister again. He finds Reshmi backstage hidden between dark stage curtains, her makeup stained with tears that don’t seem to stop. “What’s wrong,” he is asking, holding her by the shoulders, “Reshmi, tell me.” But she cannot tell him, and perhaps he knew it all along. She is lost in a way he never would be, in mazes of dreams she never had. Abel had been the first to find her when they lost her that first time and young children don’t have the words to soothe a fear so deeply unexplainable, of being forever lost. In the face of his inability, Abel had done the only thing he could. He held his sister close, letting her tears and snot soak through his shirt until their parents found them. Not much has changed. Everything seems to become nothing in the darkness. It feels as if their world is simple again, just them hidden in the shadows, the beginning, where one is two is one is two. Reshmi sniffs. “I’m tired, cheta,” her voice is a whisper, scared to be heard. He closes his eyes, wondering how he could have been so blind. “I know. I’m sorry,”