As the session progressed she befriended the cameraman, she quickly realized that the camera was the recipient of all the lies. Every disguise was to please the camera. Unlike the endoscopic surgery where the camera was used to see the truth, microscope where pathology was enlarged to see the truth, binoculars where distance was obliterated to see the truth, this moving camera glorified lies.
Beautiful lies were also lies. Beauty invented by colours, projected by light and shadows, captured by enforced human expressions,wasn’t it a lie? The virtue of beauty was only beauty, anything was forgiven by humanity for that ephemeral myth , like valuing sleep only for the dream it may contain, knowing fully well when woken up only faint memory remains. No one remembered a dream clearly, always crucial links were missed. No one cared about the lie, forgetting the permanent beauty of truth.
Just six hours inside the studios made her feel transported in time and space to a world of make believe. Here every joy, every pain, every human emotion and act was made to look real. “It should look real” that was the mantra. The very obsession with real betraying the lies. She felt slowly detached from her body as though it was a mere instrument that had to obey various complicated diverse set of commands, like a robot, and not cringe with hands engaged in beautifying her, or hands of a coactor merely acting on command she feared on the very first day what if this detachment towards her body, her very self, the physical temple housing her soul became real? What if the act became more real than the reality of her body and its sensations? The sensation of fatigue had to be overcome in any rigorous work, but to overcome the rudimentary sensitivity to human touch, was’nt it immoral? Just because fame belonged to this lens, was it right to do any action to be flattered by it? These touches were real, though there were no emotions triggering them, all the repugnance, that she felt was real.