Pre-audition With The Director

Deciding To Become An Actress

My name is Isha. I’m 25, married for just over a year now to a decent and caring man named Vinay, a bank manager by profession. Ours was an arranged marriage, but with time, love quietly grew between us—like soft rain nurturing soil. We recently celebrated our first anniversary, and with dreams of a better future in our eyes, we began discussing ways to increase our income—especially with a home loan, rising expenses, and the thought of our future child.

I had worked as an HR executive in a recruitment firm, but the long hours and pitiful pay drained me. I quit a few months back, unsure of what to do next. One dream, however, had never quite left me—a dream of being an actress. Not necessarily in Bollywood, but at least in web series, OTT platforms, or even YouTube short films. Somewhere I could express, emote, and shine.

I shared this long-held desire with Vinay one evening as we lay in bed under the soft hum of the fan. He thought for a while, then smiled gently, brushing a finger down my cheek.

“Well… let’s give it a try. You’re so beautiful, Isha. Honestly, it won’t be difficult for you.”

That moment, I just melted. I hugged him tightly and whispered, “Thank you, babe… you understand me better than anyone ever has.”

Everyone around me—friends, relatives, even distant acquaintances—has always praised my beauty. My skin has that wheat-golden tone, my waist gracefully tapering into smooth, full curves. Many boys had proposed to me in college, but I always turned them down, fearing the wrath of my conservative family. Now, for the first time, I felt free. And supported.

So together, Vinay and I began our search. We scrolled through casting calls, audition invites, and web series open roles. One ad caught our eye—“Dancer/Actress Auditions Ongoing: Mastee Records”—a local but popular music label known for romantic and item songs. After checking their YouTube and Instagram, we realized their content often featured beautiful actresses being kissed, caressed, or teased—especially around their midriff, back, and neck. It made sense why they had millions of views.

Vinay looked at me. I looked back.

We both understood the kind of sensuality this work might demand. I felt a flutter in my stomach, imagining myself in such roles—draped in transparent sarees, my waist exposed, my navel teased by another man’s fingers or lips… It sent a strange chill through me, a mix of nerves and excitement.

Vinay was quiet. Hesitant. But I leaned into him and whispered, “If I shy away from this now, I may never become what I’ve dreamt of.” He sighed, then smiled again. And then we saw the remuneration—₹25,000 to ₹50,000 per video.

That sealed it.

“We should give it a try,” I said.
“Let’s do it,” he replied.

Meeting the Director

We filled out the registration form, which—quite boldly—asked for my age, measurements, skin tone, and a full photograph. I didn’t lie. My figure was honestly curvaceous and well-proportioned—like that of any lead heroine.

The next morning, a man named Kishore from the studio called. My audition was scheduled for 4 PM, and I was instructed to wear a semi-transparent saree tied below the navel.

I chose a red chiffon saree, sheer and airy, that clung to my body just enough. I tied it low, my deep oval-shaped navel subtly peeking through. My blouse hugged my bust snugly, and I added a touch of eyeliner, lip tint, and left my hair flowing in soft waves. Vinay had taken leave and accompanied me, a little quiet but by my side.

The address led us to a bungalow that doubled as their studio. Kishore, the assistant director, greeted us in the verandah, his eyes briefly scanning my bare waist. “Isha ma’am? Sir is waiting inside.”

Inside, on a sofa in the hall, sat a man in his 40s—stocky, tanned, with a gold chain and a swagger that made him look like a cross between a film producer and a local don.

“I’m Rajiv,” he said, rising to shake our hands. “Director and actor at Mastee Records. Been doing this for 7 years now.”

His eyes lingered on me as he gestured for us to sit. I could feel the weight of his gaze on my exposed midriff—the way my saree dipped into my belly and hugged my curves.

Pre-Audition with the Director

Rajiv leaned forward, hands resting on his knees.

“So, Isha. You’re undeniably beautiful. But how well can you dance? Can you express? The camera doesn’t just want beauty—it wants heat, grace, control.”

“I’m confident, sir. I’ve done dance performances in college… stage plays too,” I replied, trying to keep my tone steady, though I felt my husband’s gaze quietly assessing me from the corner.

He nodded. “Good. Let’s see you move.”

The chairs were cleared, and I stood in the middle of the room, directly in front of the sofa where Rajiv and Kishore sat. Vinay moved to a corner seat. My heart was thumping, but I kept my smile. The music started—bold, thumping beats of an item song.

I raised my arms, swayed my hips, moved my waist in smooth arcs. My expressions matched the beats—smirks, blushes, subtle eye rolls. I knew exactly where their eyes were—locked onto my belly, my swaying bust, my teasing navel that played peekaboo through the chiffon.

After a minute, Rajiv paused the music.

“You dance well. But can you let go? Can you surrender to the camera? Kishore… help her.”

I froze slightly. Rajiv’s eyes sparkled. “Isha, raise your arms. Kishore will remove your pallu slowly. React to him like it’s a romantic scene. Give us expression—hesitation, shyness, and then surrender.”

I looked at Vinay. His expression was stiff—but he nodded faintly.

I lifted my arms. Kishore approached and slowly unwrapped the pallu from over my bust. The fabric glided off, exposing my toned waist, the fullness of my hips, the deep hollow of my navel. My chest rose and fell with every breath.

Kishore let the pallu drop. I was now in just my blouse and tight petticoat. My back arched instinctively, the awareness of four male eyes on my body making my skin heat up.

The music resumed. I danced again—slower, sultrier. My hands traced my own curves, my hair flipped to the side, my hips moved in figure-eights. It felt wicked… empowering.

“Turn around,” Rajiv said, voice thick. “Let’s see that back.”

I obeyed, sliding my hair forward. The cool air kissed my bare back as I rolled my hips in rhythm.

When the music ended, I stood there, breathless.

“You’re ready,” he said.

The Photoshoot

Rajiv beckoned me to pose beside him. I raised my arms, curving my hip slightly. He placed both his hands on my bare waist. His rough palms against my soft skin made me shiver. I stayed still.

Then came the next pose—one arm raised, one lowered. He placed his head gently on the curve of my waist. His beard scraped my skin, sending a strange tingle through me.

I gasped softly.

Vinay saw it. He clenched his jaw—but didn’t speak.

Kishore clicked the pics.

Then Rajiv rose and hugged me from behind. His arms enveloped my waist, his chest pressed against my back. I could feel his breath near my ear. My body stiffened slightly, but I forced a smile.

Kishore captured the moment.

End of Audition

Rajiv adjusted his kurta, now back to being all-business.

“You’ve done well, Isha. Come back tomorrow at 10 AM. Our Producer Sandeep will be here. We’ll record a few acting scenes. Be sure to wear a similar transparent saree tied below the navel. You’re perfect for what we do here.”

I nodded, retrieving my pallu and draping it back over my chest. My skin still buzzed where he had touched me. I looked at Vinay—his eyes searched mine, looking for signs.

We thanked them and stepped out of the guest house. The sky outside was beginning to darken, but something inside me had just lit up.