Chapter 1: Transmigration and the Suri Name

I transmigrated into the retro Indian drama I wrote myself, becoming the notorious supporting character Neha Suri, doomed to a tragic end.

As my consciousness settled into Neha Suri’s body, the ceiling fan above whirred, stirring the faint scent of sandalwood agarbatti—so different from my Mumbai apartment. I could almost hear the echoes of old Doordarshan serial music, that dramatic tabla beat foretelling disaster. My heart went dhak-dhak as I realized the full horror of my new reality. This wasn’t some English soap where a witty line saves you. Here, a single mistake could stain your khandaan for generations.

Neha Suri, in order to make Kabir Mehra the principal male dancer of Lucknow’s cultural troupe, had schemed to get the male lead Arjun Prakash’s leg broken.

I remembered writing the scene: a slippery backstage, an oily rag, Arjun’s helpless shriek as he crashed. Back then, it felt deliciously dramatic. Now, living in Neha’s skin, I shivered at my own cruelty. Was this my karmic payback?

After Arjun was forced out, the heroine Meera Sharma stayed by his side. Together, they started a tiny business, struggled through every hardship, and eventually became wealthy and successful.

Images flashed before me: Meera sweating in the kitchen rolling rotis, Arjun counting coins late into the night. Their bond, forged in adversity, always made readers root for them. And me? I was the storm they had to weather—the villain everyone wanted punished.

The first thing Arjun did after making it big was take revenge on Neha Suri, utterly destroying her and her family.

There was a certain poetic justice: the Suri empire crumbling under Arjun’s wrath, bungalow auctioned, jewellery pawned, relatives whispering, my mother’s gold bangles gone. I’d written Neha’s destruction with relish—now, all I felt was dread. I could almost hear the whispers—“Arrey, Suri ki beti toh barbad ho gayi!”

Unfortunately, when I transmigrated, Arjun’s leg had already been broken—by me.

Of all the moments to drop in! My hands trembled as I recalled the scene: the fateful accident had already happened, and there was no going back. Was this my punishment for giving Neha such a cruel fate?

Knowing how things end for Neha Suri, of course I couldn’t just sit and wait for ruin.

No way! Even in this world, a Suri has to fight for her place. I clutched my dupatta tighter, mind whirring with plans. Mumbai mein Suri naam ka wazan hota hai—there’s weight in the Suri name. Would I let it all go down the drain?

I had to guide the male lead to success and wealth—

And become the heroine myself.

If life had given me this twisted chance, I was determined to snatch my own happy ending. A little jugaad, a little sass—Neha Suri style. Heroine banne ka hai, toh hero ko bhi sambhalna padega!