What appeared heaven to me was hell to the rich maestro’s wife. What appeared heaven to her is hell to me. Hell is not a place. It’s a state of mind. A fakir walks barefoot in scorching heat, sleeps on a pavement and yet sings a song admiring the beauty of the world. Whereas a film heroine, living in a castle of fame, opulence and glory, drinks herself to death, escaping from her hell.
