After Seat Number 36 quietly found readers, Padmavathi was not chasing another story.
She was simply listening.
One night, while scrolling through interviews, she came across a podcast featuring former Telugu actress Meenakshi, who now lived in London.
The conversation was calm. No dramatic background music. No promotional tone. Just reflection.
But within that reflection were two incidents.
And Padmavathi knew — this was her next story.
Story 1 — The Independence Day Photograph
(As written by Padmavathi, inspired by Meenakshi's London podcast)
On an Independence Day community celebration in London, Meenakshi attended not as a celebrity, but as a guest among many.
She wore a simple saree. No entourage. No announcement.
Among the crowd stood a young introverted man — someone who openly disliked celebrities. He believed fame was exaggerated. He believed actors lived artificial lives. He had no interest in autographs or selfies.
He did not recognize her.
They happened to sit beside each other during a cultural event.
He spoke honestly.
"I don't understand why people worship celebrities," he said. "They just act."
Meenakshi smiled.
"I used to act," she replied gently.
He laughed, assuming she was joking.
Only later, when someone else addressed her respectfully and mentioned her film career, did he realize who she was.
His expression changed — not into excitement, but into surprise.
"You don't seem like… what I imagined," he admitted.
"What did you imagine?" she asked.
"Someone distant."
Instead of taking offense, she said something simple:
"Celebrities are only visible because of light. Remove the light, we are just people."
Before leaving, she suggested they take a photograph together.
Not as a fan moment.
But as a memory.
She signed a small autograph for him and wrote:
"Memories matter more than opinions."
During the podcast, she was asked why she left the Telugu film industry at the peak of her recognition.
Her answer was steady.
"My fiance was a scientist. His research meant more to him than cinema meant to me. After marriage, he said I didn't have to continue films. I chose love over passion. And I don't regret it. Being a wife and mother is peaceful in a way fame never was."
Padmavathi paused the podcast there.
She did not hear sacrifice.
She heard choice.
And that became her first London-inspired story.
Story 2 — The Circle of Recognition
(Shared by Arjun with Meenakshi's permission — as retold by Padmavathi)
In Nellore lived a young photographer named Arjun, son of Krishna Murthy — a still photographer who had worked behind the scenes in the Telugu film industry for years without recognition.
Krishna Murthy had once taken a photograph with actress Meenakshi while holding his one-year-old son.
That child was Arjun.
Years passed.
The photograph remained in an old album, its importance understood only by the father.
When Arjun grew older, he didn't value it the same way.
To him, it was just another picture.
Life moved forward.
Arjun completed his studies and inherited the family photography studio.
Then came an opportunity — his professor invited him to photograph a wedding in London.
He hesitated.
His father encouraged him.
"Opportunities don't knock twice," Krishna Murthy said.
So Arjun went.
The wedding was elegant. International guests. Cultural fusion.
During the reception, a Telugu-speaking woman complimented his photography.
"You capture moments honestly," she said.
He thanked her casually.
Later, his professor smiled and asked,
"Do you know who you were just speaking to?"
Arjun shook his head.
"That is Meenakshi."
The name struck him.
He searched for her.
When he found her seated quietly, he introduced himself.
"My father is Krishna Murthy… you once worked together."
She looked at him carefully.
Then recognition dawned — not of his face, but of memory.
He showed her the old photograph stored on his phone.
She smiled warmly.
"You were that baby?"
Life had folded back on itself.
She told him she had attended the wedding not as a celebrity, but as the professor's former student from the 90s.
Before he left, she suggested another photograph.
This time, not as a still photographer and actress.
But as two lives intersecting again.
"It's strange," she said softly. "How we meet again without planning."
Arjun returned to Nellore with more than wedding photos.
He returned with perspective.
Recognition does not always come in applause.
Sometimes it comes quietly, years later, in another country.....
After writing this stories, unlike Seat Number 36, these were not railway stories.
They were stories of identity after fame.
• Of life beyond spotlight.
• Of London — not as a glamorous city, but as a place where past and present quietly reconnect.
Padmavathi titled this collection:
"Outside the Limelight"
Because both incidents shared a truth:
• A celebrity choosing simplicity.
• A photographer discovering inherited meaning.
• Recognition arriving without publicity.
• Life completing circles without announcement.
She closed her notebook that night with a realization:
• Cinema had once inspired her.
• Ordinary humanity now did.
• And somewhere in London, far from film sets and flashlights, an actress who once lived under bright lights was teaching her, unknowingly, that the most powerful roles are sometimes lived — not performed.