It's time- Gangs of Wasseypur

  If life was 'American Beauty' everything would flash past my eyes right now.  Only I am not dying.  I have been awake twenty hours and worked happily through those. But sleep eludes me.  It's 4.08am on the 22nd of June, 2012.    A very reliable and intellectual friend of mine suggested that I write a blog before the big day, "because life is going to change in a major way."  For the last many weeks, this film has been the only thing on my mind. Before that, it was always on the back of my mind. Every single day,in one way or another, it presented itself to me.  And since August 2010, it's been somewhere in the container of my body. Always. In a few hours the first show will happen. In less than 24 hours, it will be lauded ,dismissed or tolerated. I just got back from a screening and I think that in all likelihood the first option seems the most plausible. And I am not being optimistic,just observant. What if it's not enough? Not everyone loves everything? What if it's not understood? What if.....? What if? What if? This is endless. Scenes from the recent past emerge. The anxious first day of the shoot,the Hotel-Motel-less town of Obra,Sardar Khan,breakdown scenes,Nagma,tiff with colleague,reel-love,Ok international Hotel in Varanasi, Varanasi,Varanasi,Varanasi,Ganga,Filr cafe,cow,prosthetics,crowd,pack up,tears,Mumbai,the wait,Luv Shuv..., casting,banners, Cannes premiere, Croisette, Maggie Lee, promotions, small town,big town,flash lights, live interviews, newspapers, clothes,flights, Anurag Kashyap. Anurag Kashyap :-) I wish I could project straight from my brain on to the screen what is flashing past my eyes.  My mother patiently dropping me to Kathak classes, my first play, brother, attention seeking behaviour at a knee-high age, Father, mimicking teachers to hone skills,the Shivalik world of Delhi shoots,sweeping the Prithvi theatre stage, Barry John, Saurab Sachdeva and watching a houseful screening at PVR Juhu, 11pm. You don't have to be dead to watch your life in rewind mode. If you are nervous, it does anyway. Goodnight. Good morning maybe? It's 440 am already. The Gods must be waking up for the day. Time to say a little prayer and disappear.  Like an Olympic runner works four years for an 11 second 100 meter race, the fact the a new future is hours away dawns on me. We're Olympic runners.  It's time. And I think it's on our side.

In the air with Anurag and Manoj

Indigo Flight 6E 185, Lucknow-Delhi-Mumbai It seems bizarre to visit a new city for the first time for a mere five hours, and spend six hours reaching it. This is the first city promotion tour of my life. i am unslept, caffeinated and excited and so is the man on the aisle seat ( Anurag Kashyap). The middle seat is occupied by a man whose reel life persona in Gangs Of Wasseypur now looks like a great deal of work, considering he calls himself a 'sissy flyer'.  Flight mein Sardar Khan asardar nahi hote! Manoj Bajpayee makes for interesting,nervous and jovial company.   (We are flying non-business, and we dont mind as we do often fly coach happily, as this gets us to Mumbai at a decent hour and we need to fly to Nagpur tomorrow) There is a proverb and a popular Hindi film song that declares - "jungal mien mor naacha kisne dekha? "  With the maddening distractions available on TV in the form of trailers,cricket or the daily soap, an alert and intelligent promo campaign is indispensable. We feel the need for it, and so Mr Kashyap is working with all his might despite a debilitating throat and ear infection. I am not sure he minds that his phone will remain off in air. All day I have heard him answer the same questions in telephonic interviews or talk to his E.P about random people threatening to sue the film. Fatigue wins. He falls asleep as soon as he sits. the captain announces that there might be turbulence and our sweet sissy Sardar khan feels his eyelids grow heavier!  We're doing city tours i.e. visiting select cities and meeting the media and the aam aadmi. Inherent in this kind of strategy is the assumption that people to people contact will help spread the word about our epic film. The assumption is right.  :-)  After a press conference in a plush restaurant in a mall and a ritual visit to the Dainak Jagran office, we headed to the airport.  All through the day people thronged the venues, asking questions, repeating Manoj's famous dialogues. "Karara  jawab milega"' a young man yelled arbitrarily on spotting him.    Flights irritate him. "it's so long , I feel like we're headed back from London"' says Manoj. The day is ending, we shall reunite tomorrow for another city and another mini adventure. A sea of curious, enthusiastic strangers who will soon seem familiar await us in the morrow.  Mumbai shines beneath. Anurag plays scrabble.Manoj looks out of the window trying to spot his home in Lokhandwala. "Ma'am kindly switch off electronic device as we will land now"

The Artist

It was my last day at Cannes and I had an afternoon flight back to Mumbai. I spent my time walking around and catching up with friends from Cairo and L.A.  I took a cab from the Carlton Hotel, at the Croisette, for the airport. throughout the way the cabbie chatted me up in faltering English.  probably in his mid seventies, he was genial and had a flush on his cheeks that could only come from tomatoes or happiness, at that age.  "That building looks like a ship", I exclaimed when I saw one designed like a deck, over looking the sea. "No, it's quite expensive!" I explained that I meant ship and not cheap. He laughed for twenty seconds. We Indians seem to care a lot more for the official language that is necessary because of the inferiority complex we  associate with our own culture. this Frenchman didnt care. It  was because of the cabbies contagious laughter thatI forgave him and his GPRS easily. (I almost missed my flight because he had mistakenly taken me to the Villenieve Loubet village instead of a town by the same name.  Just as we entered the airport premises he told me, "miss you have pretty eyes, and long lashes, also you eat more for a skinny  person, and I think you come for festival", "oh, thank you sir, and how did you guess?" I don't concur with the skinny remark. Then he replied in a manner almost shy. "I think, may be you are an artist". People always ask me upfront of I am an actor or a model. But this was the first time anyone called me an artist. (No, this doesn't include the Mumbai cine-artist association type slang) I was touched. There was respect in his eyes. I reached out to my ticket and wanted to tear it. I experienced a sudden cheap-thrill at the idea that I CONSIDERED the idea of wanting to tear it.  Just the previous week, some ex-bureaucratic octogenarian type secretaries of my housing society in Mumbai had expressed displeasure over residents that worked in the film industry. This was indeed another world, an evolved one, where people with a creative bent of mind were not pariahs or a nuisance. I don't mean to generalise, but it can be tiresome to try and explain your species to the world. Here I was, in a foreign country, with a .man who didn't understand my language, but understood me perfectly.  "Yes, I am an artist", said I.  He smiled suddenly and have me a Toblerone.  :-) PS- My trip was also successful, because I saw another artist! Jean dujardin  crossed my car and winked at the Croisette, in front of the Grey Goose party. Salt and pepper hair, generous smile and a black tuxedo. That you won an Oscar is secondary. You held the audience in a silent film...! Respect. 

The Cannes series- The screening and the madness!!!!

22nd of June, 2012

8am-
still early . ought to sleep more... Five hours is too less.

830am-
call Mom. it's 12 noon in India, must be in a lecture. Why am I queasy. I didn't even drink at india pavilion party.







9am-
Breakfast in the hotel. Funny, I am in Cannes, no French toast , French fries, let alone French wine in breakfast buffet.Sigh! Vegetarian me.

10am-
Time to leave for for the hair and make up appointment with L'oreal. Tummy ache.

En route Cannes

 I write this post from the unlikeliest location. The ChatrapatiShivaji International airport's free WiFi and my Ipad have joined hands in warm namastey. I am on my way to Cannes. People who know me will vouch for the fact that I am a curious type. A glo-cal, gypsy, butterfly, excited at the mere thought of any out station travel, even to Lonavla. So needless to say, I am looking forward to France. But because I have two hours to kill, and a caffeinated brain, I choose to dissect my excitement.     When I finished the shoot of GOW, all the assistants received postcards from me. Silly nostalgic little reminisces of the past three months (give and take a few weeks).  Yes,  there is excitement about going to one of the biggest film festivals in the world. Yes, it is as much about the fashion as it is the films. Yes, I feel incredibly lucky about getting this opportunity in my very first film as lead.  But I have to confess, I am more curious about knowing what Ghaywan or Bala will wear than meeting Eva Longoria. Or any other such celebrity who is famous enough for the name to become a stereotype. In short, butterflies do somersaults in my stomach when I think of reuniting with the team, or well, at least some of it. The team is so crucial in any film. Sure everybody is a professional, but the  level  of comfort created by a set of good assistants on a film ensures that the comfort translates onto the actor's faces. The performances become natural, wings are not clipped and one feels emboldened enough to improvise. Again, this flows from the core. The  captain of the ship is the one that instils these values. (Anurag Kashyap  in this case).  Well, the best actors don't give two hoots about anything other than the role, but I have a long way to go. The 'social-economic context' affects me on a set. Not an ideal situation, but a human one nonetheless.  After the film wrapped I hosted a tiny luncheon in my house for the over-worked AD team., desperately trying to create more time to reminisce about. So, while I feel fabulously ready, (despite my one and a half functioning legs and the recent wheel-chaired past), my excitement multiplies manifold at the thought of meeting some of the people that contributed to my growth as an actor and a professional ! The screening of our creation....beside the Croisette couldn't hurt either!  Team, here I come, to stand among you in our moment of glory. PS- Siddharth Aryan I shall do you proud. Nishant Bangar we HAVE taken this to the next level.

Ms. Godda Chadda

On the sets of my latest film, with a heart full of enthusiasm, a body feeling the pleasant pains of the last day’s good workout, and a skin glowing from plentiful sleep, I was READY.

It was a day of minor stunts. I had to jump, chase,leap,lunge and run.  The team had made the required arrangements. I did a few jumps and felt like the queen of my castle. Soon, I felt a small sensation in my stomach.  The next jump, from where I stood, looked alright. The director jumped twice and the first AD hustled us on. Not his fault, that was his job. And then I jumped.

....The team was sitting under a blue tent in my eye-line. A tall palm tree stood behind them. The sky was blue and the ground was hard under the mattresses.  What I had felt three milliseconds before the jump is what can be described as ‘gut feeling’...

Black-out.

Money! Sex! Health!

Do you take the burden of the world upon you shoulders? Do you find it hard to say no? Do you think if you don’t help someone they will suffer, wither and die? Do random and often able-bodied beggars on the road make your eyes moist? Do you suffer from a good-person complex?

Read on. 

In loving memory of...

the living

 

 

Dear you

It felt good to throw the last bit of dust on your face, as you lay yourself down in your coffin and went to eternal sleep. I would even say it was fun watching you dig your own grave, slowly. If you were Snow-white, someone, some really kind soul, might have made the effort to come, dig and plant a life-saving kiss. But since all you did was live with pain and gift the same to everyone, we are all relieved that you are no more.

You are not yet dead, you scream. You sure? Did we bury you alive? Oh but you did that, didn’t you. 

 Actually, you died a long time ago. But among so many zombies, one might have mistaken the red-light shining on your cheek to have been a sign of life.

You died each time you lied, to yourself and someone else. And hurt another. And then, slow stabs kept propelling you towards the inevitable. Perhaps you want to end it all, start afresh, erase the karma. But why would you think, in the kingdom of the Lord, you would get preferential treatment? Because you go to the Church and don’t eat meat on Tuesdays? Cute.

Who is not a shoemaker???

Dev.D

Yes, I wasn’t in the movie. Yes, I had nothing to do with the production of it in any way, but, it was a big deal for me. No. And the director in question is no shoemaker!

Why?

College was over. I had stopped working with Nadira Babbar’s Ekjute Theatre Group and joined Barry John. Under his direction, we commenced work on a play called Baghdad ka Ghulam. I was excited to know that sometime in the 80s, King Khan himself had played the title role under Barry Sir’s direction.

Barry John's Baghdad ka Ghulam.  I, in orange.

My desire to become an actor was well-known among my peers by now. Someone suggested I go to audition for an Anurag Kashyap film. I greedily agreed!

Aram Nagar is a legendary place. Spotted with Beverly-Hills-like palm trees, it’s a magical place where in the abundant nearby coffee shops, creative people meet. Much in the nature of a marriage consummating, an idea for a film is conceived at every table, and while most such films have a limited release on that very table, some masterpieces actually see light of day. So …I went to 40, Aram Nagar part 2, with greasepaint on my face. Three gentlemen were in a small wooden floored room to take the audition. Vasan Bala * was one of them.

How to grow mushrooms on your skin!

When it rains in Mumbai…it changes.

The whole house smells…of wet socks… or floaters that have walked under water for hours.

When I shut the windows, the wind bellows menacingly and everything reeks of the same musty smell. Everything seems to grow moist mushrooms. If you take a long nap, you will wake up scratching yourself. The same fungus grows on living, breathing things as well. Run a finger over any thing and I really doubt my sense of touch. Is it wet, is it not? Is it just cold? Want to squeeze this palpable wet-ness out of everything. Blow-dry the house.

If I open the windows, flies, moths and mosquitoes take refuge from the outside. They sit on bare arms, tickle the back of knees and appear suddenly when a wet towel is taken off the hook. The authorities turn of the electricity supply, fearing electrocution in water-logged areas. At eight am, the sky looks like it should at eight pm. All three meals of the day are candlelight dinners.

The clothes don’t dry. The flutter madly in the wind and with moist sulk, await a good dose of sunlight. Like all else.

In the building complex, only one end of the bright yellow see-saw is pokes put of the water like an incomplete example for the Pythagoras theorem.

The blue or black plastic roofs of thatched slums slide dangerously off their structures. They reveal all manner of things stored under them- utensils, brooms, polythene bags, deflated tyre tubes. Floating living-rooms of the lesser fortunate.

Thoughttrain

Birth.Amritsar. Khalistan. Run. Delhi. Joint family. Four brothers. Tomboy. Antidote. Kathak. “Beta, dance for uncle”. Groan. Attention problem. Art. Limelight-hungry. Movies. Madhuri Dixit. Awkward teenager. Puberty. Spectacles. Braces. Ugly-Betty. Art. Recluse. Salman Rushdie. Alanis Morissette. Puberty. Waxing. Contact lenses. Art. More dancing.Performing art.Theatre.Kuhu.Kirti Jain. Aur Kitne Tukde. “I know nothing”. Barry John. College. Mumbai. Barry moves to Mumbai. Baghdad ka Ghulam. Audition. Dev.D. Oye Lucky. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Dolly! Work. No-work. Thanikachalam. Vasan Bala. Wet Bride. Khalid Mohammad.Kennedy Bridge.Independence Day. Anurag Kashyap. Gangs of Wasseypur. (Waiting for June 22^nd).  Waiting. Waiting. Waiting patiently. 

:-D

Maybe we are the change!

It was an easy break by all means. There was no slimy producer offering me a couch as the ladder to success, I wasn’t making an entry as a silly moll or as a sexy item number.

It happened like this. I was acting in a period play called “Baghdad ka Ghulam’ directed Barry John. I played Benazir, a woman who dresses as a man in order to reach her lover in the traditional Arabic 18^th century setup. An assistant spotted me and called me to audition for Dibakar Banerjee’s next film.

26/11

Dibakar, the genius, and I

On the 26^th of November, the cast and crew of Oye Lucky, Lucky Oye were in Goa for the film’s premiere at IFFI. When we emerged glowing from the houseful cheering hall, we heard.

Our premiere to be held the following day was cancelled. Obviously.

So for most of us, the film is the semi-delivered child. The head is popping out, but the limbs are still kicking in the womb. I couldn’t say a decent good bye to nearly a year worth of work. My first film was stuck in my throat, choking me.

I sank into depression…till Rajinder called.

He called to ask how Dibakar Banerjee had his number. He had received a call on his mobile that urged him to make the title track ‘Oye Lucky’ his caller tune. I explained to him that the call must have been from Airtel, not Dibakar.

Rajinder is our driver. He is from Gorakhpur, UP and currently stays in Trilokpuri in Delhi. His voice smiled with the complete satisfaction of watching a good film.