Saturday, December 12, 2009
First post to a new blog...
Currently working on my second feature-length screenplay, this one original. Must be finished by 5 pm on Wednesday, scary deadline. This is how I procrastinate.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Meh
Very lonely today.
Dave in Maine, friends at the fair, nothing to do at home but sit and write self-pitying notes on my blog.
Can't wait for classes to start - at least that will help distract me from the face that I am so lonely.
Dave in Maine, friends at the fair, nothing to do at home but sit and write self-pitying notes on my blog.
Can't wait for classes to start - at least that will help distract me from the face that I am so lonely.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
My Side of the Atlantic
Two months ago, we were on the way to Mumbai. I have only four days left of my anti-malarial pill. It is now as hot in the North East as it was in India. Mumbai suddenly seems so very far away. I was thinking about it last night – I can clearly visualize the rickshaw ride from the Moser-Baer office in Andheri West (where I had my internship) to the apartments in Goregaon, but I am already forgetting what the heat felt like on my skin, or how the smell of Mumbai assaults you as soon as you inhale. It is the visual memories that will last the longest, aided by photographs, but eventually those too will fade. I almost wish that I could have captured the other senses as well – made recordings of traffic during rush hour (rickshaw-walas would put New York cabbies to shame with their honking); bottled the scents of open sewer, truck exhaust, and frying samosas; brought back samples of Koyla’s palak paneer and frozen hot chocolate from Moxxa. Photos and stories do not do them justice.
So what did I bring back with me from India, if not a complete sensory experience? First, a group of people I grew very fond of, and hope to be close with for a long time. Never-mind that Madeline and Kate just graduated – we can all take road trips to stalk them. If it was mildly traumatic to be thrown in the center of India, then it only made us closer.
Most importantly with regard to my career, field experience – I could never have done in the United States what I did in India. Because the idea of writing a complete screenplay before shooting a film – indeed, before even pitching the idea to a company – is still a relatively new one, the writers are more open to additional cooks in the kitchen. One would be hard pressed to find a writer in America willing to share the creative experience with a novice, but that is exactly what I got a chance to do. This internship was invaluable because of that – I learned more in those four weeks than I might have in years at a film company.
My whole outlook on life was altered by what I saw in India. I startled myself last week when I had a markedly smaller amount of sympathy for the panhandler in Syracuse than I used to – until I realized that it was because I had seen toddlers begging for money. After you have seen a baby in a torn shirt rubbing her distended stomach, a fully clothed, grown man no longer invokes heartache. In the US, we can’t even imagine the poverty to be found in other countries. Even our poor are far richer than theirs. I now also understand Madonna and Angelina Jolie in their quest for multi-colored children. Before Mumbai, I scorned their attitude, it seeming like a grown-up version of Pokemon: “Foreign Babies, gotta catch them all”. Since being there, I understand and empathize with this practice. You can’t help everyone, not in a million years with all the money in the world, but maybe you can help that one. That’s the most you can hope for.
Finally, and perhaps less important but more fun than the others, I love telling people stories of my travel – not lectures accompanied by a slideshow, “Here is the Taj Mahal, built in…” – but the more personal, interesting, and, if I can manage it, funny anecdotes – “Did I tell you about the time I almost got squashed by an elephant?!” Ironically, it is usually the experiences that were most traumatic at the time that make the best stories later on. Maybe it is the terror and adrenaline that makes it funny in retrospect, I don’t know. I do know that spending a month in Mumbai gave me a whole new set of stories to tell – which my friends and family no doubt appreciate, having heard my “That Time I Was Lost in Moscow” story one too many times. Now I can tell them about the time our bus almost hit a water buffalo, or the time I accidentally drank tap water at Farah Khan’s house, or how amazing the Taj looks in the sunrise, or how I missed the food as soon as I was State-side again.
That is what I left India with. The marble elephant and kurtas are nice, but what I will really value – after the images of India begin to dim and I can no longer remember what my daily rickshaw rides were like - are the friends I made, the experience I gained, the change in my attitude, and the stories I can tell.
So what did I bring back with me from India, if not a complete sensory experience? First, a group of people I grew very fond of, and hope to be close with for a long time. Never-mind that Madeline and Kate just graduated – we can all take road trips to stalk them. If it was mildly traumatic to be thrown in the center of India, then it only made us closer.
Most importantly with regard to my career, field experience – I could never have done in the United States what I did in India. Because the idea of writing a complete screenplay before shooting a film – indeed, before even pitching the idea to a company – is still a relatively new one, the writers are more open to additional cooks in the kitchen. One would be hard pressed to find a writer in America willing to share the creative experience with a novice, but that is exactly what I got a chance to do. This internship was invaluable because of that – I learned more in those four weeks than I might have in years at a film company.
My whole outlook on life was altered by what I saw in India. I startled myself last week when I had a markedly smaller amount of sympathy for the panhandler in Syracuse than I used to – until I realized that it was because I had seen toddlers begging for money. After you have seen a baby in a torn shirt rubbing her distended stomach, a fully clothed, grown man no longer invokes heartache. In the US, we can’t even imagine the poverty to be found in other countries. Even our poor are far richer than theirs. I now also understand Madonna and Angelina Jolie in their quest for multi-colored children. Before Mumbai, I scorned their attitude, it seeming like a grown-up version of Pokemon: “Foreign Babies, gotta catch them all”. Since being there, I understand and empathize with this practice. You can’t help everyone, not in a million years with all the money in the world, but maybe you can help that one. That’s the most you can hope for.
Finally, and perhaps less important but more fun than the others, I love telling people stories of my travel – not lectures accompanied by a slideshow, “Here is the Taj Mahal, built in…” – but the more personal, interesting, and, if I can manage it, funny anecdotes – “Did I tell you about the time I almost got squashed by an elephant?!” Ironically, it is usually the experiences that were most traumatic at the time that make the best stories later on. Maybe it is the terror and adrenaline that makes it funny in retrospect, I don’t know. I do know that spending a month in Mumbai gave me a whole new set of stories to tell – which my friends and family no doubt appreciate, having heard my “That Time I Was Lost in Moscow” story one too many times. Now I can tell them about the time our bus almost hit a water buffalo, or the time I accidentally drank tap water at Farah Khan’s house, or how amazing the Taj looks in the sunrise, or how I missed the food as soon as I was State-side again.
That is what I left India with. The marble elephant and kurtas are nice, but what I will really value – after the images of India begin to dim and I can no longer remember what my daily rickshaw rides were like - are the friends I made, the experience I gained, the change in my attitude, and the stories I can tell.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Gotcha, bitch!
Ok, so Dave was right.
As soon as I got off the plane from India, Dave proposed, so I'm now ENGAGED!!! At some point this morning, I, being the practical joker that I am, put as my Facebook status that "Allison no longer has a boyfriend", thinking my friends and family intelligent enough to get it. Especially since Dave asked my parents if he could propose a month ago. Clearly, I over-estimated them.
Jocelyn finally got a hold of me a few hours ago, saying that my mother had called her 6 times, in tears, asking if she knew what had gone wrong. *facepalm*
So yes, dear David, you were right, I should not have put that on Facebook, and I should also apparently introduce myself to my mother, since after 22 years, she still doesn't get my sense of humor.
 |
| ^ us immediately pre-proposal |
Jocelyn finally got a hold of me a few hours ago, saying that my mother had called her 6 times, in tears, asking if she knew what had gone wrong. *facepalm*
So yes, dear David, you were right, I should not have put that on Facebook, and I should also apparently introduce myself to my mother, since after 22 years, she still doesn't get my sense of humor.
Flying Home
I am actually on the plane home, and the feeling is just as surreal as landing in Mumbai a month ago was. Kate is asleep on my left, and Aamir on my right – each occasionally nodding against my shoulders. I tried for a while to sleep – I even watched the first 45 minutes of the Phantom of the Opera to try to send myself into dreamland – but to no avail. I am simply too excited, the butterflies in my stomach have turned into fruit bats, and so I write.
India, in my mind, will always be like a section of the Twilight Zone. It seems like we left the US years ago, but it does not seem like we have been in India for more than a few days. The time has gone by very fast and very slow at the same time, a concept I have never before experienced.
My thoughts are not terribly organized at the moment, hopefully that will come later. So, inspired by Madeline’s lists, here are mine.
Stuff I Miss About the US
Drinkable tap water
Less pollution
Non-Indian food
no one asking for money
Dave
Family
my roommates
my bed
my closet
my external harddrive
going to the movies
my own room
a shower with good water pressure
Stuff I Will Miss From India
Cheap food
Cheap transportation
Cheap EVERTHING
Creepers buying us balloons
My internship
jasmine flowers on a string
Koyla
elephants at midnight
seeing AAMIR KHAN!!!
the food
the other SU people!
CHAI!
Stuff I Will Not Miss From India
Cockroaches in the bathroom
Geckos in my bed
leaky bathroom ceilings
the heat
the humidity
rickshaw drivers who don’t speak Hindi
the poop smell
henna that scars my arm
getting stared at by everyone
getting overcharged
the 9.5 hour time difference
the shitty internet
India, in my mind, will always be like a section of the Twilight Zone. It seems like we left the US years ago, but it does not seem like we have been in India for more than a few days. The time has gone by very fast and very slow at the same time, a concept I have never before experienced.
My thoughts are not terribly organized at the moment, hopefully that will come later. So, inspired by Madeline’s lists, here are mine.
Stuff I Miss About the US
Drinkable tap water
Less pollution
Non-Indian food
no one asking for money
Dave
Family
my roommates
my bed
my closet
my external harddrive
going to the movies
my own room
a shower with good water pressure
Stuff I Will Miss From India
Cheap food
Cheap transportation
Cheap EVERTHING
Creepers buying us balloons
My internship
jasmine flowers on a string
Koyla
elephants at midnight
seeing AAMIR KHAN!!!
the food
the other SU people!
CHAI!
Stuff I Will Not Miss From India
Cockroaches in the bathroom
Geckos in my bed
leaky bathroom ceilings
the heat
the humidity
rickshaw drivers who don’t speak Hindi
the poop smell
henna that scars my arm
getting stared at by everyone
getting overcharged
the 9.5 hour time difference
the shitty internet
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Taj Freakin’ Mahal
I think this speaks for itself:
The only thing that tops that, for me anyway, was Stonehenge. The Taj was without a doubt the most beautiful building I have ever seen, and it was only made more so by knowledge of the amount of work put into it: 22 years and 20,000 artisans. It is covered in inlaid flowers and passages of the Koran, in tiny pieces of semi-precious stone. Oh, and did I mention that we saw it at sunrise? It literally takes your breath away – I don’t really know how to describe it.
And yet, despite being one of the new wonders of the world, the Taj is still in India, which means it is still surrounded by poverty-stricken children asking for pocket change in return for a trinket. And, for some reason, camels.
After we saw the Taj we saw a demonstration on the inlay work used on the building. The artisans who work there today are the descendants of the original artisans, and they still use the same tools that their ancestors did. There is a type of glue they use to fix the semiprecious stones to the marble which is made of 17 types of tree resin, and the formula is a secret as guarded as that of Coca Cola.
And just like that, we were done with Agra, and on the bus headed back to Delhi. The trip was just as hot as the one yesterday, although marginally less crowded, as we were given a car to carry some of the luggage. Back in Delhi we toured briefly, and we got to see the India Gate.
We had dinner (an amazing dinner) at TG’s parent’s house, and some of us took a much needed nap. We are leaving soon for the airport, and from there to home!
The only thing that tops that, for me anyway, was Stonehenge. The Taj was without a doubt the most beautiful building I have ever seen, and it was only made more so by knowledge of the amount of work put into it: 22 years and 20,000 artisans. It is covered in inlaid flowers and passages of the Koran, in tiny pieces of semi-precious stone. Oh, and did I mention that we saw it at sunrise? It literally takes your breath away – I don’t really know how to describe it.
And yet, despite being one of the new wonders of the world, the Taj is still in India, which means it is still surrounded by poverty-stricken children asking for pocket change in return for a trinket. And, for some reason, camels.
After we saw the Taj we saw a demonstration on the inlay work used on the building. The artisans who work there today are the descendants of the original artisans, and they still use the same tools that their ancestors did. There is a type of glue they use to fix the semiprecious stones to the marble which is made of 17 types of tree resin, and the formula is a secret as guarded as that of Coca Cola.
And just like that, we were done with Agra, and on the bus headed back to Delhi. The trip was just as hot as the one yesterday, although marginally less crowded, as we were given a car to carry some of the luggage. Back in Delhi we toured briefly, and we got to see the India Gate.
We had dinner (an amazing dinner) at TG’s parent’s house, and some of us took a much needed nap. We are leaving soon for the airport, and from there to home!
From Delhi to Agra; Or, The Hottest I Have Ever Been
Over a black screen, a deep male voice begins to speak.
This morning (although it does not seem like the same day, it is still, in fact, Monday) we arose with the sun. Actually, about an hour ahead of the sun, which does not come up until 5 am or so. Having packed the day before (most of us, anyway), all that was needed was to take our luggage downstairs and load it onto the bus. In a moment oddly unsuited for the feel of the rest of our trip, the elevators actually WORKED and we did not have to walk our suitcases down 20 flights of stairs. I think we made up for this blessing later.
We drove to the airport (the international one first because the driver hadn’t been given proper instructions, then the domestic one; this was more like the India we knew) and checked in for our flight. We walked outside the terminal, got on a bus and drove from here to ————— there – a distance which would have taken less time to walk than it did to ride, and boarded the plane just as the rain started. I had joked, in the days previously when rain seemed more and more eminent, that it would not rain until we left Mumbai, just out of spite. This, however, was far too literal. After getting a good laugh at the timeliness of the precipitation, we were seated. This is the sight that greeted us:
Can you see the smoke? I hope so, cause we sure could. After the smoke, or fog, or whatever it was cleared, we had a fairly uneventful flight (except for the crazy old mad sitting behind Jill, Andrea and I who did not understand the concept of “Turn off your damn cellphone!”) We landed in Delhi and walked into the most intense heat I have ever experienced. We took our luggage across the street to the awaiting bus, and found this:
The bus was too small. The bus was too small by a lot. After much arguing (TG with the driver), negotiating (TG with the rental service), and extreme creepiness (the helpers to the left in the photo, who offered to have sex with me for $20 – “Please, Madam-ji, four men, $20”), the larger suitcases were tied to the roof of the bus with a very un-sturdy-looking piece of rope and the rest were piled in the aisles, with us squeezed in around them. It was a long, hot, bumpy ride to Agra, and I am not a skilled enough writer to be able to fully describe how uncomfortable it was. Suffice it to say, we were all grateful for the cooling rush of adrenaline when we almost had the head-on collision with the truck. And the water buffalo.
On the way to Agra, where we are spending the night, we stopped at Fatehpur Sikri – a capital city built by Emperor Akbar. It was very beautiful (see below) and the tour guide was amazing.
We finally arrived at our hotel in Agra as the sun was beginning to set, and discovered what appears to be heaven on Earth. There is air conditioning (which is freezing – I have not had goose-bumps in a month and its awesome!), no cockroaches, geckos or creepy-crawlies of any kind, complementary dinner (which was delicious) and best of all, a pool. After a wonderful hot shower with powerful water pressure (ahhh, luxury!), I lie in bed, anticipating the Taj Mahal tomorrow, slightly dreading the ride back to Delhi, and (mentally) bouncing off the walls in my excitement to go home.
NARRATOR
When we last saw our intrepid travelers, they were in
sweltering Mumbai, living in roach and gecko infested
apartments that occasionally had air conditioning. Now they
reside in a beautiful, deliciously cold hotel in the Hottest
Place on Earth: unstruck-by-monsoons Delhi in mid-June.
How did they come to be here? Let us start at the beginning…
We drove to the airport (the international one first because the driver hadn’t been given proper instructions, then the domestic one; this was more like the India we knew) and checked in for our flight. We walked outside the terminal, got on a bus and drove from here to ————— there – a distance which would have taken less time to walk than it did to ride, and boarded the plane just as the rain started. I had joked, in the days previously when rain seemed more and more eminent, that it would not rain until we left Mumbai, just out of spite. This, however, was far too literal. After getting a good laugh at the timeliness of the precipitation, we were seated. This is the sight that greeted us:
On the way to Agra, where we are spending the night, we stopped at Fatehpur Sikri – a capital city built by Emperor Akbar. It was very beautiful (see below) and the tour guide was amazing.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
In Conclusion, My Internship Was Awesome. So was Pune.
Thursday the 11th marked the last day of our internships, and I was truly sad to leave. The past three weeks have not only been fun, they have been an incredible learning experience. I got to be part of a small team writing and editing two feature length screenplays, which both look as though they will become films in the next few years. The work was fun and interesting in and of itself, but I am also very fond of the stories, and am really excited to see how they turn out. Apart from the writing, I became very attached to Shubhra, my boss, and I will miss her.
The following day, our last Friday in India, we took a day trip to the film archives and film institute in Pune. The archives made me want to cry – film cases stacked on the floor in no particular order and with no particular care; posters and photographs, some of them decades old and probably one-of-a-kind, shoved into corners, and everything covered in a nice, think layer of Indian Dust – a substance which appears to be one part dirt, one part fine sand and one part glue. Seriously, it sticks to everything. It appears that an attempt is being made to improve the state of the archives, as shown by the amusingly worded sign below:
The Film & Television Institute of India (FTII) made me want to cry too, but for very different reasons. Actually, first it almost gave me a heart attack – I was minding my own business, staying out of the way while Nya took a picture of a tree or something else equally interesting, when something touched my hand. A wet something. A TONGUE something. After leaping into the air and screaming like Ross Geller (DANGER!), I discovered a dog looking at me as though I was the crazy one. How would he have reacted if I had licked his paw, hu? Probably would have given me the same look.
Anyway…
The facilities were unbelievable – sound studios with state-of-the-art equipment, camera to die for, and huge warehouses where students can build their own sets. Oh, did I mention that the tuition for a foreign student is 225,000 rupees per year? Does that sound like a lot? Convert it. That makes a grand total of $4,500. Not $45,000, $4,500. Like, a tenth of what we pay to go to Newhouse. Actually, an eleventh, considering the recent hike in tuition prices. When I told one of the tour guides that our tuition translates to 2.5 million rupees per year, he almost peed himself laughing.
*SIGH* On the other hand, there are only two spots open for foreign students every year, so the competition is fierce. One would also have to put up with the Indian heat, and as much as Syracuse winters get old by the time April rolls around, I would take the snow over the heat.
Now to pack, then Delhi and Agra, then HOME!!!
 |
| Shubhra and I |
The following day, our last Friday in India, we took a day trip to the film archives and film institute in Pune. The archives made me want to cry – film cases stacked on the floor in no particular order and with no particular care; posters and photographs, some of them decades old and probably one-of-a-kind, shoved into corners, and everything covered in a nice, think layer of Indian Dust – a substance which appears to be one part dirt, one part fine sand and one part glue. Seriously, it sticks to everything. It appears that an attempt is being made to improve the state of the archives, as shown by the amusingly worded sign below:
The Film & Television Institute of India (FTII) made me want to cry too, but for very different reasons. Actually, first it almost gave me a heart attack – I was minding my own business, staying out of the way while Nya took a picture of a tree or something else equally interesting, when something touched my hand. A wet something. A TONGUE something. After leaping into the air and screaming like Ross Geller (DANGER!), I discovered a dog looking at me as though I was the crazy one. How would he have reacted if I had licked his paw, hu? Probably would have given me the same look.
 |
| Stupid dog |
Anyway…
The facilities were unbelievable – sound studios with state-of-the-art equipment, camera to die for, and huge warehouses where students can build their own sets. Oh, did I mention that the tuition for a foreign student is 225,000 rupees per year? Does that sound like a lot? Convert it. That makes a grand total of $4,500. Not $45,000, $4,500. Like, a tenth of what we pay to go to Newhouse. Actually, an eleventh, considering the recent hike in tuition prices. When I told one of the tour guides that our tuition translates to 2.5 million rupees per year, he almost peed himself laughing.
*SIGH* On the other hand, there are only two spots open for foreign students every year, so the competition is fierce. One would also have to put up with the Indian heat, and as much as Syracuse winters get old by the time April rolls around, I would take the snow over the heat.
Now to pack, then Delhi and Agra, then HOME!!!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
On Aamir Khan and the Punctuality of Indian Men
First of all, so that it is out of the way and does not disrupt the flow of the narrative later on: I freaking saw AAMIR KHAN!
For those of you who know me less well, my three favorite actors are Christian Bale, Tim Roth, and Aamir Khan. So that’s kind of a big thing. Now, to start from the beginning…
Sunday morning (and by morning, I mean about 1:30pm) Nya, Andrea, Hannah and I decided to go to South Bombay for the day. We had been the day before as well, to shop and explore, but with little else to do, we decided to go back. Upon walking down to what I shall refer to as the rickshaw station, we discovered an unprecedented lack of rickshaws. There was exactly one, when there are normally between seven and ten. And that one was already taken. Not to be deterred, we waited. And waited. Eventually the man sitting in the sole rickshaw asked where we were going, and said that since we were going the same way as he (he was going to Bandra), two of us could ride part of the way with him. At this point another rickshaw rattled up and Nya and I hopped into that, while Andrea and Hannah joined the man, later known to be Praffle.
At a certain point along the highway rickshaws must stop and trade their passengers into taxis, as the unsightly rickshaws are not allowed within the posh South Bombay. As I stepped out of our little death-trap I noticed Andrea nearly exploding with excitement. Apparently, in talking with Praffle, they discovered that later that day he would be filming a commercial starring none other than Aamir Khan, and he had invited us to the set! He told us where to go, and we swapped numbers so that we could keep in touch.
When we arrived in South Bombay we decided to get lunch before heading to the shoot, as it was about three in the afternoon and none of us had eaten. I, for one, am terribly unpleasant when very hungry. We went to, get this, a pizzeria where I ate an actual Hawaiian pizza – ham and everything – and listened to Barbie Girl.
A quick side note on the music I have heard in this country: Our first day while grocery shopping we heard what appeared to be the karaoke back up music for the Beegees, ABBA and Queen. We occasionally hear thumping rap coming from passing cars, and I have heard Linda Ronstadt and Brian Adams on the radio more than any other artists. Meanwhile, on my iPod, I have the soundtracks to Fanaa, Rang De Basanti and Dhoom 2. Go figure.
Shortly after hearing Barbie Girl I finished my lunch. Everyone else was still eating and not talking, so I became bored, staring out the window absent-mindedly. In doing so, my eye was caught by the profile of a man in the car across the street. He looked oddly familiar. My mind momentarily not working, it was not until he turned and looked at me that I realized why I recognized him. I was staring, at this point literally openmouthed, at Aamir Khan. According to the other girls, my first reaction was to laugh, point him out, and give him a thumbs up – this last part makes sense, since I did a similarly dorky thing to Lewis Black a few months ago.
All four of us waved energetically and here’s the best part: he smiled and WAVED BACK! We were loud enough that the rest of the establishment caught on to who we were looking at and patrons and waiters alike crowded the windows waving. He kept smiling and waving back until the car drove off, but not before I got a photo.
Later we did in fact make it to the set, along with over a thousand other people, and were allowed to sit off to the side and observe the shoot. While there, Mr. Khan spotted us again and, probably thinking he was being stalked by four crazy American girls, smiled and waved at us again. We watched the filming for around an hour – look for the commercial later on YouTube, it’s for something called Smart Chips – until Mr. Khan was herded away by a posse of bodyguards.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, although I did at one point get to exercise my Spanish language skills when asking for directions. A very European (he kissed all of our hands as he left) Indian man who owns restaurants in Madrid, Barcelona and the Canary Islands attempted to show us where a sari shop was. He couldn’t, but he did compliment my Spanish, making me feel less like an ignorant American than I have in the past month. Communicating with people by pointing and repeating English words in a steadily louder voice does make one feel like an asshole. Nothing else of import happened until the following night.
In thanks for allowing us on the set, Andrea and I agreed to go to dinner with Praffle on Monday night. He said he would pick us up between 9 and 10, and we would figure out where to go then. We got dressed and waited. And waited. And waited. We listened to some of the music from Dev D (a very odd combination of hip hop and Disney princess theme music) and waited. We watched The Making of Aamir Khan’s Body on the special features of Ghajini (I recommend that EVERYONE do this) and drooled and waited. Feeling as though we might actually starve, we ate some McVities digestives and waited.
At midnight, Praffle called and said he was on the way. We went downstairs to wait for him outside. Liz, Madeline and Kate returned from their dinner, which they had left for as we were getting ready for ours. We waited outside. We watched a large gecko climb along a wall, a creepy stray dog came to say hi, and as I was making a joke about tigers in the area, the bushes across the street began to rustle ominously. We ran inside, laughing with borderline hysterics. As I was saying that I would give Praffle until 12:30 to get there before going to bed, I watched a large rat scuttle across the street. My point here? The reason we have not gone to a zoo in Mumbai is because we don’t need to.
At 12:29 (I looked at my watch, so I know) Praffle pulled up, or rather, his driver did; Praffle was in the passenger’s seat. The commercial shoot he had been working on ran far longer than anticipated, explaining the tardiness. A valid excuse. Quite loopy from lack of sleep and food, Andrea and I didn’t care very much – we were just happy that we were finally going to be fed. We acted like normal, intelligent human beings until we turned a corner on the road we always take to go to Whistling Woods and were faced with what appeared to be a very large posterior, backing up towards the car with great speed.
We swerved around the first elephant, only to encounter another. As soon as we had successfully avoided being trampled, I completely lost it, laughing hysterically until I cried. I am pretty sure that both Praffle and his non-English speaking driver thought I had lost my mind. We finally made it to dinner, where I had an admittedly delicious spinach and cheddar panini and were home after 2 am, but absolutely nothing could top almost being squashed by an elephant at 12:45 at night. Except maybe the fact that I am writing this in the office I work in and a man just walked by carrying a sword. Maybe that.
For those of you who know me less well, my three favorite actors are Christian Bale, Tim Roth, and Aamir Khan. So that’s kind of a big thing. Now, to start from the beginning…
Sunday morning (and by morning, I mean about 1:30pm) Nya, Andrea, Hannah and I decided to go to South Bombay for the day. We had been the day before as well, to shop and explore, but with little else to do, we decided to go back. Upon walking down to what I shall refer to as the rickshaw station, we discovered an unprecedented lack of rickshaws. There was exactly one, when there are normally between seven and ten. And that one was already taken. Not to be deterred, we waited. And waited. Eventually the man sitting in the sole rickshaw asked where we were going, and said that since we were going the same way as he (he was going to Bandra), two of us could ride part of the way with him. At this point another rickshaw rattled up and Nya and I hopped into that, while Andrea and Hannah joined the man, later known to be Praffle.
At a certain point along the highway rickshaws must stop and trade their passengers into taxis, as the unsightly rickshaws are not allowed within the posh South Bombay. As I stepped out of our little death-trap I noticed Andrea nearly exploding with excitement. Apparently, in talking with Praffle, they discovered that later that day he would be filming a commercial starring none other than Aamir Khan, and he had invited us to the set! He told us where to go, and we swapped numbers so that we could keep in touch.
When we arrived in South Bombay we decided to get lunch before heading to the shoot, as it was about three in the afternoon and none of us had eaten. I, for one, am terribly unpleasant when very hungry. We went to, get this, a pizzeria where I ate an actual Hawaiian pizza – ham and everything – and listened to Barbie Girl.
A quick side note on the music I have heard in this country: Our first day while grocery shopping we heard what appeared to be the karaoke back up music for the Beegees, ABBA and Queen. We occasionally hear thumping rap coming from passing cars, and I have heard Linda Ronstadt and Brian Adams on the radio more than any other artists. Meanwhile, on my iPod, I have the soundtracks to Fanaa, Rang De Basanti and Dhoom 2. Go figure.
Shortly after hearing Barbie Girl I finished my lunch. Everyone else was still eating and not talking, so I became bored, staring out the window absent-mindedly. In doing so, my eye was caught by the profile of a man in the car across the street. He looked oddly familiar. My mind momentarily not working, it was not until he turned and looked at me that I realized why I recognized him. I was staring, at this point literally openmouthed, at Aamir Khan. According to the other girls, my first reaction was to laugh, point him out, and give him a thumbs up – this last part makes sense, since I did a similarly dorky thing to Lewis Black a few months ago.
All four of us waved energetically and here’s the best part: he smiled and WAVED BACK! We were loud enough that the rest of the establishment caught on to who we were looking at and patrons and waiters alike crowded the windows waving. He kept smiling and waving back until the car drove off, but not before I got a photo.
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| As TG would say, it was destiny. |
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| Yea, that's us behind him :) |
***
In thanks for allowing us on the set, Andrea and I agreed to go to dinner with Praffle on Monday night. He said he would pick us up between 9 and 10, and we would figure out where to go then. We got dressed and waited. And waited. And waited. We listened to some of the music from Dev D (a very odd combination of hip hop and Disney princess theme music) and waited. We watched The Making of Aamir Khan’s Body on the special features of Ghajini (I recommend that EVERYONE do this) and drooled and waited. Feeling as though we might actually starve, we ate some McVities digestives and waited.
At midnight, Praffle called and said he was on the way. We went downstairs to wait for him outside. Liz, Madeline and Kate returned from their dinner, which they had left for as we were getting ready for ours. We waited outside. We watched a large gecko climb along a wall, a creepy stray dog came to say hi, and as I was making a joke about tigers in the area, the bushes across the street began to rustle ominously. We ran inside, laughing with borderline hysterics. As I was saying that I would give Praffle until 12:30 to get there before going to bed, I watched a large rat scuttle across the street. My point here? The reason we have not gone to a zoo in Mumbai is because we don’t need to.
At 12:29 (I looked at my watch, so I know) Praffle pulled up, or rather, his driver did; Praffle was in the passenger’s seat. The commercial shoot he had been working on ran far longer than anticipated, explaining the tardiness. A valid excuse. Quite loopy from lack of sleep and food, Andrea and I didn’t care very much – we were just happy that we were finally going to be fed. We acted like normal, intelligent human beings until we turned a corner on the road we always take to go to Whistling Woods and were faced with what appeared to be a very large posterior, backing up towards the car with great speed.
We swerved around the first elephant, only to encounter another. As soon as we had successfully avoided being trampled, I completely lost it, laughing hysterically until I cried. I am pretty sure that both Praffle and his non-English speaking driver thought I had lost my mind. We finally made it to dinner, where I had an admittedly delicious spinach and cheddar panini and were home after 2 am, but absolutely nothing could top almost being squashed by an elephant at 12:45 at night. Except maybe the fact that I am writing this in the office I work in and a man just walked by carrying a sword. Maybe that.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Bikers in Mumbai buy you Balloons
As it was Saturday, and as none of us had our internships to go to, and as we all wanted to get out of our apartments, we all headed out for South Bombay. Now, I say all, but I really mean everyone who actually got along. The seven of us wandered Colaba (the tourist district) for hours, buying souvenirs and trying to find a store where we could buy saris. By evening we were all starving and headed to a hookah bar that the students from last year had recommended.
A word on street vendor: the ones who have actual stands stay by them, shouting at us in broken English (for we are very obviously American) and trying to flatter their way into a sale. Those who carry their wares on their person are more persistent. In this part of the city we encountered the drum sellers – young men who drape themselves with small drums and pursue you around the streets, banging them in your ear until you give in just for the silence. This is a failed attempt however, as upon purchasing a drum, you continue to be followed, in the hopes that you will suddenly want to buy another drum. Lizz, Nya and Madeline bought drums, and so we were followed for close to a mile with repeated calls of “pretty lady, buy a drum! *bang*”.
We finally arrived at the hookah bar, after having walked past in three times, not knowing that we should be looking at the tops of buildings for the sign. We took the rickety elevator up to the roof of what may very well have been a hotel, and stepped into Koyla.
The ambiance was stunning. The establishment covers the entire roof of the building and is quite large, with at least a dozen brightly colored tents. The walls of the tents are open so you can vaguely see the people around you, but everything is lit by candle light, so it is all thrown into shadow. Wisps of smoke sail through the air, coupled with the most delicious cooking smells. Under the tents were low tables and couches, allowing the patrons to recline and smoke or sit and eat at their leisure.
Being allergic to tobacco, I had no interest in the hookah, so I busied myself with the menu. We each ended up ordering a dish or two and ate family style – passing plates around and eating a little of everything. It was, undoubtedly, one of the best meals I have ever eaten. The food was fresh and cooked to perfection, an interesting mix of Indian, English and American. The palak paneer (creamed spinach with Indian cheese), always one of my favorite dishes, was the best I have ever had, and I could have eaten a pound of the American sweet corn. We were there for hours, eating more and more food, the rest of the girls smoking, and all of us contemplating the impending end to our trip.
At about 11:30 we decided it was time to head home, as it would take about an hour to make the trip. Andrea, Kate and I got a taxi, and the others followed in various other taxis and rickshaws. We soon lost the others, and were rushing through late night Mumbai traffic. We were all dressed nicely, hanging our heads out the windows (to keep cool), and suddenly two me on a motorcycle were next to the taxi, smiling and waving and asking for our phone numbers.
We all laughed and drove on, and they followed. And followed. For miles. Another note on street vendors: the traffic in Mumbai is very odd – there do not seem to be lanes or speed limits, or at least not ones that get paid attention to, and the lights last for about 5 minutes at a time. In these long pauses in traffic, young men and women walk among the cars, selling strings of jasmine flowers, books, rubber balls, mangoes, feather dusters, umbrellas, toys and balloons.
As we stopped at a light, a teenage boy ran around with a bunch of balloons so large, we were surprised he was not levitating. These were not normal balloons either – they were the size of beach balls, with four or five smaller, multicolored balloons inside. I turned to the other girls to say how funny it would be if our followers bought us balloons, and turned back to the window in time to get hit in the face with one. Paralyzed with laughter, holding a balloon the size of a toddler in front of me, we began driving again.
The amusement of being followed lessoned as we drove and got farther and farther from what was bound to be the men’s’ original destination. At one point they asked our driver where he was taking us, and to our horror, he told them. We were at that point worried that they actually thought we wanted them to come home with us, which, for many reasons, we did not. We were close to panicking as we got to our apartment complex, where we realized why we should appreciate the gated community.
As one guard checked our taxi for stowaways, we asked the other to prevent the men from following us to our building. Seemingly delighted at an actual mission, our hero stood in the path of the motorcycle, arms akimbo, and channeled Gandalf in his refusal to let them pass.
We made it home unmolested, had a laugh with everyone else about the balloon incident, and now I’m going to bed.
A word on street vendor: the ones who have actual stands stay by them, shouting at us in broken English (for we are very obviously American) and trying to flatter their way into a sale. Those who carry their wares on their person are more persistent. In this part of the city we encountered the drum sellers – young men who drape themselves with small drums and pursue you around the streets, banging them in your ear until you give in just for the silence. This is a failed attempt however, as upon purchasing a drum, you continue to be followed, in the hopes that you will suddenly want to buy another drum. Lizz, Nya and Madeline bought drums, and so we were followed for close to a mile with repeated calls of “pretty lady, buy a drum! *bang*”.
We finally arrived at the hookah bar, after having walked past in three times, not knowing that we should be looking at the tops of buildings for the sign. We took the rickety elevator up to the roof of what may very well have been a hotel, and stepped into Koyla.
The ambiance was stunning. The establishment covers the entire roof of the building and is quite large, with at least a dozen brightly colored tents. The walls of the tents are open so you can vaguely see the people around you, but everything is lit by candle light, so it is all thrown into shadow. Wisps of smoke sail through the air, coupled with the most delicious cooking smells. Under the tents were low tables and couches, allowing the patrons to recline and smoke or sit and eat at their leisure.
Being allergic to tobacco, I had no interest in the hookah, so I busied myself with the menu. We each ended up ordering a dish or two and ate family style – passing plates around and eating a little of everything. It was, undoubtedly, one of the best meals I have ever eaten. The food was fresh and cooked to perfection, an interesting mix of Indian, English and American. The palak paneer (creamed spinach with Indian cheese), always one of my favorite dishes, was the best I have ever had, and I could have eaten a pound of the American sweet corn. We were there for hours, eating more and more food, the rest of the girls smoking, and all of us contemplating the impending end to our trip.
At about 11:30 we decided it was time to head home, as it would take about an hour to make the trip. Andrea, Kate and I got a taxi, and the others followed in various other taxis and rickshaws. We soon lost the others, and were rushing through late night Mumbai traffic. We were all dressed nicely, hanging our heads out the windows (to keep cool), and suddenly two me on a motorcycle were next to the taxi, smiling and waving and asking for our phone numbers.
We all laughed and drove on, and they followed. And followed. For miles. Another note on street vendors: the traffic in Mumbai is very odd – there do not seem to be lanes or speed limits, or at least not ones that get paid attention to, and the lights last for about 5 minutes at a time. In these long pauses in traffic, young men and women walk among the cars, selling strings of jasmine flowers, books, rubber balls, mangoes, feather dusters, umbrellas, toys and balloons.
As we stopped at a light, a teenage boy ran around with a bunch of balloons so large, we were surprised he was not levitating. These were not normal balloons either – they were the size of beach balls, with four or five smaller, multicolored balloons inside. I turned to the other girls to say how funny it would be if our followers bought us balloons, and turned back to the window in time to get hit in the face with one. Paralyzed with laughter, holding a balloon the size of a toddler in front of me, we began driving again.
The amusement of being followed lessoned as we drove and got farther and farther from what was bound to be the men’s’ original destination. At one point they asked our driver where he was taking us, and to our horror, he told them. We were at that point worried that they actually thought we wanted them to come home with us, which, for many reasons, we did not. We were close to panicking as we got to our apartment complex, where we realized why we should appreciate the gated community.
As one guard checked our taxi for stowaways, we asked the other to prevent the men from following us to our building. Seemingly delighted at an actual mission, our hero stood in the path of the motorcycle, arms akimbo, and channeled Gandalf in his refusal to let them pass.
We made it home unmolested, had a laugh with everyone else about the balloon incident, and now I’m going to bed.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Is It Still Called Montezuma’s Revenge If You Are In India?
As to my internship, I have been working one-on-one with Shubhra Chatterji, a woman working on two scripts for Samar Khan. One script is due to Samar this weekend and my part in it is finished, as far as I can tell (that is the one I talked about in my last entry). I wrote a set of scenes for a character added between versions one and two of the script, and hopefully some of them will make it to the final draft. Again, I do not know how much I am allowed to say about the specifics of what I’m working on, so I will again simply leave it as reminding me of Joiux Noel.
The second script was written by Shubhra, and has essentially been given over to me to do with as I please. She has gotten to the point with which I am very familiar where you have looked at something for too long, far too many times, and you just can’t work on it anymore. So what I am doing now is going through a mostly formed script, editing where necessary and writing scenes that were only outlined. It’s a lot of fun working on someone else’s script, where the story is already formed, and I am merely editing it. It’s interesting getting into someone else’s writing style to create dialog that sounds like theirs. Not only is this internship giving me great experience, I think I am becoming a better writer because of it.
Finally, I have been sick for the past few days. I have, in fact, visited the bathroom one time for each cockroach that Hannah has smashed with a frying pan – that analogy will only be fully understood by the other people living in Emerald 2. I’m pretty sure that the water we were given at Farah Khan’s house was not, as I assumed, mineral water, but was in fact straight from the tap and therefore deadly to me. As a result, I have been working from the apartment for the last two days, writing, attempting to keep hydrated, and sleeping. Not so much with the fun. Hope to get better soon.
The second script was written by Shubhra, and has essentially been given over to me to do with as I please. She has gotten to the point with which I am very familiar where you have looked at something for too long, far too many times, and you just can’t work on it anymore. So what I am doing now is going through a mostly formed script, editing where necessary and writing scenes that were only outlined. It’s a lot of fun working on someone else’s script, where the story is already formed, and I am merely editing it. It’s interesting getting into someone else’s writing style to create dialog that sounds like theirs. Not only is this internship giving me great experience, I think I am becoming a better writer because of it.
Finally, I have been sick for the past few days. I have, in fact, visited the bathroom one time for each cockroach that Hannah has smashed with a frying pan – that analogy will only be fully understood by the other people living in Emerald 2. I’m pretty sure that the water we were given at Farah Khan’s house was not, as I assumed, mineral water, but was in fact straight from the tap and therefore deadly to me. As a result, I have been working from the apartment for the last two days, writing, attempting to keep hydrated, and sleeping. Not so much with the fun. Hope to get better soon.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Farah Khan
Today Shubhra was not in the office (her mother was in Mumbai for the weekend), so Samar Khan (her boss) took me to a meeting. This meeting happened to be with Farah Khan at her house about the show I just went to yesterday! So awesome. Samar had me essentially be his assistant, so I sat there quietly and took notes while Samar, Farah and her assistant discussed who else they wanted on the show.
Apparently Aamir Khan is out because a) he is a perfectionist and does not do talk shows b) he is stuck up and thinks that it is beneath him and c) he and SRK hate each other, and will do nothing associated with the other. I don’t know about the middle reason, but he is notorious for not doing publicity and the two actors do hate each other, so it seems like a fairly valid assumption to say that Aamir Khan will not be on Tere Mere Beech Mein.
It was really cool to listen to people in the media industry talk about actors, and I actually surprised myself with how many names I recognized (people as high up as they are use first names only, so it was rather like hearing people talking about George, Brad, Leo, Denzel – that kind of thing). The show is not a straight up talk show like Ellen or the Tonight show – it has a set topic and then they pick an actor or two who fit the topic of the week. For instance, yesterday’s show was about ‘hen-pecked husbands’, which I assume SRK supposedly is. They are looking to get Salman Khan (I know, seriously, everyone in Bollywood has the last name Khan) and his mother to do a ‘mama’s boy’ episode, and stuff like that.
Just watching the working dynamic was really cool, as they threw ideas back and forth at each other. Something else that struck me, and I doubt that it was just for my benefit, was the fact that they spoke almost exclusively in English. It is obvious that, in India, the more educated the person, the better their English, but even at the shoot yesterday the majority of the interview was in Hindi. I really don’t know the reason for their using English, not that I minded, since it let me understand the conversation.
Also, her kids are freaking adorable. They are about one and a half now (I think they were born last February) and they all came toddling in at one point, each with their own nanny and Farah, who is normally quite a bear of a woman, pulled them all onto her lap and sang them Ringa, Ringa from Slumdog Millionaire.
After the meeting Samar and I went back to Whistling Woods and I sat in on his lecture (he teaches there in addition to about a million other things) about the start of the television Industry in India. I took notes on that, so I won’t bother to write them here, but suffice it to say he is a very good teacher, and I wish he taught at Newhouse.
Apparently Aamir Khan is out because a) he is a perfectionist and does not do talk shows b) he is stuck up and thinks that it is beneath him and c) he and SRK hate each other, and will do nothing associated with the other. I don’t know about the middle reason, but he is notorious for not doing publicity and the two actors do hate each other, so it seems like a fairly valid assumption to say that Aamir Khan will not be on Tere Mere Beech Mein.
It was really cool to listen to people in the media industry talk about actors, and I actually surprised myself with how many names I recognized (people as high up as they are use first names only, so it was rather like hearing people talking about George, Brad, Leo, Denzel – that kind of thing). The show is not a straight up talk show like Ellen or the Tonight show – it has a set topic and then they pick an actor or two who fit the topic of the week. For instance, yesterday’s show was about ‘hen-pecked husbands’, which I assume SRK supposedly is. They are looking to get Salman Khan (I know, seriously, everyone in Bollywood has the last name Khan) and his mother to do a ‘mama’s boy’ episode, and stuff like that.
Just watching the working dynamic was really cool, as they threw ideas back and forth at each other. Something else that struck me, and I doubt that it was just for my benefit, was the fact that they spoke almost exclusively in English. It is obvious that, in India, the more educated the person, the better their English, but even at the shoot yesterday the majority of the interview was in Hindi. I really don’t know the reason for their using English, not that I minded, since it let me understand the conversation.
Also, her kids are freaking adorable. They are about one and a half now (I think they were born last February) and they all came toddling in at one point, each with their own nanny and Farah, who is normally quite a bear of a woman, pulled them all onto her lap and sang them Ringa, Ringa from Slumdog Millionaire.
After the meeting Samar and I went back to Whistling Woods and I sat in on his lecture (he teaches there in addition to about a million other things) about the start of the television Industry in India. I took notes on that, so I won’t bother to write them here, but suffice it to say he is a very good teacher, and I wish he taught at Newhouse.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
King Khan
Today we got to see the king of Bollywood himself, Mr. Shah Rukh Khan. We went to the filming of an episode of Tere Mere Beech Mein (You, Me and Us) – Farah Khan’s new talk show. Farah Khan, incidentally, is one of the most influential female directors in India, and recently directed the blockbuster Om Shanti Om. She also gave birth to triplets last year – the woman is probably a superhero. Anyway… the show is still in preproduction and we were at the filming of one of the first episodes.
Now, on the one hand, it was way cool to be in the presence of both Farah Khan and Shah Rukh Khan (no relation – Khan is the Smith of the Muslim world, and almost everyone in Bollywood is Muslim) and be in the audience at the filming of a talk show (meaning that if and when it airs, we will be visible). On the other hand almost everything was in Hindi, the air conditioning broke and it was (no exaggeration) well over 100 degrees inside, the only water available was tap, so we couldn’t drink it and the (very poorly organized) shoot was over seven hours long.
Actually, it’s more than that, since Kate and I left the shoot early about 45 minutes ago, and no one else is back yet. Kate thought she was going to pass out, and I didn’t have a whole lot of interest in staying, so I took a rickshaw back to the apartments with her and took a very long, cold shower. That last bit is kind of redundant, as the only type of showers we can take are cold showers – there is no hot water in the bathroom. Not that we need it mind you, it’s just worth mentioning.
So yea, it was a fun experience, and it will certainly be cool to be able to say that yes, I saw SRK, but I will not regret leaving that sauna early.
Now, on the one hand, it was way cool to be in the presence of both Farah Khan and Shah Rukh Khan (no relation – Khan is the Smith of the Muslim world, and almost everyone in Bollywood is Muslim) and be in the audience at the filming of a talk show (meaning that if and when it airs, we will be visible). On the other hand almost everything was in Hindi, the air conditioning broke and it was (no exaggeration) well over 100 degrees inside, the only water available was tap, so we couldn’t drink it and the (very poorly organized) shoot was over seven hours long.
Actually, it’s more than that, since Kate and I left the shoot early about 45 minutes ago, and no one else is back yet. Kate thought she was going to pass out, and I didn’t have a whole lot of interest in staying, so I took a rickshaw back to the apartments with her and took a very long, cold shower. That last bit is kind of redundant, as the only type of showers we can take are cold showers – there is no hot water in the bathroom. Not that we need it mind you, it’s just worth mentioning.
So yea, it was a fun experience, and it will certainly be cool to be able to say that yes, I saw SRK, but I will not regret leaving that sauna early.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Cardboard Box - Here I Come!
Just got back from my first day at my internship and OH MY GOD, I’m in love. I probably shouldn’t talk in detail about what I’m working on, rights and all that, but let’s just say that I am helping edit and creating character sketches for a screenplay that will soon be pitched to a film studio. And I love it!
The story is wonderful – reminds me strongly of Joyeux Noël which, as a favorite of mine, is a great comparison. It is set on the India-Pakistan border and documents both sides forming friendships during a cease-fire. The characters have a lot of potential to be very interesting and well rounded, and it looks like it will be my job to round them out. Exciting!
I feel like such a dork for being this excited about writing – my heart is literally pounding and I’m grinning like mad and all I did today was stare at a computer screen for 6 hours straight, but I guess that’s a good sign, as I want to be doing this for the next 80 years or so.
So tomorrow I get to go back and work on creating people out of names and ideas, and try to really figure out this story – did I mention that all the dialogue is in Hindi, which I don’t speak? Oh well, lol.
The story is wonderful – reminds me strongly of Joyeux Noël which, as a favorite of mine, is a great comparison. It is set on the India-Pakistan border and documents both sides forming friendships during a cease-fire. The characters have a lot of potential to be very interesting and well rounded, and it looks like it will be my job to round them out. Exciting!
I feel like such a dork for being this excited about writing – my heart is literally pounding and I’m grinning like mad and all I did today was stare at a computer screen for 6 hours straight, but I guess that’s a good sign, as I want to be doing this for the next 80 years or so.
So tomorrow I get to go back and work on creating people out of names and ideas, and try to really figure out this story – did I mention that all the dialogue is in Hindi, which I don’t speak? Oh well, lol.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Bitchy Day
Didn’t do much today besides watching some of the music video filming
and watch a Brazilian perform Indian classical dance to, get this, a bunch of Indians.
Maybe they need to be taught their own dance by foreigners because they are spending too much time dancing to T-PAIN! Sorry, really bitchy today. It’s far to hot for a native Syracusian to handle. Shower time.
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| Fuck you, Apple Bottom Jeans, I hated you in America, and I hate you even more here. |
- Definitely not Indian.
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Beer + Heat = Sleep
This entry will be even shorter than the last, since I’m fucking EXHAUSTED! First we had a long and boring tour of a TV film set, where we learned nothing that we didn’t already know about shooting – filming is a long and boring process. Next we had a long but interesting lecture from Sabyasachi Bose, a production designer who did, among other things, the sets of Omkara and Dil Chata Hai. Tres cool.
After that we went to Juhu beach, where we
1) were blatantly stared at by EVERYONE
2) had fake henna done that burned my arm
3) saw an evil monkey bite a baby
4) saw another baby buried in the sand to his waist by his parents and then
5) had dinner.
I had a Carlsburg with dinner, which turned out to be a mistake cause we then saw a play.
The play itself was actually really awesome – called Mahadevbhai, by Ranu Ramanathan, it’s about a friend of Ghandi’s. Very well written. Mental note – get a copy of the play. And the guy acting in it (it’s a one man play) was AMAZING. But it was late, and we were all tired, and had had beer, so we all fell asleep. Oh well. Now I need to go to bed for real.
After that we went to Juhu beach, where we
1) were blatantly stared at by EVERYONE
2) had fake henna done that burned my arm
- Henna!
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- Evil Monkey
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5) had dinner.
I had a Carlsburg with dinner, which turned out to be a mistake cause we then saw a play.
The play itself was actually really awesome – called Mahadevbhai, by Ranu Ramanathan, it’s about a friend of Ghandi’s. Very well written. Mental note – get a copy of the play. And the guy acting in it (it’s a one man play) was AMAZING. But it was late, and we were all tired, and had had beer, so we all fell asleep. Oh well. Now I need to go to bed for real.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Like a Violin... But Not
This morning we had a performance by Naviin Gandharv, who plays an instrument called a belabahaarr – invented by his father, it is a cross between a violin and a sitar, and it is the only one of it’s kind. Because of its similarities with a violin, it is much easier to play than an actual sitar. It is the same relative size and shape as a violin, with the top of the body made of goatskin and with much smaller resonating holes – this makes the sound much softer. There are five main strings that can all be played, and 22 much smaller ones that stretch across the body under the bridge and are not played, but resonate with the rest of the instrument. He and a man playing the tabla – Indian drums – performed for almost two hours. Afterwards, I was allowed to try out the belabahaarr. Very awesome.
The lecture that we had after that was from Anjum Rajabali, a professor of screenwriting. His insight into the screenwriting field in general was fascinating, and he was definitely the most animated and articulate person we have yet heard speak. He talked for quite a while on screenwriting, as well as ranting about Syd Field, which made me laugh, cause I’m not the biggest Syd Field fan either. I’d write more about it, but I’m tired, and I have notes already. So sleep now.
- Playing the belabahaarr.
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Apple Bottom Jeans is the WORST SONG EVER.
Oh. My. God. If I EVER hear the song Apple Bottom Jeans again, I will shoot myself. No joke. This morning we did an acting video workshop – which really means that we danced hip-hop for four hours. Well, the class danced for four hours – not too many of us lasted the whole time. There was a very Twilight Zone-ish moment when I first walked into the room to find a guy in a bandana break dancing to T-Pain. That comes in second only to that Indian RSA last summer dancing to Footloose. I think the workshop might have been easier to deal with had we been prepared for it, and, say, brought other clothes to change into. As it was, I at least was dancing in jeans and a nice shirt, which quickly became a not-so-nice sweat soaked clingy tent thing. It’s really difficult to remain attractive for more than 23 seconds at a time when the average temperature is 98 with 546% humidity (that humidity part I made up, but it’s what it feels like).
After a looong dance class, we listened to Ravi Gupta, the CEO of Mukta Arts and Executive Director of WWI speak about the business of Indian Cinema. It was really interesting to learn that although Hollywood movies have been present in India for over 75 years, revenue for those movies only makes up 4% of the box office. India has the only industry besides the US that has such a strong cinema home-base. It was also fascinating to realize that what started an interest in TV in India was live coverage of the First Gulf War.
Next we heard a lecture from Somnath Sen, a director and writer for HOD direction. He spoke about making a film on the Indian Diaspora. He talked about people making films about the Diaspora, for the Diaspora and Diaspora filmmakers making films about themselves. I found the most interesting thing he had to say was who made Indians mainstream in the US – Apu from The Simpsons. He has a crazy family, a hard job, he’s funny, so he’s relatable. He just happens to be Indian as well.
After all those lectures, we had a screening of Karz – a Rishi Kapoor film. Considering how exhausted and jet lagged we all were, most of us fell asleep through at least part of the movie, but what I saw was OK. It is the movie that Om Shanti Om is based on, and from which the first scene is taken. The main issue I had with it was how dated it was – the style screamed 70s and it was terribly melodramatic. I know I should not hope for subtlety in Bollywood movies, but something that over the top irritates me. It’s like the filmmaker has no faith in the intelligence of the audience. Whatever, need to pass out now.
After a looong dance class, we listened to Ravi Gupta, the CEO of Mukta Arts and Executive Director of WWI speak about the business of Indian Cinema. It was really interesting to learn that although Hollywood movies have been present in India for over 75 years, revenue for those movies only makes up 4% of the box office. India has the only industry besides the US that has such a strong cinema home-base. It was also fascinating to realize that what started an interest in TV in India was live coverage of the First Gulf War.
Next we heard a lecture from Somnath Sen, a director and writer for HOD direction. He spoke about making a film on the Indian Diaspora. He talked about people making films about the Diaspora, for the Diaspora and Diaspora filmmakers making films about themselves. I found the most interesting thing he had to say was who made Indians mainstream in the US – Apu from The Simpsons. He has a crazy family, a hard job, he’s funny, so he’s relatable. He just happens to be Indian as well.
After all those lectures, we had a screening of Karz – a Rishi Kapoor film. Considering how exhausted and jet lagged we all were, most of us fell asleep through at least part of the movie, but what I saw was OK. It is the movie that Om Shanti Om is based on, and from which the first scene is taken. The main issue I had with it was how dated it was – the style screamed 70s and it was terribly melodramatic. I know I should not hope for subtlety in Bollywood movies, but something that over the top irritates me. It’s like the filmmaker has no faith in the intelligence of the audience. Whatever, need to pass out now.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Whistling Woods Institute
Regardless of my last entry, I am so far enjoying my stay in India. Today was our first at Whistling Woods Institute, and goodness, was it a long day. I was awake at 7am, still not quite un-jetlagged, and we did not leave WWI until about 8pm. First we took a tour of the school – the facilities here are amazing, and if I had interest in production, I would be very into the idea of going here for graduate school. Ironically, the only thing they do not seem to stress here is screenwriting, which, from what I can tell, is a rather neglected aspect of Indian cinema. A story or concept will be formulated, and the script written along with filming. The idea of writing a full script and making the movie from there seems like a relatively uncommon practice. Anyway, I digress.
We were given talks by the Dean of Whistling Woods, John Lee, an American who somehow ended up here, Anil Zankar, a professor for Film Appreciation, and Rahul Puri, the Executive Director of Mukta Arts Limited. They all had interesting things to say, and made some points that I had not thought of before. For instance, Mr. Zankar compared Hindi cinema to Indian food – a full Indian meal is served all at once, with all courses on the same plate. That is what film is like too – the sweet, the sour and the spicy all together.
In the evening, by a pure chance of fate, we got to meet with Loveleen Tanden, the co-director of Slumdog Millionaire. She is one of the nicest, most down to earth people I have ever met, and being able to talk with her was a great privilege. In a sense she created her position as co-director as she began simply as the casting director, and then became so involved in the making of the film that she was given her own crew. I’m really glad we got to meet her – made for a very good start to the trip.
We were given talks by the Dean of Whistling Woods, John Lee, an American who somehow ended up here, Anil Zankar, a professor for Film Appreciation, and Rahul Puri, the Executive Director of Mukta Arts Limited. They all had interesting things to say, and made some points that I had not thought of before. For instance, Mr. Zankar compared Hindi cinema to Indian food – a full Indian meal is served all at once, with all courses on the same plate. That is what film is like too – the sweet, the sour and the spicy all together.
In the evening, by a pure chance of fate, we got to meet with Loveleen Tanden, the co-director of Slumdog Millionaire. She is one of the nicest, most down to earth people I have ever met, and being able to talk with her was a great privilege. In a sense she created her position as co-director as she began simply as the casting director, and then became so involved in the making of the film that she was given her own crew. I’m really glad we got to meet her – made for a very good start to the trip.
Monday, May 18, 2009
I Wanna Go Hooome!
My bedroom smells like pigeon, the bathroom ceiling is caving in, and there is a gecko on the wall! Welcome to India. Also, we have not gotten the internet to work yet, and even when we do my three roommates and I will be sharing one internet connection, so skyping is pretty much out. This location is not really conducive to keeping in touch with the outside world. Also, apparently dirty clothes attract cockroaches, so now I have to worry about that too. Agh! I’ve been here two days and I am already aching for American civilization.
I’m also aching for Dave – I really don’t do well without physical human contact, and he is essentially my only outlet, so the lack of him is very noticeable and quite painful. I can’t sleep without another body next to mine to hold and keep me warm, and I miss his touch on a very basic level – I miss his arms and soft kisses on the back of my neck and waking in the morning and making passionate love. It was very startling at first to hear that while all of the other girls on the trip have boyfriends, they seem unperturbed by the distance. I have to remind myself that I am in love with my best friend, and we spend more time together than many married couples, so the attachment is naturally stronger. Which is not a bad thing at all, but it makes this even harder.
I’m also aching for Dave – I really don’t do well without physical human contact, and he is essentially my only outlet, so the lack of him is very noticeable and quite painful. I can’t sleep without another body next to mine to hold and keep me warm, and I miss his touch on a very basic level – I miss his arms and soft kisses on the back of my neck and waking in the morning and making passionate love. It was very startling at first to hear that while all of the other girls on the trip have boyfriends, they seem unperturbed by the distance. I have to remind myself that I am in love with my best friend, and we spend more time together than many married couples, so the attachment is naturally stronger. Which is not a bad thing at all, but it makes this even harder.
First Day in India
Just a quick recap of the day: did not sleep well last night, the room was very cold, the mattress very hard, and I am used to sleeping with another body next to mine, and not having that feels very wrong. After a breakfast of cereal and chicken tikka pizza (gotta love India) we drove in Mumbai proper and shopped. First stop was a street market where we bought clothes for ridiculously low prices (150 rupees for a shirt is about $3). It almost seemed wrong to haggle with the vendors – what’s a few dollars to me when they probably need it a lot more, but they seemed to look down on people who didn’t try to get a bargain. Got four tops (one doesn’t fit, must go to Rachel, the pixie), a pair of Indian leggings and a skirt for the equivalent of about $20.
After that we drove to a large shopping mall where we got lunch and bought groceries. There was something very surreal about standing in a grocery store in Mumbai and listening to what appeared to be the disco karaoke station – ABBA, the Beegees and the Village People seem a whole lot weirder when everyone around you is speaking not English. Speaking of surreal, one thing that boggles my mind is the fact that all signage and billboard ads are in English. All of them! Some have Hindi translations, but most don’t. This makes sense for ads – as someone pointed out, who but the educated and English speaking would be rich enough to afford perfume? – but even the command “Honk Ok Please” on the back of all trucks? This, incidentally, is to tell people driving behind the truck to honk and let the truck driver know of their presence, since side mirrors seem nonexistent.
Must sleep now – we are waking up early tomorrow and will be meeting Loveleen Tanden!
After that we drove to a large shopping mall where we got lunch and bought groceries. There was something very surreal about standing in a grocery store in Mumbai and listening to what appeared to be the disco karaoke station – ABBA, the Beegees and the Village People seem a whole lot weirder when everyone around you is speaking not English. Speaking of surreal, one thing that boggles my mind is the fact that all signage and billboard ads are in English. All of them! Some have Hindi translations, but most don’t. This makes sense for ads – as someone pointed out, who but the educated and English speaking would be rich enough to afford perfume? – but even the command “Honk Ok Please” on the back of all trucks? This, incidentally, is to tell people driving behind the truck to honk and let the truck driver know of their presence, since side mirrors seem nonexistent.
Must sleep now – we are waking up early tomorrow and will be meeting Loveleen Tanden!
Dinner
Tula requested a blog post about finger bowls – I shall give her a haiku:
Warm water with lime.
Dip your fingers in the bowl;
Now, digest your meal.
Warm water with lime.
Dip your fingers in the bowl;
Now, digest your meal.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Mumbai
Mumbai is a place of juxtapositions. It is a third world country, make no mistake, but it is also a highly developed one, and this contrast is startling. To exit a large shopping mall and encounter an emaciated family begging for change; to drive through city streets amongst Audis and BMWs and see women sorting through trash and children hauling bricks by wheelbarrow; it makes one wonder how this is possible.
There is no middle ground – there is rich and there is poor, and the poor is far more so than I have ever seen. I have seen women and children begging for money before, but that was in Europe, where the poor are relatively few and far between, and therefore better fed. Here, there are simply too many. There is not enough charity to go around, and the result is abject poverty for a fairly large percentage of the population. The thing that kills is that there really isn’t anything I can do. I gave a young girl some money today, and then took her picture, and I think that is what I will continue to do – in the hopes that someone might get some food they otherwise would not have, and so maybe by seeing a photo more people will begin to care that there is something seriously wrong with the way we live.
There is no middle ground – there is rich and there is poor, and the poor is far more so than I have ever seen. I have seen women and children begging for money before, but that was in Europe, where the poor are relatively few and far between, and therefore better fed. Here, there are simply too many. There is not enough charity to go around, and the result is abject poverty for a fairly large percentage of the population. The thing that kills is that there really isn’t anything I can do. I gave a young girl some money today, and then took her picture, and I think that is what I will continue to do – in the hopes that someone might get some food they otherwise would not have, and so maybe by seeing a photo more people will begin to care that there is something seriously wrong with the way we live.
Happy Birthday?
I am now in my (freezing cold, how does one turn down the AC?) apartment in Mumbai. I am sharing a room with Liz, with Aamir and Jill in the other bedroom. Our rooms are basic, with two beds and a closet, one drawer each, and a bathroom. It’s kind of like being in the dorms again, only on the other side of the world.
It took a while for the idea of being in India to set it. All airports look alike, so other than the fact that everyone besides us was Indian, there was nothing to distinguish the Mumbai airport from Newark. It was not until we walked outside that the difference literally hit me in the face. 10 pm, and it was 92 degrees. Hot and humid enough that you could almost take a shower just by standing outside – not that you’d want to, since you can practically smell the pollution. Small, mangy dogs prowl the streets, and entire families walk hand-in-hand along the side of the road – where they could be going at this hour, I don’t know.
Shopping tomorrow – I wonder what else I shall see. Also, I turned 22 an hour ago. I am very lonely.
It took a while for the idea of being in India to set it. All airports look alike, so other than the fact that everyone besides us was Indian, there was nothing to distinguish the Mumbai airport from Newark. It was not until we walked outside that the difference literally hit me in the face. 10 pm, and it was 92 degrees. Hot and humid enough that you could almost take a shower just by standing outside – not that you’d want to, since you can practically smell the pollution. Small, mangy dogs prowl the streets, and entire families walk hand-in-hand along the side of the road – where they could be going at this hour, I don’t know.
Shopping tomorrow – I wonder what else I shall see. Also, I turned 22 an hour ago. I am very lonely.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
On the Plane to Mumbai!
Have been on this plane for eleven hours now, and was actually able to sleep for about seven of those.
There’s not much to say really: the food was the best I’ve ever had on a flight (granted, that’s not saying much), there is an appalling Spanish woman in the row in front of me who yelled at everyone for the first few hours, and a couple of amazingly well behaved children behind me. Seriously – they are about two and three, and have been wonderfully quite the whole time. Maybe it’s just American children who are evil.
We are flying over the Middle East now – I’m not sure where exactly, all I can see are mountains and desert.
I’m watching The Notebook, which is probably a mistake since I already miss Dave incredibly. I know I’m going to have a blast this next month, but I can’t help already looking forward to being held again.
There’s not much to say really: the food was the best I’ve ever had on a flight (granted, that’s not saying much), there is an appalling Spanish woman in the row in front of me who yelled at everyone for the first few hours, and a couple of amazingly well behaved children behind me. Seriously – they are about two and three, and have been wonderfully quite the whole time. Maybe it’s just American children who are evil.
We are flying over the Middle East now – I’m not sure where exactly, all I can see are mountains and desert.
I’m watching The Notebook, which is probably a mistake since I already miss Dave incredibly. I know I’m going to have a blast this next month, but I can’t help already looking forward to being held again.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Pre-departure
Considering that I am still in my apartment in Syracuse, where it is blustery and cold, and not in Mumbai, where, in my mind, it is hot and sunny, the air smelling of coconut and spices, there is not really much for me to say. I am still packing, so this is allowing me to finally contemplate the trip. The past two weeks have been filled with stress and heartbreak, and I have had no time to think about India, let alone look forward to it. I know that I will fall in love with the country once I get there, but at the moment, I still need to find high SPF sunscreen and comfortable shoes.
Two of my friends in high school helped me fall in love with the idea of India – the colorful clothing, the elaborate religions, the beautiful language, the delicious food. Without them, I would never have taken Hindi my freshman year at SU, and may not have had the interest needed to apply to this program. For that, Aparna and Kamini, I thank you.
I don’t quite know what else to say. In the next two days I must finish packing, say goodbye to my family and Dave, drive to Newark and fly to Mumbai. It’s quite a lot to take in.
Do you think Aamir Khan will meet me at the airport?
Two of my friends in high school helped me fall in love with the idea of India – the colorful clothing, the elaborate religions, the beautiful language, the delicious food. Without them, I would never have taken Hindi my freshman year at SU, and may not have had the interest needed to apply to this program. For that, Aparna and Kamini, I thank you.
I don’t quite know what else to say. In the next two days I must finish packing, say goodbye to my family and Dave, drive to Newark and fly to Mumbai. It’s quite a lot to take in.
Do you think Aamir Khan will meet me at the airport?
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