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.

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

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.

As TG would say, it was destiny.

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.

Yea, that's us behind him :)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Henna!

3) saw an evil monkey bite a baby

Evil Monkey

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.

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.

Playing the belabahaarr.

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.

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.

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.

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?