Katrina Kaif
gyrates inside the plasma screen. She turns her body towards the viewer and
raises her leg in rhythmic intervals. A small bottle that is passed off as a
quarter of a local drink dangles from her narrow waist line. She pouts and
raises her eye brows alternatively. She is here to titillate and provoke. The
boys around her seem to be really provoked. Her movements are quite familiar because
these are the same movements choreographed for different item girls in the
Bollywood.
“Rakhee
Sawant could have done a better job,” says Alok and he turns around to see
Ishaan sleeping on the sofa. His head tilts towards the left and it presses
against his left hand folded into an unintended triangle. His right hand rests
on his chest that moves slowly up and down. He looks absolutely careless about
the situation.
“What am I
doing here?” Alok asks himself. He just does not understand the pace in which
things have been happening in his life. “I should say in our live,” he mutters
himself while looking at Ishaan. He wants to go, hug him and sleep by his side.
If possible he wants to get an entry into his dreams if at all his is having
some right now. In the next moment Alok feels like kicking Ishaan’s butt for
bringing him into this situation. He controls his urges to sleep or kick and
turns back to the television. Katrina has gone and her place has been taken by another
zero size girl who after doing an item number and some cameo appearances in a
couple of movies got married to Sunjay Dutt. What is her name?
Alok pulls
his hair and curses himself. “I should not forget names. I should not forget
events. If I want to become a film writer I should have a information in my
finger tips.”
The film is
Gangajal. Director is Prakash Jhah. I like Prakash Jha’s movies for the rawness
that he brings around in his film. Hero is Ajay Devgun. I love him. His droopy
eyes..oh my God. He has several teeth like Shashi Kapoor. Both of them smile
well. Shashi Kapoor was very thin when he came to movies. But then he bloated
like a drum towards the end of his career. Ajay Devgun has a great body. Unlike
many other super stars or what you call the Khans, he does not go gaga over his
physical assets. This must be because his father was a fight master. Ajay knows
his trade. One day I would like to work with him. Mukesh Tiwari acts as Baccha
Yadav. What a fantastic performance. Prakash Jha gives chance to most of the
National School of Drama graduated. The song happens when the villain, ‘Raju
Bhayya’ rapes a girl who has been abducted from her mother’s place.
And the thin
girl who dances is Manyata. Alok claps, gives a thumbs up to himself and feels
a lot happier than before. He wants to look at Ishaan again. But he holds
himself back for some other reason.
This is a
good situation, Alok tells himself. I could write an one liner right now. Any
producer would be interested to have such a wonderful story for his film. Why
don’t I suggest that the hero should be none other than Ajay Devgun?
Alok smiles
vacantly. He looks at the television again. This time he does not see anything
special there. Recent hit songs are played out one after another. Commercial
break is announced by two animated characters. At times they supply some
philosophical doses to the viewers if they wait at the same channels for the commercials
to finish and the songs to resume. Perhaps there are many like me, hopelessly
waiting for something to happen in one’s own life. People like me could look at
any channel for any long hours. The programs do not make much difference in our
lives. We need some sights and sounds to fill in our vacant moments. We hate
vacant moments.
‘I hate
vacant moments like hell’, Alok tells himself. The day he realized that he
hated vacant moments he had made a decision to fill them by conjuring up
characters and situations. In school friends called him ‘pagal’, a mad boy
because Alok’s lips kept moving when he was idle. He could sit still for long
hours but his lips moved fast. None could hear anything. But it was through
those silent lip movements the world inside Alok’s mind found expression in
some way.
The story of
the movie that I want to write could be something like this, Alok thinks. A
young man from Bhopal wants to become a film story writer. Like many others
with dreams to make it big in films, he too goes to Mumbai to try his luck. There
he meets a still photographer, Ishaan who interestingly has a degree in
engineering but pursues photography as his profession. Ishaan has access to
production houses and studios as he has earned a bit of fame as a still
photographer and a quick problem solver.
One day,
Ishaan takes this young man from Bhopal to meet a very famous producer, Mr.Taporwala,
where they meet another young corporate executive in a dapper suit. He looks
several times better than the normal heroes in Bollywood. Mr.Taporwala
introduces Ishaan to the corporate executive and in turn Ishaan introduces the
young man from Bhopal to the producer and the corporate executive. The young man
tells a story to the producer and the producer says that it is interesting but
a few more changes have to be done to make it a good film story. The young man
agrees to write the story with the changes in place. He takes an appointment to
come back and see the producer. The producer is somehow impressed by the young
man’s spirit and compassionately tells him to do a good job and if things work
out well, the story is going to be a script and then to a movie. The young man
from Bhopal is very happy and he wants to tell the producer that the hero of
the movie could be Ajay Devgun. But he keeps that suggestion for some other
time.
Parallel to
this talk between the film producer and the young man from Bhopal, another
conversation has been progressing between Ishaan and the corporate executive.
The man in his dapper suit tells Ishaan that he wants Ishaan to take some
photographs for him. Ishaan tells him that he likes to take the photographs of
the celebrities and people with exceptional talents even if they are not
celebrities. He tells the corporate executive that he has contributed photo
features to some mid day newspapers where he has taken the pictures of those
people who live a different kind of life in the city of Mumbai.
Ishaan tells
him the story of a woman who had lost her husband at the age of twenty. She was
from Bihar and was absolutely illiterate. Her husband worked in a mill at Lower
Parel. They were living in Borivili and he commuted everyday in the thickly
packed local train. On that fateful day he took a half day leave and came out
of the factory. He wanted to give a surprise to his young daughter who was
turning eight years on that day. The elder daughter was eleven and was good at
studies. The younger one too was showing a lot of promise. The girls had been
telling him to take them for the movie titled Chandini. In their school all the
girls wore white churidar which had become a fashion statement after the
release of that movie. This man wanted to buy two pairs of that white churidar
from a Borivili shop. He had already arranged money for it. He wanted to take
them to the movie in their new dress.
There was a
huge rush even if it was a sultry afternoon in Mumbai. Then the city had not
become Mumbai; it was still Bombay. He wanted to get out of the train at the
Borivili station. The crowd was not moving. Somehow he pushed his way through
the crowd. The train had already started moving. Without thinking twice he
jumped out. The fall was fatal. The acceleration was so high by that time he
was literally thrown from the train. His head hit at one of the iron pillars in
the platform and he collapsed. What reached the home at that evening was his
dead body.
My feature
was not about that incident, tells Ishaan. Perhaps I was not even born then, he
continues. My feature was about the woman who survived that incident. Or should
I call it an accident in her life? She did not die. The dead one did not know
what he had done to his family through that fatal jump. It was unintentional.
His jump was triggered by the love for his daughters. Whom to be blamed in such
situations? I don’t know. Anyway, my photo feature was not following that
thread. I got this story from someone and I thought I should give it a try and
I should follow it up and see where this woman has reached now. I got a thread
from a journalist friend. He told me that this woman’s life turned around
completely after that incident. She was running an orphanage.
An
orphanage? The executive exclaims. Yes, Ishaan tells him. She runs an orphanage
and she has already been quite famous in her own way. She her husband died she
was absolutely illiterate. After that fateful event, she not only educated her
daughters but also she educated herself and passed her school final
examinations as a private student. All these while she was working as a ‘bai’,
a house maid, who washed, cleaned and cooked for the office going Mumbaikars. The
story does not end there. She got a graduation in Hindi and did a diploma in a
Social Welfare studies. By that time her daughters had become district
collectors after passing the Indian Administrative Service examinations. The
this lady started running an orphanage. Quite unbelievable a story, right? I
was humbled and enamoured by the story. So I decided to do a photo feature,
Ishaan looks quite excited.
You are the
right person for me, says the executive. “I have been looking for someone who
could do some exceptional pictures of artists and their works. How about that?
Would you be interested to do some documentation of art works that I have been
collecting?” he asks. Ishaan looks at the young man from Bhopal who wants to go
back to the room as early as possible and start writing the story. Though he is
impatient, he takes some interest in the conversation between them. “I
understand that you are a writer. You too can join Ishaan. Why only movie
scripts? Why don’t you write something on art and artists? They too are as exciting
as film characters? If I put it in this way, the artists are funnier than the
film stars, in their vanity and pompousness. Why don’t you give it a try? Let’s
make a team. I started liking you guys,” the executive looks into our eyes.
Ishaan looks
at the young man from Bhopal and he returns the glance. Then together they look
at the young corporate executive. “Okay, let’s go for it,” Ishaan tells the
man. “But you have not yet told us where to do the documentation and what to
right,” the young man from Bhopal says. “I will tell you all those details
soon. Before that, let’s meet for a drink tonight at the Blue Frog. Is that okay
with you guys?” asks the executive. They nod. Mr.Taporwala looks our side from
his huge oak desk. He exchanges smile with the executive. The young men agree
with the executive for the drink date.
“Shiv, you are
now completely into it, man. I never thought you would become too passionate
about this collecting business,” Mr.Taporwala takes off his reading glass and
tells. Below his eyes they could see two bags like pelicans beak. “Tapi...you
are drinking off late too much,” says Shiv. For that Mr.Taporwala gives a
hollow laugh in return and goes back to his work.
“Alok...man..
what are you upto? Some new ideas?” Ishaan asks. Alok jumps up startled. “You
frightened the shit out me, man,” he says, launching a mock punch at Ishaan’s
stomach.
“Your lips
were moving like crazy and I knew something was on in your mind,” Ishaan
laughs.
“Yeah
man...I was just thinking about the whole situation. It would make a good
movie.”
“But still
we don’t know what we are upto. We have been with Shiv for almost five months
now. Apart from following this writer and doing some photographing of art
works, attending more and more boring exhibition openings, what have we done so
far? I just don’t understand this man. Something has been wrong all the time.
The man we are stalking and photographing does not look that simple as he
looks. Didn’t you look at his face when he was cradled inside the bean bag?
There is something more to him. Shiv wants to protect him because he knows too
much or Shiv wants to keep him as a shield in some deal. What do you think?”
Ishaan asks.
Alok is
silent. His lips move, slowly and then it catches up a different momentum. “That
man looks stupid to me, Ishaan. All these while we have been stalking him. And
look at those pictures in your camera. By the way, have you downloaded last
week’s pictures into your computer? Please do. Those pictures could give us
some clue. I want to see them again. Because I remember seeing that woman who
was sleeping with him that day. I had seen her somewhere else,” Alok whispers.
“But do you
have any clue about these people whom Shiv mentions as this man’s possible
assassins,” Ishaan asks.
“No idea,
Ishaan,” Alok looks at Ishaan. His eyes runs through the flowing locks of
Ishaan’s hair, long nose, fair complexion, red lips and a longer stubble. “Do
you know Ishaan, you look like Jesus Christ,” Alok laughs and Ishaan joins in
the mirth.
Then Ishaan’s
phone rings. He picks it up.
“What the
hell are you guys doing there? Rush to my apartment...NOW.” Shiv screams from
the other end.
(To be
Continued)
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