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Bollywood Blag

Posted on August 22, 2007
Filed Under The Stories |

He arrived in Bollywood like so many aspirants before him, alone and clueless. He was shocked to find so many people clustered in so little place. He was impressed to find so many movie screens catering to such a small geographical area. He was heartened to see the logos of major motion picture and television production houses lighting up the skyline. He was disappointed to learn that there was no easy access to the insides of most of those places. He had all the doubts and fears of the average Bollywood aspirant while feeling none of their hope.

Perhaps because he was not an aspiring star. Nor was he a man in search of funding to realise his own cinematic vision. He was just a photo-journalist, chosen by his bosses in Germany, to live and work in Mumbai for a few months. He was expected to capture the essence of the celluloid dream factory in pictures and words and bring back enough material for a series of articles detailing the Indian people’s odd fascination with movies, movie stars and anything else that spelt glitz or glamour on any scale.

His name was Mattheus and he had been transported into his own version of hell.

Before he left Berlin, Mattheus had watched about fifteen minutes of one Hindi film. He couldn’t remember its name or what it was about. When he had once tried to engage an Indian friend in discussion about Indian cinema the girl had giggled and said, “Bollywood excels at crass commercialism without a soul on a scale the Americans would be too scared to try for fear of lawsuits accusing them of intentionally defrauding the paying public with false advertising. All Indian movies are the same, and completely shit. Which is why I only watch European arthouse cinema.” He trusted her judgment on a lot of things so the memory of her words brought him little comfort during his early days in Mumbai.

After several attempts to speak to low-level executives at some of the TV and movie studios were met with stonewalling of a kind he hadn’t seen since his last political assignment, he met a family member of the girl he left behind in Germany. The young man, an affable chap named Aditya, offered to take him out for beers one evening and though he hadn’t meant to, Mattheus started unloading his problems on his new acquaintance. He began by telling him how frustrating it was to simply pick up the phone and call a studio. He relived in great detail the horrors of hold music, postponements that turned into cancellations when he was en route to the meeting and the sheer inaccessibility of the people who somehow managed to be everywhere, in the media as well as life, yet seemed so out of reach at the same time.

Aditya thought about it all when Mattheus paused to take a sip of his beer and said, “But isn’t that exactly how the glamour world is supposed to be?”

Mattheus shrugged, “I suppose…but I’m not a fan or a sycophant of some kind. I am a professional in good standing in my country, just trying to do my job.”

“Exactly. In your country. Bollywood doesn’t know you and Bollywood cannot see the benefit of spending time with you just now. At least the flunkies in Bollywood can’t so naturally their bosses don’t even know that you exist. All you need is for one big name to agree to give you his or her time and before you know it they will be calling you.”

Mattheus seemed unconvinced, “Really? Is that how it works?”

Aditya continued to wear the air of a patient educator as he said, “Bollywood is really about stories. Which is a really funny thing to say considering that you can’t actually find a story in most of the movies we make…”

Mattheus looked confused, “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s important to spin yourself a story just like all of these people.”

Mattheus stiffened slightly, “Wait, are you saying that these people are from Bollywood?”

Aditya looked around the room. At a corner table there was a quartet of PYTs sipping drinks and giggling as loudly as college girls. At the table right next to theirs two men in their forties were watching their every move with greater interest than a snake pays to the mouse dropped into its cage for lunch. Several people were leaning up against the various walls of the establishment engaged in all kinds of conversations. Greasy-haired young men were chatting up women who looked old enough to be aunts (if not mothers) and pot-bellied men wearing broad smiles, Bluetooth-headsets and jewelry sidled up to the least-dressed semi-attractive women they could see. After he had let his own eyes linger on a particularly fetching young thing he turned to Mattheus and nodded, “Of course. What did you think?”

The German photographer shrugged, “I just thought it was a bar where people hung out after work.”

“It is, but it is also a place that Bollywood is frequenting this month.”

“I don’t follow.”

“This is a brand new bar so the management has made arrangements with various celebrities and semi-celebrities to hang out in this place so that they will be photographed here for the society pages of various newspapers.”

Mattheus leaned away slightly and made the same face most people made when they were first faced with an example of crass commercialism at its worst, “Come on, no! I don’t believe it. That cannot be true. You’re saying all these people are paid to be here?”

Aditya scanned the room, thought about it for a moment and shook his head, “No. Not at all. Most of these people are paying for their drinks but that guy and that woman and those two over there…they are here to up the visibility of this place. Even if you actually see them putting money down they will be reimbursed in some way or the other before the night is over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, use your imagination.”

“Are you saying they will be paid with sex?”

“Sex, booze, drugs, food, actual cash back…who knows.”

“It all seems so…seedy.”

“Welcome to Bollywood my friend.”

Mattheus nodded and drained his beer, “I guess that helps a little bit. To know how it all works.”

Aditya allowed himself a private laugh and clapped a palm on Mattheus’s shoulder, “No my friend. You never know how it works. The ground keeps shifting under everybody and today’s star is driving someone else car tomorrow. If you remain in there long enough you learn how to stay alive. Survival, that’s all it is really about. Like life. Most of these people are smart and good and they would prefer not to sleep around or give blowjobs in trailers or parking lots. A few of them might still feel that it is only their hard work that will make them successful. But it’s the ones who actually live their lives without blinkers who manage to ‘make it’ (whatever that means) while the rest of them struggle until the veil is lifted or until they are so defeated that they give up and leave. Exactly like life.”

“Still doesn’t show me a way to do my job.”

“Do you have your equipment with you?”

“Yes…why?”

“Can you shoot in this light and make it look interesting?”

Mattheus looked around, framed a few shots in his head, considered a couple of exposures, mapped out a few perspectives and nodded, “I could.”

Aditya got to his feet, “Bring your camera. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“You can thank me later.”

Aditya squeezed his way through a group of tank top and jeans-clad girls and smiled appreciatively at a couple of them before hovering over a stocky man sharing a drink with a girl who looked ready to grace the cover of a video advertising barely legal girls. With just the right amount of unctuousness he thrust his right hand out and said, “Ram, hi! Aditya.”

The seated man smiled and shook the proffered hand, “Hello,” so Aditya went right into his spiel, “This is my friend Mattheus Voss and he’s in Mumbai to shoot the big shots in the industry. He’s already finished sessions with several major players and he wanted to get a few semi-candid shots with you, if it’s okay.”

The filmmaker looked a little surprised, “Right now?”

“If you don’t mind. It will only take a few minutes and I’m sure Mattheus would be happy to share some of the pictures with you.”

He looked at the photographer for confirmation and all the tall blonde man could do was nod in agreement. The filmmaker thought for just a moment, studiously avoiding the eyes of his companion while he did so and then he said, “Sure, why not. This will appear in Mumbai?”

“No. Germany.”

The filmmaker looked immediately more agreeable and within minutes Mattheus was snapping him from every conceivable angle. When his subject had lightened up enough Aditya even suggested a couple of shots where the bare leg of the director’s companion was draped across his lap and around his neck. Aditya even suggested a picture of the man’s head framed by his date’s cleavage and though she was all for it, Mattheus balked at the idea. Half-an-hour later Mattheus had his shots and the filmmaker’s personal cellphone number with the instruction to ‘get in touch anytime’.

Mattheus called a waiter over and asked for their bill while he packed his gear away. A few minutes later the manager arrived and said, “The drinks are on the house sir. All we request is a credit for the bar when the pictures are printed.”

Aditya smiled and Mattheus joined him, patted the manager on the shoulder and said, “Thank you. I think I’m going to like it here in Bollywood.”

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