Sebastian, my current roommate from Germany that has a British accent, and I wake up around seven under the pretense that we are both going to be in a Bollywood film. After breakfast we wait in line to reserve our room for the following day and then wait for the “Talent Agent” to arrive. Upon his arrival he informs Sebastian that he does not need him for the day and sends me off with one of his men. I feel bad for Sebastian but he seemed to be fine with it.
They had promised me transportation to and from the shoot, which they provided, but I somehow expected a car or automobile of some sort. We walked through the streets in the rain till we found a taxi to take us to a train station. The train packs out with jostling business men, constantly joking with each other, slapping and jabbing each other. The man across from me asks me several things very quickly in Hindi then at my blank look, yells back to his friends, I assume telling them I don’t understand. At the Goregoan station we have trouble finding an Auto that is willing to take us the rest of the way to the studio. At last we reach.
The studio is five stories and the pseudo nice that a lot of places here tend to be, a mixture of nice touches amongst shoddy architecture. We enter the set, a very nice house with living room, kitchen, and bedrooms. The veranda is covered by tarps keeping the constant rain from falling on us, but everything is still wet. The crew ask me, “Did you bring a costume?” Umm, no. So they rush me downstairs in put me in a very Indian ‘nice’ youthful button up shirt. They serve me some breakfast, then I sit. I sit and sit. I wait for several hours in an uncomfortable wooden chair not knowing what was going on, but sitting next to Ravin, a regular background actor who was playing “a gay.” Eventually I get tired of sitting and wonder into the set and watch them filming. My contact is lounged comfortably on a couch on a landing above the set. I then spend my next few hours waiting there. After lunch and some more waiting they finally tell me its time for my shot.
Despite being told I would be a businessman and needed to be clean-shaven, I am a “foreign journalist making a documentary” in the young man’s hotel about the owner and his wife. For some reason the wife’s father yells at me. I have for lines, “Faltu? (crap?)” ”I do not want any public in here!” “ Great shot!” “Backup (which I think is like, that’s a wrap).” They even do a shot just of me saying the lines…ha. They seemed to like me, and after I did my lines the crew seemed to open up to me. I got to talk to the director of photography a bit and gave him my card. I hope some of the connections here come through.
The movie is set to be called Kabse Sambhalle Rakha Hai Dill, something about how the heart is not ready? I’m not sure who the actors are in it.
I wait around the set for a couple more hours until about 8pm. With the Amjad’s man, we head back to the Salvation Army. At the station I ignore a man in passing but he is insistent on getting my attention. I didn’t recognize him as Amjad. He puts me in taxi who drops me a couple blocks from the hostel for reasons I don’t know. It’s only about 10 but I am tired and quickly fall asleep. Around 12 I awake to Sebastian coming in and rummaging around. He’s going back out for a drink and invites me to go along. We go to this apparently famous bar just around the corner called Leopold’s and talk about our travels over a couple of tall Carlsberg’s. Good day.
I hope to get a hold of more firms and photographers. So far meetings haven’t come together. Amjad wants me to do some voice over work on Friday which I think I’ll do. I’ve got nothing else going on, and hey…hopefully more connections.