Life in Film

For the last month, I've been inundated with Indian media. In spite of the status that English has around here, being the government's official language and being seen alongside Tamil script on about every street-sign, American media has not penetrated into the culture of Chennai as effectively as most other places I've been. On the news, thave so many political talking heads that I haven't even seen Obama on TV since I've been here. In entertainment, the country has a prominent music industry that sounds nothing like American pop as well as a film industry that dwarfs Hollywood in annual output. The center of this movie-production powerhouse: Bollywood.

I saw my first Bollywood film two weeks ago. It was not only a perfect, air-conditioned escape from the Sunday South Indian heat, but the movie was also fantastic. Even though it was mostly in Hindi (as well as French, English, and Tamil), it was shockingly easy to follow; Asad just gave me updates explaining exactly why someone was mad as well as translations of the crowd-stirring one-liners. The film was controversial and unorthodoxed for Bollywood, but I was satisfied and felt properly prepared for more exposure.

The next day, Eleanor was approached by a Chennai film producer looking for foreigner as extras. We were offered a weekend trip out to Mysore--an ancient capital of one of many ancient kingdoms in India-- to dress up (tuxedos & fake moustaches, satiny gowns & necklaces) and then to stand about, clap, and dance in a period drama about the end of British colonial occupation in Madras (that's Chennai, where I am right now). Though it was a story about Madras, they wanted to use the White Palace for the scene. So, we would have to be shipped out about 8 hours away. Feeling Eleanor's contagion for a paid-for weekend trip and for the limelight--"We're going to be in Bollywood!"--I accepted, and we were on our way to Mysore.

Concerning my experience as an extra, it wasn't really remarkable. In fact, in spite of getting on film, meeting a lot interesting travelers, getting a nice shave & haircut, wearing a slick suit, and eating some delicious food, I hated it. All the waiting around and not being allowed to do anything and then jockeying for position to be seen by the camera... I couldn't stand it. I felt like an animal being herded around, told to smile, and then politely inching around to get in front "because, if you don't get on camera, you might as well be playing tiddly-winks." These unfortunately-true words were spoken by a weathered actor/extra in Indian films still trying to make it big. After meeting him and others, I tried to endure it for one day and then bolted. We were supposed to do it for the whole weekend, but we had to leave the money and just appreciate the free ride out and food. Instead, we went to some temples up a nearby mountain, played cricket with some kids and got my first sunburn of the year. It was fantastic.

But no matter how I tried to separate my life from film, it haunted me. Just days later, we watched Wes Anderson's Darjeeling Limited about three brothers traveling across northen India by train and having typical, oddly ridiculous experiences shown in the awkward Anderson form. Since then, I've been either blessed with humor or cursed with self-consciousness (as though I hadn't been self-conscious in many of these situations before. Situations that originally would have been just nice cultural experiences have become hilarious. A number of experiences each day have become caricatures of interactions where almost everyone is confused. Basically, I have entered my own Wes Anderson film--it doesn't help that I've been listening continuously to the soundtracks of his films.

It's hard to explain--especially if you don't know Rushmore or other Anderson films--but a good example may be my experience at a small concert I went to a week ago. For a couple days, I was taking lessons to learn how to play the tabla, an Indian drum that you hear all the time--notably, in "Within You, Without You" from Sgt. Pepper's. Anyway, I was thinking about getting one of these drums, and my tabla guru, Madhu, invited me to see a tabla concert one night. Of course, I said sure, and he sends me off ahead of him with his son on the "scooty" (a horrifying experience, holding on behind a teenager on a motorcycle in these streets. So I arrive at a tiny back-alley Hindu temple, and the kid kindly drives off saying that he has some other things to do. I'm left alone and walk into a white-tiled room covered with walls covered by smiling gods. And I'm there to hang out with some 10 small ladies lined-up and bowed in reverence to an image of Shiva. A couple sadhus--shaved head, orange tunics, big yellow streaks across the forehead--are waving around incense and reverently laying bananas in front of Shiva while two guys sit in a corner banging wild, different rhythms on a drum and squeaking out a entangled, snake-charming melody on a four-foot-long reed instrument. And I was standing in the middle of all of these kind strangers, exchanging smiles. As the rituals came around, like touching a flame before pressing your fingers to your face, I meekly smile and mumble, "I'm really not Hindu" (as though they don't know). That went on for a bit until I could enjoy the drumming with singing and violin, but that's really it. Sorry if it was too much build-up, but it felt more like I was shocked at how much I felt as though I was in Darjeeling Limited. I was amused, so luckily these sorts of things have continued happening to me.

What is more, our host/landlord, McKay, was just filmed in our place a couple days ago for a documentary about ex-pats in Chennai. As I've been saying, I can almost taste it, the limelight, in my daily life.