Man on Fire

20. My Bollywood Stint (2002)

I am not an admirer of the Bollywood films as many of my countrymen are. I am too busy in my daily endeavours to know the latest releases. Also the stars of the silver screen are not my favourite role model thanks to their unquenchable thirst for limelight which often leads to immodest behaviours. So it was a great surprise to receive a call from big-time Bollywood producer Kailash Karkera after the news of my four World Record haul had swept through my city. He was very impressed by my achievements and invited me to dinner at the prestigious Taj Hotel to discuss important plans for my future.

I must tell you, walking into that place only a handful of years after arriving like a washed-up coconut on the shore of the Arabian Sea was like a dream coming true for me. This was before sad events of 2008 terror attacks and everything was calm. My wife was very happy to have the door opened for her by the doorkeeper in his red turban and sash and Shubham made us all smile by returning his bow in very respectful manner. Into the lobby and we were surrounded by gold statues and fine fabrics. It was as if we had been invited to the Raja’s palace. Mr Karkera was our introduction to the splendid inner secrets of a world beyond the imagination of a common man from humble country background.

Rajesh Battacharjee the snake who slithered at his feet, but at this time I was still gladly unaware of his intentions.

‘Your story is of great interest to me,’ Mr Karkera said. ‘How a simple man from humble beginnings can find his own way to greatness.’

I allowed his praise to tickle my heart only softly. To receive admiration is not the sportsman’s primary goal.

Mr Karkera had seen my success with the concrete slabs. He asked me how I was able to control the pain. I told him of my methods and to demonstrate I invited him to deliver a kick to my groin. He participated sans delay, giving me a polite kick which only passed by the target area. After grabbing my advice to kick harder he made several further impressions to my groin. The result of a good hit was most pleasing for both of us.

Mr Karkera asked me if I had thought about bringing my talents to a bigger stage. How would I like a place in the film industry?

The idea nearly bowled me over at first glance. I listened carefully to his proposal while inside my mind was spinning like cyclone.

Mr Karkera was of course the producer of many successful action blockbusters with a reputation for creating the most spectacular fight sequences in the business. The stars of these actioners must be toppers in their field with great martial arts skills and onscreen charisma. Although the fight sequences are actually an illusion, with no real contact received, they are created with much care to trick the audience into believing they are seeing real combat spilling from the screen. Mr Karkera picked me as the golden choice for this role. He said my feats in movie would be a boon in helping the common man to enjoy brief respite from a life of hard toil.

I pondered this conclusively. I thought of the common man and his sore need for enjoyment and positive role model in a dark and dusty world. If he could receive this positive standard from the characters I am bringing to life on the screen, then perhaps this was God informing me that my inspiration was reaching a wider area than I imagined hitherto.

I would be relocated to large new apartment in Lokhandwala Complex, home locality of many Bollywood professionals. My performances up on the screen would reflect directly my principles of accuracy and truthfulness to the skills and beliefs of my trade. And salary would be five times more than I ever held in my hands before. It was a dream in the making.

‘This would be a new life for you and your family,’ Mr Karkera said. ‘No more hand to mouth, every comfort you could ask for, and your work would be there for display to millions of your countrymen. How could you turn your back on such an offer?’

My wife gave me a smile which conveyed all her belief that I should accept the gentleman’s offer sans delay. But still I introspected. Each grain of rice I chewed on was a reason either to shun the big-shot lifestyle or to embrace the openings it brought, and my tongue could not sort them apart from each other.

‘I believe BB’s story itself would make a fine film,’ Rajesh Battacharjee declared. ‘Perhaps the right people can be found to bring his biography to life.’

‘This is my area,’ Mr Karkera said. ‘We might have to introduce an element of fiction as well for commercial viability, if this does not offend you?’

‘It would be fine,’ I said. ‘You are the expert on these things.’ And to prove my trust in Mr Karkera I offered him my hand.

Some fear persisted as I made my first step onto set for maiden day’s filming of Vengeance at Midnight, the latest actioner in Mr Karkera’s stable on which I was given small role. FilmCity was a very strange environment for me unlike anything I had seen before. My mind was unprepared for such a mysterious level.

First glimpse revealed gigantic area comprising lake, campus street, library, prison, temple and beautiful gardens all appearing large as life. It was as if the almighty had dropped every possibility from life into one location. All close to each other with no requirement to travel far between. Plus many large sheds in close arrangement where interior sets were installed to replicate any room from the imagination — Ashok, my guide for feet-finding period, opened the door to one shed to reveal a courtroom complete with every detail such as chairs, desk, judge in official garb and dragooned defendant guarded on both sides by khakis with solemn expression of duty. The only clue that this was not in fact a real scene came from the array of lights hanging from ceiling beams. The judge also having make-up applied to his face by make-up man and when I reached out to test the wooden wall I discovered it was only a plastic imitation with grain painted in.

Then we arrived at our location, the exterior of a prison. Large wooden doors and thick stone walls just like in reality. The director welcomed me and we had a nice chat about our native places while the other actors’ safety features were installed. Foam pieces covering groin and major joints to absorb the impact of the blows from a big fight sequence. The actors playing the revolting prisoners would attack the actors playing the prison guards and deadly force would be required to subdue them. Every punch and kick must look real and the audience must believe real danger was in the offing at every turn. This is what the director conveyed to me. The padding a precaution only. No real contact to occur.

I experienced a moment of deep sadness. It had been many weeks since I had shaken hands with Mr Karkera to put the seal on our association. We had left the Taj that night as a family on the brink of an exciting journey to upper ranks of human achievements. Bollywood arm was reaching around us in a welcoming embrace and all wishes for success were hatching. But since then there had been no word from Mr Karkera on my promised move to Lokhandwala Complex and apart from one meeting to sign contract and receive small advance (enough for new zebra-print sofa with real cherry-wood frame from Monsoon Madness Sale at Classic Solutions) no instructions had been conveyed until this morning. My wife had been waiting on tenterhooks for the all-clear to start packing her things and I had made a temporary hiatus in my preparations for upcoming record. Time could not move forward without clear signals from my new employer.

Then out of the blue the call came to say the car was on its way to take me to FilmCity. No briefing or training time, I was put on the spot and given my role as first prison guard. I was to fight the film’s main character in deadly duel and come out as the loser in last moments. I conveyed my disappointment in the strongest terms. Why must I be the villain?

The director said it had already been decided. The main character was played by a popular star of the time and he must always win. No matter that my skills and philosophy should give me the hero’s role. Other fellow was expected to triumph and his fans would not accept it if the roles were reversed. There would be riots in the picture houses nationwide.

I swallowed the sadness like a bitter herb and said to myself, ‘BB, this is what your employer expects of you. It is your duty to listen to him. Think of the opportunity you have been given to create beautiful moment onscreen for the public entertainment. Be the best villain you can be and next time the hero’s place will be yours.’ So this is what I did.

This was a very lonely day for me. All my suggestions to improve the sequence went unheeded. The director stubbornly maintained his own way of doing things despite absence of expertise in my area. There was no time for the added grace and difficulty level which I wished to weave in. The sun was setting when the director called for a halt in proceedings. Shubham was already asleep when I returned home that night. My wife greeted me with excited response and we discussed all the details of our new life in Lokhandwala Complex once the long-awaited move was made. The best schools for Shubham. The landscaped grounds where we could stroll in the evenings and play badminton. The gelato parlours with full range of flavours (my wife and son love them despite the damage they create to the internal balance). We looked ahead with the same pair of eyes to our final years spent in lap of comfort and success.

This was God’s chosen time to remind me that a family man is the luckiest man in the world. He was telling me that my record-breaking path had reached its end and a new path was beginning. After meditating to ensure the message was genuine I accepted his decision with calm outlook.

Next day’s filming took place not in sheltered surroundings of FilmCity but out on frantic streets of Colaba Causeway, with constant difficulties from curious tourists and annoying drum sellers. Cameras set up outside famous Cafe Mondegar to catch a long chase sequence between the hero, on the run after his daring prison escape, and a number of the don’s henchmen hell-bent on making a pounce before he can clear his name of false Mafia crimes. The hero would be cornered among the bookstands and he would fight his way through the thugs. I would be the main thug. Only different clothing and wig to distinguish me from the role I had played the previous day. They wanted to rearrange my hair but I found this suggestion unacceptable.

This time Mr Karkera was present to help disperse the crowds during important shots. For this he used several khakis with heavy-handed tactics. I was quite shocked by the liberal use of their lathis but my concerns were waved away. Mr Karkera explaining that outdoor filming on real streets was a very dangerous undertaking, with thieves and pickpockets all around ready to steal expensive equipment or kidnap stars for ransom. Khakis were necessary to ensure the safety of the crew.

The cameras started rolling. Such was the hustle and bustle around the location that the cameramen found it impossible to capture a shot which was not in some way obscured by an unwanted body. The khakis did their best to keep the interlopers at arm’s length but it was no good, we had to keep stopping to reset the action and try again. This was exhausting for the poor actors who were required to run up and down the street countless times under the beating sun, and proved a real headache for the director and Mr Karkera. Both of them reduced to screaming and tearing of hair. Finally Mr Karkera was about to let go of all composure and he asked me to step in to persuade the crowd.

‘Look at this fellow here,’ Mr Karkera said, pointing out a small boy who with his friends had been attached to us ever since we had arrived, offering to carry equipment and fetch water from the nearby cafe to save us from our thirst. ‘He is just waiting for me to turn my back so he and his chums can strip me of everything I have worked for. One well-timed kick will put such ideas out of his head.’

‘I do not believe they want to steal from us,’ I protested. ‘They are just sadak chaps, they do not mean any harm.’

‘You are too trusting, BB,’ Mr Karkera told me. ‘You do not live on the mainland, there is not such a rat problem on your side of the creek. Here we have to step very carefully around them. Now is time to step on them. You have been waiting to practise your skills in full contact. You can begin by stepping on this rat for me.’

Needless to say his request produced some disgust in me. He was asking that I attack an innocent and unarmed boy. I made my feelings clear. I told him I cannot do this.

Mr Karkera seemed confused. ‘Come, BB, it is just one rat. Is your loyalty to him or is it to the production? We must work for each other, this is how the best results end up on screen. I have been very generous to you, have I not?’

The boy appealed to my mercy with tender look. Khakis poised like cobras to make another charge with their lathis should I resist Mr Karkera’s argument.

‘You have been very generous, sir,’ I told Mr Karkera. ‘But I cannot strike the boy. It is against my beliefs as martial arts professional and God-fearing citizen.’

‘These beliefs are very unfortunate for you,’ Mr Karkera declared. ‘While they are in your way I fear you will not meet your ambitions.’ And with that he gave the nod and a khaki struck the boy sharply on the back. The boy squealed and ran, his friends close behind. My blood boiled up inside me at the injustice I had just witnessed.

At this point I knew my association with Mr Karkera must come to an end. I realised he did not have the interests of the common man at his heart. To accept his money was to smear my hands with the blood of all my country’s children. I walked away from this enterprise before my hands became stained.

‘You are making a big mistake,’ Mr Karkera told me. ‘You cannot walk away from me in the middle of a shoot, I have a film to complete.’

‘Then you must complete it without me. I am no longer in your employment.’

‘Think very carefully, BB. If you walk away you will never work in Bollywood again. The door to fame and riches will be closed for ever. This is my promise and I can make it come true.’

‘I do not listen to the promises of men,’ I informed him. ‘Only the promises of the almighty reach my ears, and he has built a house for me where no lies or dangers are living.’

And with that I left the scene, my head held high and my heart beating again with its original passion for simple life.

Needless to say my wife was shocked by the news of my swift departure from Bollywood life. At first she did not understand the strength of my reasons. There followed another period of stiffness in the house while the news sank in. For one week she refused to talk to me except to bark like a dog whenever I got in her way. Cooking standard reduced and rooms left in a hurry when I entered them. Me sleeping on the new zebra-print sofa because she spread her limbs to bar me from our bed.

My son was my only comfort in this time. I only had to look into his eyes to know that I had made the right decision. I saw his future there and was pleased to discover he would be a man of firm convictions.

After seven days my wife lifted her silence. ‘But what of our future?’ she asked.

I heard the typical rattle as the A/C switched off, then the lights went out. I went through the darkness to our bedroom where the fuse box is located. I hit the switch and light returned, showing the room as if I was seeing it for the first time. A cosy space with all necessary features. Light. A place to sit. A window to permit a segment of the outside. The sky was a lovely shade of dark blue and despite my wife’s complaints of small dimensions the room seemed big enough to contain the dreams of an entire span.

‘Everything we need is here,’ I told her. ‘Our son is here. God’s love finds us here every day, we do not need to look elsewhere for it. The money would be a chain around my soul and the demands of the job would keep me apart from my record-breaking fixture. A man must know his place, and my place was set up previously. This is my decision. I have made it for our protection and there is no going back.’

I saw my wife’s eyes turn wet and knew that my words had entered her heart in effective manner. This expressed later that night when she allowed me to return to our bed. Back in the arms of my dear ones, and everything settled into usual rhythm. Before sleep came I introspected on my blessings. I had received a clear vision of the future and saw that if I took up this life bad fortune would swallow good and a shadow would fall over the legacy that I had worked so hard to plant in dusty soil. I recognised the divine warning and acted quickly to prevent this terrible consequence.

Still today I am asked from time to time if I regret this decision. Many of my younger students share a big love of the actioners, and they often fantasise of seeing me perform on the silver screen. When they question my philosophy I always reply thus: when a donkey comes to your door do not be tricked by the gifts he carries on his back. If you pull his tail he will still drop loosies on your feet. I have stuck to this rule through thick and thin and this is why I can hold my chin high above all challenges.

Thank you.