Categories
Film

Pole wallting

The diary of an event manager whose film promotion show was totally ruined by an Indian action hero’s outrageous demands.
by M| M@themetrognome.in

There is a certain man in Bollywood who loves a good stunt, both on and off screen. And here’s  a page from an event manager’s dairy, a person who was given the onerous task of bringing, let’s call him Desi Lee, to a film promotion gig.

‘Dear Dairy,

Today, I searched for a local arms and ammunition shop on Google Maps. I never thought I’d need a gun so badly in my life. I can shoot the lead actor of the project I am currently working on. No doubt he is the only decent action hero in the industry, but he desperately needs a reality check, and today he crossed every line in the book.

It all started a week ago, when the stupendously irritating marketing head of the film decided to throw a last-minute event to launch the film’s theatrical trailer. Why not upload the trailer on YouTube and move on, you ask? Darling, this is Bollywood. Mr K Jo threw an event for the trailer release of his last film, so now everyone else will do the same.

Coming back to my horrible life. I had only a week to pull this big deal of an event. Scouting the venue, drawing the guest list, arranging for the food and booze were the easiest parts. The lurid portion of the party was deciding the ‘entry’ for Desi Lee.

Lee likes to believe that he is a reincarnated avatar of Bruce Lee. Performing his own stunts in his films is commendable, whereas insisting on doing a stunt at a live event is plain foolish. Sometimes I wonder if he does normal, everyday activities like the rest of us. Like, does he sit on the pot like all of us do, or does he somersault and land on it? His antics began when he said that he would not walk to the podium, his ‘entry’ had to be mind-boggling and should leave the audience shocked. Thus began the journey of an endless pursuit for the right action act.

At first, he wanted to land at the venue in a hot air balloon, and I wanted to be King of the world. The multiple licenses and the limited time frame to import a hot air balloon made the task impossible. So that idea was mercifully scrapped.

Then Lee thought that since going up was not an option, coming down would be more exciting. So the alternate idea was for him to come down a fireman’s pole while performing Indian acrobatic acts. This would have been a great idea in an open maidan. But Leebhai grand event was to be held in the ballroom of a five star hotel.

Of course, the hotel refused to allow a hole to be dug in their floor, and worse, to have a pole fixed in the middle of their lavish 5,000 square feet banquet hall.

Lee was furious by now. With only three days to go for the event, he had no dhaasu entry. He was not ready to lose face. Everyone was summoned for an emergency meeting. After wasting hours on discussing options like skateboarding, parkour, stunt bikes and even riding a horse in a closed hall, Lee finally agreed on making his entry on a Segway, but with a twist (there has to be a twist, this is Desi Lee who lands on his pot after a somersault). Just riding a Segway also requires some practice, but this was not challenging enough for our action hero. So he decided to break a wall through the Segway and come rolling onto the stage. At this point I was looking for a wall…to bang my head against!

The production team starting working on building the wall out of cardboard. If I had my way, I would bring in the masons that worked for Mughal-e-Azam because they would know how to build a wall to bury Lee alive. Then Lee saw the blueprints of the construction and didn’t seem very excited. Next, came the tantrums.

With just two days to go, the preparations were in full swing when he dropped the first bomb – he wanted a change in the event’s timing. Next, he wanted an executive suite at the hotel to rest before he commenced the event. The final demand was to change the venue to a location convenient to him and closer to his house. Change the venue now? How was that going happen? All the other halls were booked and only one available in the desired location was way too expensive. The additional cost for procuring a new venue made the management fall off their chairs.

They gave an ultimatum to the marketing team – retain the venue or cancel the event. There was no way on Earth they were going to incur additional cost to build and later break a wall.

Mr Lee didn’t budge an inch and so the event was called off.

My hard work, all week, round the clock, was flushed away by a star and his demands.

I am still looking for that gun shop.’

Sharp as a tack and sitting on more hot scoops than she knows what to do with, M is a media professional with an eye on entertainment.

Categories
Overdose

A Bihari in Bharat

We’re all Indians, right? Then why do we always mentally compartmentalise people based on their community or where they come from?
by Jatin Sharma

“I hate this hatred that we have over Marathis and non-Marathis, and Mumbaikars and non-Mumbaikars,” said a man sitting near the window in a local train.

“I hate all the politicians who infiltrate people’s minds on the basis of such separatist ideology. They are supposed to be our leaders!”, replied a man who was vada-paoed between two others in the train.

One man was listening to these comments with a lot of curiosity. He was ‘new’ to this old city of prosperity and wealth. He had heard a million gems of wisdom while his mother packed his bag with laddoos and people gave him a lot of advice about how he should behave in Mumbai. After all, he was a Bihari. He had been sufficiently warned about not getting into an argument with any person wearing a saffron scarf or a saffron tikka.

So the aforementioned conversation, which actually challenged what he had been told about, was like a sweet melody to his ‘new’ ears. And while he was still digesting this conversation, he suddenly realised that he was reaching closer to his destination. The train was screeching to a halt at the platform. Springing up from his seat, he bravely plunged himself in the crowd of unorganised, frustrated and tired Mumbaikars standing in his way, to try and reach the door.

Suddenly someone asked him, “Kahan jaana hai? (where do you want to go?)”

He replied, “Bhayander.”

Someone else replied, mocking his Bihari accent, “Bhayander. Toh bhai tum andar hi rehna.”

He pleaded, “Mujhe jaane do, utarna hai.” His voice was peaceful, his tone still calm.

But the other popped a question, “Bihari ho?, Laloo ke desh se?”

He knew where this conversation was headed. And probably with the earlier conversation he’d heard still ringing in his ears, he very proudly replied, “Nahin, Bhartiya hoon, Gandhiji ke desh se.

If this had been a film, we would have whistled and cheered and clapped at this rather excellent reply. But the tragedy was that this wasn’t a film, and after this dialogue, all we heard were punches and the man’s screams. No one came forward to save a Bihari then, not even the people who hated the fact that the leaders were infesting our minds with the poison of regionalism. Everyone was silent, and even plain logic was muted on the spot.

And please don’t even try to fool yourselves saying that you are not like that. You may not bash up Biharis or anybody else, but mentally, I am sure you bash some community or the other. We have developed this habit of asking people their names, and then following it up with, “Oh, Harsh Shah, so you are a Gujju,” or “Oh, Bejan Batliwala. So you are a Parsi.” We have been associating people with their faith for such a long time now, and somewhere along the way, we have all demeaned the whole idea of co-existence.

To add up to the woes of our nation, we remain silent when we see something going wrong. We discuss a lot of things, but we don’t stop them from happening when they happen right in front of us. Some may excuse themselves as, “Jaane do. Mere baap ka kya jaata hai?” But a dialogue is not something that should happen between two minds, it should happen within societies and communities. If one feels that something is wrong, then he or she shouldn’t keep quiet when it happens in front of them.

That’s why the wrong voices are becoming stronger and the right voices are becoming weaker.

The wrong is multiplied and the right is just dying a quiet death. Leaders are nothing but the ones who voice their opinions with strong voices, where they believe in what they say. Become a leader and change the world.

Jatin Sharma is a media professional who doesn’t want to grow up, because if he grows up, he will be like everyone else.

(Picture courtesy aglaia.co.in)

Categories
Diaries

Spin A Yarn: Because he doesn’t like it

Mohsina Ahmad’s tweet-story was a short spin on a girl missing the days when she didn’t have a jealous lover.

Mohsina Ahmad, 28, does business development for a New Media company. She says, “What I liked about the contest was the interesting concept of the challenge and the entertaining stories that were spun.” She likes stories “with a twist, and no, not like the plot in Talaash. I lean towards Jeffrey Archer.” Her interests, apart from writing, are “travelling and cinema. Also, wishful thinking.” Mohsina won a Special Mention for her effort.

Her yarn went like this: “It hadn’t always been like this. Well, at least for the last two years…

I still remember the days when I could look at the handsome ones all around me without getting that glare of disgust from him.

When I could compliment or praise the fine bone structures or superior grooming on other males without any guilt.

The days when I couldn’t resist playfully feeling ’em and yearning to be around and play longer.

And then Cooger came into my life, he makes me very happy, but doesn’t like it when I am friendly with other dogs. That’s All.”

(Picture courtesy donjuaninc.com)

Categories
Diaries

Spin A Yarn – The ‘inspired’ musician

Pankaj Ahuja’s tweet-story might actually explain a certain thieving Bollywood musician’s modus operandi. Who knows, it may just be true…

Pankaj Ahuja, 27, is a real estate consultancy owner. He says he loved the open-ended starting line that we provided. “I have only been writing poems since age 10. Apart from writing, I like travelling and trying out new food. And I can read minds,” he grins. He won a Special Mention for his effort.

Pankaj’s yarn went like this: “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times…

Best times coz his music in bollywood was getting all the awards in every award function.

Worst coz the musicians he copied were all taking a retirement.

He had no clue on where and how he would come up with new stuff as ‘inspiration’ for his next movies.

Sum1 told him to visit a famous baba to find a solution of his problem, who asked him to cut his hair short.

But these long hair were always his protector from public and other artists he copied, to hide away from them.

His hair were specially designed by Dr. Batra’s advance hair growth medicines to save him from public glare.

Time to move to another solution which was to remix his bollywood songs to down south indian movies.

But then he later realised that they have rajnikant who already gave inspiration to international artists.

So that idea was scrapped too. Family frnd recco going to himalayas for new inspiration and way out.

There was special area assigned to artists from al the world facing such issues of nt getting ‘inspiring’ stuff.

With his hair do and look, he got mistaken by everywhere around as the music baba they came to see for inspiration.

This was his opportunity to encash this mistake done by other international artists around him.

He showed them on how he worked to take inspiration from others and made it big, he taught them his secret.

The last day was practical time, where he asked everyone to show him what they have learnt so far b4 heading home.

Once everyone was done, he said ‘Bravo’ and asked them to meditate one last time.

As and when they all opened their eyes, he was no where to be seen, and all the ‘pratical’ stuff done was gone too.

His aim to get inspiration turned great as he returned home with ready tracked waiting 2turn in2 bollywood songs.

So while movie director copied scenes for *cough* barfi *cough*, this music director matched the same.

See you at Bollywood award functions in 2013.”

(Picture courtesy themusicshelf.com)

Categories
Diaries

Spin A Yarn: A very cool yogi

Silverlightgal’s tweet-story was an amusing take on a boy’s disoriented confusion and how his mind plays funny tricks on him.

Silverlightgal (that’s how she chooses to identity herself) didn’t even board her train till she finished tweeting her story for Spin A Yarn! After it was over, she told The Metrognome that she really enjoyed participating and “would have made it (her story) much better but the time pressure was unnerving.” She won a Special Mention for her effort.

Her yarn went like this: It hadn’t always been like this. Well, at least for the last two years…

It all started on a Sunday morning .

That Sunday, he felt something strange happening. He couldn’t explain it to himself let alone to ppl around him.

He dreamed of things, saw vision-like hallucinations, felt he was walking on clouds, and air even.

Day by day it was getting bizarre and eerie. Who would have believed him? Just 2 years ago he was fine.

Was he going insane? Or was it a spiritual experience? Was he dead already, in heaven now? So much confusion.

The old man deduced his plight & confusion without him saying a word. Be calm, boy, it will all fall in place.

said the old man, in a soothing manner. The old man’s presence brought him some relief but when he was gone.

the confusion and doubts returned. To divert himself, he tried the intricate poses he’d seen in the books.

1 day smthing funny happened. Even he had to laugh at what took place.He got stuck in one of the poses and had to

be pulled out from the pose, by 3 people! His head, arms, neck, feet, everything’d become entangled so badly

that he looked like a ball of wool badly mangled by an angry kitten. When they finally managed to disentangle him

all were so relieved that they laughed and laughed for hours. They said he looked radiant when he smiled.

There were moments like these but most days it was all bizarre. And to think it was all so diffrnt few yrs back.

He’d come down to India from Spain to meet a guru and learn yoga and since then his life was changed forever.

Sure he’d learnt yoga but he’d also unknowingly picked up ganja & many other things. Now his life was changed.

Even today you can find him loitering abt in hills of Rishikesh, murmuring, sometimes striking a cool yoga pose.”

(Picture courtesy antaratma.photoshelter.com)

Categories
Diaries

Spin A Yarn – The cricket dream

Aniruddha Pathak’s tweet-story was about a budding cricketer trying to fight corruption, and whose well-laid plan goes really, really well.

Aniruddha Pathak, 30, is a finance professional. He is an Andheri resident. His story won him a Special Mention.

Aniruddha’s yarn went like this: “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times…

He had seen India win the World Cup and then get a thrashing from England and Australia.

Cricket fascinated him, studies didn’t. After all it was the cricket ground where he met her.

Cricket selectors were seeking bribe. Anna awakened the nation. It was an ethical matter. He wanted this bad.

Sharing Vada Pav with his girlfriend he seeked her opinion. She refused. He knew cricket was his only chance.

He decided to pay bribe. Money was not the problem. Problem was asking dad for it. His pal ravi had a plan.

Ravi got a huge bag full of notes. Off they went to the selector. It was their chance for glory.

Selector accepted the money. They came back and now was the time for glory. Open www dot youtube dot com.

It was right there in front of everyone. Sting operation had worked. 3 million hits overnight. He had done it.

The notes were fake. They had exposed how corrupt the selectors were. TV channels were after him.

His dad was proud of him. He got his ticket for London to join his dream cricket academy. The nation lost a talent.”

(Picture courtesy ibnlive.com)

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