Students have taken to the streets in various Indian cities to protest against the NEET exam paper leak. As the protest rages on, here is a look at 7 films about youth activism that have gained relevance now in more ways than one.  

7 raw, unfiltered Indian movies on youth activism worth rewatching tonight

Daniel Craig may have gone global with his stint as the British spy James Bond but there was a time when he had wanted to be a part of and even auditioned for an Indian iconic movie, ‘Rang de Basanti’ (RDB), claims director Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra in his autobiography ‘The Stranger in the Mirror’.&nbsp;

 
“I remember vividly that one of the people who auditioned for the part of James McKinley, the young jailor who walks Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev to be hanged, was none other than current James Bond, Daniel Craig… Daniel Craig was my first choice but he requested if we could allow some time as he was also being considered to be the next James Bond. The rest, as they say, is history,” Mehra wrote.&nbsp;

 
Back in the day, Mehra wanted to create world cinema and had managed to get executive producers David Reid and Adam Bowling on board. The duo has two cult classics—'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' (1998) and 'Snatch' (2000)—behind them.&nbsp;

 
The London-based executive producers loved the script of ‘RDB’ and put up their houses for rent while they moved to India to set up the film. “They were responsible for casting Alice Patten and Steven Mackintosh for the parts of Sue and James McKinley, respectively,” says Mehra.&nbsp;

 
Mehra went on to reveal that he had almost finalized Peter Gabriel—one of the founding members of the British band genesis—but something inside of him said that he should go with A.R. Rahman instead.&nbsp;

 
“The music of RDB was the soul of the film; the songs AR created became de facto national anthems,” said the ace director.&nbsp; 
&nbsp;

Daniel Craig may have gone global with his stint as the British spy James Bond but there was a time when he had wanted to be a part of and even auditioned for an Indian iconic movie, ‘Rang de Basanti’ (RDB), claims director Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra in his autobiography ‘The Stranger in the Mirror’.

Daniel Craig may have gone global with his stint as the British spy James Bond but there was a time when he had wanted to be a part of and even auditioned for an Indian iconic movie, ‘Rang de Basanti’ (RDB), claims director Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra in his autobiography ‘The Stranger in the Mirror’. “I remember vividly that one of the people who auditioned for the part of James McKinley, the young jailor who walks Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev to be hanged, was none other than current James Bond, Daniel Craig… Daniel Craig was my first choice but he requested if we could allow some time as he was also being considered to be the next James Bond. The rest, as they say, is history,” Mehra wrote. Back in the day, Mehra wanted to create world cinema and had managed to get executive producers David Reid and Adam Bowling on board. The duo has two cult classics—'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels' (1998) and 'Snatch' (2000)—behind them. The London-based executive producers loved the script of ‘RDB’ and put up their houses for rent while they moved to India to set up the film. “They were responsible for casting Alice Patten and Steven Mackintosh for the parts of Sue and James McKinley, respectively,” says Mehra. Mehra went on to reveal that he had almost finalized Peter Gabriel—one of the founding members of the British band genesis—but something inside of him said that he should go with A.R. Rahman instead. “The music of RDB was the soul of the film; the songs AR created became de facto national anthems,” said the ace director.

Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra: 'James Bond' Daniel Craig auditioned for 'Rang De Basanti'

A rags-to-riches story is a sure-fire tearjerker, and especially makes for a good cry when that rag-wearing gentleman is a Hindi-speaking, slum-dwelling Indian. Case in point: Eight Oscars’ winner ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, if you’re still asking.

Why only ridicule Danny Boyle for borrowing India’s sob story and presenting it to a global audience? For time immemorial, Bollywood filmmakers, too, have milked that trope—albeit a few rehashes in the underlying theme, if at all—and found their way to the hallways of several award shows: some duly deserved, others not so much.

This year, repeating that cycle of cinematic revisionism is Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, with his latest sports drama ‘Toofaan’.

<img alt="Farhan Akhtar delves deep" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="c690b526-3a71-4db0-b99b-4b3e4e626d59" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2841%29.jpg" />

 
The odd yet imperative conclusion one comes to about Mehra’s repertoire is that he is a storyteller always standing on the extreme ends of the film spectrum—either you get a ‘Rang De Basanti’ or a ‘Mirzya’; there’s no in-between.

Unfortunately, with ‘Toofan’, he has inclined towards the latter.

What starts off as a Dongri’s ‘gunda-mawali’ Ajju Bhai aka Aziz Ali (Farhan Akhtar) extorting money before finally realising his true calling in life is, in fact, boxing, ends up becoming a plea for communal harmony, an exposé within India’s boxing federation.

And then there’s the forced-down-your-throat romance between pro-choice Ananya Prabhu (Mrunal thakur) and ‘The Storm’ himself.

<img alt="A love like no other. Or is it?" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="9cd3019e-c2ac-44b3-908d-8eb259a8d275" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2847%29.jpg" />

 
The film’s momentum dips early on, with moments of rushed revival coming in the form of an amiable Farhan’s easy-on-the-eye screen presence, only to fall flat again seconds later.

Of all things that could have—and has—gone wrong with this sports drama/ social commentary, the dialogues seem to be the worst. What were writers Vijay Maurya and Anjum Rajabali thinking when they put these dated, 90s-esque dialogues to the paper: “Naali main pada hua mila tha (I found you in a ditch)”, “tereko slap degi main (loosely translates to: I shall slap you)”, among other equally melodramatic sentences that the actors mouth.

Second to that is the (unaccredited) background score: laden with 80s Bollywood-ish melancholy in intense scenes and over-the-top glee in heroic moments.

<img alt="All on all out?!" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="d184a7e6-759a-46af-ac81-2c52f8fa29b8" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2842%29.jpg" />

 
Mrunal Thakur is an affable presence in the film—sans that put-on colloquial Mumbaiya accent—and she makes an effort to have the kind of rapport Farhan’s previous female leads had with him, Sonam Kapoor &amp; Co., but the pair has very little chemistry going on between them and it translates on screen.

This movie is no ‘Bhaag Milkha Bhaag’ (by Mehra, again) and Farhan knows that, too. &nbsp;He more or less maintains a solid grip over his character and changes his approach with the ever-changing plot but the narrative of ‘Toofaan’ is beyond saving, good acting or not.

Paresh Rawal as Coach Nanu Prabhu is more for the free-ka-gyaan and less for the role he has been hired to do. Big, bombastic words do not make up for the lack of depth in his character.

<img alt="Mrunal plays the role of a doctor, Ananya Prabhu" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="432e6cfb-b78e-4e2b-94bc-80f219e7c822" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2845%29.jpg" />

 
At the risk of sounding hyper-analytical, we are going to say that ‘Toofaan’ is a hotchpotch of ‘Panga’, ‘Dangal’, Mehra’s own marvelous ‘Bhaag Milkha Bhaag’ and every other sports drama-cum-rags-to-riches-cum-road-to-redemption story you can think of. And that is heartbreaking because a good director fails on insipidity grounds and a good actor, remains underutilised.

<img alt="A boxer's life in pictures" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="bfb8ddef-0563-42f8-ba34-fa004614ea14" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2840%29_1.jpg" />

 
How did Aziz Ali become ‘toofaan’ (splash/storm) in quick succession is anybody’s guess—a parallel character even goes on to the extent of comparing him to Muhammad Ali, twice!—but it is no Oscar-winning ‘Million Dollar Baby’. At best, we will call it the gender-reversed ‘Mary Kom’… at best!&nbsp;

<img alt="Paresh rawal plays the toughie coach, Nanu Prabhu" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="5f0b58a7-9b6e-4b68-b309-113ff5ee9fed" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2846%29.jpg" /> 
&nbsp;

'Toofaan' is streaming on Amazon Prime Video.&nbsp;

A rags-to-riches story is a sure-fire tearjerker, and especially makes for a good cry when that rag-wearing gentleman is a Hindi-speaking, slum-dwelling Indian. Case in point: Eight Oscars’ winner ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, if you’re still asking.

A rags-to-riches story is a sure-fire tearjerker, and especially makes for a good cry when that rag-wearing gentleman is a Hindi-speaking, slum-dwelling Indian. Case in point: Eight Oscars’ winner ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, if you’re still asking. Why only ridicule Danny Boyle for borrowing India’s sob story and presenting it to a global audience? For time immemorial, Bollywood filmmakers, too, have milked that trope—albeit a few rehashes in the underlying theme, if at all—and found their way to the hallways of several award shows: some duly deserved, others not so much. This year, repeating that cycle of cinematic revisionism is Rakeysh Omprakash Mehra, with his latest sports drama ‘Toofaan’. The odd yet imperative conclusion one comes to about Mehra’s repertoire is that he is a storyteller always standing on the extreme ends of the film spectrum—either you get a ‘Rang De Basanti’ or a ‘Mirzya’; there’s no in-between. Unfortunately, with ‘Toofan’, he has inclined towards the latter. What starts off as a Dongri’s ‘gunda-mawali’ Ajju Bhai aka Aziz Ali (Farhan Akhtar) extorting money before finally realising his true calling in life is, in fact, boxing, ends up becoming a plea for communal harmony, an exposé within India’s boxing federation. And then there’s the forced-down-your-throat romance between pro-choice Ananya Prabhu (Mrunal thakur) and ‘The Storm’ himself. The film’s momentum dips early on, with moments of rushed revival coming in the form of an amiable Farhan’s easy-on-the-eye screen presence, only to fall flat again seconds later. Of all things that could have—and has—gone wrong with this sports drama/ social commentary, the dialogues seem to be the worst. What were writers Vijay Maurya and Anjum Rajabali thinking when they put these dated, 90s-esque dialogues to the paper: “Naali main pada hua mila tha (I found you in a ditch)”, “tereko slap degi main (loosely translates to: I shall slap you)”, among other equally melodramatic sentences that the actors mouth. Second to that is the (unaccredited) background score: laden with 80s Bollywood-ish melancholy in intense scenes and over-the-top glee in heroic moments. Mrunal Thakur is an affable presence in the film—sans that put-on colloquial Mumbaiya accent—and she makes an effort to have the kind of rapport Farhan’s previous female leads had with him, Sonam Kapoor & Co., but the pair has very little chemistry going on between them and it translates on screen. This movie is no ‘Bhaag Milkha Bhaag’ (by Mehra, again) and Farhan knows that, too. He more or less maintains a solid grip over his character and changes his approach with the ever-changing plot but the narrative of ‘Toofaan’ is beyond saving, good acting or not. Paresh Rawal as Coach Nanu Prabhu is more for the free-ka-gyaan and less for the role he has been hired to do. Big, bombastic words do not make up for the lack of depth in his character. At the risk of sounding hyper-analytical, we are going to say that ‘Toofaan’ is a hotchpotch of ‘Panga’, ‘Dangal’, Mehra’s own marvelous ‘Bhaag Milkha Bhaag’ and every other sports drama-cum-rags-to-riches-cum-road-to-redemption story you can think of. And that is heartbreaking because a good director fails on insipidity grounds and a good actor, remains underutilised. How did Aziz Ali become ‘toofaan’ (splash/storm) in quick succession is anybody’s guess—a parallel character even goes on to the extent of comparing him to Muhammad Ali, twice!—but it is no Oscar-winning ‘Million Dollar Baby’. At best, we will call it the gender-reversed ‘Mary Kom’… at best! 'Toofaan' is streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

'Toofan' review: Farhan Akhtar’s our million dollar baby… Not!

Padmaavat, Jai Ho, Airlift: Do all the Republic Day Bollywood releases work?

I arrived in Mumbai like legions of aspiring actors before me, and doubtless many more to come: with heady dreams of Bollywood stardom.

I have to admit that before moving to India, I had seen exactly one Bollywood film, and that was &ldquo;Dhoom 1&rdquo;, not exactly the height of cinematic achievement, I realise in retrospect, but I was hooked. I also (as mentioned in a previous post) had the dubious honour of singing &ldquo;Tere Liye&rdquo; from &ldquo;Prince&rdquo; at a Diwali Ball in graduate school. I didn&rsquo;t have the faintest idea what the lyrics meant, and (having been trained in opera in my youth) I sang it like Br&uuml;nnhilde. It was all very weird. When I learned that during my tenure in Mumbai, I&rsquo;d be living mere blocks away from the legendary Shahrukh Khan, I believe my words were &ldquo;Sharoo Who?&rdquo; (Oh the heresy! The naivet&eacute;!)

I&rsquo;ve been an avid thespian since I was 7 or so, chiefly acting in Shakespeare plays and musicals, so Bollywood &ndash; with its flair for melodrama, fondness for spectacle, and characters&rsquo; propensities for spontaneously bursting into elaborate song and dance routines &ndash; was a logical extension of my tastes. And once I got it into my head that I would portray the ing&eacute;nue in Amir Khan&rsquo;s next blockbuster (Dangal 2), I set about doing my homework.

I bought bootleg films in the local market and visited nearby movie stores to purchase boxed sets of Greatest Hits. I polled my coworkers for their all-time favourite Bollywood films and made a point of watching every movie they suggested [1]. A fellow Clinton fellow and Bollywood fanatic, the lovely Yasin Khan, and I teamed up to watch an Alia Bhatt flick &ldquo;together&rdquo; over Skype: her in Darjeeling, me in Chennai. Poor internet connections on both ends meant we had to re-sync our copies dozens of times, but we persevered.

One of my seminal experiences as a temporary Mumbaikar was patronising a matinee screening of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ) [2] at the Maratha Mandir theatre. This particular venue has been showing DDLJ, perhaps the most iconic movie in Bollywood history, every. single. day. since its debut in 1995 [3]. When Katrina and I attended a showing one weekend morning in early February, I expected to find the theatre virtually empty &ndash; for who could possibly want to watch a film that&rsquo;s been running for 22 years at 11:30 am on a Sunday? To my enormous surprise, the balcony was absolutely packed to the gills with raucous moviegoers. Thus began one of the most absurd and electrifying crowd spectacles I&rsquo;ve ever experienced; indeed, it felt more reminiscent of a football game than a film screening.

When Kajol and SRK made their first appearances onscreen, the spectators erupted in cheers and wolf-whistles; they sang along with every song and recited large chunks of dialogue word-perfectly; at intermission they streamed out into the lobby for samosas and steaming cups of chai, chattering delightedly; and moments after the final epic train scene, when Kajol&rsquo;s dad utters the now iconic lines &ldquo;Ja Simran, ja, jee le apni zindagi!&rdquo; (&ldquo;Go Simran, go, live your life!&rdquo;), the whooping and hollering crowd almost instantaneously dispersed, leaving an eerily quiet balcony littered with samosa wrappers and paper chai cups in their wake. It was an experience as bizarre as it was delightful, and it ranks among my warmest Mumbai memories.

<div class="ui-state-default"><img alt="" src="http://s.wionews.com/photos/ddlj_2-680x263-20171115095302.jpg" />
<div class="media-description">
Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge celebrates 900 weeks of continuous showings at the Maratha Mandir: &ldquo;The One with Heart Will Win the Bride&rdquo;. (Others)
</div>
<a class="close-mark close-div" href="javascript:void(0)">&times;</a></div>

My first decisive step towards Inevitable Stardom was to enrol in Anupam Kher&rsquo;s evening acting course, thinking it might be a good way to hone my technique and make contacts in the industry. Alas, I quit after the third session: the course was conducted entirely in Hindi, and my language skills weren&rsquo;t nearly strong enough for me to grasp the finer aspects of the Stanislavski Method. I also didn&rsquo;t particularly relish the thought of spending three hours every evening for the next month pretending to be a snowflake&nbsp;[4].

I set about creating half a dozen online audition profiles and cold-emailing scores of casting directors. In time, all manner of bizarre audition notices began trickling in. At one point it seemed likely that I would be the face of India&rsquo;s leading deodorant brand (huzzah!), but sadly that particular career-making windfall never came to pass. There were several offers that offended my dignity: I turned down a chance to advertise razors since doing so required posing nearly nude. I was cast in a web-series as a stock western character with &ldquo;loose morals&rdquo; but I did not feel comfortable with the behaviors I would be required to portray, nor did I wish to perpetuate stereotypes about my race. My most persistent pursuer &ndash; who regaled me with dozens of emails and phone calls despite my repeated refusals &ndash; seemed quite desperate to find Western actresses willing to wear a revealing Mrs Claus costume at a gentleman&rsquo;s club in Delhi.

A few of my attempts to break into the Indian acting world came tantalisingly close to fruition. I was cast as a British publisher in an independent film and met personally with the director to review the script and discuss scheduling, but the filming dates kept getting postponed until finally, it was time for me to leave India. I was asked to make an emergency appearance at a Bandra studio to play a bit part in a Marathi serial, but the director never followed up with a specific location. I gave a screen test at Yash Raj Studios, to no avail. I was also invited to audition for the lead in a Niraj Pandey film (my big break at last??); but once again, the agent never provided audition details. Quite near the end of the fellowship, I joined the cast of a Hindi-language production of Macbeth (a ludicrously improbable confluence of so many things I adore), but ultimately work and family obligations took precedence.

At around the halfway point of the fellowship, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Mumbai guidebooks will tell you that a Westerner hoping to serve as an extra on a Bollywood film set can often get &ldquo;scouted&rdquo; in certain touristy areas of town. I sipped countless cold coffees at the Leopold Caf&eacute; on Colaba Causeway, with my hair coiffed and a neat stack of resumes resting coyly on the table beside me. I repeatedly visited a hostel where tourists can sign up for same-day gigs and was told (much to my bafflement!) that all the studios in the city were &ldquo;shut for the season.&rdquo; I religiously attended theatrical performances all over Mumbai &ndash; at the Prithvi Theater, St. Andrew&rsquo;s Auditorium, the National Centre for the Performing Arts &ndash; in hopes of forging directorial contacts. I even tried to put up my own production of one of my favourite musicals, &ldquo;The Last Five Years,&rdquo; but was unable to cast a crucial role.

In the end &ndash; spoiler alert, dear friends! &ndash; I never &ldquo;made it&rdquo; in the way I had envisioned. I guess Bollywood stardom is just one of those bucket list items I&rsquo;ll have to consign to the failure pile, along with becoming a guzheng (Chinese zither) virtuoso and successfully knitting socks. Perhaps I am doomed to spend the rest of my film-watching days bitterly coveting all of Kalki Koechlin&rsquo;s roles. In the end, however, I have no regrets about my misadventurous foray into the Mumbai film world: after all, almost becoming a famous antiperspirant evangelist is something I can be proud of. And along the way, I gained firsthand insights into the sometimes frustrating, sometimes exhilarating&nbsp;and always the capricious world of Indian cinema.

But to end this post on a slightly more positive note: I haven&rsquo;t entirely given hope. Somewhere in the bowels of the Yash Raj media archives is a 30-second clip of me speaking terrible Hindi; so perhaps one day, Amir Khan will come to his senses and FINALLY cast me as the lead in a remake of Rang de Basanti.

I&rsquo;ll be keeping my Indian mobile phone charged just in case.

[1] Incidentally, the results of this informal survey constituted a fascinating study of my colleagues&rsquo; personalities and tastes: one co-worker suggested the delightfully goofy classics &ldquo;Mr. India&rdquo; and &ldquo;Amar, Akhbar, Anthony;&rdquo; another raved about &ldquo;Mughal-e-Azam,&rdquo; which is a cinematographic masterpiece but LONG and SLOW; while a few of my younger colleagues favored modern movies with political slants and social commentary, such as &ldquo;PK&rdquo; and &ldquo;Pink.&rdquo;

[2] I was also interested to note that many of the canonical Bollywood tropes &ndash; scenes shot in exotic locations, &ldquo;bad boys&rdquo; wooing &ldquo;good girls,&rdquo; unwelcome engagements and wedding mishaps, a final dramatic climax unfolding on a train &ndash; can trace their origins to the wildly popular DDLJ.

[3] At one point in the early 2000s (so the legend goes), the Maratha Mandir Theater decided it was time to end the daily showings of DDLJ; so the lead actor, Shahrukh Khan, simply purchased the establishment to keep his signature film running. This story is apocryphal, but fun to think about.

[4] As much as I adore and deeply respect the craft of acting, training in this field can sometimes be accurately characterised by my favourite Fry and Laurie sketch).

This&nbsp;<a href="http://aif.org/life-on-a-bollywood-film-set/" rel="nofollow">article</a>&nbsp;was originally&nbsp;published on 09/ 08/ 2017 on&nbsp;<a href="http://aif.org/" rel="nofollow">American India Foundation</a>

'I arrived in Mumbai like legions of aspiring actors before me, and doubtless many more to come: with heady dreams of Bollywood stardom.'

I arrived in Mumbai like legions of aspiring actors before me, and doubtless many more to come: with heady dreams of Bollywood stardom. I have to admit that before moving to India, I had seen exactly one Bollywood film, and that was “Dhoom 1”, not exactly the height of cinematic achievement, I realise in retrospect, but I was hooked. I also (as mentioned in a previous post) had the dubious honour of singing “Tere Liye” from “Prince” at a Diwali Ball in graduate school. I didn’t have the faintest idea what the lyrics meant, and (having been trained in opera in my youth) I sang it like Brünnhilde. It was all very weird. When I learned that during my tenure in Mumbai, I’d be living mere blocks away from the legendary Shahrukh Khan, I believe my words were “Sharoo Who?” (Oh the heresy! The naiveté!) I’ve been an avid thespian since I was 7 or so, chiefly acting in Shakespeare plays and musicals, so Bollywood – with its flair for melodrama, fondness for spectacle, and characters’ propensities for spontaneously bursting into elaborate song and dance routines – was a logical extension of my tastes. And once I got it into my head that I would portray the ingénue in Amir Khan’s next blockbuster (Dangal 2), I set about doing my homework. I bought bootleg films in the local market and visited nearby movie stores to purchase boxed sets of Greatest Hits. I polled my coworkers for their all-time favourite Bollywood films and made a point of watching every movie they suggested [1]. A fellow Clinton fellow and Bollywood fanatic, the lovely Yasin Khan, and I teamed up to watch an Alia Bhatt flick “together” over Skype: her in Darjeeling, me in Chennai. Poor internet connections on both ends meant we had to re-sync our copies dozens of times, but we persevered. One of my seminal experiences as a temporary Mumbaikar was patronising a matinee screening of Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ) [2] at the Maratha Mandir theatre. This particular venue has been showing DDLJ, perhaps the most iconic movie in Bollywood history, every. single. day. since its debut in 1995 [3]. When Katrina and I attended a showing one weekend morning in early February, I expected to find the theatre virtually empty – for who could possibly want to watch a film that’s been running for 22 years at 11:30 am on a Sunday? To my enormous surprise, the balcony was absolutely packed to the gills with raucous moviegoers. Thus began one of the most absurd and electrifying crowd spectacles I’ve ever experienced; indeed, it felt more reminiscent of a football game than a film screening. When Kajol and SRK made their first appearances onscreen, the spectators erupted in cheers and wolf-whistles; they sang along with every song and recited large chunks of dialogue word-perfectly; at intermission they streamed out into the lobby for samosas and steaming cups of chai, chattering delightedly; and moments after the final epic train scene, when Kajol’s dad utters the now iconic lines “Ja Simran, ja, jee le apni zindagi!” (“Go Simran, go, live your life!”), the whooping and hollering crowd almost instantaneously dispersed, leaving an eerily quiet balcony littered with samosa wrappers and paper chai cups in their wake. It was an experience as bizarre as it was delightful, and it ranks among my warmest Mumbai memories. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge celebrates 900 weeks of continuous showings at the Maratha Mandir: “The One with Heart Will Win the Bride”. (Others) × My first decisive step towards Inevitable Stardom was to enrol in Anupam Kher’s evening acting course, thinking it might be a good way to hone my technique and make contacts in the industry. Alas, I quit after the third session: the course was conducted entirely in Hindi, and my language skills weren’t nearly strong enough for me to grasp the finer aspects of the Stanislavski Method. I also didn’t particularly relish the thought of spending three hours every evening for the next month pretending to be a snowflake [4]. I set about creating half a dozen online audition profiles and cold-emailing scores of casting directors. In time, all manner of bizarre audition notices began trickling in. At one point it seemed likely that I would be the face of India’s leading deodorant brand (huzzah!), but sadly that particular career-making windfall never came to pass. There were several offers that offended my dignity: I turned down a chance to advertise razors since doing so required posing nearly nude. I was cast in a web-series as a stock western character with “loose morals” but I did not feel comfortable with the behaviors I would be required to portray, nor did I wish to perpetuate stereotypes about my race. My most persistent pursuer – who regaled me with dozens of emails and phone calls despite my repeated refusals – seemed quite desperate to find Western actresses willing to wear a revealing Mrs Claus costume at a gentleman’s club in Delhi. A few of my attempts to break into the Indian acting world came tantalisingly close to fruition. I was cast as a British publisher in an independent film and met personally with the director to review the script and discuss scheduling, but the filming dates kept getting postponed until finally, it was time for me to leave India. I was asked to make an emergency appearance at a Bandra studio to play a bit part in a Marathi serial, but the director never followed up with a specific location. I gave a screen test at Yash Raj Studios, to no avail. I was also invited to audition for the lead in a Niraj Pandey film (my big break at last??); but once again, the agent never provided audition details. Quite near the end of the fellowship, I joined the cast of a Hindi-language production of Macbeth (a ludicrously improbable confluence of so many things I adore), but ultimately work and family obligations took precedence. At around the halfway point of the fellowship, I resolved to take matters into my own hands. Mumbai guidebooks will tell you that a Westerner hoping to serve as an extra on a Bollywood film set can often get “scouted” in certain touristy areas of town. I sipped countless cold coffees at the Leopold Café on Colaba Causeway, with my hair coiffed and a neat stack of resumes resting coyly on the table beside me. I repeatedly visited a hostel where tourists can sign up for same-day gigs and was told (much to my bafflement!) that all the studios in the city were “shut for the season.” I religiously attended theatrical performances all over Mumbai – at the Prithvi Theater, St. Andrew’s Auditorium, the National Centre for the Performing Arts – in hopes of forging directorial contacts. I even tried to put up my own production of one of my favourite musicals, “The Last Five Years,” but was unable to cast a crucial role. In the end – spoiler alert, dear friends! – I never “made it” in the way I had envisioned. I guess Bollywood stardom is just one of those bucket list items I’ll have to consign to the failure pile, along with becoming a guzheng (Chinese zither) virtuoso and successfully knitting socks. Perhaps I am doomed to spend the rest of my film-watching days bitterly coveting all of Kalki Koechlin’s roles. In the end, however, I have no regrets about my misadventurous foray into the Mumbai film world: after all, almost becoming a famous antiperspirant evangelist is something I can be proud of. And along the way, I gained firsthand insights into the sometimes frustrating, sometimes exhilarating and always the capricious world of Indian cinema. But to end this post on a slightly more positive note: I haven’t entirely given hope. Somewhere in the bowels of the Yash Raj media archives is a 30-second clip of me speaking terrible Hindi; so perhaps one day, Amir Khan will come to his senses and FINALLY cast me as the lead in a remake of Rang de Basanti. I’ll be keeping my Indian mobile phone charged just in case. [1] Incidentally, the results of this informal survey constituted a fascinating study of my colleagues’ personalities and tastes: one co-worker suggested the delightfully goofy classics “Mr. India” and “Amar, Akhbar, Anthony;” another raved about “Mughal-e-Azam,” which is a cinematographic masterpiece but LONG and SLOW; while a few of my younger colleagues favored modern movies with political slants and social commentary, such as “PK” and “Pink.” [2] I was also interested to note that many of the canonical Bollywood tropes – scenes shot in exotic locations, “bad boys” wooing “good girls,” unwelcome engagements and wedding mishaps, a final dramatic climax unfolding on a train – can trace their origins to the wildly popular DDLJ. [3] At one point in the early 2000s (so the legend goes), the Maratha Mandir Theater decided it was time to end the daily showings of DDLJ; so the lead actor, Shahrukh Khan, simply purchased the establishment to keep his signature film running. This story is apocryphal, but fun to think about. [4] As much as I adore and deeply respect the craft of acting, training in this field can sometimes be accurately characterised by my favourite Fry and Laurie sketch). This article was originally published on 09/ 08/ 2017 on American India Foundation

Life on a (Bollywood) film set

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Life on a (Bollywood) film set