Servings With a Smile
(Notes for those not hip to the scene:
- SRK is the common short-form for Shah Rukh Khan, a Bollywood superstar.
- Dard-E-Disco is the name of a song in a popular Bollywood movie “Om Shanti Om” which was released in 2007. In it, SRK sports a very hot six-pack. Various parties have alleged that he trained seriously for three months in order to acquire it.
- “Item number” roughly translates to sex symbol in Bolly-speak. Refer to the Wikipedia entry that I initiated for more details.
- Bindu is a female “character actor” who is a bit stout in stature.)
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Ever since seeing SRK’s six-pack in “Dard-E-Disco” — which I wholeheartedly believe was acquired within three months, per various claims, and not in the least bit aided or abetted by paint or graphic art — I have been inspired to transform my own rotund torso into a similarly sizzling item number.
Eight months after being decidedly inspired, I contemplated a concrete plan of action over a quart of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie. I would give myself an “SRK Point” for each healthy behavior. Yes! Mind and body are fully connected, and I wanted to keep a positive attitude about this. Why should “points” be bad things that you have to cap off? Points are good! The more points I have, the better! There is no reason to deprive myself of anything bad! I’ll just fill myself up with good things to get more points, and then I’ll naturally have less room for bad things! Right?!
Off I went on walks: to the park, to the grocery, to the mall, up mountains, around lakes, just keeping on the trudge. The SRK points were rackin’ on up, and my belly rolls were jiggling all the way, preparing for their demise.
OK, actually they were jiggling in celebration knowing that any preparation would be premature, as I regularly went to Masala Grill and effortlessly devoured garlic nan, paneer tikka masala, and gulab jamuns galore. “Damn, are you trying to look like SRK or Bindu?” my sister remarked in dismay one day.
Mohabbat-Gay
My friend Carlos and I started writing this about three years ago.
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Sameer’s blue eyes turn and meet Vikram’s while waiting at the train station. His gaze lowers to Vikram’s chiseled body, Vikram’s unzipped yellow vest swaying in the cool autumn wind as the two approach each other.
“Gurukul?” Vikram inquires softly.
“Ji, haan,” Sameer stammers back shyly.
They hear rustling in the background and turn, only to freeze in admiration at the sight of leather-clad Karan with his dark hair blowing in the wind. Unbeknownst to them all, this moment is to mark the advent of a life-long friendship…
The three boys hitchhike to their new boarding school, Gurukul, in a very small, tight Jeep, with their warm bodies pressed against each other throughout the bumpy ride.
The boys learn that they are coincidentally sharing the same dorm room, and enter together. Vikram breaks the uncomfortable silence with irrelevant banter, attempting to mask his emerging erotic thoughts. They stare out the window together and are simultaneously confronted by the arousing sight of the Headmaster Amitabh, with his dominating and erect posture.
Later that day, the three boys stand in the ranks of the great hall, savoring every word emanating from Headmaster Amitabh’s luscious lips, the engorging bulges in their loins begging to be released from their tightly unforgiving school-boy uniforms.
As the days pass, our three heroes find themselves more comfortable in each other’s company. They subconsciously find subtle ways of flirting with one another: slight brushes of the arms, long squeezes of the shoulders, innocent smiles with the gaze of the eyes lowered slightly so as to avoid the enterprising undressings conducted by them.
One day Vikram stumbles upon a picture in Sameer’s book. It is of a young woman. Vikram’s heart begins to crumble as he further inquires into Sameer’s relation to this person, hoping for a platonic truth. To his devastation, every heavy word departing Sameer’s mouth longs for the lost touch of Sanjana. However, Vikram doesn’t realize that Sameer is merely draping his concurrent phallic attraction with this heterosexual fallacy.
To be continued…
Cinematic Debut
In the summer of 2001, something possessed me to audition for a role in a zero-budget Hindi-language venture. The casting call had been put out by an aspiring Bollywood director, newly arrived from India and eager to put together this pilot project for Zee TV. I was going to be around Berkeley the whole summer with nothing to do after the 9-5 office space crap, so I figured, might as well see what’s up.
My acting ability, like my drawing ability, is something that only exists when I have some detailed example to bite blatantly. Before going into the audition, I popped in some Madhuri Dixit flick, which at the moment of necessity enabled me to ape the melodramatic lines and accompanying gestures with the greatest of ease. Because of this and the probable reluctance of many an aspiring actor to take up this shady unpaid gig, I landed a role as the “feminist friend” of the female lead.
The story was something along these lines: The male is is this dorky, persistent, but well-meaning guy who comes to an American college from India, and, while walking by McDonald’s, instantly falls in love with the female lead who happens to be passing by; she is American-born with “Indian values” (read: sexually modest, naive, and ultra-forgiving). Ooh, such deep irony in the East-West swap already — can you feel it?!
Now check this: the “feminist friend” is newly moved from Bombay (more irony!!), and, for some reason that the audience is not supposed to sympathize with, dislikes the persistent, bumbling Indian-born guy with pretty much no game. She instead sets the heroine up on a date with a jerk of an American-born Indian cocaine addict, who ends up tricking her into getting drunk (poor girl would never drink alcohol of her own volition, mind you; she thought it was just Coca Cola!) and… sexually assaults her. The heroine is traumatized because she feels responsible for having her “honor” toyed with, so she overdoses on the date rapist’s cocaine and ends up in the hospital. This is when dork man comes to hold her hand and tell her he loves her, and rapist dick also comes to apologize and beg for her not to take legal action. This gets dork incensed and ready to beat him up. However, sweet desi chick forgives rapist dick and tells dork man to leave him alone. Then dork man and forgiving dipshit chick fall in love and live happily ever after.
We shot a couple of scenes in my apartment, and during one such occasion, I thought I’d have a nice two-hour “discussion” with the director over a chai break.
