by Young
“That’s correct,” came Anuja’s reply. “Now, I sit behind a desk, to take calls and type my boss’ correspondence.”
She paused before resuming, “Not that I mind doing it, but it’s not something I enjoy.”
“Can’t you go back to your old job?” I asked.
“Not really. My boss prefers to hire teenagers to do the delicate work. Their eyesight is better. Mistakes are seldom made. In my country, there are many young people looking to be trained in skilled jobs. There are many applicants for my boss to choose from.”
I offered, “Can’t you become a teacher for the young apprentices?”
“It is not as simple as you think,” she sighed.
“Why not?”
“There are many older ex-embroiders and beaders who want to be instructors. There’s tough competition; Miram selects only the best. That’s why I opted to be her personal assistant – so I can learn to run a company. Someday, I want to have my own fashion firm,” the secretary explained, before looking around precipitously to make sure no one heard her pronouncement.
She pleaded, “Please, promise not to mention what I said to my boss. I don’t want anyone to know my plans.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I’m simply curious about the operational aspect of a fashion business,” I responded.
We had arrived at a large chamber, with high ceilings lined with fans. Rows of industrial sewing machines filled the entire space. Forty to fifty workers were busy sewing garments of a similar design. Not having seen clothes produced in such quantities, I was intrigued by the production line. At the far end of the room, a long cutting table occupied the entire side. Eight to ten workmen laid out yards of fabric, one atop another, to approximately six inches deep. Paper patterns were then secured on top; several heavy cutting machines worked their way round the patterns. Operators, who stood on both sides of the long table, maneuvered these industrial cutters with precision. I stood gawking, mesmerized by the entire process.
This experience was my first, but, it would not be my last. Throughout the course of my professional life, as an international fashion designer, I’ve worked with numerous ready-to-wear (RTW) garment production factories in Europe, India, S. E. Asia, China and the Americas. The process is similar; the only differences are the color, language and culture of the workers.
Time to Say Goodbye
I was in a reverential state, when our entourage returned to the throne room. This factory tour had awed me, in more ways than one. Besides learning the inner workings of an off-the-rack clothing production company, I had also come to the realization that haute couture was my true calling. Designing ready-to-wear was a means to an end; I felt much like the Queen, who preferred to dress celebrity clients. Mass producing for other designers and department store labels provided Miram the monetary means to succor her love for haute couture.
As we filed into our limousines, we were each handed personal invitations by Her Serene Highness. Inside the decorative hand-crafted note, I read:
Master Young Foong
You are cordially invited
To
THE JEWEL OF INDIA
Miram Mahārājñī Kunnathuparambil
Fashion Extravaganza
At
THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN
Rashtrapati Bhavan
(President’s House)
On the
Thirtieth day of March, 1968
At
Six o’clock, post meridian
I look forward to seeing you
Sincerely,
Miram M. K.
Répondez s’il vous plait
To Miss Anuja Singh
Before the fifteenth Day of March, 1968
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Bollywood to Hollywood
“Bollywood stars are versatile;
Not only can they act,
But each has the dance skills of John Travolta in ‘Saturday Night Fever’.”
Christian Louboutin
1968
From Tollywood to Bollywood
The name “Bollywood” was inspired by “Tollywood,” which referred to the cinema of West Bengal. Dating back to 1932, “Tollywood” was the earliest Hollywood-inspired name. It refers to the Bengali film industry based in Tollygunge, Calcutta. This was the center of Indian movie industry at the time, and the chance juxtaposition of two pairs of rhyming syllables - Holly and Tolly - led to the portmanteau “Tollywood.”
In the years that followed, “Tollywood” became a nickname for the Bengali film industry. This blending of words set a precedent for other film industries to use similar-sounding prefixes; that’s where we got “Bollywood” in the late 1960s, when India overtook America as the world’s largest film producer. However, Tollywood is still around, now used to refer to the Telugu Film Industry in Telangana & Andhra Pradesh.
Since there’s a large Indian population in Kuala Lumpur, Mother was awed and in love with these Tamil-language movies, which were shown regularly on the Malayan silver screens. She was mesmerized by the hodgepodge of action, romance, comedy and the abundance of musical numbers that were de rigueur in each and every one of these films, even though she did not understand the dialogue.
Since I wanted to spend time with my beloved mother and had nothing planned during my summer vacation from Daltonbury Hall, I tagged along to these escapist fluffs to keep her company. This was my way to revive our solicitous mother-son relationship before I returned to England for another year.
In 1968, our entourage met Manmohan Desai, the father of the Masala film, a piece of Indian cinema that freely mixes action, comedy, romance, and drama into one work. This genre is named after the masala, a mixture of spices in Indian cuisine. He iterated to Count Mario, and to us, in 1968: “I want people to forget their misery. I want to take them into a dream world where there is no poverty, where there are no beggars, where fate is kind and god is busy looking after his flock.” He added, “In many cases, sheer star power accounts for a film’s success rather than plot, character development and dramatic tension.”
Therefore, it came as no surprise when Count Mario informed us that we would visit the Natraj film Studios while in Bombay.
Natraj Studios
Esquire Snow and Mr. Romesh Thapar had organized the Count’s visit with an accomplished film director and screenwriter, Kamal Amrohi. In 1968, the Kamal Amrohi Studios, also known as the Kamalistan Studios, had become the Natraj Studios. This massive property located in Jogeshwari East, off Jogeshwari – Vikhroli Link Road, spread over 15 acres.
I learned then that unlike Hollywood, Bollywood does not exist as a physical place, and some deplored the name, arguing that it made the Indian film industry look like a poor cousin of Hollywood. Yet, the name stuck, and “Bollywood” has its own entry in the Oxford English Dictionary as the sobriquet for Hindi cinema. Though it is often used incorrectly as synecdoche to refer to the whole of Indian cinema, in reality, it is only a part of the large Indian film industry – a large part, which remains a sizable centre for film production in the world.
During our tour to Natraj Studios, I was transfixed by the number of costume changes the actresses went through. Although many were variations of the sari, they did come in a blazon of vivid colours. Like those from Miram’s haute couture boutique and “Lakshmi’s Abode,” these garments were ornately embellished. Lining the racks of the costume department were brocade taffetas in gold, silver, emerald, ruby, sapphire, topaz, and every conceivable shades under the sun.
An abundance of sewers, seamstresses, beaders and embroiderers were busy working on various projects. The only difference between Lakshmi’s factory and this costume workshop was the attitude of its workers.
In this establishment, males and females sang and tapped their feet to the rhythmic Indian melodies played on the radio. They reminded me of Walt Disney’s movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, in which the dwarfs sang while they worked. These artisans were obviously enjoying their c
raft. Their infectious radiance had a way of creeping into visitors like us, and soon, Narnia and I were swaying our hips to the mellifluous music.
When a couple of dancers in the midst of their costume fittings saw us undulating, they pranced around our entourage, encouraging us to follow. Fascinated, Narnia and I imitated their moves. Not letting go of such an unanticipated spontaneity, the photographers - Mario and Aziz clicked away as Coraline, Zac, Narnia and I gyrated in synchronicity with these professionals. Although Narnia and I encountered no problem during a particular head isolation move, a trait of traditional Indian dance, Coraline and Zac had difficulty mimicking it. To show Zac how to do it, the handsome dancer guided my chaperone to a nearby mirror to demonstrate. So did the beautiful female to Coraline.
Jamal and Lihaar
By the end of our impromptu performance, we had made friends with the troupe, especially the two principals, Jamal and Lihaar. They had taken a liking to us.
When we arrived at the studio where the film crew was shooting an invigorating dance segment, Jamal was busy directing and cueing the dancers through their respective routines. We had no idea that Jamal was one of Bollywood’s successful dancers and choreographers of his day. He had several Hindi films under his belt and was now the chief choreographer for a couple of shows the studio was filming.
This exuberant youth had attracted Count Mario Conti while Aziz was busy having eyes for the talented Lihaar. Not only were they magnificent dancers, they were also Bollywood’s most romantic screen actors – it didn’t take long for us to discover that Jamal and Lihaar were the reigning golden couple in Hindi moviedom, the Indian equivalent of Hollywood’s Doris Day and Rock Hudson.
Off screen and away from public scrutiny, their secret lives, known only to their inner circles, portrayed a different story. Like Ms. Day and Mr. Hudson, Lihaar and Jamal’s implied public personas were a front for their homosexual activities. Since the Indian film censor board did not permit on-screen kissing or love-making, the golden couple’s relationship was wholly platonic. They had been friends since age twelve.
Jamal’s father, an accomplished cricketer, was also the titular Nawab of a Princely State in Northern India. As a result, the actor-dancer acquired the nickname ‘Prince Jamal’ from his bosom buddies.
Lihaar’s heritage was equally impressive. She was the fourth child of a successful British-educated Punjabi neurosurgeon. Though her well-connected family did not take kindly to her wanting to be a dancer-actress, since it conflicted with the traditional maternal duties and responsibilities of women, her willpower to come into her own propelled her to stardom.
The duo, after watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in Flying Down to Rio, got hooked on dancing. Before long, they were regular participants in national dance competitions, winning trophies up and down the Ganges.
Versed in Indian classical dances and western style disco craze, they both soon became Bollywood’s hot property, since the majority of masala films have an average of four to six dance sequences per movie. From the late sixties to the mid-seventies, Jamal and Lihaar’s choreographies were as much in demand as their performances.
Mario and Aziz had invited both principals for dinner with our entourage by the end of our studio tour, plus an evening of club hopping.
Satyajit Ray
In the grand scheme of things, our visit to the Natraj Studios was an auxiliary exercise. Mario had gotten wind from Esquire Snow that the renowned Indian cinematographer, Satyajit Ray of The Apu Trilogy, had written a script called The Alien, and Columbia Pictures was interested. However, the collaboration was cancelled due to Hollywood’s multi-leveled bureaucracies. Now, our photographer wanted to be acquainted with Satyajit to see if he was a possible contender for his upcoming movie collaboration with Mr. Romesh Thapar.
Although our meeting went well, Mr. Ray had reservations about the Count’s motives, due largely to his discourse with Columbia Pictures. Even though the project was presented as an alliance between the Arabs, the Italians, the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), and last but not least, the India Tourism Development Corporation (ITDC), the Indian cinematographer was cynical about working with another western enterprise.
When Steven Spielberg debuted E.T. in 1982, it was widely believed that the blockbuster had been inspired by Satyajit Ray’s The Alien.
End of December 2012
My Message to Andy
Hello Loverboy,
I’m glad you made peace with your dad before he passed. In regards to my relationship with Mr. S. S. Foong, I never got to know the man I called father. As you were aware, my summer vacations in Kuala Lumpur were more a drudgery than a holiday. The fundamental reason I returned home was to spend time with my mother and female relatives. As had been the status quo, my old man would devise this or that regimen to try to butch me up. In the summer of 1970, he enrolled me at the Outward Bound School of Singapore (OBSS).
At OBSS
An unexpected occurrence did come of this escapade, even though I didn’t care for the program. Andy, you may or may not be aware that Outward Bound teaches interpersonal and leadership skills, not to mention wilderness survival. The first two skillsets were not unlike our education at the Enlightened Royal Oracle Society (E.R.O.S.) or the Dale Carnegie course in which I had participated before leaving Malaya for school in England.
It was the wilderness survival program I abhorred. Since I wasn’t rugged by nature (and remain that way to this day), this arduous experience was made worse by your absence.
In 1970, OBSS was under the management of Singapore Ministry of Defence, and used primarily as a facility to prepare young men for compulsory ’National Service,’ commonly known as NS. All young and able 18+ Singaporean male citizens and second-generation permanent residents had to register for National Service compulsorily. They would serve either a two-year or twenty-two-month period as Full Time National Servicemen after completing the Outward Bound course. Pending on their individual physical and medical fitness, these young men would enter the Singapore Armed Forces (SAF), Singapore Police Force (SPF), or the Singapore Civil Defense Force (SCDF).
Father, through his extensive contacts, enrolled me into the twenty-one-day Outward Bound summer course. There were twenty boys in my class. We were divided into small units under the guidance of an instructor.
During the first few days at the base camp, we trained for outdoor recreation activities such as adventure racing, backpacking, cycling, camping, canoeing, canyoning, fishing, hiking, kayaking, mountaineering, horseback riding, photography, rock climbing, running, sailing, skiing, swimming, and a variety of sporting activities.
I hated all of these pursuits, except photography and horseback riding, and little did the organizers know, I was already versed in a variety of social and leadership skills. After these confidence-building challenges, the various units headed off on separate expeditions. As the individual group developed the capacity to face challenges, the instructor would ask his allotted unit to make its own decisions.
I was teamed with a group of five older boys between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Our Portuguese-French instructor was a twenty-three-year-old named Jules – the moment I’d set eyes on him, I was enthralled by his handsome ruggedness, and I had made it a point to join his team no matter what it took.
Meanwhile, my “gaydar” also detected a half-Chinese and part Hispanic-American teammate called Kim. He, too, was checking out our instructor, and me. I befriended Kim and roomed with him on camping trips. Singapore, being a conservative society, did not condone homosexuality, let alone at this super ‘macho’ outpost.
During a swimming sojourn, I decided to pretend to drown to get the instructor to come to my rescue. Sure enough, when I feigned suffocation in the ocean, Jules headed my direction. While swimming to pull me ashore, I reached to brush his groin, as if by accident. I did this several times and felt his growing penis with every touch. By the time he’d pulled me aground, he had sprouted a full
erection behind his speedo. When he gave me the kiss of life, I jabbed my tongue into his mouth. Taken aback, he withdrew contact before resuming the revitalization process. This time, he lingered when his mouth was on mine.
He played it cool, since our patrol was watching the entire incident. He ordered my teammates back to their respective duties when he carried me to the tent I shared with Kim.
Although he knew I was capering with him, no words were exchanged throughout the entire process; neither did he make any attestation that he was aroused by what had transpired.
Before leaving the tent, he uttered, “I’ll check in later to make sure you are okay…”
He trailed off when Kim entered.
My dearest ex, I’m sure you are intrigued to hear the rest of my story. You will… eventually. LOL!
For now, I bid you adios, because my significant other is calling me to dinner. ☺
Love and hugs.
Your loving ex,
Young
XOXOXO
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Exotic Erotic Delights
“I think I could fall madly in bed with you.”
Count Mario Conti
1968
Britannia & Co
The evening before we left Bombay for the Sheikhdom of Sharjah, Mario and our Arabian hosts invited us and the Golden Couple of Hindi moviedom for dinner at a Parsi café, the Britannia & Co.
“This family-style Zoroastrian restaurant is the best and the oldest in my city,” said Jamal.
“There are around 500 Parsi restaurants in south Bombay, and Britannia is our favourite hangout. The food is delicious,” Lihaar finished.