Standing on an Apple Box

by Aishwaryaa Rajinikanth Dhanush

  The shoot lasted fifty days, and no outsider was allowed in during this time. Nothing was leaked out. The producer had not showed his face to anyone during the shoot, nor did he during the post-production stage. The only people who saw him were the crew of the film and they were loyal, not breathing a word. The entire industry was intrigued. Strange rumours flew about, including one that said he had hired a shadow director to direct the movie while he put his name on the masthead. This was put to rest after some of the members of the unit insisted that Producer T was calling the shots and was the sole captain of the ship. Another director bemoaned the waste of money just to prove a point and massage a producer’s ego.

  The big-budget film had been under production for six months and was still being shot. Producer T’s film was ready for release in three months, during which time he did not visit the other set even once. From scripting to post-production, everything was done with a minimum of fuss but the end results were stunning. The movie released and was a super hit. Not only did it recover costs, it also made a very healthy profit for the producer.

  A week after the release, when the film had been declared a runaway hit and there could be no doubts about its collection or the good reviews it had garnered, Producer T walked onto the young director’s set.

  When Producer T walked in, the aura of victory around him was unmistakable. He strode towards his usual corner, and someone brought him his chair. He sat and watched, just as he used to before. One by one, everyone went up to him during the break and spoke to him. The heroine came in from the makeup room and spotting the producer, ran up to him and offered her congratulations. The director ignored all this. He didn’t have the courage to meet Producer T face to face.

  Lunch break was called. Producer T got up from his chair and approached the director. The entire set waited, without leaving for lunch, to see the drama unfold. He got to where the director stood and looked into his eyes.

  ‘Now can I make changes to the scene, son?’ he asked.

  The director could not reply.

  Appa was shooting next-door that day and Producer T joined him for lunch, during the course of which he recounted the entire story.

  The contentious scene was reshot and that film became a hit too. The scene that had caused all this trouble was talked about for its brilliance for a long time, both in the industry as well as among fans.

  Once Upon a Scandal

  Rumours, gossip, hook-ups, breakups. The film industry is known to supply fodder for innumerable stories, true or not. Whether one likes it or not, the curiosity surrounding the industry is such that people are always interested in hearing what is going on in their favourite celebrities’ lives. Our lives are scrutinized, criticized and commented upon on a regular basis. In fact there is an entire industry that has grown around it. Most people in the limelight get used to it, some master the art of working around it and there are, of course, those geniuses who manage to stay out of it. Nobody goes around looking for gossip, but let’s face it, one word here or there, and we get hooked. It’s human nature. And I am sure this is true of every kind of space, not just the movies. The only difference is that when it comes to the movies, people think that because they have invited an onscreen character into their living rooms or spent time with them in the theatre, their personal life is fair game too.

  I am no saint. It is always interesting to hear about who is dating or hooking up with whom, ego clashes on the set, cold wars among the stars, opportunistic friends, friends turned foes, foes turned BFFs and more. It’s interesting because I am in the same industry and also because, let’s face it, who can resist some juicy gossip once in a while.

  But there is one story that goes beyond gossip for me. It’s from an age when things were truly kept under wraps. No mobile phones to capture tender moments or scandalous proximity and instantly transmit them to the world. I remember the evenings when the uncles and aunties of the older generation would sit around after dinner and talk. I would be in a corner, drowsing, unnoticed but listening. And this story captured my imagination with its star-crossed lovers.

  Once upon a time, in the golden era of Tamil cinema, there was a leading lady. She was young and talented. She was stunning to look at. She was everything a leading man could ask for.

  He was a devoted family man with five children and a happy home. Respected for his talent and his principles.

  They were offered a movie together, but she was hesitant. Her cronies whispered in her ears, ‘You can’t work with him, he is not one of us, he is not our friend.’ The lady hated anyone telling her what to do. She was as spunky as she was beautiful. ‘I was just mildly interested in the beginning, but now I will work with him. Do not tell me how to run my career. Besides, he is a decent family man, I have nothing to fear from him.’

  The fates must have been laughing at her statement.

  The shoot began and the leading man, who had not once looked at the bevy of beauties that surrounded him in the industry, who had stayed true to his wife through five children, fell head over heels in love with his leading lady.

  She was attached to an airline pilot and was envisioning a future with him, but her hero on reel became her bane in real life. She tried resisting, but he was besotted. He pursued her with a vengeance, refusing to give up even when she refused every advance. He became so obsessed with her that cracks began to appear in his family life. The heroine was alarmed and tried to cut off all ties with him, but he couldn’t stop thinking, eating, sleeping and working with her in his heart. He was possessed by the thought of her, he believed that she was his true love, his soulmate.

  The poor woman. He slowly broke down her barriers with his relentless pursuit. She was confused by the fact that ignoring him, insulting him, lashing out at him, pleading with him, rejecting him, only made him more persistent. He claimed to feel an extraordinary love for her, a bond that spanned lifetimes.

  She gave in.

  The wife, the wronged woman, who was confident of her husband’s love, finally broke. Even when he was besotted with the other woman, she had thought that he would come back once the infatuation ran its course. She was lulled into a false sense of security because the other woman in question was not interested. But the equation had changed. A beautiful heroine had captured her husband’s heart and he had captured her attention too.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and she proved it. He would come to the shoot with tears in his eyes. She spared nothing in her wrath. She had her children in her corner and would fight tooth and nail to get their father back.

  It wreaked havoc in everyone’s lives.

  Particularly in our heroine’s life. She said to the man, for whom she had given up her previous relationship, for whom she had braved the scandal that society was sure to throw at them, ‘I can’t bear to see you go through this, my love. I know you are fighting for me, but it’s taking its toll on you, beyond what I expected.’

  ‘As long as I have you by my side, I can take anything. As long as I know I will be with you in the end, I can live with anything now,’ he replied.

  ‘Even though it’s hurting everyone around you and most of all—you?’

  ‘I want you, I want to be with you, no matter what …’

  She heard him out silently and left.

  He tried to get in touch with her, but he couldn’t. She had fallen off the radar. He went crazy. People still talk in whispers about the way he cried, wanting to hear her voice, how he ranted, wanting to catch a glimpse of her.

  A few days later, he too disappeared. Everyone was frantic. His family needed him, there was a huge amount of money invested in him, which would be lost if he didn’t turn up for work. As everyone ran from pillar to post trying to locate his whereabouts, his friend received a call.

  ‘It’s me. I cannot function without talking to her. I know she left because she couldn’t bear to see my pain, but I can’t bear life without her. I’ll come back on one condition. She has to speak to me. Else I’ll
stay away. Live my entire life in hiding.’

  The friend realized that people’s livelihoods depended on the hero getting his heroine, so he convinced the lady and she relented. After all, she too was deeply in love.

  She cried her heart out and called her love back. They believed it was the end of their travails, they believed they would never part again. They believed they belonged together. They were wrong.

  The wife refused to let go. She reached out to her family, his family, friends, colleagues. She reminded everyone of the marriage vows he had taken, to which they were witness. She paraded her children in front of them and demanded their rights. She threatened to end her life, along with her children’s. Everyone sided with her; after all, it was a case of taking away a father from five children. So finally, society had its say. The hero bowed down to the pressure from all sides and decided that his one true love had to be sacrificed for the life of his children. Moreover, his lady love understood. She didn’t stand a chance; she couldn’t take him away from his children. They parted and he had to swear on his babies’ heads that he would not pursue her.

  She would have to live with the consolation that he loved her like no one else had, or would; that he would never love anyone else as much as he loved her.

  I don’t know how much of this story is fact and how much fiction, but sitting among those dazzling men and women who flamed across the screen, listening to their tales of love and lust, envy and redemption, I imagined a love written in the stars but not destined to last on earth.

  Perseverance

  My first son was obsessed with Lego blocks, like many other kids of his age. We had once bought him an airplane set and he was playing with it at home. One wing of the plane just refused to stay in place. He tried everything, dismantling it, redoing it, trying it from various angles. Appa noticed his preoccupation and tried to distract him. It would work for a while but soon enough, the boy would get back to the wing. I was just thankful for the rare quiet time that I was getting (those with toddlers will surely understand) but Appa wanted to spend time with his grandson and kept luring him away. He finally gave up and the child went on until he managed to fit the wing on the plane, at which point we all rejoiced with him. The look on his face, of complete and utter satisfaction, was incredible.

  Appa was very impressed with his perseverance and recalled an experience from his own past that had us in splits. Apparently my son’s expression mirrored that of one of the movie industry’s most respected producers on a night long past, when a similar perseverance had been fuelled by hero worship and a whole load of alcohol.

  Appa was working on a film whose producer was also a friend—Mr Isari Velan. They had finished a successful shooting schedule in Madurai and were heading back by train. Mr Velan invited Appa over to his coupé for a drink and dinner. The drink before dinner turned into a couple and then more. Two other crewmembers joined them, and they chatted about the movie, congratulating each other on the great shoot and, of course, exchanging the usual movie gossip. It was around midnight when they finally decided to have dinner. The packed food was opened and shared and then everyone got up to go back to their seats. The crewmembers left first and Appa decided to have a final cigarette before retiring to his berth.

  Remember, this was the era before smoking was banned and it was normal to light up in private coupés. Although Amma had tried everything to get Appa to stop smoking, nothing had worked so far. An example of how in some cases even perseverance doesn’t work! She had finally given in when he promised to smoke with an additional filter. It did not stop her from worrying but she had this notion that the filter would at least help remove some of the nicotine and toxins. Now these filters had to be changed very often and there were always spare ones on him and with his personal staff. But on this particular night he had just one left.

  So at midnight and in high spirits, he took out his filter, but as he was fitting it on to the cancer stick, the train jolted and it flew out of his hands. As I said before, this was another era altogether. Trains were not exactly known for comfort, cleanliness or even bright lighting. There would be a few dusty yellow bulbs giving out feeble light that often flickered with the train’s speed. So Appa knew it was futile searching for the filter. He just smiled and said, ‘There goes my chance to smoke the final cigarette of the night.’ It was not just with his hit movie dialogues that Appa kept his word. Once he gave his guarantee about something, it was law. So even though he was a chain smoker, even though the craving for that last cigarette must have been huge, he would not go back on his promise to Amma.

  Mr Velan did not give up so easily. He wanted to search for that filter in the dimly lit, cramped space. Appa tried dissuading him by telling him he would smoke when he reached Chennai in the morning, but he was adamant. Fuelled by alcohol, he went on a quest for the elusive last filter. ‘I will search for it. The pleasure in doing something when you have the urge for it is special,’ he proclaimed before proceeding to go down on all fours and searching for the filter. Appa tried reasoning with him, but he would not relent.

  ‘I would like to try and then say, okay, I’m not able to help you, rather than feel disappointed without trying to help my friend,’ he said.

  It took almost an hour of scouring the floor on his knees, in that tiny, dark space with dank nooks and crannies that I shudder to even think about, before he emerged victorious, holding aloft the filter. Appa looked on helplessly all this while, but what he remembers most is the childlike glee on Mr Velan’s face at that moment of discovery and, of course, the lengths he went to, to fulfil my father’s desire.

  I can imagine the joy that cigarette gave him.

  The Making of a Marriage

  My life is intertwined with movies. Not that I planned it that way. Just as I had no say in being born into my father’s house, my falling in love and marrying an actor were predestined.

  I met my future husband at a movie theatre. We were watching Kadhal Kondein. At the end of the screening, I spoke to him for the first time and congratulated him, and within a year we were married. I am sure my father had a thousand questions running through his mind when I said, this is the man I want to marry. But my happiness was foremost in my parents’ minds and I am happy to say that their confidence was not misplaced. Love and marriage are often a gamble, however carefully thought out they may be, and I was extremely lucky.

  Appa, being the conservative father he is, did not want to see his daughter’s love life plastered across the pages of newspapers and magazines. He was very clear that there would be no engagement period and the respectable thing to do was to get married. We had a very conventional courtship, very old school. The usual dating rituals did not happen. We called and texted each other a lot, but there were no movie dates or dinners. We never had the chance to meet mutual friends as a couple. We did all that after getting married. We couldn’t be seen in public, so when I wanted to meet him, it was always at his home, where we would sit and chat, and most of our time together was spent driving around. Thankfully the ban on dark tints wasn’t in effect then; else we would have been discovered before we were ready to admit our relationship. I feel sorry for couples who want to stay hidden today. There is nothing more romantic than driving aimlessly, cocooned from the world outside and certain that no one can look in!

  On one of these drives, I was going on and on about our trips to the beach as kids. Of playing near the Gandhi statue, of eating huge meals on the sand, of the freedom that I had taken for granted. I complained about how it was next to impossible for me to go to a beach in Chennai now. He listened quietly and before I knew it, he had driven out of the city and on to East Coast Road. He stopped at a deserted beach and opened the door for me. It was one in the afternoon and the place was steaming under the sun, but I got out, feeling the warm sand under my toes and the gentle breeze trying its best to cool the baking sand. My allergy to the sun forced me back into the car very soon, but I felt a freedom that I had not felt in a long time
and I loved the gesture even more.

  Our wedding was pretty simple. A traditional engagement was organized the day before the wedding, quite unlike the lavish ceremonies that had become the norm. I was very particular about getting married at home and being blessed by a close gathering of our loved ones. The last thing I wanted was a big fat wedding and Dhanush seemed to find this endearing. So I got married in my father’s home, the first one he had bought, amidst the countless happy memories I had of the place.

  I count us among the lucky few whose love for each other has deepened in the years after we got married. From love we went to mutual understanding and respect. Like most husbands and wives, we discovered more about each other during the eleven years we have been married, than during our whirlwind courtship. They say women look for their father in their life partner. I had thought of this as some sort of pseudo psychology, until one day the similarities struck me. Being annoyingly adamant about keeping time, for one thing. Which is fine if you are catching a flight, but not when going to have a leisurely meal at a restaurant. (Restaurant managers love us. If we say 7 p.m., we are usually there by 6.55 p.m.) Both my father and my husband are never late for a shoot. If it says 9 a.m., they will be there at 9 a.m. They both have indescribable charisma on screen and a passion for acting. Their work ethic and love for children are just some other traits they share. Thankfully, all great qualities. So all in all, I won in the big marriage gamble. Not that we don’t have our ups and downs. Like any other couple, we fight and get mad at each other and then argue and make up and finally compromise. That is what marriage is like between two independent individuals who love each other for what they are, not for who they want them to be.

  But marriage did also change things for me, and those around me. For instance, I was never into brands. Appa bought his first luxury car when he was sixty-five. I gifted Amma her first branded handbag on her fiftieth birthday. They just don’t understand the concept of buying expensive things for the sake of it. Amma has never bought jewellery for herself in thirty-five years of marriage. I don’t think she has entered a jewellery store more than once or twice. I recall a friend of hers saying wistfully, ‘If I was a superstar’s wife, I would be shopping left, right and centre. Every day!’ During our late teens, my mother’s idea of shopping was one outing before Diwali. We would visit a sari showroom after working hours to shop for the festival. The other ‘shopping’ that I enjoyed when I was young was a trip to Nilgiris. It was one of the very few supermarket chains in Chennai. I loved browsing the shelves of ingredients, snacks and more. Amma would buy me a pack of cold flavoured milk for the ride back home. Dhanush spoilt me in this regard. For my first birthday as his wife, he drove all the way to Bangalore to buy me a Louis Vuitton bag. The year after that he gifted me a luxury car. It is hard to go back to my parents’ more spartan approach now!