Star-Crossed: An Excerpt
Star-Crossed
A novel by Ashokamitran
Translated by V Ramnarayan
An excerpt
Price: Rs. 150
ISBN: 978-81-8368-283-1
To buy online, click below
http://indiaplaza.in/search.aspx?catname=Books&srchkey=title&srchVal=star-crossed
One of the vehicles returning to Chennai from the Mamandur outdoor shooting stint came to a halt outside the Army recruitment office at Teynampet. Sampat got down and said to the driver,
‘You carry on, I’ll be at the office in just ten minutes.’ ‘The assistant director is saying something to you,’ Munuswami alerted him.
‘Yes sir?’ Sampat asked Rajgopal.
‘Do you know we are going straight to the studio?’ Rajgopal spat the words out, gnashing his teeth.
‘I will join you there sir. I’ll have a word with some of my relatives who have come from my home town.’ He turned to Munuswami and said, ‘Please inform Boss as well.’ The car then resumed its journey.
Sampat turned into the lane next to the peanut shop and reached home. Workmen were replacing the tiles on the roof. A scorpion fell from the roof with a thud. Immediately, one of the work smashed it. It was a house of mud walls. The 33 residents shared one common courtyard open to the sky. That was their only source of light.Parvati was out there, tying a plastic ribbon to her hair. ‘Where’s your mother?’ Sampat asked her.
Parvati sweated profusely. ‘She’s gone to the Alangatha temple,’ she told him.
‘You are all coming to watch the film shooting today, aren’t you?
‘We’re coming, we’re coming. She’ll be back soon.’
Just then, Parvati’s elder brother Umapati entered, his hair all oiled and plastered.
‘When did you come? When did you come sir? Have they already finished shooting? You promised to take us to watch the shooting.’
‘Come on, I have come here to inform you about it. Where’s Thangavel? I asked him to bunk school today.’
‘It’s he who has taken Amma and the others to the temple,’ said Parvati.
Sampat told Umapati, ‘Look here, as soon as Thangavel returns, you leave here so that you reach the studio at 12.30 sharp. Thangavel knows the place. Today’s shooting is only for half an hour. If you tarry to measure the height of the buildings on the street, we’ll have finished shooting, packed off and gone home to sleep.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there on time,’ Umapati assured him.
‘Will Jayachandrika be there today? Parvati asked.
‘How does it matter who’s there? All we want is to watch a film being made before we go back home, that’s all,’ said Umapati.
Sampat warmed to Parvati. ‘Only Jayachandrika will be shooting today.’
Parvati broke out in a sweat again. ‘I’m off’, Sampat said, ‘Make sure you leave exactly at twelve o’clock and come to the studio.’ He stopped in his tracks and addressed his next remarks to Umapati. ‘Hey listen, try and put on some decent clothes when you come to the studio. Keep your red linen shirt for after you go back to your village.’
In his anxiety to return quickly to the studio, he saw a taxi in every car that passed by. He spotted Madurai standing under an acacia tree. Sampat walked past him hoping he would see him.
‘Sir, you are going past me, not even looking at me?’ Madurai said.
‘I am in a hurry. I’m looking for a taxi.’
‘Why do you need a taxi, brother? Get into my car.’
Madurai’s car, which he ran as an unmetered private taxi, was a 1949 Ford. Sampat got in. After the car had gone some distance, Madurai said, ‘Why don’t you hire my car for a week or ten days?’
‘We complete this month’s shooting schedule today. I’ll arrange for the company to hire your taxi for next month’s shooting,’ said Sampat.
‘Pay me Rs. 25 per day and I’ll happily sign a receipt for Rs. 30. Please recommend me to Iyer.’
Madurai dropped Sampat near Vinayaka Studios, gave him a big salute and left. Sampat went past the reception area of the studio and entered the last room of the asbestos building. That was the room Vinayaka Studios had let out to Chandra Creations. Das was sitting there in the midst of a table, ten folding chairs, steel trunks, a variety of aluminium tiffin carriers, some brass vessels, a small basket of rotting apples and oranges. When he saw Sampat, he said,
‘Manager sir wants you to bring him lunch.’
‘Is there a car available?’
‘Syed’s car. Murugesan went to the heroine’s bungalow immediately after he came back from outdoor shooting.’
‘Did the manager give you any money for the lunch?’
Das handed over fifty rupees to him. Sampat put the money in his pocket, arranged the car, and told Das, ‘Put the tiffin carrier in the car. I’ll come back after I finish my work at the studio office.’
‘Isn’t your family visiting the studio today?’
‘Yes, they are all going back to the village tomorrow.’
‘I forgot to tell you. The dance master is using Syed’s car.’
‘Who gave him the car?’
‘He has informed the manager. Said he would return in ten minutes.’
Somewhat mollified by this statement, Sampat went to the programme office.
The programme room was all cramped and stuffy like programme rooms everywhere. Employees and visitors alike had to twist their bodies and find a seat somewhere within it. Three spears and four swords leaned over a wall in a corner.
Sampat peeped in, opening a spring half door.
‘Who are you? Don’t you dare enter here,’ the programme manager shouted.
Sampat overcame his hesitation. He said, ‘Why are you losing your temper, sir?’ and went and stood close to the manager.
‘How could you take away glass tumblers from this cupboard without my permission, that too in my absence? Out of the four glasses you removed you broke four. I am going to report the matter to your Mr Nataraja Iyer.’
‘It was he who asked me to borrow the glasses from your office.’
‘You don’t return empty glasses when you borrow glasses, do you?’
‘Now, you are talking…’
Natarajan came in. He nodded his head and started dialling a number with a great show of purpose. He just then noticed Sampat.
‘Haven’t you left yet to buy food?’ he asked him anxiously.
‘I’m going in a moment sir. It seems you let Ramlal take Syed’s car. I’ll go as soon as he comes back sir.’
‘It’s already 12.’ Natarajan could not get through to any of the numbers he was trying to contact.
‘Who is it, Jayachandrika?’ the programme manager asked.
‘Yes.’ Natarajan seemed to be disturbed. He turned to Sampat and said, ‘Why are you still here?’
‘I have a little bit of work with him,’ Sampat said, pointing at the programme manager.
The programme manager was about to explode with rage. ‘Look here Nataraja Iyer! You hobnob with ill-mannered urchins if that’s what you want to do. I don’t want them in the studio.’
‘Whom are you calling an urchin?’
‘Sampat, what’s all this?’ Natarajan asked in a loud voice.
‘He’s so insulting. Who’s he calling an urchin?’
The programme manager called out: ‘Hey ! hey!’
Natarajan lifted his hand irritably. The number he was trying to reach was still busy. ‘There’s no alternative to this damn telephone in this studio,’ he said.
A moment of silence followed. Then Sampat told the programme manager, ‘I’ll be late sir, please sign that permission slip for me.’ He now spoke in a different tone.
‘What permission?’
‘I am bringing six visitors to the studio.’
The programme manager was staring at the table. ‘Why do you need any permission? Even the gatekeeper gives you a double salute, though he ignores me completely.’
Natarajan’s brow was now somewhat less creased with worry.
Sampat did not reply. The programme manager said, ‘Where’s your slip?’
Sampat riffled through a number of paper slips on the desk and handed one of them to the manager. When he went out signed permission slip in hand, Natarajan said, ‘It’s already late Sampat. You’d better leave with the tiffin carrier.’
‘Sir, I need thirty rupees more,’ Sampat asked hesitantly.
Natarajan said, ‘Didn’t I give you fifty rupees?’
‘That will be just about enough to pay the Woodlands bill. Ghosh wants food brought from Deluxe Hotel for him and Ramlal Master. Sound recordist Daniel always likes to have soup and sandwiches from Buharis.’
Natarajan muttered, “I need to be at the bank by 2 o’clock.’ He then took out thirty rupees from his wallet and gave it to Sampat. When Sampat came out of the room, Natarajan told the programme manager, ‘The sound engineer will fall ill unless he has soup from Buharis and chicken, whenever he shoots here.’ He did not expect a reply to this quip. Sampat lingered for a while more before leaving on his errand. Just as he expected, Natarajan called him once again.
‘Bring some food for the manager too,’ he told him. ‘No need for that,’ the programme manager said. Natarrajan pretended not to hear him. He concentrated on his telephoning act. Sampat went in search of Syed’s car.
Syed’s car stopped in front of Floor No. II. Ramlal got down, the corner of his mouth spilling red.
The scented paan he was chewing overpowered the people around him with its strong aroma. Sampat told Syed, ‘Bhai, don’t go anywhere. We’ll have to bring food now.’
The Chandra Creations set had been put up on Floor No. II. The sound recording van stood in front of the big swinging door. Seated next to it on folding chairs were cameraman Ghosh, Jagannath Rao and a few others. Ghosh said, ‘Hey Sampat! Has our leading leady gone to get her make-up done?’ ‘She hasn’t come yet,’ said Sampat, ‘the manager is trying to reach her by phone.’
Ghosh cleared his throat and spat. Jagannath sat smoking quietly.
Sampat entered the floor. A river scene with a tree and a few shrubs had been fabricated. A variety of paper flowers had been strung on the trees and shrubs. Lights small and large had been arranged on the crisscrossing wooden rafters above, all ready for the shooting. The light boys, carpenter and the odd job men were seated on the floor chewing betel leaves. Sampat spotted Munuswami and told him, ‘I am going out to bring food. Seven or eight of my family will come to the studio to watch the shooting. Please give them vantage seats.’
‘I’ll take care of all that. But, have you got the permission slip? Otherwise the receptionist can create problems.’
‘I have the permission slip.’
‘We only have half an hour’s work once the heroine comes. After that we can at least stretch our feet in the office. Location shooting does play havoc with the body.’
From outside could be heard the voice of the director calling ‘Rajgopal! Rajgopal!’
Munuswami went on with his lament, ‘We should have called the lady here. That way, we could have finished our work by now. We could have avoided all these light boys having to wait so long.’
One of the light boys asked Munuswami, ‘It’s only rarely that we get to work overtime for an hour or two on the morning shift in this godforsaken studio. Why do you want to sabotage that?’
Just then, Jagannath Rao came in. ‘Isn’t Rajgopal there?’ he asked.
‘No sir,’ said Munuswami.
‘OK, Sampat, why don’t you go check if the studio is free?’ Jagannath Rao said.
‘It is free sir. I checked it out on my way here.’
‘ Right then, inform the operator and the editor and ask them to keep the rushes of the last shot ready. Let’s project it once.’
When Sampat came out, he found Ghosh trying to punch Ramlal in his stomach. Unmindful of his long pyjamas collecting dust from the floor, Ramlal was demonstrating his Egyptian dance as best he could. ‘Have the rushes projected in the theatre,’ Ghosh told Sampat as well.
Sampat got into Syed’s car. Syed stopped the car in front of the Chandra Creations room.
‘Iyer came again and bawled at me,’ Das said, and started to load the vessels in the car.
‘We’ll bring the food in just ten minutes,’ Sampat told him, ‘I have already ordered twenty meals from Woodlands.’
The tiffin carriers didn’t move, but the brass vessels made a racket as they clashed with one another in the jerky movement of the car.
‘Just a minute,’ Sampat said. He got off the car and went to the first floor of the studio’s projection theatre. He instructed the operator there and went on to the editing department.
That part of the studio was airconditioned. Editor Pitambaram was swearing violently at someone. He turned to Sampat and asked, ‘I say, when did you come back from the outdoor shooting?’
‘We were back as early as 10-10.30. The director wanted to see the rushes. I have just instructed the operator.’
‘So there’ll be no indoor shooting today?’
‘It is scheduled. Hasn’t started yet.’
‘That female hasn’t come in. Isn’t that the problem?’
Sampat’s response was non-committal. ‘May I go now, sir?’
Pitambaram called out: ‘Come here you ass!’ A well dressed young man came in, his face a hard mask.
‘You lazy bum! You think you’re doing great if you wear a white shirt and pants, you donkey! Move all the cans we assembled yesterday to the theatre, you sleepyhead!’
With no change of expression, the young man picked up the round tin boxes and took them away.
‘Sir, how about your lunch?’ Sampat asked.
‘I don’t want a meal. Try and get me some puri-kurma, stuff like that.’
‘Ok sir.’
‘Get that pieface a proper meal. He hasn’t eaten the whole morning.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Where are the cigarettes?’
‘I’ll get you some on my way back sir.’
Sampat ran and got into the car. Syed started the car and zoomed forward. When they were about to pass the studio receptionist, Sampat said, ‘Bhai, hold on for a moment.’ Syed applied the brakes hard and all four wheels squealed to a stop. Sampat got down and ran to the receptionist’s desk. Just then, a car entered the studio gate and went past them. Sampat stood still for a moment. He then handed over the entry permit for his relatives to the receptionist.
‘Isn’t that your boss who went in?’ the receptionist asked Sampat.
‘Yes, it’s our Reddiar. Send my visitors on to Munuswami. He’ll take care of them,’ he told the receptionist and ran back to the car. ‘Hurry,’ he told Syed.
‘How can I hurry if you stop every ten feet?’
The car had really come to a stop. It didn’t start for a while. Just as Sampat was about to get down and give it a push, the boss’s car went past them once again, this time from inside the studio out.
‘That was the manager, wasn’t it?’ Syed asked.
‘He said he had to go to the bank. Maybe he’s also going to Jayachandrika’s house,’ said Sampat.
He got down.
‘That woman is always late,’ said Syed and made some violent attempts to start the engine. The car finally started.
The service at Woodlands was pretty quick. They packed the tiffin carriers in no time. While the plantains and beedas were being counted out, a waiter took Sampat aside and gave him a cool glass of badam milk. ‘Did you give the driver a glass?’ Sampat asked.
‘The manager is watching.’
As Sampat was leaving, four of the hotel staff deliberately came into his line of vision. Sampat had been able to get one of them a three-minute part in a film.
‘What brother, shall we straightaway go and collect the non-veg food or shall we first drop off all this food at the studio?’ Syed asked.
‘Let’s go to the studio first and then to Deluxe Hotel,’ said Sampat.
Syed drove the car straight to the lunch room. The car gave off a strong aroma of food, thanks to spilt rasam and sambar.
It was piercing hot. As Sampat looked around to find someone to unload the food vessels, Munuswami came out from the lunch hall. ‘You are just in time. Everyone’s waiting for lunch,’ he said.
‘What about the shooting?’ Sampat asked.
‘The director postponed it to after lunch.’
‘Then…’
Munuswami interrupted him. ‘Your relatives have all come. I have arranged for them to be seated on benches under the peepul tree.’
‘Not that… what about the shooting?’
‘Jayachandrika hasn’t come yet.’
While the Woodlands food was being unloaded, Sampat went to the peepul tree. Parvati, Umapati, their mother, mother’s mother, and younger brother Thangavelu were all sitting on the bench, their postures suitably deferential.
Umapati wasn’t wearing a red shirt. Parvati’s hair wasn’t tied up with a ribbon. They both seemed to be in two minds about whether to smile at Sampat or not. Sampat told them, ‘The shooting should start in about half an hour. Please wait here.’ Parvati perspired profusely.
‘Is it true someone called Jayachandrika hasn’t turned up yet?’ Parvati’s mother asked. This irritated Sampat. Ignoring the question, he asked, ‘Are you comfortable? Can I get you some water or something?’
‘We’re fine, you don’t trouble yourself in the midst of all your work,’ said Parvati’s mother.
Sampat left them there and went back to the ‘tiffin hall.’ On the way, he spotted the director and some underlings, looking anxious.
When he reached the tiffin hall, he found the car missing. Only Ghosh was there. Sampat had a sinking feeling in the stomach. There was no sign of Munuswami or Das.
Sampat came to the programme office all aflutter. He found the car there. Syed was standing there in his best deferential manner, holding the handle of the rear door.
‘What is it?’ Sampat asked.
‘The boss is in there,’ Syed told him in a low voice, pointing to the programme office.
‘Where’s Murugesan car?’
‘No sign of it so far. Jayachandrika hasn’t come in yet. When last seen, the manager went in search of her. He too hasn’t come back. That’s why the boss is on the phone.’
‘Why don’t we go and get the Deluxe food?’
‘Boss wants the car. You should stay here too, if you ask me.’
Das came running from nowhere. ‘Das’, Sampat called out.
‘Yes?’ said Das.
Sampat gave him a list and money and said, “Take a taxi and buy all this stuff.’
Das would normally have muttered his protests. But just then Reddiar came out of the programme office—so fast that the spring doors of the room swung open and shut several times.
Syed opened the backdoor in a flash and waited.
Das ran away. Sampat stood rooted to the spot, watching Reddiar motionlessly. Reddiar, whose physical appearance commanded respect from everyone in his presence, stood in the sun, not knowing what to do. Then seeming to come to a decision, he got into the car. Once again, Syed closed the door within the blink of an eye, sat in his seat and started the car.
Reddiar looked back through the car window from his seat. He nodded his head towards Sampat. Sampat quickly came and stood by his side.
‘Get in,’ Reddiar said to him. Sampat sat next to Syed.
Syed put the car in gear and waited. ‘Go to Jayachandrika’s house,’ Reddiar said.
The car started.
A novel by Ashokamitran
Translated by V Ramnarayan
An excerpt
Price: Rs. 150
ISBN: 978-81-8368-283-1
To buy online, click below
http://indiaplaza.in/search.aspx?catname=Books&srchkey=title&srchVal=star-crossed
One of the vehicles returning to Chennai from the Mamandur outdoor shooting stint came to a halt outside the Army recruitment office at Teynampet. Sampat got down and said to the driver,
‘You carry on, I’ll be at the office in just ten minutes.’ ‘The assistant director is saying something to you,’ Munuswami alerted him.
‘Yes sir?’ Sampat asked Rajgopal.
‘Do you know we are going straight to the studio?’ Rajgopal spat the words out, gnashing his teeth.
‘I will join you there sir. I’ll have a word with some of my relatives who have come from my home town.’ He turned to Munuswami and said, ‘Please inform Boss as well.’ The car then resumed its journey.
Sampat turned into the lane next to the peanut shop and reached home. Workmen were replacing the tiles on the roof. A scorpion fell from the roof with a thud. Immediately, one of the work smashed it. It was a house of mud walls. The 33 residents shared one common courtyard open to the sky. That was their only source of light.Parvati was out there, tying a plastic ribbon to her hair. ‘Where’s your mother?’ Sampat asked her.
Parvati sweated profusely. ‘She’s gone to the Alangatha temple,’ she told him.
‘You are all coming to watch the film shooting today, aren’t you?
‘We’re coming, we’re coming. She’ll be back soon.’
Just then, Parvati’s elder brother Umapati entered, his hair all oiled and plastered.
‘When did you come? When did you come sir? Have they already finished shooting? You promised to take us to watch the shooting.’
‘Come on, I have come here to inform you about it. Where’s Thangavel? I asked him to bunk school today.’
‘It’s he who has taken Amma and the others to the temple,’ said Parvati.
Sampat told Umapati, ‘Look here, as soon as Thangavel returns, you leave here so that you reach the studio at 12.30 sharp. Thangavel knows the place. Today’s shooting is only for half an hour. If you tarry to measure the height of the buildings on the street, we’ll have finished shooting, packed off and gone home to sleep.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there on time,’ Umapati assured him.
‘Will Jayachandrika be there today? Parvati asked.
‘How does it matter who’s there? All we want is to watch a film being made before we go back home, that’s all,’ said Umapati.
Sampat warmed to Parvati. ‘Only Jayachandrika will be shooting today.’
Parvati broke out in a sweat again. ‘I’m off’, Sampat said, ‘Make sure you leave exactly at twelve o’clock and come to the studio.’ He stopped in his tracks and addressed his next remarks to Umapati. ‘Hey listen, try and put on some decent clothes when you come to the studio. Keep your red linen shirt for after you go back to your village.’
In his anxiety to return quickly to the studio, he saw a taxi in every car that passed by. He spotted Madurai standing under an acacia tree. Sampat walked past him hoping he would see him.
‘Sir, you are going past me, not even looking at me?’ Madurai said.
‘I am in a hurry. I’m looking for a taxi.’
‘Why do you need a taxi, brother? Get into my car.’
Madurai’s car, which he ran as an unmetered private taxi, was a 1949 Ford. Sampat got in. After the car had gone some distance, Madurai said, ‘Why don’t you hire my car for a week or ten days?’
‘We complete this month’s shooting schedule today. I’ll arrange for the company to hire your taxi for next month’s shooting,’ said Sampat.
‘Pay me Rs. 25 per day and I’ll happily sign a receipt for Rs. 30. Please recommend me to Iyer.’
Madurai dropped Sampat near Vinayaka Studios, gave him a big salute and left. Sampat went past the reception area of the studio and entered the last room of the asbestos building. That was the room Vinayaka Studios had let out to Chandra Creations. Das was sitting there in the midst of a table, ten folding chairs, steel trunks, a variety of aluminium tiffin carriers, some brass vessels, a small basket of rotting apples and oranges. When he saw Sampat, he said,
‘Manager sir wants you to bring him lunch.’
‘Is there a car available?’
‘Syed’s car. Murugesan went to the heroine’s bungalow immediately after he came back from outdoor shooting.’
‘Did the manager give you any money for the lunch?’
Das handed over fifty rupees to him. Sampat put the money in his pocket, arranged the car, and told Das, ‘Put the tiffin carrier in the car. I’ll come back after I finish my work at the studio office.’
‘Isn’t your family visiting the studio today?’
‘Yes, they are all going back to the village tomorrow.’
‘I forgot to tell you. The dance master is using Syed’s car.’
‘Who gave him the car?’
‘He has informed the manager. Said he would return in ten minutes.’
Somewhat mollified by this statement, Sampat went to the programme office.
The programme room was all cramped and stuffy like programme rooms everywhere. Employees and visitors alike had to twist their bodies and find a seat somewhere within it. Three spears and four swords leaned over a wall in a corner.
Sampat peeped in, opening a spring half door.
‘Who are you? Don’t you dare enter here,’ the programme manager shouted.
Sampat overcame his hesitation. He said, ‘Why are you losing your temper, sir?’ and went and stood close to the manager.
‘How could you take away glass tumblers from this cupboard without my permission, that too in my absence? Out of the four glasses you removed you broke four. I am going to report the matter to your Mr Nataraja Iyer.’
‘It was he who asked me to borrow the glasses from your office.’
‘You don’t return empty glasses when you borrow glasses, do you?’
‘Now, you are talking…’
Natarajan came in. He nodded his head and started dialling a number with a great show of purpose. He just then noticed Sampat.
‘Haven’t you left yet to buy food?’ he asked him anxiously.
‘I’m going in a moment sir. It seems you let Ramlal take Syed’s car. I’ll go as soon as he comes back sir.’
‘It’s already 12.’ Natarajan could not get through to any of the numbers he was trying to contact.
‘Who is it, Jayachandrika?’ the programme manager asked.
‘Yes.’ Natarajan seemed to be disturbed. He turned to Sampat and said, ‘Why are you still here?’
‘I have a little bit of work with him,’ Sampat said, pointing at the programme manager.
The programme manager was about to explode with rage. ‘Look here Nataraja Iyer! You hobnob with ill-mannered urchins if that’s what you want to do. I don’t want them in the studio.’
‘Whom are you calling an urchin?’
‘Sampat, what’s all this?’ Natarajan asked in a loud voice.
‘He’s so insulting. Who’s he calling an urchin?’
The programme manager called out: ‘Hey ! hey!’
Natarajan lifted his hand irritably. The number he was trying to reach was still busy. ‘There’s no alternative to this damn telephone in this studio,’ he said.
A moment of silence followed. Then Sampat told the programme manager, ‘I’ll be late sir, please sign that permission slip for me.’ He now spoke in a different tone.
‘What permission?’
‘I am bringing six visitors to the studio.’
The programme manager was staring at the table. ‘Why do you need any permission? Even the gatekeeper gives you a double salute, though he ignores me completely.’
Natarajan’s brow was now somewhat less creased with worry.
Sampat did not reply. The programme manager said, ‘Where’s your slip?’
Sampat riffled through a number of paper slips on the desk and handed one of them to the manager. When he went out signed permission slip in hand, Natarajan said, ‘It’s already late Sampat. You’d better leave with the tiffin carrier.’
‘Sir, I need thirty rupees more,’ Sampat asked hesitantly.
Natarajan said, ‘Didn’t I give you fifty rupees?’
‘That will be just about enough to pay the Woodlands bill. Ghosh wants food brought from Deluxe Hotel for him and Ramlal Master. Sound recordist Daniel always likes to have soup and sandwiches from Buharis.’
Natarajan muttered, “I need to be at the bank by 2 o’clock.’ He then took out thirty rupees from his wallet and gave it to Sampat. When Sampat came out of the room, Natarajan told the programme manager, ‘The sound engineer will fall ill unless he has soup from Buharis and chicken, whenever he shoots here.’ He did not expect a reply to this quip. Sampat lingered for a while more before leaving on his errand. Just as he expected, Natarajan called him once again.
‘Bring some food for the manager too,’ he told him. ‘No need for that,’ the programme manager said. Natarrajan pretended not to hear him. He concentrated on his telephoning act. Sampat went in search of Syed’s car.
Syed’s car stopped in front of Floor No. II. Ramlal got down, the corner of his mouth spilling red.
The scented paan he was chewing overpowered the people around him with its strong aroma. Sampat told Syed, ‘Bhai, don’t go anywhere. We’ll have to bring food now.’
The Chandra Creations set had been put up on Floor No. II. The sound recording van stood in front of the big swinging door. Seated next to it on folding chairs were cameraman Ghosh, Jagannath Rao and a few others. Ghosh said, ‘Hey Sampat! Has our leading leady gone to get her make-up done?’ ‘She hasn’t come yet,’ said Sampat, ‘the manager is trying to reach her by phone.’
Ghosh cleared his throat and spat. Jagannath sat smoking quietly.
Sampat entered the floor. A river scene with a tree and a few shrubs had been fabricated. A variety of paper flowers had been strung on the trees and shrubs. Lights small and large had been arranged on the crisscrossing wooden rafters above, all ready for the shooting. The light boys, carpenter and the odd job men were seated on the floor chewing betel leaves. Sampat spotted Munuswami and told him, ‘I am going out to bring food. Seven or eight of my family will come to the studio to watch the shooting. Please give them vantage seats.’
‘I’ll take care of all that. But, have you got the permission slip? Otherwise the receptionist can create problems.’
‘I have the permission slip.’
‘We only have half an hour’s work once the heroine comes. After that we can at least stretch our feet in the office. Location shooting does play havoc with the body.’
From outside could be heard the voice of the director calling ‘Rajgopal! Rajgopal!’
Munuswami went on with his lament, ‘We should have called the lady here. That way, we could have finished our work by now. We could have avoided all these light boys having to wait so long.’
One of the light boys asked Munuswami, ‘It’s only rarely that we get to work overtime for an hour or two on the morning shift in this godforsaken studio. Why do you want to sabotage that?’
Just then, Jagannath Rao came in. ‘Isn’t Rajgopal there?’ he asked.
‘No sir,’ said Munuswami.
‘OK, Sampat, why don’t you go check if the studio is free?’ Jagannath Rao said.
‘It is free sir. I checked it out on my way here.’
‘ Right then, inform the operator and the editor and ask them to keep the rushes of the last shot ready. Let’s project it once.’
When Sampat came out, he found Ghosh trying to punch Ramlal in his stomach. Unmindful of his long pyjamas collecting dust from the floor, Ramlal was demonstrating his Egyptian dance as best he could. ‘Have the rushes projected in the theatre,’ Ghosh told Sampat as well.
Sampat got into Syed’s car. Syed stopped the car in front of the Chandra Creations room.
‘Iyer came again and bawled at me,’ Das said, and started to load the vessels in the car.
‘We’ll bring the food in just ten minutes,’ Sampat told him, ‘I have already ordered twenty meals from Woodlands.’
The tiffin carriers didn’t move, but the brass vessels made a racket as they clashed with one another in the jerky movement of the car.
‘Just a minute,’ Sampat said. He got off the car and went to the first floor of the studio’s projection theatre. He instructed the operator there and went on to the editing department.
That part of the studio was airconditioned. Editor Pitambaram was swearing violently at someone. He turned to Sampat and asked, ‘I say, when did you come back from the outdoor shooting?’
‘We were back as early as 10-10.30. The director wanted to see the rushes. I have just instructed the operator.’
‘So there’ll be no indoor shooting today?’
‘It is scheduled. Hasn’t started yet.’
‘That female hasn’t come in. Isn’t that the problem?’
Sampat’s response was non-committal. ‘May I go now, sir?’
Pitambaram called out: ‘Come here you ass!’ A well dressed young man came in, his face a hard mask.
‘You lazy bum! You think you’re doing great if you wear a white shirt and pants, you donkey! Move all the cans we assembled yesterday to the theatre, you sleepyhead!’
With no change of expression, the young man picked up the round tin boxes and took them away.
‘Sir, how about your lunch?’ Sampat asked.
‘I don’t want a meal. Try and get me some puri-kurma, stuff like that.’
‘Ok sir.’
‘Get that pieface a proper meal. He hasn’t eaten the whole morning.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Where are the cigarettes?’
‘I’ll get you some on my way back sir.’
Sampat ran and got into the car. Syed started the car and zoomed forward. When they were about to pass the studio receptionist, Sampat said, ‘Bhai, hold on for a moment.’ Syed applied the brakes hard and all four wheels squealed to a stop. Sampat got down and ran to the receptionist’s desk. Just then, a car entered the studio gate and went past them. Sampat stood still for a moment. He then handed over the entry permit for his relatives to the receptionist.
‘Isn’t that your boss who went in?’ the receptionist asked Sampat.
‘Yes, it’s our Reddiar. Send my visitors on to Munuswami. He’ll take care of them,’ he told the receptionist and ran back to the car. ‘Hurry,’ he told Syed.
‘How can I hurry if you stop every ten feet?’
The car had really come to a stop. It didn’t start for a while. Just as Sampat was about to get down and give it a push, the boss’s car went past them once again, this time from inside the studio out.
‘That was the manager, wasn’t it?’ Syed asked.
‘He said he had to go to the bank. Maybe he’s also going to Jayachandrika’s house,’ said Sampat.
He got down.
‘That woman is always late,’ said Syed and made some violent attempts to start the engine. The car finally started.
The service at Woodlands was pretty quick. They packed the tiffin carriers in no time. While the plantains and beedas were being counted out, a waiter took Sampat aside and gave him a cool glass of badam milk. ‘Did you give the driver a glass?’ Sampat asked.
‘The manager is watching.’
As Sampat was leaving, four of the hotel staff deliberately came into his line of vision. Sampat had been able to get one of them a three-minute part in a film.
‘What brother, shall we straightaway go and collect the non-veg food or shall we first drop off all this food at the studio?’ Syed asked.
‘Let’s go to the studio first and then to Deluxe Hotel,’ said Sampat.
Syed drove the car straight to the lunch room. The car gave off a strong aroma of food, thanks to spilt rasam and sambar.
It was piercing hot. As Sampat looked around to find someone to unload the food vessels, Munuswami came out from the lunch hall. ‘You are just in time. Everyone’s waiting for lunch,’ he said.
‘What about the shooting?’ Sampat asked.
‘The director postponed it to after lunch.’
‘Then…’
Munuswami interrupted him. ‘Your relatives have all come. I have arranged for them to be seated on benches under the peepul tree.’
‘Not that… what about the shooting?’
‘Jayachandrika hasn’t come yet.’
While the Woodlands food was being unloaded, Sampat went to the peepul tree. Parvati, Umapati, their mother, mother’s mother, and younger brother Thangavelu were all sitting on the bench, their postures suitably deferential.
Umapati wasn’t wearing a red shirt. Parvati’s hair wasn’t tied up with a ribbon. They both seemed to be in two minds about whether to smile at Sampat or not. Sampat told them, ‘The shooting should start in about half an hour. Please wait here.’ Parvati perspired profusely.
‘Is it true someone called Jayachandrika hasn’t turned up yet?’ Parvati’s mother asked. This irritated Sampat. Ignoring the question, he asked, ‘Are you comfortable? Can I get you some water or something?’
‘We’re fine, you don’t trouble yourself in the midst of all your work,’ said Parvati’s mother.
Sampat left them there and went back to the ‘tiffin hall.’ On the way, he spotted the director and some underlings, looking anxious.
When he reached the tiffin hall, he found the car missing. Only Ghosh was there. Sampat had a sinking feeling in the stomach. There was no sign of Munuswami or Das.
Sampat came to the programme office all aflutter. He found the car there. Syed was standing there in his best deferential manner, holding the handle of the rear door.
‘What is it?’ Sampat asked.
‘The boss is in there,’ Syed told him in a low voice, pointing to the programme office.
‘Where’s Murugesan car?’
‘No sign of it so far. Jayachandrika hasn’t come in yet. When last seen, the manager went in search of her. He too hasn’t come back. That’s why the boss is on the phone.’
‘Why don’t we go and get the Deluxe food?’
‘Boss wants the car. You should stay here too, if you ask me.’
Das came running from nowhere. ‘Das’, Sampat called out.
‘Yes?’ said Das.
Sampat gave him a list and money and said, “Take a taxi and buy all this stuff.’
Das would normally have muttered his protests. But just then Reddiar came out of the programme office—so fast that the spring doors of the room swung open and shut several times.
Syed opened the backdoor in a flash and waited.
Das ran away. Sampat stood rooted to the spot, watching Reddiar motionlessly. Reddiar, whose physical appearance commanded respect from everyone in his presence, stood in the sun, not knowing what to do. Then seeming to come to a decision, he got into the car. Once again, Syed closed the door within the blink of an eye, sat in his seat and started the car.
Reddiar looked back through the car window from his seat. He nodded his head towards Sampat. Sampat quickly came and stood by his side.
‘Get in,’ Reddiar said to him. Sampat sat next to Syed.
Syed put the car in gear and waited. ‘Go to Jayachandrika’s house,’ Reddiar said.
The car started.
posted by Ramnarayan at 5:36 PM
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