int. bedroom – computer nook – day

PlantScreenwriting is fun. It’s also frustrating as hell, and I haven’t quite learned to do it at a stretch like regular fiction writing. Right now Samir and I average around five pages of text (equivalent to about 5 minutes of screen-time in the page-a-minute format) before we have to get off the chair and just walk around the house for 5 minutes.

The screenwriting we’re doing now involves many firsts. Number One, it’s the first time we’re screenwriting. One day we said “Okay” and after the plot was outlined we started.

It scares the living crap out of you. No matter how many books you read on the subject nothing can quite prepare you for your first hour of screen-writing. Add in the fact that we had never, ever written in this format before — not even a ten second animation script — and the prospect of writing even a 25 minute episode makes you question your sanity quite a bit. Writing a 2 hour movie is a nightmare.

SlippersThe format of screenwriting is pretty tried and tested at this point, and since most books outline the system preferred by American movie studios, there’s a lengthy list of guidelines to the format. Our first draft was slavish to this format, but we’ve deviated a bit, both because of the subject matter involved as well as the fact that *looks around* we’re not American.

There is a tendency in your first draft to be very, very dry with your descriptions, especially if you know that the screenplay is intended for someone else (i.e you aren’t producing it yourself). Style consciously needs to be kept in check (so pretty much everything I learned writing Savant went out the window). This is supposed to be easier to pitch to a studio, so that the director can read it and put in the style himself. Writer style Bad, Director style Good, or something. Since we aren’t really pitching this through the traditional American studio system (hell, if they read the script in America I’ll probably be put on the Most Wanted Terrorist list) we decided to loosen up a little and get some style in. Hopefully said style and mood will percolate somewhat to the eventual director. With stuff I know I’ll be doing myself I tend to be much more descriptive and, paradoxically, much more abstract, since I can tell myself things in two words that I’d need whole paragraphs to explain properly. Terms like “Ping Moment,” “Amit Reaction” and “Duu Kyaa? Expression” are common.

I have to thank Warren Ellis for this change. Some time ago he put a link up to extracts from his comic-book scripts, and I was surprised at how, compared to them, the saleable American Movie Script seemed like a stripped carcass. Comic scripts are more intimate, more hands on, more conversational. I love them. And so the way we script changed somewhat. It’s still a far cry from the level of detail and mood in a comic script, but close enough. Don’t want to scare everyone away.

One of the first errors made in screenwriting is the over-use of the Present Continuous Tense. People are always waiting and drinking and walking while talking and shooting and sitting. I usually end up going through the script again and changing — damn, there I am doing it again. I go through the script and change things to make them more succinct.

Vishal types away on the keyboard. He leans back and rubs the pain in his upper back. A grimace stretches across his face and all the way down his spine. The weight of the world shifts. He continues typing.

Just because it’s a screenplay doesn’t mean you can get away with Talking Head syndrome, though. It may be easy to say, “Oh, the actors will take care of it,” but do you really want some sweaty man in a track-suit gesturing with his hands when you distinctly imagined the character keeping his palms flat by his side, neck rocking left and right intermittently?

ThresholdFirsts, Number Two; this is the first time I’m collaborating with Samir on writing. He doesn’t like to type. Neither do I, but I do okay. He writes good dialogue, I’m all thumbs. He’s much more evil and funny than I am.

Number three; this is the first time we’re writing Hindi. It’s more fun than you would believe. We’re still writing in the English language (we’re more comfortable in it and work faster, besides, working with Hindi fonts on a computer is quite literally like learning the language anew), but dialogue is in Hindi. Dialogue was and is my biggest worry. I can hack decent English dialogue, but Hindi is another matter entirely (this is the reason all Hindi movies have separate “Screenplay” and “Dialogue” credits). Right now the dialogue is pretty good. It’s realistic enough, funny enough, and it gets the job done without sounding like some kind of 17th century Urdu court transcript.

This is one of the main problems with Hindi movies, especially old ones. Since most of the dialogue writers were and are Urdu lyric writers or urdu writers of some sort, their dialogues would suddenly go from (the English equivalent of) “Dude! Her ass is totally hot!” to “Mine Sir hath brought a mountain — heavy with stones and grasses verdant — of Shame(!) upon mine family, and verily shall I avenge them and their unborn sons with swift and painful work of hand and blade!”

The above is not an exaggeration. Things like that still happen (see the climax of Kuch Naa Kaho). Us being about as proficient in Urdu as any other two Good Kaafir Hindu boys, well, our dialogue is okay. It’s contemporary without being to hip (i.e. we haven’t degenerated to starting and ending every other line with “yaar” like some films *cough*Darna Mana Hai*cough*), and it isn’t flowery. Sometimes we even manage a good dialogue joke.

This is also the first time, ever, that I’m not writing speculative fiction. No magic, no warp drives. Despite this the scripts are getting more surreal by the page, but that is only because Samir and my own weirdness multiply by a factor or 34.8 when brought together. There’s some strange shit happening here, folks. I didn’t even think I was capable of such stuff.

Even if it wasn’t a comedy, even if it wasn’t in Hindi, it would be as strange. You could tell me to write a Pakistani Family Drama and I would make it strange… okay, so if I wrote a Pakistani Family Drama it would not be a Pakistani Family Drama because nothing — nothing — in the universe could make me write something as depressing as most Pakistani Family Dramas. If I write a Pakistani Family Drama half the Pakistani audience will die of spontaneous joy. The rest will call for a fatwa.

And no, I’m not giving the script away. Nor am I going to give the title away. I’ll just say that it involves quite a few B.E.S.T. Buses.

Vishal

stop monkeying around!!

ooka ooka ooka -- it's a picture of Monkey Brand Black Tooth Powder!Ah, my childhood. A place filled with paper airplanes, paper airplanes, paper airplanes…. okay, I was obsessed, I admit it.

But somewhere before we all assembled in my grandmother’s balcony to pelt the neighbouring compounds with our aeronautically exquisite creations (gnats, darts, flat gliders, helicopters, plain vanilla concordes) we had to brush our teeth.

Children need to do that, else they will get no sweets.

Adults need to do that, else they will get no Sweeties.

Brushing your teeth in India is a tradition that is far, far older than when Proctor and Gamble decided to open a branch in the colonies. Indians, being slightly off in the head, would get up every day at the crack of dawn to chew on loose bits of the azadiracta indica tree, which we call neem. Azadiractin, by the by, is one of the most potent natural anti-microbial agents known to man.

Yes.

Even post-paste there are people who still chew on the stuff, and while civilized folk will ooh and aah about their minty fresh gels and “herbal” based toothpastes, nothing says “Hello, Gorgeous, you’re teeth are clean!” like washing a black powder from your gums.

Yes, it is a black powder.

No, it doesn’t stain.

Yes, it’s minty fresh.

No, I don’t think it contains monkeys.

I don’t think

Vishal

i am alpha and omega

Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, MumbaiIt takes a certain effort to convince yourself that it does indeed exist. That you aren’t looking at some architectural apparition concocted of ether and Mumbai soot. Almost immediately you tend to notice that everyone else passing by it without a care in the world. “Can it be that they don’t see it?” I may live to be a hundred thousand years, but my reaction to seeing “VT” will always be the same.

Before I left for Mumbai last October I asked if anyone had requests. The Marthas asked for a picture of a train station, and so, first day in Mumbai, camera in hand, October Heat in full swing, I set out in search of a platform.

So I went to the train station.

Victoria Terminus opened to the public in 1882, four years after building commenced (it was finished in 1888). F.W. Stevens, the architect, is also responsible for the old municipal commision building. In the late 90s the station was renamed to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (after Shivaji, Maratha king, balls of titanium), but most people still refer to it as VT (probably because “CST” isn’t as easy to pronounce). There is no statue of Shivaji there yet, but it’s only a matter of time, and should make an interesting addition. I only wish they’d make something slightly different from the usual “Shivaji on a horse, sword aimed forward” pose. Okay, okay, so they won’t take my suggestion of a depiction of Shivaji ripping the intestines of his enemies out with his infamous tiger-clawed glove. Oh well, at least some P.C. nut hasn’t brought about a ban on Kali and Durga imagery yet (“But think of the Children. THE CHILDREN!!”).

The statue at the top (visible in the first pic), by the way, is supposed to be Progress. Hello, Dearie. Where’ve you been all my life?

“I was standing on top of a train station. How the hell do I get down?”

Right.

The name isn’t the only thing that’s changed. Note the pipe-like structures that disappear into the ground in this picture (near the red bus). Other than making VT look more like the steampunk cathedral it already is, they’re the latest addition; a pedestrian subway to alleviate the congestion that used to happen earlier when four roads and a few hundred thousand pedestrians mixed on the crossroads in front of the station. When it was built everyone and their mother complained that it was an eyesore, but I love it; VT finally looks complete. Now all we need is a rocket launchpad next to Ms. Progress.

This is The platform on a very, very slow day. Things really heat up after 5pm when the offices leave, but when I took this picture it was early afternoon, probably the only daylight time when this station is not bursting at the seams with people either coming in or heading out. VT is the end of the Central Railway line, smack dab in the middle of the downtown office district. It’s also one of the major stations where out-of-city trains come in. For many people this is the first place they touch Mumbai ground; it’s like getting into heaven at God’s driveway.

It’s no secret that I’m a South Mumbai nut; I love the palpable sense of magick in the air (a feeling only matched in Elephanta and Dadar market). And South Mumbai starts at VT. Its north border is the footbridge that hangs over the road, connecting the train platform to the Times of India building on the other side. VT stands like a sentinel, Progress at its head, receiving millions each day, sending them back on their way each evening.

Of the 300 or so outdoor pictures I took on the trip, all of them are either in Dadar or South Mumbai. These are old places, places of magick, places that were magickal long before 1878. It still takes a certain effort to convince myself that they do indeed exist.

Vishal

rain, ghost, fly, cousin

India good. Monsoon good. Amit’s computer just slightly less messed up than owner. Will revert to Rorshach-speak for sake of terse coolness hereforth.

Hurm.

Puny Amit protests to my summation of his life.

Nevermore, I smite him with a large sarcastic remark. Whee.

Saw Bhoot last week. Apparently it killed someone. On a side note, met Dolly the other day at a *trendy* (READ: Overpriced and horrible product) Bandra cafe and spotted the ghost herself (Barkha Madan) sitting at the next table. Looks kinda cute in real life.

Darna Mana Hai comes out in July. Promos now elaborate on the stories. Run of the mill Twilight Zone stuff. Man who can stop time. Man picks up hitch-hiker who starts talking about ghosts… gee, if that doesn’t end with one of them being a ghost I’ll be very, very surprised. Perhaps Urmila will show up and kill everyone.

Main Prem Ki Diwani Hoon has some really crappy print ads. “Two Prems, One Diwani” — No shit. Promos now include one with Kareena Kapoor trying ridiculously hard to steer a yacht in ishtyle, and hence looking like she’s playing pinball with coral reefs. Still, slight improvement over the bicycle skills she displayed in Yaadein. For this we are thankful.

Interesting developments in game-ville. I especially like the part about how you can “successfully suck the blood from these points, you can also help the “victim” to ease their defective physical conditions”

Tales of Symphonia looks awesome. Too bad I don’t have the necessary hardware for it.

XP is the devil’s OS.

Hurm.

Puny Amit defends XP. Exuse me, chores to attend to at 2:45 in the morning on a rainy night.

V