One of the prime reasons for coming to India was to attend my beloved cousins wedding. Now I wanted to attend their party in some decent clothes packed away in my ‘lost’ luggage. And so, decided to hit the closest mall, Spencer plaza. That mall is the labyrinth of small shops and some big ones. I didn’t want to buy new clothes for myself as I was hoping for my baggage to get back to me at some point of time. It wouldn’t bother me a lot, since have an insured journey (the benefits of having a better half). It would bother me about my favorite clothes, they are what make’s me. It makes me the superman. Ever seen Clark Kent fly?

I then decided that my shopping would be basic. A local telephone number, Toothpaste, toothbrush, underwear, socks (footie’s) and a ‘decent’ shirt. Why just a shirt? There are going to be nothing less than a thousand people at the wedding party. And so that my lower half (grunge solid jeans and Adidas sneakers) would drown in the human pond, and will not be visible at all. Clever, ..yeah?

Obtaining a cell number was a breeze, even though the guy at the counter flipped every single page of my passport (I.D.), to read through the visas to all the countries I have visited.

The ‘decent’ shirt was a Wrangler cowboy checkered one. Hey, this is India, where a cotton or polyester shirt with no color restrictions, but tucked in your pants tied around the waist with a dark colored belt, defines ‘decency’.

The body shop had more useless attendants than customers obstructing passage. But one of them actually made and attempt, and just for the sake of that, I did buy an “Adidas Ice Dive” deodorant as well.

The shoe shops didn’t have a clue about footies, but the Nike store did have them, in the ladies section. The salesman simply refused to sell them to me warning me that those were ‘girl’ sock’s. Well, excuse me, mister salesman, I don’t want to know how you use the ‘European closet’ (w.c.), either. Oh btw, wet tissues from the body shop works wonders after a chillie dump.

Yet another ‘prepaid’ taxi takes me to the wedding party venue. Pure madness, and chaotic traffic at 7 pm, on a Sunday afternoon? I later found out that an Indian weekend is just one day, the Sunday, when people are out ‘shopping’. I regretted taking the front seat after seeing the reckless driving of just about everyone. The 20 minutes of driving felt like a ‘bee migration’, with the speed, chaos and honking. As we enter a narrow lane, stuffed broad with two cars, 2 motorcycles and pedestrians, I catch a glimpse of 2 children on a bicycle travelling at the same speed. As I watched closer, the kid who was riding was about 14 years in age with another kid aged about 11 on the back seat. The kid who rode the bicycle had just about fair control of what he was doing. The kid who was sitting on the back seat was in his own world. A mis-calculated obstacle can without doubt end their lives fatally. And yet, as I watch them in the safe comfort in my car, my heart in my mouth, these kids were living ‘just another day’- the value of life in India.

The wedding party was loads of fun, simply because my cousins are great fun. I decided not to be a ’Wrangler’, but instead wore the t-shirt I wore in the plane, which I had washed earlier. This trip was so important to me, just to remind me how beautiful Indian family relationships are. No, we do not shake hands or dodge fake kisses. Yes, we grab and pull and talk a lot. An Indian relationship has only two well marked lanes, a love lane and a hate lane. And that is a traffic you won’t mistake the turn.

The grand ceremony ended at my cousin’s parents place at around 2 am. The boys offered to drop me at my hotel. I saw lesser traffic but fatal traffic at that time of the night. It was like people have never seen open roads before. With no crossing controls, any miscalculation would end fatally.

Day 3,

One of my days plan was to fix my Nikon of its dusty mirror. Chennai had an authorized service centre, but now i have to find out where. And for that, i needed to find internet. Recalling from my memory from when i last was in Chennai 10 years ago, I walk it down to Alsa Mall at 10am and 40+ heat. The internet was faster than 10 years ago. Google maps printed out 4 pages of route map to the service center and I decided to walk it. Public transport?, Nah, not with the senseless rolling marquee with names of destinations longer than the actual distance to it. ‘Senseless’, is the word used in India only when it relates to ‘cost of things’. And in the case of rolling marquees on the public transport on the move, is pure ‘bling’. Taxis?, Nah, I’d rather be my own stupid by walking that heat.

And so, I take long strides over the 4 pages from Google maps. But one thing the maps could not teach me was on how to cross the street avoiding the mad traffic. A pedestrian crossing seemed ‘utopia’, but with a little practice, I found the mantra to crossing Indian streets – “Risk it !”

I walk kilometers through normal Indian life, but I didn’t bother to indulge in one thing I love doing while in cities – taking pictures. What is it of India cities that I could take a picture, of that you have not already seen? The poverty, chaos, the madness, the nature, the colors, the celebrations, the festivals? Nope, nothing felt new to me. But one picture I really would like to have shot of, was the shrine on a Chevy.

Yup, you read me right. Car sales boom in a city without crossing control. This Chevrolet drove passed me,  pimped out Bollywood-style and a shrine on the dashboard complete with floral garland, incense, and disco lights. I would have loved to send that picture to the designers of that car.

P.S. my lost baggage just arrived. This journey will continue….

This is nice. I’m staying at a vegetarian hotel, with my room (with a balcony) overlooking Chennai, Egmont. It’s some 35+ degrees, or else it seems. I’m glad my room air is conditioned, only because It helps to get a good sleep while the Indians are busy honking away. I thought my taxi driver was playing x-box live, as in “live” in his car, with me on the back seat. Never seen so many buttons and levers pulled in my 15 min ride to the shabbiest luxury hotel in Chennai.

That brings me back to yesterday. Ever spent a whole day in a plane (12 hours)? I did. I flew at 6.30 to Brussels and soon after in a connecting flight to Chennai. The long, 10 hour flight. My seating was not an issue, as I shared my armrest with a well mannered – tech savvy Indian grandma (she found out how to operate the touch screen monitor before I did, damn). I was surprised to see some well mannered Indians too (200 of them) sharing my flight. No funny questions like “are yu Indian?”, “which i.t. company are you working with?”, or “why no hair?” was asked.  Hmm, nice.

I tuned into ‘the screening room’, ‘up in the air’, ‘lost in translation’ and two episodes of ‘lost’ on the 8 inch monitor which practically felt like 3D due to the distance it was, from my nose. Arrive india, and the ordeal begins. I get informed that my baggage with my clothes was not checked in the connecting flight (I had 4 pieces of luggage, 2 of equipment bag, a document bag and a living bag). This probably was a blessing in disguise, as i had equipment worth over 250,000 Indian Rupee, and the customs would have blown my ass to pieces with an import tax bazooka!

Leave the airport in pre-paid taxi. Well, if they rip me off, let me get a bill for it, at least. I get in to a X-box – Grand Theft Auto 4- live- taxi! Somewhere on the highway, my taxi driver breaks and swerves the car to avoid a dead man, possibly run over lying in the middle of 3 lanes. Every other following vehicle does the same. And, once again, i got to taste the food that I ate in the plane, this time mixed with bile juice.

We reach the “booked” hotel at past 2 in the morning. The “receptionist”, or the “watchman”, or “that arsehole” as i would like to call him, denies any booking. I feel a breath on my shoulder and i turn around to see my taxi driver still preying around like a hyena. Well, he knows that i have no other options at 2 am. So he drives me to the next hotel. The “receptionist” there wanted an I.D. and I showed him my Indian passport. He wanted to keep it as a security deposit, and I say “fuckin no way!” And then the argument begins. After an involvement by three other onlookers, I finally get the room. The shabbiest luxury hotel of Chennai.

I could not shit, shower or even brush my teeth as cameras are not the greatest tool to use for that purpose (maybe I should mention it to Canon). Even if I had my luggage, I wouldn’t have dared to “cleanse” myself out there. Plan was made to escape out off there the moment sun rises. I couldn’t sleep. I was scared. I tried to sleep with the lights turned on. I even turned the t.v. on for company. I guess I passed out around 4 am and woke at 8. Am, packed my bags again and checked out. I knew that the “mount Road” as closer and there were options of stay over there.

I took a long walk. Auto-taxis honking from behind to let me know that they were willing to give me a ride – to hell. “Fuck you!, I’m not getting ripped off today”, was written all over my face as I began to sweat after 4 kms in 27 degrees. There were cops all over the place. One of them crossed the street to say hello to me and asked if I was caring a machine gun in my equipment bag. I smiled back at him, even though I knew that he meant that seriously, especially after the Bombay terrorist attacks. I later withdrew some money from a bank and asked another police officer about any nearby hotel. He pointed left and shook my hand. I took a turn left and walked further in the heat, dehydrated, and loosing energy fast. There, I saw an 8 storied building that said HOTEL. “There, is where I’m gonna stay, no matter what”, I said to myself. I walked in to the hotel where the receptionist asked me if i wanted to see that rooms. I said “no, just get me an air conditioned room”, after all, things can’t get worse than yesterday.

Now here I am, in Chennai on business, at a hotel with no business facilities, no internet, and no phone call. But hey, I have a twin bed, a balcony, air condition and TV. I think I might stay here for a while!

Run with the wolves

Now i’m into the 3rd year of serious filmmaking. I have now set an extreme goal for this year. 5 projects in the year 2010. The first project has already been completed. A pilot music video for my favorite band The Prodigy. The prodigy and their PR firm, Cooking Vinyl in association with Dailymotion is running a competition to make a ‘badass’ music video for the track ‘Run with the wolves’. It is a fantastic opportunity for upcoming filmmakers like me to get something done. Winning this contest is maybe the 4th on the priority list for me, but to make a ‘badass music video’ which i can be proud of, has been the first priority.

The project was planned ‘zero budget’, but in the end of the day, zero budget projects are seldom zero budget. The Cast and crew worked for free, but the equipments were to be rented. I did save a lot by shooting on green screen though. Money was not the only factor that dictated the green screen. I had 3 young kids of age 14-16 acting in the music video. Two of them had to be barely clad, and it was -10 degrees outside. I had previously worked for 2 other projects this winter, and i know how easily your enthusiasm would drain out like a battery in the extreme cold, specially when there are breaks between shots. And so, i decided to shoot the scene with the kids in green screen and replace the background. I am very satisfied the final outcome, and i now know where and how i made mistakes and will try not to repeat it the next time.