Stephen Kelman - Man on Fire

I experienced a moment of deep sadness. It had been many weeks since I had shaken hands with Mr Karkera to put the seal on our association. We had left the Taj that night as a family on the brink of an exciting journey to upper ranks of human achievements. Bollywood arm was reaching around us in a welcoming embrace and all wishes for success were hatching. But since then there had been no word from Mr Karkera on my promised move to Lokhandwala Complex and apart from one meeting to sign contract and receive small advance (enough for new zebra-print sofa with real cherry-wood frame from Monsoon Madness Sale at Classic Solutions) no instructions had been conveyed until this morning. My wife had been waiting on tenterhooks for the all-clear to start packing her things and I had made a temporary hiatus in my preparations for upcoming record. Time could not move forward without clear signals from my new employer.

Then out of the blue the call came to say the car was on its way to take me to FilmCity. No briefing or training time, I was put on the spot and given my role as first prison guard. I was to fight the film’s main character in deadly duel and come out as the loser in last moments. I conveyed my disappointment in the strongest terms. Why must I be the villain?

The director said it had already been decided. The main character was played by a popular star of the time and he must always win. No matter that my skills and philosophy should give me the hero’s role. Other fellow was expected to triumph and his fans would not accept it if the roles were reversed. There would be riots in the picture houses nationwide.

I swallowed the sadness like a bitter herb and said to myself, ‘BB, this is what your employer expects of you. It is your duty to listen to him. Think of the opportunity you have been given to create beautiful moment onscreen for the public entertainment. Be the best villain you can be and next time the hero’s place will be yours.’ So this is what I did.

This was a very lonely day for me. All my suggestions to improve the sequence went unheeded. The director stubbornly maintained his own way of doing things despite absence of expertise in my area. There was no time for the added grace and difficulty level which I wished to weave in. The sun was setting when the director called for a halt in proceedings. Shubham was already asleep when I returned home that night. My wife greeted me with excited response and we discussed all the details of our new life in Lokhandwala Complex once the long-awaited move was made. The best schools for Shubham. The landscaped grounds where we could stroll in the evenings and play badminton. The gelato parlours with full range of flavours (my wife and son love them despite the damage they create to the internal balance). We looked ahead with the same pair of eyes to our final years spent in lap of comfort and success.

This was God’s chosen time to remind me that a family man is the luckiest man in the world. He was telling me that my record-breaking path had reached its end and a new path was beginning. After meditating to ensure the message was genuine I accepted his decision with calm outlook.

Next day’s filming took place not in sheltered surroundings of FilmCity but out on frantic streets of Colaba Causeway, with constant difficulties from curious tourists and annoying drum sellers. Cameras set up outside famous Cafe Mondegar to catch a long chase sequence between the hero, on the run after his daring prison escape, and a number of the don’s henchmen hell-bent on making a pounce before he can clear his name of false Mafia crimes. The hero would be cornered among the bookstands and he would fight his way through the thugs. I would be the main thug. Only different clothing and wig to distinguish me from the role I had played the previous day. They wanted to rearrange my hair but I found this suggestion unacceptable.

This time Mr Karkera was present to help disperse the crowds during important shots. For this he used several khakis with heavy-handed tactics. I was quite shocked by the liberal use of their lathis but my concerns were waved away. Mr Karkera explaining that outdoor filming on real streets was a very dangerous undertaking, with thieves and pickpockets all around ready to steal expensive equipment or kidnap stars for ransom. Khakis were necessary to ensure the safety of the crew.

The cameras started rolling. Such was the hustle and bustle around the location that the cameramen found it impossible to capture a shot which was not in some way obscured by an unwanted body. The khakis did their best to keep the interlopers at arm’s length but it was no good, we had to keep stopping to reset the action and try again. This was exhausting for the poor actors who were required to run up and down the street countless times under the beating sun, and proved a real headache for the director and Mr Karkera. Both of them reduced to screaming and tearing of hair. Finally Mr Karkera was about to let go of all composure and he asked me to step in to persuade the crowd.

‘Look at this fellow here,’ Mr Karkera said, pointing out a small boy who with his friends had been attached to us ever since we had arrived, offering to carry equipment and fetch water from the nearby cafe to save us from our thirst. ‘He is just waiting for me to turn my back so he and his chums can strip me of everything I have worked for. One well-timed kick will put such ideas out of his head.’

‘I do not believe they want to steal from us,’ I protested. ‘They are just sadak chaps, they do not mean any harm.’

‘You are too trusting, BB,’ Mr Karkera told me. ‘You do not live on the mainland, there is not such a rat problem on your side of the creek. Here we have to step very carefully around them. Now is time to step on them. You have been waiting to practise your skills in full contact. You can begin by stepping on this rat for me.’

Needless to say his request produced some disgust in me. He was asking that I attack an innocent and unarmed boy. I made my feelings clear. I told him I cannot do this.

Mr Karkera seemed confused. ‘Come, BB, it is just one rat. Is your loyalty to him or is it to the production? We must work for each other, this is how the best results end up on screen. I have been very generous to you, have I not?’

The boy appealed to my mercy with tender look. Khakis poised like cobras to make another charge with their lathis should I resist Mr Karkera’s argument.

‘You have been very generous, sir,’ I told Mr Karkera. ‘But I cannot strike the boy. It is against my beliefs as martial arts professional and God-fearing citizen.’

‘These beliefs are very unfortunate for you,’ Mr Karkera declared. ‘While they are in your way I fear you will not meet your ambitions.’ And with that he gave the nod and a khaki struck the boy sharply on the back. The boy squealed and ran, his friends close behind. My blood boiled up inside me at the injustice I had just witnessed.

At this point I knew my association with Mr Karkera must come to an end. I realised he did not have the interests of the common man at his heart. To accept his money was to smear my hands with the blood of all my country’s children. I walked away from this enterprise before my hands became stained.

‘You are making a big mistake,’ Mr Karkera told me. ‘You cannot walk away from me in the middle of a shoot, I have a film to complete.’

‘Then you must complete it without me. I am no longer in your employment.’

‘Think very carefully, BB. If you walk away you will never work in Bollywood again. The door to fame and riches will be closed for ever. This is my promise and I can make it come true.’

‘I do not listen to the promises of men,’ I informed him. ‘Only the promises of the almighty reach my ears, and he has built a house for me where no lies or dangers are living.’