The tension could be felt in the oxigen we were breathing, every breath expelled was thickening the atmosphere. I sat at Karan’s computer looking for a way out of this rabbit hole. Indiatraveltours.net seemed to be the gateway to freedom. Air Canada. Check, October 24th, check, midnight flight outta dodge, check! I did it, While the air thickened I managed to book two airline tickets out of New Delhi into Toronto, Canada. For tomorrow. Roger, whom I will now call Mr. Pathetic, was sitting in front of me at a different desk and kept fidgeting around and looking at me every now and then. Smiling with that fake crooked tooth ridden fly trap of his. I smiled back in agony knowing that things were falling apart and nobody wanted to say anything. It’s like knowing you’re leaving someone that is lying to you yet still sitting in the same room pretending everything is fine. Humans do the strangest things. Why do we lie? Why do we cheat? Why do we try to get away with things? This was an awful cat and mouse game. We refused to get bamboozled by Mr. Pathetic and his evil witch Evermean. Our egos were so large we couldn’t possibly get cheated. We knew what they were up to and we were not gonna take it. We were not stupid you know! I booked the tickets, walked out of the room to breathe a little and dove back into the molases atmosphere in the editing suite. Karan had written in his notebook: I help you. And showed it to me as I walked by his chair near the door. I smiled back at him. I had to sit in that stinky office waiting for Pathetic and his assistant to give up on trying to figure out Mr. T’s MAC. I guess they wanted to steal the project but couldn’t figure out how to do it. Their faces were comical, they were sweating and kept looking at eachother pretending to edit when I could clearly see they had no idea what they were doing. I sat there googling all kinds of options.
Tic, toc, tic, toc, tic, toc….
The clock kept ticking it was now 3 am.
I was so pumped up on adrenaline I wasn’t even tired or felt sick anymore. I had a plan. We were leaving before the sun came out. They were coming back around 11 in the morning so by that time we would already be hiding at the Canadian embassy waiting for our flight time to come around. There would be no getting rid of us. That sounded terrifying. In India getting rid of someone is cheap. $100 dollars can get it done. They owed us 30,000 pounds. It sounded worth it. I guess we’ll never know what they meant by that statement. But I wasn’t about to stick around and ask Evermean: “What did you mean get rid of us?” No bitch, I was outta there. My fingers started tapping the desk nervously. I was starting to get desperate for them to leave. I needed to scream, walk around in circles and say: This can’t be happening, this isn’t happening, compulsively. I needed to binge on nutella and bread while I laughed. I needed to look in the mirror and say FUCK THIS! Out loud. And those nincompoops were still there and all I could do was sit and wait. Wait Cantina, wait…..
12/9/10
10/24/10
October 24th The doorway to the rabbithole....
The Game was on
And so the days went by and the work kept coming with the promise of that deposit that never came. 9 weeks into this adventure and we were broke in India and by Indian terms. Which in Western terms means in deep shit. After 24 hours of non-stop editing to hit a deadline Mr. T, as I will call him from now on, was exhausted and sick. As was I.
After a vomit-diarrhea-fever-cold sweat extravaganza we decided it was time to go to the hospital.
Yes honey, we were in the hospital in New Delhi, it is like nothing you have ever seen. It looks like a combination vintage store on La Brea Av. and a soup kitchen down on San Pedro Street.
I have never seen poor or sick like I saw in this place. As we walked into the Dr.s office Mr. T started to look faint and ran out of the office into the bathroom, barely making his run, he projectile vomited all over the bathroom door. The Dr. was taking my pulses, because in India they do 2 pulses, your veins and your arteries. He took one look at me, heard the vomiting down the hall, and said in a firm voice, You must be admitted at once!!! This is dengue fever. Very very dangerous. You do not have much time and you will need a blood transfusion.
WHAT!? OK, that was the scariest news I had gotten since my Mom came out of the closet in 95.
Next thing I knew, we were rushed from the Dr's office to the emergency room to a private room and before I knew it we were laying in a bed with an IV up our arm. The room had no windows; it was like a 1942 mid war hospital room, something right out of a movie. Karan, my dear friend, came in. He was worried about us but had some awkward news to share. He said; be very careful with what they put in your IV, these people are very good friends with hospital. They want to steal your stuff! I heard them talking in the office! Don't say I told you, but be very careful, they want to get rid of you and not pay. Mr. T was half gone but his eyes widened with disbelief. For a split second. I felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the dengue fever. Now we were broke ass, sick and persecuted foreigners lying in a hospital room with no windows to escape from.
All right, I thought, this has gone far enough I think? I looked at Mr. T and said; we are not sleeping in this place, so you better work and get all the fluids you can because we are going home honey. He looked at me and fell right back to sleep. The door opened slowly, the nurse walked in with a big smile on her face, it was right out of a David Lynch film; she was carrying a tray full of needles. She lifted my arm, made sure the IV was in place and started to prepare a needle. I looked at her and gasped, what is that? I said. All she said in her broken English was, Dr. say this good for you, thank you please. Thank you please.
Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!
~Instincts~
I took one look at her face and knew I should leave the hospital right away. She was oblivious to the whole situation and just followed orders. I looked at the needle, as it was about to enter my IV and said to her. I am allergic to everything, everything. No, no, no. You cannot give to me. I need to talk to the Dr. Please. Allergy very, very bad. Just as the needle was to enter my tube she stopped and looked at me scared. She said. I bring you Dr. OK? Thank you please. As she exited the room I woke Mr. T up. T! T! Wake up babe, we have to go. How you feeling? He could barely articulate, OK I guess, He replied in a tired voice. I saw his saline bag and it was almost empty, as was mine. I pulled out my IV, started to get up and felt faint. But the option of staying in that room much longer started to seem perilous. I helped T get dressed and off the IV tube. The Dr. took so long we had time to get out without any intervention. In fact he probably never came to our room or showed up when we were gone. We exited the hospital and took a rickshaw home. Defense Colony please, I told the 13-year-old boy driving. The rickshaw ripped through New Delhi like a thunderbolt. I felt safe in the rickshaw, something was definitely not right, but we were away from the hospital room and free to move about the world onto safety. My mind was made up; we were leaving India that same night if possible. Mi mind was racing a 1,000 miles a minute making a plan. I was already saying goodbye to all the cows lying on the road, to that strange stench of cow dung and fire, to the scary marketplace by the park where a man sold his wife as skewers. Ah, I sighed in relief just thinking about that 17 hour plane ride back home. Nobody sighs in relief at the site of a 17-hour flight. But I did just that. It’s amazing how perspective is relative to circumstance. As we passed each spot familiar I said my goodbyes. This was supposed to be a trip into self-discovery land, but I guess I shall have to come back for that. We arrived at Defense Colony, got out the rick, went up the dark stairs. It was already past midnight. T was weak but felt a bit better, enough to get on a plane and sleep his way over to a safe hospital in America. As we opened the door we saw an unexpected site. Roger, the Director of the fiasco, was sitting in the living room with 4 other guys. They were waiting for us. They looked at us and acted surprised. Roger came close and said, Oh My God I am so glad you are finally home. We were worried about you! Apparently someone warned them we had left the hospital. Think they got a bit paranoid? Anyway, Rogers’s speech went from bad to worse. Mr. T as usual was trying to make everything ok by ignoring all the information that had been given to us by Karan at the hospital. He kept apologizing for being sick. I was in awe at the level of obliviousness. I mean was I the only one seeing we were in danger? All four assistants and Roger followed us to our bedroom, which was locked. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to keep T from falling and being helpful, or they were going to gangbang us? We opened the door and Roger started telling us a cockamamie story about when he had some dangerous stomach virus that nearly killed his ass, and how he HAD to keep working. See, my problem with these people was they were so round about to say everything. You didn’t know whom you could trust anymore. Could we trust Karan and everything he said? Did he also have an agenda? Everyone else did. Roger finished his pathetic -The show must go on- story to which T replied. I cant help you man. Not today. Roger was flabbergasted at the denied request. He stared blankly at us for a moment and then asked in the slimiest of voices. Well, could you at least lend us your computer so we can keep working? That would be wicked man. Sure, said T. We both walked into our bedroom closing the door behind us. You’re going to give him the computer? I asked. Yes. But wait let me disable the burner. That way they can’t take the cut-list. There was no Wi-FI at the apartment so they couldn’t email the list to themselves. USB’s were not around yet either. So we were pretty safe only disabling the computer’s burner. I walked out and handed them the computer, they seemed so grateful. Karan was sitting at the dining room table seeing all the action and giving me looks I couldn’t understand. I went back into the bedroom and after a moment I walked back out and into the editing office. I sat at the other computer, which had the Internet connected to it and started looking for flights home leaving that night. Roger nervously looked back at me every few minutes. I knew something was up. The silence in the office could be cut by a knife. The editor could barely figure out how to use the program. He was just buying time. Suddenly Roger got a phone call and left the office to go out to the balcony. T came out of the bedroom and followed Roger. A minute later he came to get me at the office. I followed him in silence. We stood beside the darkened balcony listening to the plan these people had in mind.
ROGER: Don’t worry about them. They are here now. They left the hospital. I know. But, We'll steal everything tonight and get rid of them in the morning. Don’t worry about the money.
T looked at me in disbelief. We silently walked back to our bedroom while Roger begged for time and mercy from, whom else? Evermean! She was having a ball screaming at the pathetic so called Director, and come to find out, her lover as well. Wow. The thick plottened.
We walked into our bedroom and T was flabbergasted. He looked at me and said; everything you said is true. Them not paying us, stealing our work. Wow. I can’t believe it. I hate to say it but I told you so. I didn’t say that. It would have been a kick in the nuts. We needed a plan. And fast. The phone conversation was nearly over. What were we going to do? Confront him? Run? I voted for the second choice. Run cantina, RUN!!!!!
And so the days went by and the work kept coming with the promise of that deposit that never came. 9 weeks into this adventure and we were broke in India and by Indian terms. Which in Western terms means in deep shit. After 24 hours of non-stop editing to hit a deadline Mr. T, as I will call him from now on, was exhausted and sick. As was I.
After a vomit-diarrhea-fever-cold sweat extravaganza we decided it was time to go to the hospital.
Yes honey, we were in the hospital in New Delhi, it is like nothing you have ever seen. It looks like a combination vintage store on La Brea Av. and a soup kitchen down on San Pedro Street.
I have never seen poor or sick like I saw in this place. As we walked into the Dr.s office Mr. T started to look faint and ran out of the office into the bathroom, barely making his run, he projectile vomited all over the bathroom door. The Dr. was taking my pulses, because in India they do 2 pulses, your veins and your arteries. He took one look at me, heard the vomiting down the hall, and said in a firm voice, You must be admitted at once!!! This is dengue fever. Very very dangerous. You do not have much time and you will need a blood transfusion.
WHAT!? OK, that was the scariest news I had gotten since my Mom came out of the closet in 95.
Next thing I knew, we were rushed from the Dr's office to the emergency room to a private room and before I knew it we were laying in a bed with an IV up our arm. The room had no windows; it was like a 1942 mid war hospital room, something right out of a movie. Karan, my dear friend, came in. He was worried about us but had some awkward news to share. He said; be very careful with what they put in your IV, these people are very good friends with hospital. They want to steal your stuff! I heard them talking in the office! Don't say I told you, but be very careful, they want to get rid of you and not pay. Mr. T was half gone but his eyes widened with disbelief. For a split second. I felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the dengue fever. Now we were broke ass, sick and persecuted foreigners lying in a hospital room with no windows to escape from.
All right, I thought, this has gone far enough I think? I looked at Mr. T and said; we are not sleeping in this place, so you better work and get all the fluids you can because we are going home honey. He looked at me and fell right back to sleep. The door opened slowly, the nurse walked in with a big smile on her face, it was right out of a David Lynch film; she was carrying a tray full of needles. She lifted my arm, made sure the IV was in place and started to prepare a needle. I looked at her and gasped, what is that? I said. All she said in her broken English was, Dr. say this good for you, thank you please. Thank you please.
Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!
~Instincts~
I took one look at her face and knew I should leave the hospital right away. She was oblivious to the whole situation and just followed orders. I looked at the needle, as it was about to enter my IV and said to her. I am allergic to everything, everything. No, no, no. You cannot give to me. I need to talk to the Dr. Please. Allergy very, very bad. Just as the needle was to enter my tube she stopped and looked at me scared. She said. I bring you Dr. OK? Thank you please. As she exited the room I woke Mr. T up. T! T! Wake up babe, we have to go. How you feeling? He could barely articulate, OK I guess, He replied in a tired voice. I saw his saline bag and it was almost empty, as was mine. I pulled out my IV, started to get up and felt faint. But the option of staying in that room much longer started to seem perilous. I helped T get dressed and off the IV tube. The Dr. took so long we had time to get out without any intervention. In fact he probably never came to our room or showed up when we were gone. We exited the hospital and took a rickshaw home. Defense Colony please, I told the 13-year-old boy driving. The rickshaw ripped through New Delhi like a thunderbolt. I felt safe in the rickshaw, something was definitely not right, but we were away from the hospital room and free to move about the world onto safety. My mind was made up; we were leaving India that same night if possible. Mi mind was racing a 1,000 miles a minute making a plan. I was already saying goodbye to all the cows lying on the road, to that strange stench of cow dung and fire, to the scary marketplace by the park where a man sold his wife as skewers. Ah, I sighed in relief just thinking about that 17 hour plane ride back home. Nobody sighs in relief at the site of a 17-hour flight. But I did just that. It’s amazing how perspective is relative to circumstance. As we passed each spot familiar I said my goodbyes. This was supposed to be a trip into self-discovery land, but I guess I shall have to come back for that. We arrived at Defense Colony, got out the rick, went up the dark stairs. It was already past midnight. T was weak but felt a bit better, enough to get on a plane and sleep his way over to a safe hospital in America. As we opened the door we saw an unexpected site. Roger, the Director of the fiasco, was sitting in the living room with 4 other guys. They were waiting for us. They looked at us and acted surprised. Roger came close and said, Oh My God I am so glad you are finally home. We were worried about you! Apparently someone warned them we had left the hospital. Think they got a bit paranoid? Anyway, Rogers’s speech went from bad to worse. Mr. T as usual was trying to make everything ok by ignoring all the information that had been given to us by Karan at the hospital. He kept apologizing for being sick. I was in awe at the level of obliviousness. I mean was I the only one seeing we were in danger? All four assistants and Roger followed us to our bedroom, which was locked. I wasn’t sure if they were trying to keep T from falling and being helpful, or they were going to gangbang us? We opened the door and Roger started telling us a cockamamie story about when he had some dangerous stomach virus that nearly killed his ass, and how he HAD to keep working. See, my problem with these people was they were so round about to say everything. You didn’t know whom you could trust anymore. Could we trust Karan and everything he said? Did he also have an agenda? Everyone else did. Roger finished his pathetic -The show must go on- story to which T replied. I cant help you man. Not today. Roger was flabbergasted at the denied request. He stared blankly at us for a moment and then asked in the slimiest of voices. Well, could you at least lend us your computer so we can keep working? That would be wicked man. Sure, said T. We both walked into our bedroom closing the door behind us. You’re going to give him the computer? I asked. Yes. But wait let me disable the burner. That way they can’t take the cut-list. There was no Wi-FI at the apartment so they couldn’t email the list to themselves. USB’s were not around yet either. So we were pretty safe only disabling the computer’s burner. I walked out and handed them the computer, they seemed so grateful. Karan was sitting at the dining room table seeing all the action and giving me looks I couldn’t understand. I went back into the bedroom and after a moment I walked back out and into the editing office. I sat at the other computer, which had the Internet connected to it and started looking for flights home leaving that night. Roger nervously looked back at me every few minutes. I knew something was up. The silence in the office could be cut by a knife. The editor could barely figure out how to use the program. He was just buying time. Suddenly Roger got a phone call and left the office to go out to the balcony. T came out of the bedroom and followed Roger. A minute later he came to get me at the office. I followed him in silence. We stood beside the darkened balcony listening to the plan these people had in mind.
ROGER: Don’t worry about them. They are here now. They left the hospital. I know. But, We'll steal everything tonight and get rid of them in the morning. Don’t worry about the money.
T looked at me in disbelief. We silently walked back to our bedroom while Roger begged for time and mercy from, whom else? Evermean! She was having a ball screaming at the pathetic so called Director, and come to find out, her lover as well. Wow. The thick plottened.
We walked into our bedroom and T was flabbergasted. He looked at me and said; everything you said is true. Them not paying us, stealing our work. Wow. I can’t believe it. I hate to say it but I told you so. I didn’t say that. It would have been a kick in the nuts. We needed a plan. And fast. The phone conversation was nearly over. What were we going to do? Confront him? Run? I voted for the second choice. Run cantina, RUN!!!!!
9/7/10
Keep walking...
I keep walking
My life is a constant going, moving, inhaling, exhaling.
Inhaling….here I go again, exhale and it hurts.
Letting go, moving on.
But it’s impossible to only inhale.
Maybe impossible to stay.
I’m always leaving to go to the next place
To go somewhere else
To go find, go seek
I’m a seeker, sometimes lost in the search but still seeking
To return to the place I’ve left
To the people I left and loved and found and left with strain
But I keep walking and I leave and I leave again and again
Not knowing when or if I’ll return
And it hurts but I can’t help it
My feet, they have these wings that won’t stop flapping with the wind
And they take me places I’ve never been
But only flying keeps me keen
My feet they keep on dancing making wind
My hands are shaking, I have to go
To a place I’ve never been before
I keep walking, dancing, flying and seeking strangers to love
Loving and then letting go
My chest gets tight, I leave my soul, the pain takes over and I let go
It’s in my nature, I just can’t help it
I keep on walking along
I keep on leaving I keep on coming I keep on going, Just go...
Let go
Breathe...
Inhale...
Exhale...
Let go....
Keep on walking girl...
Go.
My life is a constant going, moving, inhaling, exhaling.
Inhaling….here I go again, exhale and it hurts.
Letting go, moving on.
But it’s impossible to only inhale.
Maybe impossible to stay.
I’m always leaving to go to the next place
To go somewhere else
To go find, go seek
I’m a seeker, sometimes lost in the search but still seeking
To return to the place I’ve left
To the people I left and loved and found and left with strain
But I keep walking and I leave and I leave again and again
Not knowing when or if I’ll return
And it hurts but I can’t help it
My feet, they have these wings that won’t stop flapping with the wind
And they take me places I’ve never been
But only flying keeps me keen
My feet they keep on dancing making wind
My hands are shaking, I have to go
To a place I’ve never been before
I keep walking, dancing, flying and seeking strangers to love
Loving and then letting go
My chest gets tight, I leave my soul, the pain takes over and I let go
It’s in my nature, I just can’t help it
I keep on walking along
I keep on leaving I keep on coming I keep on going, Just go...
Let go
Breathe...
Inhale...
Exhale...
Let go....
Keep on walking girl...
Go.
6/11/10
Blind trust....
It seems to me the older I get, the less relationships are what I once dreamed of or what we see in movies, and the more I long for them to be that way. Wouldn't it make sense that the older you get the more baggage you get rid of and the lighter you travel making you more available to be intimate and less conflicted about commitment. But it's exactly the opposite in many cases. I am not understanding why I have a harder time saying what I think and feel lately. I used to be more open and less afraid the less I knew. And of course the younger I was and felt. Not that I feel old or anything but I am older. And today I wonder if wisdom is a gift of youth and not a skill acquired with age. I am however thankful for all the things I can clearly see about myself now that I didn't see then. I am thankful I can see my mistakes with a lot more humility and actually work on them with a conscious mind. I am thankful I understand what's important to me. I had no idea a few years back, not like now anyway. I can say certainly that at least I know what I don't want and what I won't put up with. And that in itself is a blessing. They say the more assertive we are with our thoughts and intentions the more accurately we'll be able to create our reality. So whenever you see yourself at a moment in a place you really don't wanna be in, take a moment and ask yourself, why is this in my movie? What roads did I take that led me to be here now? If this is not where I want to be what can I do to change it? Now that I read my own words I realize that this here is the wisdom acquired with age. And that all my youth provided was blind trust. Which I miss. I can't deny that. Blind trust in life is what I hope to acquire again through the wisdom of getting to know myself. Because when I do I'll trust that any decision I make is with the full knowledge that I have come full circle and I trust myself because I now know myself and I will only feel blind trust because I know....Whew......
1/12/10
~October 23rd~
My birthday was in a week, suddenly it seemed like a great present to myself to get my ass home. It was about 3 in the morning. Our computer was still with us, I guess I out-waited them. They ended up leaving after a while of me sitting watching the fake-edit job they were trying to pull off.
T was in bed with a fever that made him shake like jello. I was packing frantically trying to beat the sunlight. Karan was meditating in the living room in silence. The night was cold. As I packed I couldn’t help but feel frustrated, I started throwing things inside the luggage to relieve my stress. I just thought this was bullshit. We were running away like we did something, this was just weird and why was it happening to me? Why was I in this stupid situation losing my dignity every step of the way? T finally got up, he couldn’t handle the stuff throwing anymore. He got up from bed and gave me a huge hug. Its gonna be all right little bear, he said. By that time the tension in my body was such I just burst into tears. I was pissed honey. He took the phone and called Canada. His father picked up.
Dad: Hello?
T: Dad.
Dad: hi T, how are you?
T: We are coming home tomorrow dad.
Dad: Oh? Why, is everything all right.
T: No, nothing is all right. We just heard a phone conversation and we feel its better to come home now.
Dad: Well, I guess. You know better. Just be safe. Do they know you are leaving?
T: No.
Dad: Oh….well maybe you should let them know son.
T: They dont deserve it. Let them figure it out.
Dad: Not a good idea son. Its better to say what you need to say.
T: Well. I dont know. Well see how it goes but we are coming home tomorrow. I love you dad.
Dad: I love you son.
T hung up the phone and went back to bed. I continued packing in frustration but at the same time I felt relieved. I was taking my ass home. I wasn’t about to spend my birthday with these people around me. I was done.
The sun was creeping up, the light was starting to make weird shadows in the room. I could see the crows flying around outside our window. Bachu was in the kitchen making tea. Exotic birds were flapping their wings and calling out to the new day. The new beginning. The ritualistic Indian Honking of car horns was about to begin. It was time to leave. I went out to the kitchen and got some chai for T. Came back into the bedroom and woke him up. Time to go baby. Its time to go home. The sound of those words was like taking a Klonopim with a shot of mezcal. All you junkies out there know what I’m talking about.
Home…..echoed inside my head, the sound of that word was like breathing underwater. Click those heels Dorothy, there’s no place like home. Karan knocked on the door and woke me from my fantasy drug daydream. Back to life Dorothy, and Evermean is still out there trying to get you. Better get your ass up on out of this town before the sun hits noon! We got up, grabbed our bags and stated out the door and down the dark stairway unto the street. Bachu followed. At the bottom of the stairs, I hugged Bachu for the last time. Thank you my friend. The man looked very confused, very, very confused. Karan was hiding inside the doorway seeing us part. We started loading the luggage into the small car like it was second nature. Get out of Delhi, Karan insisted. Ok, ok Karan my friend . We will. The last bag was loaded, a small bag of work tapes we didn’t know what to do with lay on the floor beside the cab. I looked at it for a moment, hesitated but then put it in along with my hand bag. We were packed and ready to go home. First stop, Canadian embassy. Thank you please. The cab started on its way, I looked out the window at Defence Colony, in all its decadent spelnder I was leaving it behind. Cows rummaging on bushes, the gated park we had down the street. I looked at Troy and said to him, there’s no turning back. I know, he said. I don’t care.
We made our way through to the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi 7 am traffic. The cab waited at the gate for them to authorize our entry. Big men with bigger guns guarded the gate. We hauled our bags inside the embassy, we walked through endless green gardens into a beautiful waiting hall. An Indian woman stood inside a glass security booth and called us to the window.
Yes, please. Sit. What is your trouble? Well, T said, I was working for a Production company and well....hum?, how should I say this....Suddenly, I interrupted; We are being chased by evil Bollywood producers!!! They wanted to steal everything from us and get rid of us today. So we ran away. Madam, calm down. She said to me. I will give you a piece of paper and you can write down your troubles. Then you can go about your business and someone will contact you later. But, we wanted to see if you could escort us to the airport, we want to go home and we feel our lives are in danger. I said in anguish. Yes, thank you please, you may write all this on the piece of paper and the appropriate person will look into your case. We will get back to you in a few days. We are just so busy, with Chrétien visiting and all. You know, the Prime minister. Well, everyone is out of the office today. But we wanted to leave today for Canada, I said.
Well, in that case you should be fine then. No, I don’t think so lady. These people are capable of anything. Look, we are scared, is there anything we can do? Oh, I am so sorry madam. Here, there is an 800 number here. You may call that if you should need anything. 1-800-save my ass. Ok then, I guess we should go then. Thank you so much. Here is the report we filled out. Oh yes, I will take that and start a file for you. She said. Then as she walked away she said: And don’t forget to call us if you need us! As she disappeared into the back of her glass protection, I could see our protection fading away. We headed out to look for a hotel where we could leave our things until we had to leave. Our paranoia was such we switched cabs three times before we found a hotel downtown. We walked in and all I saw was green berets walking around. Oh shit. I said out loud. T was so dazed and confused he barely noticed all the berets. We walked casually towards the front desk where the clerk asked us for our passports. There was no way of checking in without a passport. But we are only here for a few hours sir. No matter madam. I need passport. Thank you please. I am not sure how many hotels are in New Delhi, but if they wanted to they could eventually find us. We had no time to waste. We walked up to our room and left our luggage, the small bag of work-tapes was bothering me. I should have left it behind. But what if they wanted to destroy them and blame me for it? I guess I made the right choice. Lets go to the post office, I said to T. I need to send these tapes to the office. I am not getting on a plane with these things. Ok, he said. We walked out and carried the bag to the post office around the corner. The place was like an old James Bond movie set. Large rustic wooden tables staked up with Indian mail. Some kids on the corner sewing fabric bags together. That’s how they package things there, by sewing large packages in cotton fabric. And a bowl of glue for your postage sticking needs at the center of a marble table.
I walk in and put the bag of tapes on the counter, they ask me: Address? Oh yes, here. I hand them the piece of paper where I had the office address written. Mumbai, he mumbled. Yes I said. That’s where the main production office is. Very well, you want fast delivery or slow delivery. I thought for a moment, slow. Ok. Done thank you please, here is receipt for shipment. Keep it safe, In case of any misunderstanding. I took a mental note of that warning. We head back to the hotel. Police cars swooshed by us causing my heart to race. I knew by now they would be looking for us no doubt. The sun said noon and we were still at large. Back inside our bedroom there was a little bit of peace but I knew we still had to go buy the plane tickets. I left T to rest and went to another hotel nearby to an Air Canada office. I had Ts credit card and was ready to buy our tickets to freedom.
Hello madam, can I help you? Yes I said. Two tickets to Calgary on the next flight you got. Well, lets see. He said, I have a 12:45 am flight direct to Toronto and then switch planes to Calgary there arriving at 12 noon the next day. Ill take them, I said. Would that be all right? Yes that would be all right, very all right. You have no idea how all right that sounds!
T was in bed with a fever that made him shake like jello. I was packing frantically trying to beat the sunlight. Karan was meditating in the living room in silence. The night was cold. As I packed I couldn’t help but feel frustrated, I started throwing things inside the luggage to relieve my stress. I just thought this was bullshit. We were running away like we did something, this was just weird and why was it happening to me? Why was I in this stupid situation losing my dignity every step of the way? T finally got up, he couldn’t handle the stuff throwing anymore. He got up from bed and gave me a huge hug. Its gonna be all right little bear, he said. By that time the tension in my body was such I just burst into tears. I was pissed honey. He took the phone and called Canada. His father picked up.
Dad: Hello?
T: Dad.
Dad: hi T, how are you?
T: We are coming home tomorrow dad.
Dad: Oh? Why, is everything all right.
T: No, nothing is all right. We just heard a phone conversation and we feel its better to come home now.
Dad: Well, I guess. You know better. Just be safe. Do they know you are leaving?
T: No.
Dad: Oh….well maybe you should let them know son.
T: They dont deserve it. Let them figure it out.
Dad: Not a good idea son. Its better to say what you need to say.
T: Well. I dont know. Well see how it goes but we are coming home tomorrow. I love you dad.
Dad: I love you son.
T hung up the phone and went back to bed. I continued packing in frustration but at the same time I felt relieved. I was taking my ass home. I wasn’t about to spend my birthday with these people around me. I was done.
The sun was creeping up, the light was starting to make weird shadows in the room. I could see the crows flying around outside our window. Bachu was in the kitchen making tea. Exotic birds were flapping their wings and calling out to the new day. The new beginning. The ritualistic Indian Honking of car horns was about to begin. It was time to leave. I went out to the kitchen and got some chai for T. Came back into the bedroom and woke him up. Time to go baby. Its time to go home. The sound of those words was like taking a Klonopim with a shot of mezcal. All you junkies out there know what I’m talking about.
Home…..echoed inside my head, the sound of that word was like breathing underwater. Click those heels Dorothy, there’s no place like home. Karan knocked on the door and woke me from my fantasy drug daydream. Back to life Dorothy, and Evermean is still out there trying to get you. Better get your ass up on out of this town before the sun hits noon! We got up, grabbed our bags and stated out the door and down the dark stairway unto the street. Bachu followed. At the bottom of the stairs, I hugged Bachu for the last time. Thank you my friend. The man looked very confused, very, very confused. Karan was hiding inside the doorway seeing us part. We started loading the luggage into the small car like it was second nature. Get out of Delhi, Karan insisted. Ok, ok Karan my friend . We will. The last bag was loaded, a small bag of work tapes we didn’t know what to do with lay on the floor beside the cab. I looked at it for a moment, hesitated but then put it in along with my hand bag. We were packed and ready to go home. First stop, Canadian embassy. Thank you please. The cab started on its way, I looked out the window at Defence Colony, in all its decadent spelnder I was leaving it behind. Cows rummaging on bushes, the gated park we had down the street. I looked at Troy and said to him, there’s no turning back. I know, he said. I don’t care.
We made our way through to the Canadian High Commission in New Delhi 7 am traffic. The cab waited at the gate for them to authorize our entry. Big men with bigger guns guarded the gate. We hauled our bags inside the embassy, we walked through endless green gardens into a beautiful waiting hall. An Indian woman stood inside a glass security booth and called us to the window.
Yes, please. Sit. What is your trouble? Well, T said, I was working for a Production company and well....hum?, how should I say this....Suddenly, I interrupted; We are being chased by evil Bollywood producers!!! They wanted to steal everything from us and get rid of us today. So we ran away. Madam, calm down. She said to me. I will give you a piece of paper and you can write down your troubles. Then you can go about your business and someone will contact you later. But, we wanted to see if you could escort us to the airport, we want to go home and we feel our lives are in danger. I said in anguish. Yes, thank you please, you may write all this on the piece of paper and the appropriate person will look into your case. We will get back to you in a few days. We are just so busy, with Chrétien visiting and all. You know, the Prime minister. Well, everyone is out of the office today. But we wanted to leave today for Canada, I said.
Well, in that case you should be fine then. No, I don’t think so lady. These people are capable of anything. Look, we are scared, is there anything we can do? Oh, I am so sorry madam. Here, there is an 800 number here. You may call that if you should need anything. 1-800-save my ass. Ok then, I guess we should go then. Thank you so much. Here is the report we filled out. Oh yes, I will take that and start a file for you. She said. Then as she walked away she said: And don’t forget to call us if you need us! As she disappeared into the back of her glass protection, I could see our protection fading away. We headed out to look for a hotel where we could leave our things until we had to leave. Our paranoia was such we switched cabs three times before we found a hotel downtown. We walked in and all I saw was green berets walking around. Oh shit. I said out loud. T was so dazed and confused he barely noticed all the berets. We walked casually towards the front desk where the clerk asked us for our passports. There was no way of checking in without a passport. But we are only here for a few hours sir. No matter madam. I need passport. Thank you please. I am not sure how many hotels are in New Delhi, but if they wanted to they could eventually find us. We had no time to waste. We walked up to our room and left our luggage, the small bag of work-tapes was bothering me. I should have left it behind. But what if they wanted to destroy them and blame me for it? I guess I made the right choice. Lets go to the post office, I said to T. I need to send these tapes to the office. I am not getting on a plane with these things. Ok, he said. We walked out and carried the bag to the post office around the corner. The place was like an old James Bond movie set. Large rustic wooden tables staked up with Indian mail. Some kids on the corner sewing fabric bags together. That’s how they package things there, by sewing large packages in cotton fabric. And a bowl of glue for your postage sticking needs at the center of a marble table.
I walk in and put the bag of tapes on the counter, they ask me: Address? Oh yes, here. I hand them the piece of paper where I had the office address written. Mumbai, he mumbled. Yes I said. That’s where the main production office is. Very well, you want fast delivery or slow delivery. I thought for a moment, slow. Ok. Done thank you please, here is receipt for shipment. Keep it safe, In case of any misunderstanding. I took a mental note of that warning. We head back to the hotel. Police cars swooshed by us causing my heart to race. I knew by now they would be looking for us no doubt. The sun said noon and we were still at large. Back inside our bedroom there was a little bit of peace but I knew we still had to go buy the plane tickets. I left T to rest and went to another hotel nearby to an Air Canada office. I had Ts credit card and was ready to buy our tickets to freedom.
Hello madam, can I help you? Yes I said. Two tickets to Calgary on the next flight you got. Well, lets see. He said, I have a 12:45 am flight direct to Toronto and then switch planes to Calgary there arriving at 12 noon the next day. Ill take them, I said. Would that be all right? Yes that would be all right, very all right. You have no idea how all right that sounds!
10/31/09
~The Game was on~
And so the days went by and the work kept coming with the promise of that deposit that never came. 9 weeks into this adventure and we were broke in India and by Indian terms. Which in Western terms is really in deep shit. After 24 hours of non stop editing to hit a deadline Mr T, as I will call him from now on, was exhausted and sick. As was I. After a vomit-diarrea-fever-cold sweat extravaganza we decided it was time to go to the hospital.
Yes honey, we were in the hospital in New Delhi, it is like nothing you have ever seen. It looks like a combination vintage store on La Brea Av. and a soup kitchen down on San Pedro street.
I have never seen poor or sick like I saw in this place. As we walked into the Dr.s office Mr. T started to look faint and ran out of the office into the bathroom, barely making his run, he projectile vomited all over the bathroom door. The Dr. was taking my pulses, because in India they do 2 pulses, your veins and your arteries. He took one look at me, heard the vomiting down the hall, and said in a firm voice, You must be admitted at once!!! This is dengue fever. Very very dangerous. You do not have much time and you will need a blood transfusion.
WHAT!? OK, that was the scariest news I had gotten since my Mom came out of the closet in 95.
Next thing I knew, we were rushed from the Dr's office to the emergency room to a private room and before I knew it we were laying in a bed with an iv up our arm. The room had no windows, it was like a 1942 mid war hospital room, something right out of a movie. Karan , my dear friend, came in. He was worried about us but had some awkward news to share. He said; Be very careful with what they put in your iv, these people are very good friends with hospital. they want to steal your stuff! I heard them talking in the office! Don't say I told you, but be very careful, they want to get rid of you and not pay. Mr T was half gone but his eyes widened with disbelief. for a split second. I felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the dengue fever. Now we were broke ass, sick and persecuted foreigners laying in a hospital room with no windows to escape from.
All right, I thought, this has gone far enough I think? I looked at Mr. T and said; We are not sleeping in this place, so you better work and get all the fluids you can because we are going home honey. He looked at me and fell right back to sleep. The door opened slowly, the nurse walked in with a big smile on her face, it was right out of a David Lynch film, she was carrying a tray full of needles. She lifted my arm, made sure the iv was in place and started to prepare a needle. I looked at her and gasped, what is that? I said. All she said in her broken English was, Dr. say this good for you, thank you please. Thank you please.
Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!
Yes honey, we were in the hospital in New Delhi, it is like nothing you have ever seen. It looks like a combination vintage store on La Brea Av. and a soup kitchen down on San Pedro street.
I have never seen poor or sick like I saw in this place. As we walked into the Dr.s office Mr. T started to look faint and ran out of the office into the bathroom, barely making his run, he projectile vomited all over the bathroom door. The Dr. was taking my pulses, because in India they do 2 pulses, your veins and your arteries. He took one look at me, heard the vomiting down the hall, and said in a firm voice, You must be admitted at once!!! This is dengue fever. Very very dangerous. You do not have much time and you will need a blood transfusion.
WHAT!? OK, that was the scariest news I had gotten since my Mom came out of the closet in 95.
Next thing I knew, we were rushed from the Dr's office to the emergency room to a private room and before I knew it we were laying in a bed with an iv up our arm. The room had no windows, it was like a 1942 mid war hospital room, something right out of a movie. Karan , my dear friend, came in. He was worried about us but had some awkward news to share. He said; Be very careful with what they put in your iv, these people are very good friends with hospital. they want to steal your stuff! I heard them talking in the office! Don't say I told you, but be very careful, they want to get rid of you and not pay. Mr T was half gone but his eyes widened with disbelief. for a split second. I felt sick, and it had nothing to do with the dengue fever. Now we were broke ass, sick and persecuted foreigners laying in a hospital room with no windows to escape from.
All right, I thought, this has gone far enough I think? I looked at Mr. T and said; We are not sleeping in this place, so you better work and get all the fluids you can because we are going home honey. He looked at me and fell right back to sleep. The door opened slowly, the nurse walked in with a big smile on her face, it was right out of a David Lynch film, she was carrying a tray full of needles. She lifted my arm, made sure the iv was in place and started to prepare a needle. I looked at her and gasped, what is that? I said. All she said in her broken English was, Dr. say this good for you, thank you please. Thank you please.
Noooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!
10/2/09
~Leverage~
Its funny how being stuck half way across the globe in a third world country can make you do the strangest things. At that moment out of pure desperation, I started bartering with God.
God, if you help me get home I will never ever, ever complain about L.A. again. I will give up sugar for a year, help the homeless, volunteer downtown on Christmas eve, anything you want!!! Please take me home!!!! I will do anything, anything!
Night came, we talked. He understood my desperation. I understood his position. We slept hoping the sun would come out tomorrow as Annie had always promised.
The sun came out as promised by Annie, and new ideas came to mind about how to handle this situation. Me, being the brains in the family, started planning how to not get screwed by Evermean and her Indian posse. I woke up and headed straight to the computer Karan loaned me to check emails and do my editing chores. I opened word and started typing away a memo. When I was done I woke him up with a bright smile that spelled, I got it! He looked at me and immediately said; what now? Nothing honey, I just figured out how not to get screwed. Here is my plan. I wrote a memo for them which, if you agree, you can sign. It says you wont be able to deliver the CUT LIST to them until you get paid the full amount owed. Without the CUT LIST, they have no film. They will have to comply.
· The cut list is a numerical list, which tells the computer the order the shots in the movie have to be in, so that it all actually makes sense. It’s a file. Very Mission Impossible*
He thought about it for a moment then said, great. You are right. I have their movie in my hands. If they don’t pay I’ll just delete it. Exactly. I said! Or email it to them when they do pay. Now we have leverage. Now we’re talking. Nighttime came and the producers, including Evermean, were coming over to see the trailer T had worked on for Sundance. They were desperate to get in the festival, which happens every January in Utah. This was their chance. They were coming with one of the judges from the festival, so he could guide them with their submission. They came, they saw, they loved it. Good for us.
I went to my computer and kept on editing scenes, while I watched them in awe of their film. T is a very talented editor, far beyond their expectations. As soon as they were done I handed over several copies of the memo signed by Troy. Their faces turned from joy to confusion. Evermean started reading. Her uncle, the man that gave her the job and expected the world of his unmarried old maid of a niece, was flabbergasted and embarrassed and also started turning a certain shade of green. I should have known! He looked at her and said, -What is this about?- bobbing his head like a little dashboard toy.
You should know that Sikh people, such as they are, are not fond of being embarrassed or ridiculed. They are, by Indian standards, the fools of India. (Kind of like Gallegos in Spain) So to them, dignity and pride are of the utmost importance. And right at that moment, their whole discourse about changing the reputation of Indian Cinema being corrupt, was exploding like the Challenger. Unexpectedly and fiercely right in their face, and in front of the Sundance representative. Evermean could not handle it and walked quickly into the bathroom. I think she puked, she must have, as the bathroom stench after she came out was unbearable. But then again, I think witches stink up when they get angry? I read that somewhere....
As soon as she came out she looked at me, kind of knowing this was all my idea. I looked back proudly. The game was on. We both knew it. She was ready to explode but couldn’t do it in front of Sundance man so she looked at me and yelled -You need to bring us an invoice!- I did, I replied. -Well, it was the wrong address!!!! It has to be made out with the London office address!- And she fiercely walked out of the apartment bobbing her head. Her uncle looked at Troy and said in a quiet held back voice, don’t worry, this’ll be handled immediately. And walked out behind his niece mumbling in Hindi. Troy and I looked at each other wondering what would happen. Suddenly I had to run off to the bathroom. Yes. I puked.
And so proudly I had my evening Tosht and papaya as I hummed my fave Winnie the pooh song....
Deep in the hundred acre wood
where Christopher Robin plays ...
A donkey named Eeyore is his friend...
and Kanga and little Roo.
There's Rabbit and Piglet and
there's Owl, but most of all.
Winnie the Pooh...
Winnie the Pooh...
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff.
He's Winnie the Pooh...
Winnie the Pooh...
Willy nilly silly old bear.
8/31/09
~Stuck~
The shoot was done, we went home. Evermean was not really speaking to me or even looking at me. I liked it that way better. We got home and I asked again, Did you talk about your payments? Uh, yeah. I have a meeting at the office tomorrow to see about that. He said. I knew what we were into already, it’s very third world to keep people guessing about their money. Sometimes they keep you guessing forever.
The next day came, I was awakened by the classic, knock knock…madam? Tosht? Papaya? It was Bachu, asking if we wanted breakfast. I was gonna miss him when we left, I thought.
Yes Bachu! Papaya and Tosht! Which in English means toast. Later that afternoon Troy went to the office to see about his money again, but this time in person. I waited for about four hours, going out of my mind in that apartment. It felt like jail. I wonder if this is what it’s like being in jail? I thought. I watched TV, old Bollywood movies. Well, actually I couldn’t tell when they were from, even the new ones look old. It’s like a time warp in that place. It’s unbelievable to me that one of the oldest civilizations on earth can be so far behind on everything, everything. As they say. Wouldn’t it have to be the opposite? Wouldn’t the older civilizations have to be more advanced due to the fact that they have had longer to work on their societies and technology? Anyway, Troy came home finally around 5 pm. I was asleep by then watching Oprah and longing for a return ticket home. He walked in the door and looked happy.
I was excited to hear the good news. Which went something like this:
SH: Hi. So what happened?
SH: That’s cool. So what about the deposit?
T: Well, yeah I mean they’re gonna pay. It’s just been hard since 9/11 for them.
My face started turning a light shade of red….
T: I mean, they are having such a hard time making transfers.
SH: Yeah I noticed, its been 5 weeks….
T: Yeah, and they also said we do owe them money…so That’ s also why they haven’t deposited. They need the receipts you were supposed to bring to the office so they can figure out how much we owe them.
SH: Yei, you get to direct a movie for free!!! How exciting!
How, he asked. We have no money, no job. At least here I have this job and the chance that they will pay me the 30,000 pounds they owe me. We don’t even have money for the return tickets.
True. We didn’t have enough money for our ride home. Fuck. We were stuck.
8/28/09
~Evermean~
I even felt nostalgic over leaving, but in reality we were never gonna make any money being there. If they decided to pay, it would be over the thought of having to start over. So they left us no choice really.
That afternoon Troy and I were summoned to the set to partake in the shooting of this film. I was gonna play, guess what? A waitress…and he was gonna play the antagonists lover in a jacuzzy scene. Great.
As we arrived to the set we met the Producer in the lobby, a young 20 something, single, Indian female we will call, Evermean, as in the wicked witch of the East….
My first impression was that she looked like she was gayer than a 2 dollar Hello Kitty bill. Gay is not a very accepted thing to be in indian society, although it is hard to tell as everyone is same sex friendly. But, I thought, wow, how modern of her. She must be cool. Always dressed in men in black suits.
And so she greeted us and her first question to me was; So, are you ok with the fact that your boyfriend is going to be in a jacuzzy naked making love to another woman? Arent you uncomfortable with this? And all this said with a big fat grin on her face…ejem, actually Evermean, I trust Troy so much he could lick the girls asshole and I would still feel ok about it. I trust our love that much.
Her jaw dropped to the floor, her face turned form that lovely Indian witchy green, to a tomato red. Troy was flabbergasted. I was….enjoying my best bitch back ever…..bitch.
From then on I knew she had a thing for me, I was not sure in which way though. I didnt know if she wanted to fuck me or fuck Troy or maybe both, but boy did she hate me. I became her Dorothy. I could feel it, every time she came over to our place, as soon as she left, I puked. I was unsure if she dropped arcenic in my food and drinks or if her mere energy and presence provoked my gag reflex, but something was terribly wrong about that woman. I could see she really liked Troy, and obviously wanted to make me jealous. I think she relized the impossibility of her fantasy and that made her hate me even more. Karan told me she nicknamed me the Mexican whore at the production office. Indian women are special in that way, I think they are bitter creatures. I once had a weird experience at a salon. I personally went there to get my Pancho Villas removed from my upper lip. I only remember entering the salon and feeling a group stare. I guess I confuse people from that part of the world, I look Indian or Irani or Italian, depending on where youa re from I look it. So as I walked in every woman in the joint turned and looked at me. Looked me up and down, not an unfamiliar thing, in Mexico I get those looks all the time. Not particularly me, anyone entering a restaurant or salon or store is stared at, judged, scanned and released. It is normal. As it is in India as well. I guess it is a classification process, what class do you belong to? Once people figure you out you are free to continue about your business. Anyway, enough about this jealous bitch and back to my story.
8/22/09
~New Delhi~
We arrived in New Delhi at the Hotel Royal. Finally met the Director and the music supervisor. They were very friendly and excited about the film. Roger, the Director, a British man in his 50’s seemed very fond of Troy and was very happy I came along. We only stayed at the hotel for the first few days with them and then again moved into an apartment in “Defence Colony”, a gated community in New Delhi.
The film started shooting and Troy started editing the film. He got a couple of assistants to come work with him but he had to train them. Days would go by and surely the assistants would stop coming to work as they were getting paid a whooping $200 dollars and an old samsung cell phone for the whole movie, meaning for 4 montrhs of work. About a week later Troy got tired of training people and asked me to jump in and help him. I had assisted him in another film that spring, so I already knew the system and how he worked. I was also glad he asked as I was growing tired of New Delhi, the city of rape.
Rick, the musical director moved into the apartment about week 3, so did Karan, Roger’s assistant. Then a few days later, came another British friend Dave. We were all one big happy family.
The problem was, Dave, didn’t really have a room. He slept like Karan in the living room on a cot. Karan on the other hand, slept on the floor. It was strange. Everyone wanted to be part of this film for some odd reason even if they had to sleep on the floor.
One day I asked Karan why didn’t he ask the office to bring him another cot. He said, “No, I’m ok on floor. In India it’s different. People don’t care to sleep on bed.” As long as he was allowed to the film set he was ok on the floor.
It’s mostly Hindu 80% about 13% Muslim and 2.3 % Christian. Men and women can’t hold hands on the street, but men and men can and so can women vs. Women. But non of them are “gay”, just same sex friendly. It’s better to wear long sleeves. Not sure what arms do. And they use mothballs in all their cleaners to keep the insects at bay. My God that place smeels like mothballs!
Every week Karan and I took a trip down to the market to get fresh fruits and vegetables for Bachu (which means little one) to cook for all of us. Rick would give me his part of the market money and we would do the shopping. We were told by the production to keep all the reciepts as we would be reimbursed for our food expenses. Every week we would try to make an appointment with the office accountant to turn in reciepts and get reimbursed but he was never there. We dropped off reciepts for weeks. I thought it was weird. But then again what isn’t weird in India as compared to what I’m used to.
My cough was finally gone. The fall had begun, so we got a care package from Troy’s mother full of candy and Canadian things. Paper napkins with a maple leaf on them, little Canadian flags and Canadian candy bars. Canadian bears holding Canadian flags a plethora of Canadian parafernalia came in a little envelope that when opened shot out a cloud of tiny Canadian maple leaves Bachu had to clean.... Sheesh.
My parents on the other hand were Mom in Miami shooting a novela and my Dad still shocked from my trip in Mexico City.
I can’t imagine my parents sending me a package full of Mexican flags, tejocotes, duvalines, tamales, pelon pelo ricos and what not... I can’t imagine it because they’ve never done it. No matter how far I have been, they just don’t do that kind of thing.
It was an unusual arrangement for those days but I think it worked out for the best. My Mom was at the top of her game and decided she would try out for the good old Hollywood game,
So, days went by and Troy started feeling ill. So did I. At first I thought it was all that Canadian candy we ate in a very short time but I came to learn on the news there was a Dengue outbreak in all of Delhi due to the recent rain season called Monsoon. Apparently drains are so poorly kept, the water gets stuck and stagnant thus creating zest pools for mosquitoes and diverse diseases to be born.
Alas, something got us. We had stopped taking our malaria pills because they tasted so nasty. So our first thought was that, Malaria. Karan kept feeding us his ayurvedic tea good for –everything, everything- as he put it. Troy kept at editing. I kept at helping Troy meet his deadline.
But wait, let me rewind the book a little bit. Before all this happened one strange night Rick, the musical Director came into the editing office in a rage. He was mumbling about how the Producers owed him 60,000 pounds and had not paid him a penny yet. We had just gotten a $4,000 dollar payment as an advance so we thought everything was ok with us. He also informed us the whole movie was going to be shot, edited and finished in New Delhi, so we actually had 8 more weeks of being in this city. Apparently the London segment of Post had been cancelled. What!? I was shocked and dissapointed and frustrated instantly. I waited until Rick left the room which he did, after he ranted for about 45 minutes about how these fucksticks werent going to get away with it. It sounded bad. As he left the room Troy came close to me and started whispering,
I dont know Troy. Hes been here longer and knows them better. What if we dont get paid, we will lose everything back home. Cant pay rent next month as it is, we have to get paid. Troy looked worried but he was trying to be positive about the situation. Our payments were on schedule so far. A week was left before the next payment was due. We waited. So another 2 weeks went by after that odd discussion about payment. And law and behold, the payment was late. They were having transfer problems due to 9/11. The money which came from a British account was being held by the FBI as protocol. What? What does that mean?
Troy was in a daze editing non stop as he wanted to meet his deadline but I on the other hand was frustrated he was not noticing all the discrepancies going on with the production.
He called. I waited.
T: Aha...Hi just calling about that deposit, sorry to be such a pain man I just really need the money.
I see. Ok, so Monday then....ok thank you please.
He hung up.
Nope...Monday they said. Just be patient. It will go in.
That night we went out for dinner at a fancy place (fancy for New Delhi Defence Colony)
We decided to try their wine. Nice red wine, just what my body was asking for to cure all the money troubles, to get it all out. So we drank a bottle of red wine. The wine was Indian. I did learn one thing about Indian wine, you should not drink it unless you want to die. Our bedroom was a puke fest! It was awesome, it defenitely worked as far as getting it all out… both ways.
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About Me
- VIDA-OM
- Entender el llamado de tu Corazón significa saber lo que añoras y escoger no hacer esas cosas que drenan tu espíritu.