Anuja Chauhan's Blog: rough work

Hey everybody - 'Pricey' has been nominated to the Crossword Book Awards 2013 in the popular category. If you liked the book, please do vote for it - and share this link with people who liked it too. Much love and hope and crossed fingers ♥

http://goo.gl/aap2ya

IDBI Bank Crossword Award 2013
goo.gl

Working out all the little detailings on the Mega Kaand deep in the family history, which sent everybody scurrying in opposite directions nursing major grudges against each other. So fun.

Have got to the point in the book where everything's thoroughly tangled up - like the little gaulish village when they all have a big fight. it's all a total mess and its going to stay messy for a couple of months...but the dust should settle a little after Diwali...hanging in there...having fun...losing it every now and then and eating too much high-calorie food.

http://alpha.authortv.in/author/anuja...

‘So d’you think it would make a good story?’
Dylan, who is hiding out on an armchar in the back verandah, his head throbbing, looks up slightly bemusedly at Samar.
‘Huh?’
Samar’s glowing dark eyes cloud over. ‘Were you even listening to me, Dylan Mausa?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Dylan groans, massaging the back of his neck ‘Tell me again.’
‘Okay.’ Samar sinks to his knees and starts to speak. How fast he speaks, Dylan thinks irately. Enthu little Gawd-help-us. Between his mother and him they’ll be the death of me.
‘I’ve been working on this idea. It’s called Underneath, we’re all the same. Sort of a national integration message, you know? You could run it for the Independence Day issue in August. The script’s three minutes exactly, just like you wanted. I’ve shot most of it, only the night shoot is left. And of course I couldn’t edit it here. But I can explain it, if you like?’
‘I thought that was what you were doing.’ Dylan tells him, just a little sardonically.
Samar nods. Several times. He holds his camera under Dylan’s nose. There’s an image of a sallow, smiling middle-aged lady frozen on it.
‘Isn’t that…’ Dylan peers at it, trying to block out the light so he can see the image better. ‘Mrs…somebody? She lives hereabouts, doesn’t she?’
‘Mrs Sridhar.’ Samar tells him. ‘That druggie madrasi ’s mother.’
‘Don’t talk like that, brat.’ Dylan cuffs him lightly under the chin.
‘Okay.’ Samar replies obligingly. ‘And this is…’ He shows Dylan another frozen image. Another middle aged lady, more pink cheeked and slightly oriental looking. ‘Nilofar auntie.’
‘Okay.’
‘So the film intercuts images of their lives. Which are almost identical. Mrs Sridhar gets up, goes to the temple, cooks breakfast for her family. Nilofar auntie gets up, says her prayers, cooks food for her family. Mrs Sridhar’s says bye to her son. Nilofar drops her children to school. In the evening, they help their children with homework. And then, as night falls, they bathe…and comb their hair…and wait for their menfolk to come home. When they do, they go into the bedroom. And then, this part is symbolical you know, nothing vulgar - They go inside the bedroom and bolt the door. I’ll shoot that in close-up. The bolt sliding into the socket, I mean. And then out again. Several times. Faster and faster and faster. And then stop. In the morning Mr Sridhar gives Mrs Sridhar his salary. And Nilofar aunti’es uncle gives her money too. And then we pull out…out..out… till we can see the name plate outside Mrs Sridhar’s house – its says 8 Hailey Road. And then Nilofer auntie’s name plate. Its says 8 GB Road. And then words form below the screen. Underneath, we’re all the same.
‘Uh.’ Dylan makes a strangled sort of noise in his throat. ‘Did you say you’ve already shot this, Samar? With Satish’s mother and a lady from GB road?’
‘Yeah.’ Samar replies confidently. ‘I didn’t tell them the concept – but I told them it was for Newswatch. They were really excited. Satish’s mother phoned her friends in Chennai and told them to watch out for it And Nilofar auntie said she thinks it’ll increase her clientale.’
‘You actually went to GB road?’ Dylan’s hair stands up on end.
‘Yeah.’ Samar nods. ‘I took the 750. And got off at New Delhi Railway Station. It’s just a five minute walk from there, didn’t you know?’
‘Never do that again.’ Dylan bellows.
‘Take the bus?’ Samar knits his brows. ‘Nanaji said I could.’
‘Consort with prostitutes.’ Thus Dylan Singh Shekhawat, shaken to the core, thundering like an old testament prophet. ‘Never. Did you hear me?’
‘Oh all right, okay.’ Samar mutters. ‘If you’re going to be such a bore. Just like the rest of the family. But don’t you like my idea?’
‘No!’ Dylan snaps. ‘It’s highly inapropriate. For all sorts of reasons. And don’t tell me you’re too young to realize that Mrs Sridhar will be very, very upset at being compared to a prostitute?’
A happy little gleam lights up Samar’s dark eyes. ‘Good.’ He mutters. ‘Maybe then their family will stop talking to our family.’
Dylan stares at him exasperated. ‘I don’t know what you’re rabbiting on about. But I can’t use this story.’
‘Okay.’ Samar shrugs philosophically. Then he sqaures his shoulders and looks his uncle in the eye. ‘But I’m trusting you to be straight with me. Don’t steal my concept without giving me any credit. If I see Underneath we’re all the same on air I’ll get Gul Gul Mama to sue Newswatch.’
Dylan’s much admired strong, shadowed jaw drops wide open.
‘I… I give you my word.’ He manages to say.