Chapter 19.
The 29 People
What a ride it's been. You know, no matter how hard I try to be sad about things (depressed hungry artist - not a role that requires the LEAST dedication in the world), I keep gravitating towards creative COLLABORATIVE artistic endeavours involving so many wonderful people that it actually makes it hell easy to stop thinking about your own problems and start wondering about how good others have it.
They're not one and the same thoughts. They really aren't.
I think I'm the only person I know who's mastered the art of ignoring himself. It doesn't phase me as much as it does others seeing ME on tv. Just do something weird and wait for a camera to show up I say. And seeing as this here is a man who recently ingested cherry lip balm and once sprayed Hugo Boss into his throat to make his friends laugh while he secretly cried on the inside, I don't see why my friends are at all surprised that someone did a piece on me for local television.
Unless they're wondering how it's a report on something thats actually worth their while...and not something like eating a fingertip full of cocoa butter.
Which I ALSO did just recently.
And no, it doesn't actually TASTE of cocoa.
I was talking to a friend just a while ago. "We shoulda caught up some more man. It's a shame you're famous and have to travel around."
Famous? Yea man...it's a shame most of that travelling's done in a fucking TRAIN too.
Yes, Razzle Dazzle Em' folks...and they'll make you a star. But as soon as the lights go out and you hang up the pants, you find yourself, early the next evening, not being able to keep your balance in a loud rattling metal box on rails, bumping shoulders with a man called Altaf Hussain (and no not THAT Altaf Hussain. False prophets don't travel by train) while he harasses you to buy some dinner off him, claiming he's the absolute highest authority of the train's FOOD AND DINING DEPARTMENT.
Which, incidentally, two carts down, is just ANOTHER loud rattling metal box on rails. But this one has a stove. Gas operated. Smart.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Not that you'd know, but this was a bit from the train ride BACK from Lahore. Not TO Lahore (Yes, I travel in STYLE), and even THAT'S getting ahead of myself. Let's start here.
About a year ago, a production company led by a very headstrong woman decided to put up the broadway musical CHICAGO, for Karachi City. Using live mics and a kickass band, the show broke pretty much every production benchmark in this country's history, not only in terms of ticket sales and popular success, but in terms of the level of sound and lighting work that went into it's execution, a theatrical play had never been worked on to such an extent in Pakistan. This later resulted in wild acts of jealousy from traditional old men who wear diapers and touch themselves while reading urdu literature. I mean, I'm all FOR maintaining your national identity, but it's clear to me now that FANATICAL EXTREMISM is not an issue related solely to RELIGION.
I was a part of the production. Played one of the acting roles. A lawyer. A man who knows the legal system even better than he knows how to direct a jury's emotions to suit his case. Someone who makes 5 thousand dollars per client (which in the period shown, is a HELL of a lot), and guarantees a win for every case he takes on, as long as it's for a woman.
He's successful, doesn't doubt his skills in life and a real winner. This was going to be a tough role to play.
I went to my friend. A lawyer. Asked him if he could give me some insight on how to approach criminal law.
"First things first. Ya don't take a case you think you'll lose. Don't want that on your record. If there's even a chance you won't win...ya don't take it."
I can do this. I can be a complete dick. If only I can stop thinking about the fate of that hypothetical dude I just threw to the dogs to keep my own record clean. My friend catches me drifting into a very curious state about whether or not that fictitious character I just denied my services to is going to be ok.
He places his hand on my shoulder. "You have NO idea what I do for a living...do you?"
This was REALLY going to be something.
Every play I've ever done, I've tried to take something away from the character I play. Something good. Every play except this one I did in school where I played a TREE. Yes, not too many dimensions to explore there. I was a tree. That spoke, and for some reason everyone else in the play was totally ok with that. It wasn't the most REALISTIC of plays, I promise you. Atleast give me an awesome emotional DEATH scene at the hands of a lumberjack or something. I coulda SHONE that night, MAN! The point was that some school kids go back in time to the land of the dinosaurs, and the ones guiding them through their journey are these 4 talking trees who obviously started telling future generations of seedlings to start keeping their secrets to themselves since trees are just boring as shit nowadays. Seriously, try having a conversation with one of them today. They're always bitching and moaning about the time Farah and Amir carved a badly fashioned heart shape with their initials into their asses using a sharp knife despite the fact that the girl was sucking someone else's dick at the time. Nothing magical, yknow?
...
Anyway.
I feel I didn't do a good job as a lawyer. Sometimes, you just wanna be bland (otherwise known as classy) but then that fat kid with a comedian's disposition deep inside your heart pops out and all hell breaks loose. I was playing this character like a fuckin' schizo on acid. He was never relaxed, or very charming or debonair in any way. He was loud, obnoxious and weird. He would resort to slapstick comedy if it didn't mean falling on the floor in a 1200 dollar suit. I say HE because I really don't think it was me on that stage during the performances. But thanks to a seriously talented bunch of people around me, the show went on to be the biggest thing since talking trees.
Ah rehearsals. Someone recently called me a PROJECT WORKER. One that puts his full focus and attention on a single job and completes it before starting another. I feel I do this so as not to let any distractions taint my passion for the work at hand. But when I truly search my inner soul, I realise it's all for one much larger and more meaningful reason.
I'm lazy.
So obviously, rehearsals being the one thing I DO in a day became my complete routine. Wake up. Grab two beers. Become someone else for a few hours. Easy enough to do. I guess the pay doesn't suck either.
It's a funny thing though, this theatre business. I'm sure there was a time in the history of this country when people got into it just to entertain. But it's fast turning into a proper business. Thank God I'm not yet involved in that aspect of the work. It's hard work selling anything in this world anymore. Especially when it's not a lie. The original plan was to go straight to Lahore with the new run, but during a 4 day festival called The Rafi Peer Festival in the same city, someone with less than 5 friends on FaceBook looked back at his life and wanted to be remembered for a few hours, and decided to blow up a large firecracker in some parking lot, creating a slight scare within the city limits.
The last day of the festival went on regardless. And I hear the turnout was very good.
The man who blew up the firecracker now masturbates at home with other fanatics watching. These men are his four friends on FaceBook.
The show got delayed. And because of another KIND of political mess, the dates promised to my producer by our venue were taken away from us, since someone wanted to use the length of their career in theatre as a force to tip the scales in their favour and perform at the same venue instead of us.
Artistic politics. Error. Does not compute.
But true entertainers never back down from their responsibility to the people. So a plan was executed to create an open air performance stage with audiorium seating from scratch. While this happened...I sat on my seat...and scratched.
I wish this was all good news. But due to the open air venue, and a location partly used for wedding engagements of the worst kind (by which I mean mehndi's hosted by very very rich people), on two of the performance nights, there were mad distracting noises coming from the entire area. The only problem I really had was keeping in rhythm with the band for my songs while a KATAKAT maestro at the back showed exactly where the name of that most delicious dish comes from. Even THAT would've been okay if he would've taken a copy of the script and kept his cooking in time with the songs. But hearing that shit go on in the back made me an even worse and more confused dancer than I usually am, and that COULDN'T be good for future ticket sales. Incidentally, Lahoris call katakat, TAKA TAK, and everytime I asked anyone why, I lost another friend there.
Yes, sectarianism, folks. We beat down religious minorities for so many fucking years that when we became a depressingly predominant Muslim state, we finally ran out of things to bitch or have differences about within ourselves. Hence, TAKA TAK.
So, on that day with the barbecue wedding going on at the back, every single actor and actress went home smelling like Chicken Tikka (Now I feel thats how I like my women). I thought about how long it had been since I had one, as I picked up another cold hard french fry from a little red box with a huge yellow M on it, marinated in my tears, and chewed.
I wonder if they call it fast food for the speed at which they pay off health inspectors to shut them up about how shoddy the preparation of these food items must be. You know you're in trouble when you lift off the top bun of a McDonalds burger, and are now looking at something that looks pretty much the same going INTO you as it would coming out.
Mickey D's. God bless em' for being one of our main sponsors.
Now stop killing people with cholestorol.
Well we finished 9 days in Karachi. After a fun number of mishaps and broken voices, fevers, lost tempers due to other people's stupidity, etc. On the last night, much alcohol was consumed as a celebration. To most of the cast, it was actually MORE booze than they consumed on a daily basis.
Amateurs.
SO! A 3 day break, and then onto the road to take the show to Lahore. Here's where the FUN started. I was now BEYOND broke. Seven days of a city that I don't call home stared me in the face. I opened the dvd case of a film called Suspect Zero, now empty because after 20 minutes I tossed it out the window, realising it would be my new temporary hiding spot for all the cash I've made doing various questionable things on AND off stage over the past 5 years. Which sums up to less than a crooked cop makes in a single night.
One thousand rupees.
It's the last thing I do before leaving the house, grabbing that grand. Before that, packing. Which was shoving 4 shirts, a couple of pants, an insufficient number of clean undies (which I found out in Lahore), toiletries and a tiny Buddha statuette into a bag with a handle and wheels on it. With all due respect, I only buy those whenever I see em' cuz apart from Santa Clause and the Gautama, I've never really seen an overweight man who smiles about his obese condition. Encourages me, so it IS a spiritual thing...fuck off.
Getting to Lahore was more of a chore to the others. I spent most of it dreaming. Despite the advice of people who pretend to care about you, I downed 6 sleeping pills with a beer, because obviously, I'm not able to swallow the pills without a beverage. I woke up conveniently near the time we were supposed to stop at the station.
Rubbed my eyes, checked my breath. Yup...I'd been out a while. I hate those brief moments right after you wake up from a sleep so long Van Winkle would start taking notes, when you don't know if you're hungry or if you gotta go to the bathroom. Lahore was colder than my ex-girlfriend's reaction to ma calls, mates. We loaded ourselves into taxis and reached the Avari.
Ahh, Avari Hotels. God bless em' but could a place be more shady? A place that sells privacy to people from all round, wanting to stop over a few nights and enjoy themselves without having to face the issue of being near any people with decent morals. Long carpeted hallways with the smell of sin creeping out from under each dimly lit doorway you pass in the night. I often took a walk at 2 or 3. The carpet felt nice on my bare feet. It was the closest to any action I got on that trip.
Some people had the energy on the very first morning start exploring, whereas I was aware it's a lot like Karachi only with bigger, louder and slightly more hospitable people. I think day 2 I went to the zoo. It was the only place I'd actually been to a year earlier, during Ramzan, when for some reason even the ANIMALS looked like they were fasting. Especially that crocodile that hadn't moved since I'd seen him a year earlier. I could swear it'd travel a much greater distance in life if someone killed it and turned it into a fucking shoe.
I kept mostly to myself, like I always do. Few people care to join in a conversation I'm having with myself. Although everyone's welcome, and my imaginary friends usually make that very clear. I think people are just racist.
Ah, the Al Hamra. Hall 2. Where decades of classic theatre has thrived in this great city. You could literally smell 7 year old passion off the chairs in the back rows. Wouldn't be surprised if an aunty or two had slipped out a tit or four on this stage. I say tit or four because I've seen a naked Punjabi woman...and that ain't just two tits. I was standing on a damn landmark.
The shows went well. The cheers from the 29 people in the audience proved this. All honesty though, the news that we were in Lahore spread like a gay dude's butt cheeks and by the last 4 nights, the halls were near packed. Lahori audiences are awesome. They're so much louder. And it's so much more fun to make them laugh. One night, after the show during the part where everyone stands around waiting for everyone in the audience to tell them how fucking good they were, an old man stood up and apologised on behalf of his city for the crummy turnout the second day. He said if we had known more about it we woulda been here cuz' the show was so damn awesome. Said he'd IMMEDIATELY go home and tell everyone he knows about it for the coming nights to be more full.
Everyone was happy to hear this. Except for me, who was thinking about how dodgy the word IMMEDIATE even IS to a 70 year old. And how many friends could he possibly have who can even move their hips far enough to get to the theatre?
I'm being mean, but I'm making most of this up.
One of the nights, on our way back to the hotel, I was intercepted by a man who handed me a card and said he was interested in talking to our producers. The largest print on the card said "Famous Singer" then it had what looked like a totally fake ass name alongside it, and a number. I will keep that card forever, for a completely different reason than Famous Singer Imran Tasheel would've wanted me to.
A usual number of bumps and hiccups later, our Lahore run was finally over. In the middle somewhere I came down with a HORRIBLE fever and a cold. I advise anyone falling victim to that most time honoured ailment to not, repeat NOT try having a combination of Chicken McNuggets and horse tranquilizer in an attempt to get better. Although being on the tranq does numb your tongue enough to actually bear the taste of the nuggets. But overall, I give the experience a 12. Don't ask out of a total how many points, but I swear most of the bad things that happened there I probably drank away into a corner in my mind anyway. What do I PERSONALLY remember about the entire time I spent being a part of this thing? Let me tell you:
I met a girl so tiny you'd wonder how her body could contain a heart so big and a mind so developed. On finding out she's in charge of lighting cues, you'd wonder how she'd even reach the control panel in the lighting room that overlooks the stage. It'd become clear when you'd see the five chairs she stacked up together to make a seat high enough to atleast watch what she's doing.
I met a man so convincing as a woman that his real name started sounding like an alias. I almost considered asking him out, but then I remembered the obvious reason I never would. Too tall. *For the sake of the last joke, the writer has accepted any risk of sounding like a homosexual. However, he would like to clarify that he is not. But it IS true that he hasn't been in a fight in a very, VERY long time. Think what you will.*
I met a girl with the voice of a superstar. Laughter came as easy to her as insulting people does to me. Most of the time she wouldn't stop unless people joined her.
I met a man who sings and composes with such fervour, I remembered I had an ego because it stung for the first time in years.
Five musicians did the work of fifty. They;ve been playing their respective instruments so long it was easier for them to make valid points in conversation using a B sharp rather than actual sentences. Masters of their craft, and one of them had the whole idea behind alcohol down PAT.
Women with the voices of angels looked out over me each night of the show. They were dressed to kill, but their songs brought life to the stage.
Mad lights. Wild costumes. Hilarious dialogue. Captivating songs.
I met a woman so beautiful in every way, that a glow came from up top where your forehead's supposed to be. When she screamed, it'd feel like hell not being able to reach her...and dancing with her to me was what swimming in a warm batch of M&M McFlurries is to a fat dude.
I met another man very convincing as a woman. By then I had gotten better at pulling off a MAN's skirt than anyone ever should be. It was a disturbing ice breaker.
I met a man with a heart so broken he'd glue it back together with lies and denial if he could.
I met a girl so driven with passion, she could start thunderstorms with her voice, and her anger could burn holes in the wooden floors we practiced on. When she danced, the human body seemed to make sense again.
I met a girl like a tiny little planet, filled with stories and experiences. So talented she could be headlining in Vegas. Instead she'll just own THIS town.
I met a man so quiet and calm, he reminded me of a slight breeze. I think back now, and realise I've actually had more stirring conversations WITH a slight breeze than I did with this guy.
I met a man who became a very good friend, but I stayed the same. Distant and uncaring. Dodgy and depressed.
I met a man who gives himself even less credit than I give myself. Or HIM for that matter.
I met a girl who could play 3 different characters more easily than I played ONE.
I met a girl even I had to avoid looking at on stage from fear that I might smile and muck up the line right after she shoots me an angry look.
I met a smart man who isn't taken seriously because of his good looks. He complains about it to ME, a man who isn't taken seriously for the exact opposite reason.
I met a man so funny, even I remembered what it was to laugh big.
I met a girl whose eyes show suffering, hidden by a smile so strong the corners of your mouth would reach for your ears without even asking your brain first.
So many people, and I love them all. Though a wise man tells me I use that word way too loosely, and that I've forgotten how to show people affection through kind gestures and the LITTLE things like remembering birthdays and favourite foods anf personal issues they asked for advice on.
So it's nice I suppose, that good people never REALLY die. Maybe I'll get a chance in eternity to show them my gratitude for running into this old man's life.
Y'know most people with a terrible memory have a certain list of the kinds of things they tend to forget. Stuff that would otherwise be very important to NORMAL people, like work deadlines or your grandpa's name.
I have a list. But I know this. People who come together to make miracles come alive on stage, and tell stories of heroes and giants that inspired words and songs being written about them, will NEVER make that list. It's these people I feel honoured to have worked with. It's these people, that through their love, their talent, their dedication, their skill and their intelligence, manage to live many lifetimes in a single one. And in my opinion, that can only be considered as the CLOSEST we've ever gotten, to becoming immortals.
They made life worth living those many months. I advise you to find the ones in your lives too. And disappear in the thought of them, before you find yourself making the very HUMAN mistake of loving one more than the other.
Live forever. All of you. I know you will.
