A happy Diwali to all of you who didn’t light bombs, and to those who kept us awake all night, may your ears rest in pieces.
Actually, to be honest I did come close to the odd phataka this weekend, only this particular phataka has a name Dia Mirza, and luckily didn’t go off at any point—not that anybody was in the mood to light the pretty lady.
We met on Sunday on the sets of a horrific film, which is a little different from a horror film. Her vehicle, in fact, almost smashed into mine, although my rickshaw driver’s amazing dexterity made sure we didn’t land up as an extension to her Land Cruiser.
After all the initial excitement, normally associated with life and death situations, had simmered down, we were both ushered into a van the size of an orange and made to sit side by side.
The horrific film director was a man who was very keen to share his twin passions, scratching and coughing, on celluloid. To be absolutely honest Hindi films over the years have not dwelled enough on these spellbinding emotions, and apparently there is a huge market for them.
The director after occupying most of the orange, then told us what he wanted in the scene that day. He looked exclusively at Dia and acknowledged me when I dropped hot tea on his food in the midst of the coughing fit that I intended to incorporate in the film’s path-breaking…..er..climax.
Sunday’s scene was particularly difficult if you are suffering from any back or shoulder injury. But more importantly it was excruciating to do if you were gay or at least partly gay as is the fashion nowadays. The scene had me falling on the beautiful Dia, which made me feel, like the Land Cruiser. But it was both satisfying and excruciating. Satisfying for me and excruciating for her.
So happy Diwali and may your bombs be as shapely and noiseless as mine.
Article from DNA India
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