Cinematic Debut

In the summer of 2001, something possessed me to audition for a role in a zero-budget Hindi-language venture. The casting call had been put out by an aspiring Bollywood director, newly arrived from India and eager to put together this pilot project for Zee TV. I was going to be around Berkeley the whole summer with nothing to do after the 9-5 office space crap, so I figured, might as well see what's up.

My acting ability, like my drawing ability, is something that only exists when I have some detailed example to bite blatantly. Before going into the audition, I popped in some Madhuri Dixit flick, which at the moment of necessity enabled me to ape the melodramatic lines and accompanying gestures with the greatest of ease. Because of this and the probable reluctance of many an aspiring actor to take up this shady unpaid gig, I landed a role as the "feminist friend" of the female lead.

The story was something along these lines: The male is is this dorky, persistent, but well-meaning guy who comes to an American college from India, and, while walking by McDonald's, instantly falls in love with the female lead who happens to be passing by; she is American-born with "Indian values" (read: sexually modest, naive, and ultra-forgiving). Ooh, such deep irony in the East-West swap already -- can you feel it?!

Now check this: the "feminist friend" is newly moved from Bombay (more irony!!), and, for some reason that the audience is not supposed to sympathize with, dislikes the persistent, bumbling Indian-born guy with pretty much no game. She instead sets the heroine up on a date with a jerk of an American-born Indian cocaine addict, who ends up tricking her into getting drunk (poor girl would never drink alcohol of her own volition, mind you; she thought it was just Coca Cola!) and... sexually assaults her. The heroine is traumatized because she feels responsible for having her "honor" toyed with, so she overdoses on the date rapist's cocaine and ends up in the hospital. This is when dork man comes to hold her hand and tell her he loves her, and rapist dick also comes to apologize and beg for her not to take legal action. This gets dork incensed and ready to beat him up. However, sweet desi chick forgives rapist dick and tells dork man to leave him alone. Then dork man and forgiving dipshit chick fall in love and live happily ever after.

We shot a couple of scenes in my apartment, and during one such occasion, I thought I'd have a nice two-hour "discussion" with the director over a chai break.

I began by expressing my concern over my imperfect Hindi and subconscious American mannerisms. He assured me that they were OK, because my role was that of a "feminist." I then told him I was having a bit of difficulty understanding the character and what made her a feminist.

"She hates Indian men," he explained.

I found this characterization of feminism intriguing, an oddly refreshing break from the common patriarchal American perception of feminism as the decisive hatred of ALL men, regardless of national origin.

I offered my dear director the knowledge that I was a feminist, and I did not consider his assessment to be accurate.

The knowledge of my female-emancipatory leanings put a twinkle in his eye, and he began a quest to develop the character around the real me. He asked to check out my room and noted various posters that I had, endorsing musical talents such as the Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys, movies such as Bride of Chucky and Leprechaun in the Hood, and finally, Lord Krishna.

"Let's film a scene in here!" he exclaimed. "But not with the Krishna poster -- that doesn't fit. We'll use the Spice Girls in the background."

He then went on to underscore how because the feminist friend was so misguided in her distaste toward Indian men, she led the heroine astray into the trap of the wanton westerner and effectively caused the whole conflict, which she comes to realize and regret later on. Somehow, the Spice Girls poster would represent the negative phase of the role just perfectly.

I informed homeboy that feminism was about social justice and women's human rights, and neither the admiration of the Spice Girls, nor the arbitrary shunning of men from a particular country, nor the desire for your friend to get with some leering asshole, reflected a desire for this. I mean shit, say what you want to say about me, but don't use my -ism's name in vain!

I then explained the problems I had with the script, starting from: 1) none of the characters being remotely likable; to 2) throwing in something as serious and life-altering as attempted rape just to demonstrate the lead male's heroism in wanting to beat up the guy that did it, even though this was probably more because he saw it as an assault on HIS "property" more than anything else; to 3) demanding no legal accountability from the rapist or clarifying that he, and he alone, is at fault; to 4) not giving any indication that homechick is informed of her rights or planning to seek social services at least for her emotional well-being; to 5) reinforcing the virtue of the pious, self-sacrificing dumb-ass hoe. And there was no fuckin' way in hell he was going to vilify the "feminist" as the root cause of evil on top of all this.

He looked at me as if I were some sort of deformed unicorn: something which cannot, and SHOULD not, exist.

Upon some back-and-forth bargaining (Desis R' Us!), he agreed to add a scene to the end showing the rapist dick in handcuffs, suggesting that homechick had at least reported him, making that action her only redeemable one.

After shooting was complete, home boy said he was going to India temporarily for some "networking" and would return and do some post-production work, letting the cast sit on the editing process with him. He was not to be seen for a full year, when I ran into him at some culture show. I asked him what was the deal with the movie, and he mumbled something back. I didn't really care to clarify.