Script Portfolio
The Ephemeral & Eternal Face of Las Vegas
Commentator: Female Voiceover (FVO):
You will not find clocks in the casinos of Las Vegas…
Yet the circle of time spins on - as it must.
Nightlife rolls into never-ending pulsing neon lights.
This is the casino-studded eight mile arterial street of Las Vegas.
Simply called The Strip.
Here mega-splendour and dazzling brilliance is never enough.
It is easy to get pulled into this river of glittering lights.
Heady, mesmerizing, seductive.
The soul of Vegas does not whisper…
It throbs in the dizzy numbers of the roulette wheel
Expands through the sprawling mega resorts
Dances in the flamboyant choreography of multiple fountains
that rise and fall.
It shines through the mega-malls and boutique shops with
designer wear, the art galleries, the expansive shopping arcades.
You will find replicas of iconic big cities here -
Paris with its Eiffel Tower.
New York and the Statue of Liberty
Italy, Rome, Venice with its gondolas.
And Egypt - with a gigantic Sphinx….
The largest glass pyramid int he world.
A beam of light with the brilliance of 40 billion candle power shoots into the night sky from its peak
…and can be seen even from space!
It is hard to imagine that in the 1800s, Las Vegas,
meaning “meadows” in Spanish, served as a refreshing
watering hole for weary travellers.
That it was simply a one-time derelict railroad station
in the Mohave Desert with its name painted on a wooden post.
Gone are the days of its western cowboy allure.
Gone - the insidious mafia and crime syndicated
who ruled the city in the 1940s and 50s.
They have long been snuffed out.
Las Vegas witnessed an era once electric
with the legendary giants of showbiz -
Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack, Marilyn Monroe
and of course, Elvis.
These eternal legends ignited the stage with their flaming performances.
Today, billion-dollar mega corporations
have transformed Las Vegas from Sin City
to a splendorous, mega-resort oases
and vacation destination.
More than forty-five million visitors stream
through this enticing golden river of life each year
To soak in the dazzle.
Here numbers entice.
Desire, dreams and illusions give you the taste of big bucks that hovers just a breath away.
Finite numbers throbbing with the magic of infinite possibilities.
The scent of green…
And here, in the midst of unabashed materialism….
Here in a city that thrives on “forever-night-life”
Here in a city that thinks it was captured time
in a never-ending spin….
Is a giant pause…
Where numbers take n a whole new meaning….
The mystic digital art called Hoto, meaning treasure pagoda,
stands in the lobby of The Aria Resort and Casino.
Its floating numbers flash in a repetitive cycles
between the digits of one and nine.
Reflecting the preciousness and magic of a single human life.
Symbolizing the eternal cycle of life merging into an
expansive zone of universal time.
And beyond the flashing neon river of The Strip…
where numbers can spell doom or a jackpot and anywhere in between…
Beyond the Hoto where numbers mirror
the eternal web of human life…
Is a realm of silent timelessness….
Here in the arid landscape of the Red Rock Canyon
that surrounds Las Vegas, numbers do not count.
Nor do clocks.
The stones, rocks, boulders, mountains, the barren earth….
seem like resting forms with a quiet breath…
This desert landscape has seen the seismic shifts of the earth
And more than a million changing night skies.
If you gaze long at these formations,
you swear they are human,balien and gremlin shapes
embedded on the rock face.
They gaze unblinking from some eternal space…
the glinting gossamer of life and time,
At the tinsel sparkle of the sparkle-city in its lap.
If Las Vegas can teach you one big truth
It is this …
The ephemeral and the eternal - is just a shift … in focus.
The Sunbeach Complex
(This is a script for an 8 minute video on a new housing complex on Alibaug Beach, near Mumbai. Reproduced here is a snippet)
COMMENTATOR MALE VOICEOVER (MVO):
Mumbai. City of a million lights.
A million sunlit hopes.
And fading silver dreams….
Sixteen million jostling for a place in the sun.
Mumbai - the seven islands once sold for a pittance as dowry…
Today each square foot preciously priced.
And home?
It could be just a roof over your head….
Home.
It could be 80 to 100 kilometres from your work place.
It could be at the end of long journeys in packed trains and buses.
Or across choked roads.
Yet, not far from the city’s turbulent shores…
a dream is taking shape.
Dreams made of concrete and mortar.
Dream bungalows.
A dream complex….
on a beach called Alibaug.
Quiet. Untouched. Virginal.
With the gift of a golden sun….
powder soft sands and silver seas.
What better name than
the ‘Sunbeach Complex’.
Each one of us longs for a piece of land.
A place in the sun - to call our very own.
And Sunbeach can give you what you’ve always wished for…
Your own plot of land.
Your own bungalow.
Your own garden.
So close to the beach and lapping waters.
Drenched in sunshine and midnight peace.
Very soon an entire integrated complex
- the first of its kind
Stretching over 200 acres of land,
fifteen kilometres from the beach,
about three thousand bungalows
with fifteen to twenty designs will emerge…
(This is just a snippet of the full script).
A Birthday for Three
Phote Credit: A Better India
(This is a snippet of a 15-minute script on the promotion of adoption among childless couples in India.)
Script: A Birthday for Three
Brief:
The objective of this audio-visual is to promote adoption among childless couples…instilling a positive attitude change while dispelling the common fears and misconceptions that people harbour about adoption in India.
The target group is young married couples especially middle-class and upper-middle-class.
Age-group: 30-40 years.
The take-off point is a birthday celebration of the adopted child….symbolic of a new birth for the parents as well.
The audiovisual acknowledges the traumatic discovery of being childless and the parents’ struggle to have a child of their very own. It deals with the emotional and practical difficulties of adoption - without presenting adoption as a rosy solution. —————————————————————
Music - the tail end of the birthday song…
MOTHER
Tara celebrates two birthdays.
One on the day she was born…
the other on the day
she came into our lives…
six months later…
Title Music Under.
This was the day we brought her home
from the children’s institution.
The day she peeped at us
from under the blanket and squinted.
The day she held out her hands to us…
The day our eyes met -
and held the promise
of many shared moments to come….
she became ours.
Pause.
This is the day we also call her birthday
….and ours…
Title Music Up.
Silence.
MOTHER
And to think we would’ve waited
days and days…
years and years for a child….
Waited for that incredible moment…
yet somehow denied to us.
Childless for nine years.
Only we know the pain….
of hoping endlessly….
staying awake for nights longing for a child…
The pain of emptiness….
failure…
the accusing glances…
the pity.
Now all this seems so far behind.
Today we have a child to call our very own.
A child to share our lives with.
To complete our family.
Tara, the child we adopted.
Tara - our child.
FEMALE COMMENTATOR (voiceover)
There are many couples like the Mehtas….
Childless.
They long for a child of their own.
But the decision to adopt is not easy.
Thinking, reflecting, soul-searching.
It takes months of preparation-
for the husband, wife. And family.
Visiting holy places.
Offering murmured prayers.
Searching, trying, seeking.
Perhaps for too long.
Adoption - it means years of pregnancy.
MOTHER
We were scared.
Doubted a million times
if we were taking the right steps.
Was there no alternative?
Could we not bring up a relative’s child?
After all who were these children?
Whose flesh and blood…
that we should make our own?
Who were their parents?
What were they like?
What was their religion, caste, creed?
What would they grow up to be?
How could we ever be sure
that we can make an unknown child-
truly ours?
With his parents close at hand?
COMMENTATOR (FVO)
Yes. Adoption is a frightening word for most.
It means abandoned children.
Destitute - and yes, illegitimate ones.
Makes you uneasy, doesn't it?
But think again….
Is the child at fault?
(This is just a snippet of the full script).
Fr. Francisco Palau: The Inner Mission
Image Credit: Davao Catholic Herald
Music.
COMMENTATOR (Voiceover)
May 1867.
A solitary man climbed
these naked rocks of Mount Vedra.
Unfaltering.
His steps - firm and resolute.
The climb - hard. Exhausting.
The peaks were desolate - yet familiar.
Music.
Fr. PALAU
(interior monologue)
Peace. Solitude.
The cool breeze brushing my burning brow.
The endless sea…
you hold the timeless depths of my thoughts.
To melt away in the waters.
Or float far on a whiff of wind.
To lie still - till the stars dim.
To sleep eternally. Alone.
To be buried in these mountains.
Sinking in its soils.
With silver angels singing softly by my side.
DISEMBODIED VOICE
You are giving up, Francisco.
Too soon -
abandoning your struggle.
A few rugged rocks in your path
- what are they?
Fr. PALAU
It is for you alone that I struggle.
For you alone, I live.
For you alone, I die.
Music under.
VOICE
You have been challenged once more.
You’ve been hurt. Deeply.
Your honesty questioned again and again.
I can see great sadness in your eyes.
Fr. PALAU
Pain always pain - why?
VOICE
Turn to me. As you have always.
Be a witness to my cause.
Fr. PALAU
When you speak, the path is clear.
I feel strength flooding my heart.
I shall serve You wherever….
whenever You call.
COMMENTATOR (voiceover)
The same words were spoken years ago
where he lived….
in his village, Aytona, in Lerida Province.
The same words in the Seminary
where he served for four years.
Searching.
But no voice called down the long corridors….
or whispered through the window panes.
Still searching. Still listening.
He turned towards Carmel for an answer.
VOICE
I was there with you, Fransisco…
there through the long struggles.
There when your goals were clear.
Unified in one direction - love.
Fr. PALAU
And I spent my childhood without knowing You.
Or hearing Your footsteps as my youth passed by.
Through the darkness - I called.
VOICE
I was there by your side.
I revealed my light bit by bit.
Music.
COMMENTATOR
Fr. Palau took his solemn vows….
one year after joining the Novitiate.
It was a time of rebellion. Of revolt.
Against the clergy,
against religious life.
There was anger in the air….
Swords glinted in the blazing sun.
Flames licked the skies.
The church in Spain was persecuted relentlessly.
Fransisco was twenty-three years old.
He watched the monastery go up in flames.
And crumble before his eyes.
The white ash dancing in the billowing smoke.
Fr. PALAU
What rage - what hatred!
I don’t need a monastery to know God….
Or a habit to show that I am His child…
A call - that is all I embrace and hold.
A call that I can hear
amidst the thunder and the fury.
COMMENTATOR
Fr. Palau is jailed by the rebels.
When released, he returned to Aytona.
Fr. PALAU
Politics cannot shut my way to God.
I have made my vows to Him.
No man can burn my link.
The convents have been suppressed.
Should I leave the monastery?
Remain an ordinary priest?
I will by no means give up my religious vows.
Or retrace my steps - Never!
So many doubts.
So many questions.
I can feel the storm churn in my soul.
Peace is what I need.
Peace and silence.
I need to go to my cave to reflect.
But why can’t I still my soul?
And listen….listen to the call?
War. Bloodshed.
Will it never stop?
COMMENTATOR
The Liberal Party wins.
And with this victory, the persecution
against the Church takes an even
more violent turn.
Many are exiled. Or choose exile.
Fr. Palau was one of them.
But these were ripples in the stream.
His prayers touched a deep chord.
And the refugees felt peace in his
preaching and prayers.
He lived in the caves
near the Castle of Mondesir
with his brother John.
VOICE
Fransisco, Francisco….
why do you choose the caves?
The darkness from the light?
Why are you running away from the world?
From…me?
Fr. PALAU
I wish to reflect. Deeply.
To know what I should do.
To feel the needs of the Church.
To discover it as the centre of my love.
COMMENTATOR
Later, Fr. Palau spent long hours in another cave.
Close to the sanctuary
of Our Lady of Livron in Caylus.
And the hermits - they came...
(This is just a snippet of the full script).
Akbar and Birbal - A Musical
Image Credit: momjunction
Note: This was one of the four plays commissioned by The National Arts Council, Ottawa. It was not selected as the finalized play for production.
_______________________________________
Scene 1:
Akbar as a thirteen year old Emperor walks with dreary steps towards the centre of the stage, dragging his sword behind him. He crumbles with the burden of the world on the low stool. He holds the blood stained sword balancing it in both his palms….and then violently flings it away. He droops like a wilted flower.
AKBAR Soliloquy (SONG - 1)
Maybe I’m weak
Maybe too meek
Full of fear
Not meant to be an Emperor….
There is no shield
on the battlefield
that hides your eyes
from death’s last sighs…
Maybe I’m weak
Maybe too meek
Full of fear
Not meant to be an Emperor….
Those deep sword-slashes
The blood-drenched gashes
Those night-dark wings
with their ice-cold stings
Closing in
O closing in
Out there amidst
all the death and din.
Lives cut short
in the battles fought
The gasping breaths
in the throes of death
The wide glazed eyes
pinned to those skies
Ever asleep, ever awake
ever asleep, ever awake…
Red on my sword
Red in my eyes
Red on my hands
O red in my blood….
Look red in my soul
Red everywhere
Red I’ll see
in my destiny…
For I am a warrior born
Heir and Emperor born
Glorious conqueror born
to Mughal emperor born…
Look - red on my sword
Red in my eyes
Red on my hands
Rage-red in my blood…
Look - red in my soul
Red everywhere
Red forever I’ll see
in my destiny…
For I am a warrior born
Heir and Emperor born
Glorious conqueror born
to Mughal emperor born…
But…
Maybe I’m weak
Maybe too meek
Full of fear
Not meant to be an Emperor…
The war commander enters. He looks at young Akbar and bends to pick up the fallen sword.
He brings it towards Akbar.
COMMANDER (holding the sword towards Akbar)
They are ready to bring Hemu in, Jahanpanah
He is unconscious but alive.
AKBAR
Throw him in prison, he is a great leader and warrior.
COMMANDER (shocked but in control)
Forgive me, Jahanpanah….
but the tradition of your honourable
ancestors and your late father,
Emperor Humayun, whom I have served
faithfully, needs to be followed.
AKBAR
My sword is already too red…
COMMANDER
The mark of a great Emperor.
Your father would have been proud of you
if he were here, Jahanpanah.
You have defeated a ruthless enemy Hemu.
His army has fled.
Victory is yours.
They are already calling you
Akbar the Great!
All through the kingdom, Jahanpanah.
AKBAR
I would not have been on the battlefield
if my father had not died so early….
COMMANDER
It would’ve happened one day, Jahanpanah.
You are the heir - the next Emperor.
There will be many battles….
the Mughal Empire will stretch
from the northern to
the southernmost tip of India
and from the east to the west.
The glory will be yours.
And now by slicing Hemu’s head
with your sword, you will earn yourself
the holy title of Ghazi, the slayer of infidels!
He claps his hands in the direction of the door. Two guards enter bearing the limp body of Hemu on a stretcher. Akbar turns to watch them as they place the body on the bench before him. The guards retreat, bowing.
COMMANDER
Here lies the brutal warrior,
the bloodthirsty Hemu whom all feared.
And you have overthrown him…
razed him and his army to dust.
They shall never rise against
the Mughal empire - ever again…
For you will now be the feared Ghazi.
Your sword, Jahanpanah
Akbar takes the sword and walks towards Hemu.
AKBAR
He still breathes.
There is life in him!
COMMANDER
All the better.
The blood will flow
thick and warm, Jahanpanah.
AKBAR
Tie him up. Imprison him.
Throw him in a dark dungeon
I cannot perform this action.
COMMANDER
You have to honour the holy title
of Ghazi, Jahanpanah.
What will your army think of you?
What will your subjects say?
AKBAR
That I failed to be a Ghazi, that’s all…
COMMANDER
You will be dishonouring your ancestors,
your father, Jahanpanah.
They will not forgive you
for staining your lineage.
I promised your father that
I will protect you and the honour
of the Mughal Empire with my life.
It’s not just you…or me
or your forefathers
who are witnessing this golden moment.
History itself is taking a deep breath
- and is waiting….
COMMANDER (SONG 2)
A single blow is all it takes
Do it for your father’s sake…
He is watching you now all teary-eyed
Wishing he were here…and by your side.
So raise the sword
Make him proud
Your people out there will cry out loud:
Akbar the Great
He is the Ghazi!
A Ghazi you will forever be
A Ghazi you will forever be
Mark my words
Mark me well
Hear those cries
that swell and swell…
You will love that cheer
Adore that frenzy
Akbar the Great
Akbar the Ghazi
It will echo everywhere you’ll see
In every mutiny
this is your call
your grand destiny
You are the Emperor now
To you, I bow
You are the Emperor now
To serve you -
till death is my solemn vow.
AKBAR
Hemu here, he was brave
His chest still heaves
Like deep ocean waves
What brave act can this ever be
Tell me what great honesty
If I behead him in this slumber state
For this great warrior
What honour - this fate?
The Commander positions Akbar close to Hemu’s head.
COMMANDER
Your duty be done
For which your life was begun…
Raise the sword, Emperor,
Raise it tall; let its silver fall
clear through Hemu’s neck.
Hemu’s pride will forever stand
when he is beheaded
by a brave Ghazi’s hand.
If he could half-speak
he would say the same
Kill me in glory, uphold my name
Let it not rot, let it not be forgot…
My warrior soul
must never smell foul
Never smear my name
Dishonour my life
Blacken my soul
in a mouldy and dark dungeon hole
So raise this sword…raise it tall
Let its silver fall
This is Hemu’s call
You hear
Raise this sword
Raise it tall
Let its silver fall
This is your father’s call
Raise this sword
Raise it tall
Let its silver fall
Can you hear
your people’s call?
Raise it tall
Let its silver fall
Listen to them all
The Commander holds up Akbar’s hand that holds the sword and brings it slicing down clean through Hemu’s neck. Hemu’s head rolls on the ground. Silence.
COMMANDER (releasing his hands) - SONG 3
Next time you will do it alone
Your heart must now be cast in stone
You must walk alone
This is your path
There will be wars
And many bloodbaths
You must face it alone…all alone
No time to mourn
Or hear those groans
Mould your heart in the coldest stone
Next time, Jahanpanah,
You will do this alone
He picks up Hemu’s fallen head by the hair and clasps Akbar’s hands around the hair.
COMMANDER
Your people are waiting
The Commander walks to the balcony and looks down at the people gathered there. He raises his hands up in victory as Akbar walks and stands beside him raising the dripping, dismembered head of Hemu for all to see.
The crowd erupts in a fevered frenzy.
COMMANDER (and crowd repeating)
Emperor Akbar the Ghazi
Emperor Akbar the Great!
COMMANDER (louder)
He has slain the fierce enemy Hemu
There will be many victory towers
with the bleeding heads of infidels.
CROWD
Akbar the Great
He is our Ghazi!
Akbar beginning to revel in this glory showered on him, raises his sword and Hemu’s head even higher
CROWD
Akbar the Great
He is our Ghazi!
(This is just a snippet of the script).
Capital Pride: Go For It!
Commentator: Female Voiceover (FVO):
Ottawa - a capital city that once
had a veneer of restraint,
of walking the polite middle ground,
of discretion,
of being politically correct,
of being just a typical government stronghold,
has in recent times
cut through the facade …
to find its own expression.
What better colourful platform
than the Pride Parade.
Here on the main street of
Bank, Gladstone, Kent, Laurier and Somerset, thousands came forward
to cheer on, support
and celebrate the LGBTQ community.
It was the biggest turnout to date.
Amidst the revelry,
the joyousness,
the explosion of unrestrained expression,
there were messages
that packed punch, poignancy, pointedness.
Over 150 groups participated in this
“Be Loud, Be Proud” parade.
Freeze Frame of Mayor Jim Watson on moving platform (TC 2:48):
His quote is superimposed:
“ It is important for city officials to show support.
It shows that this is a beautiful, loving city that
embraces everyone.”
- Mayor Jim Watson
Children to seniors -
all clubbed together into a collective vortex
of rainbow-coloured abandonment.
In this undulating wave bobbed
universal messages
of love,
acceptance,
respect,
freedom of expression,
openness to an ever-changing world
where there is space for one and all
….no matter who you are!
Music (Montage of parade continues).
Freeze Frame of Poster (TC 7:14):
“This is your space. Feel empowered by it,
Feel safe in it.
All backgrounds, all beliefs, all families, all identities.
You are welcome here.”
Freeze Frame of poster (TC 8:11):
“We’re all Just walking each other home.”
- Ram Dass
Freeze Frame of Toby Whitfield’s Quote (TC 8:19)
“Pride is about celebrating inclusivity, about building a vibrant, welcoming, loving community for everyone. It’s also about moving forward…reflecting where we’ve been as a community and where we still need to go.”
- Toby Whitfield, Chair for the Capital Pride
"Paigam" (Message)
Photo Credit: Sambad English Bureau
Below is a snippet of the 20-minute script.
“Paigam” (Message)
(a video docudrama on a cheap kind of heroin called “brown sugar” or “gard” in the slums of Mumbai)
Objective:
To educate both addicts and non-addicts in the slums of Mumbai about the mal-effects of brown sugar including where and how they can seek help and rehabilitation. The Apnalaya Institute social workers do extensive work in the slums to help addicts and also open the eyes of the community to the health dangers it can cause.
Treatment:
Weaving in an element of drama to personalize the message was considered the best approach to bring home the urgency of the message.
A ‘sutradhar’ (story-teller) serves as a link element through the docudrama. “Gard” is personified in a choreographed form.
The story unfolds with a 20-year old lad, Raju, who is lured into addiction by his friend Shashi. Raju’s battle back to normalcy, though seemingly quiet, is a long hard struggle - both physically and psychologically.
The docudrama is interspersed with interviews of real drug addicts.
Raju remains an element of hope as well as a warning signal for non-addicts. His step-by-step recovery through detox, counselling and rehab serves as a guide to families about where and how they can seek help. Included in the docudrama are also pointers for the youth and how they can help spread awareness and give support.
Script
Fade-in of drum beats as the Sutradhar (story-teller) clad in a white kurta and dhoti enters in a stylized dance form towards the clearing. In the background is a stretch of highway where trucks and other vehicles whiz by. As he reaches the centre spot, the drum beats peter down. He folds his hand in an elaborate gesture of namaste greeting. The drum beats loud twice before he begins to speak.
SUTRADHAR (Storyteller):
Today I am here to tell you a story….or rather show you a story. And I wondered for long - how do I start? Where do I begin? Ah - that’s the most difficult part.
Fairytales usually start with “ek tha raja our ek thi rani”…but I am not relating a fairytale.
My story is real…of real people….like you and me. And the people I am talking about live in the suburbs earning a modest living….
either as factory workers,
rag-pickers,
rickshaw drivers,
tailors,
fitters,
construction workers,
apprentices….
Dissolve To:
A little street humming with activity - women washing clothes, children sprinting to school, men going to work….little vignettes of life all around.
SUTRADHAR
And they have a reasonably simple existence.
Of course, they had their fights, drinking problem…but then these things do happen.
One day…actually over several days…maybe months….no actually a few years…something began ruining homes…
Ruining without bringing down the walls.
Something so small and harmless in appearance
that no one was aware that it was
- a devil’s curse…
Fade-in of wild eerie music with discordant drumbeats.
The Sutradhar turns in the direction of the sound cringing a bit. Five male dancers in brown leotards enter with one as their leader. They dance to the weird music slashing the air - turning, revolving, emitting weird sounds. The leader dances menacingly towards the Sutradhar and shunts him away from the scene. He sings rakishly.
LEADER
The story is about me - Me, Me, Me (he thrusts a thumb at himself arrogant)
He (pointing to the Sutradhar)
calls me a devil’s curse…
Who cares?
DANCERS in Chorus
Who cares! Who cares!
LEADER
I am the devil himself!
DANCERS in Chorus (with a low laugh)
Himself!
LEADER
I gift dreams that are nightmares….
and nightmares in sweet dreams….
DANCERS give a low laugh
LEADER
And they come for more
And more….
Though they fold up with the pains of hell (low laugh)
pain in every nerve
DANCERS in Chorus
Every nerve…every nerve…
LEADER (sweetly)
They want me….
They want more
DANCERS in Chorus
More…more…
LEADER
They want me (low laugh)
Even in the face of death - they want me!
DANCERS in Chorus
More…more
Even in the face of death
more…more…
LEADER
The first time is never the last…
One time is too many….
a thousand times never enough
Have you guessed who I am?
Guessed who I am?
DANCERS in Chours (dance around him in salutation)
Gard…gard…gard…gard.
You are Gard!
As the Sutradhar enters, the dancers let out a volley of weird sounds and do a war dance around him singing….
ALL DANCERS in CHORUS
He says I am the devil’s curse….who cares! who cares!
The dance wildly and away emitting weird sounds.
SUTRADHAR
Now you know what my story is about. Listen. Watch carefully. It is not a fairytale. It may happen to you…or in your homes…take the case of Raju who learnt the hard way….
Dissolve To…
Raju a youth walking along the city’s suburban street early morning. He carries a cloth bag and is on his way to the grocery shop where he works.
SUTRADHAR (Voiceover)
Raju thought he would never live to see a day like this…the sun in his eyes and heart.
So free
And yet each time he passes this street…
Raju slows down as he reaches a low wall and stops. He looks at a small shed. No one seems to be around.
SUTRADHAR (voiceover)
That spot where Shashi used to sit welding with that crude helmet and visor covering his face.
This is where it all began.
Shashi - did not live to see this day. This sunshine.
He used to sit at that very spot - just two years ago….calling out to Raju as he made his way to the tailoring unit where he used to work at the time…
Dissolve to Flashback:
Shashi squatting outside the shed welding. He is in his early thirties. The white blaze of the welding flashes on and off. He sees Raju and calls out to him.
Raju clambers up the low wall with ease and saunters towards him. Shashi punches him good-humouredly as Raju sits down next to him. He lays down his instruments beside the wall. Taking a peek around, he motions Raju to follow him. He walks inside the ramshackle shed. Squatting down, he pulls out a silver foil from his pocket and begins to chase brown sugar. Raj meanwhile has pulled out a cigarette to smoke. He watches Shashi as he drags the stuff.
RAJU (voiceover)
I had seen Shashi do this before.
He kept saying it gave him confidence….a sense of floating, of braving the world.
But I saw him lose weight. His eyes were hooded and droopy.
I saw his lack of hunger. His bouts of vomiting. Yet he went on.
I asked him to stop but he laughed in my face.
He told me to try the stuff instead of preaching.
He told me to stop being a baby smoking only cigarettes.
He kept challenging me to try it.
That was the day - I remember it so well.
I was only eighteen.
The day I mustered enough courage to ask him.
He was stunned. But I wanted to try it - just for once. Feel its powers.
One time won’t kill.
He asked me, “Are you sure?” I nodded.
He taught me how to inhale the stuff.
It was bitter and nauseating.
I wanted to puke.
How could anyone feel good with this stuff?
Shashi said it tastes bitter the first time.
But later the highs were something to experience.
He was right.
I could feel the sun rays filtering right into me….
tingling every nerve-end.
And I asked for more
…and more and more….
Dissolve to montage of Raju’s progression towards becoming an addict, chasing with Shashi, chasing alone, with friends. As this montage goes on we hear the background song of the dancers. The visuals of Raju progression towards addiction are intercut with the dancers of the song sequence….
LEADER
I gift dreams that are nightmares
and nightmares in sweet dreams
And they come for more
and more…more…more.
They fold up with the pain of hell
pain in every nerve
they want more….they want more…
DANCERS in Chorus
More…more…more
The first time is never the last
One time is too many
Thousand times never enough!
I am the devil’s curse.
Who Cares! Who cares!
(This is just the snippet of the full script)
Tell Me It Isn't True
Photo Credit: Financial Times, India
This is a 33-minute short film that was funded by the Independent Film Coop of Ottawa (IFCO); the Ontario Arts Council (OAC) and the City of Ottawa Arts Grant Program.
Background Summary:
Sapna (meaning dream in Hindi) is a young girl from India and a new immigrant to Canada. India is going through turbulent times….the political instability, the rise of the right-wing fundamental political parties, the surfacing of the underground mafia and extortionists. These phantom images seep into her inner world. There is the news of the cloth merchant she knew who was shot in broad daylight in a crowded street of Bombay by extortionists.
Being a new immigrant she watches her new world from inside her house…not feeling part of the laughter, the people moving on their own axis, content and oblivious. The multi-coloured paper windmill in the garden rotates gaily to the whims of the wind.
She seeks peace in prayers….but deep inside she realizes that these sacred images and symbols of the Hindu religion have been used to incite the masses back home to intolerance and violence. The gods of the Hindu pantheon are mute including Lord Shiva, the hermit Lord of the Cosmic dance. He is known to dance the Tandav in a flaming crescendo when his third eye opens….a dance known to shake the earth and mountains, churn the oceans and send seismic waves of tremors through the universe to forge new births through dissolution. But the mad swirl back home is the frenzied cry of the masses.
When Sapna smears the holy saffron powder on her forehead symbolic of the third eye, it is her inflamed soul, her alter ego, Shivani, who dances Lord Shiva’s Tandav.
Though she walks outside in the woods of Canada, she is part and yet not part of her environs. Her psyche belongs to a land far away whose roots she cherishes. Again life and people brush past her on her peripherals.
She drops the news clipping into the stream in the hope it will wash away in the waters. The stream water itself becomes the tears still left to be shed….and also the cleansing and cooling of the fever-rimmed images of home. The waters that bathe her soul, are also the love-kissed tears of the thousand gods.
The following poem (in Sapna’s voiceover) is interspersed through the film…
Tell Me It Isn’t True
The cloth merchant’s son shot
as the crowd lurched….
vanishing roaches in dampened cracks.
One more body, one more soul
wiped out by the Gang.
We knew him, Amma.
His shop was on our street.
Tell Me it Isn’t True.
A jeep set afire…
a missionary and his young boy snuffed out
for carrying the cross to tribal lands.
“No conversions on our Hindu soil,”
the fever-rimmed battle cry resounds
from raging sons of a thousand bleeding gods.
Lors Shiva, Lord of the Third Eye.
the Trident, the Goddess Ganga
flowing through your matted hair
Shiva, Lord of the Cosmic Dance
Tell Me It Isn't True.
The mad swirl of holy saffron dipped in red
The drunken din of infinite temple bells.
“No Qurans, No Bible here….
This is our land, our earth…
our Hindutva nation - understand?
Rama, Krishna, Buddha the Unmoving….
For god’s sake
Tell Me It Isn’t True.
The musty mystic holy books
dredged from the ancient dust
by gnarled clawing hands
avenging, revenging, bludgeoning
The thunderous thud of a thousand drums….
Hail the religion of compassion
Hare Rama, Hare Krishna, Shiva-om!
O glory to gurus and children of tolerance
Forgive?
Oh they know exactly what they do
Damn it. Just Tell Me it Isn’t True.
In this northern chill-n-ice
sea miles away from home…
there are hot ashes at my feet, Amma
And no, I cannot turn away
when whirling salt winds scatter
flaming cinders at my door.
Wave after stormy wave
toss the reek of the burning jeep.
The cry of the father, son and holy ghost….
all in the name of three-headed gods!
I want to turn the page of print….
not belong….but I do.
Flash a tremulous sword from burnished domes
Rip and rant - red against wet red.
Perhaps, perhaps I should curl
deep into the damp bellies of the earth
and wait for the soft beat of rain.
The love-kissed tears of my thousand gods.
Amma, please, please Tell Me It Isn’t True….
Scene 1:
Black and white sequence.
The young cloth merchant walks through the jostling crowd (India), his briefcase swinging by his side. Wheels of a car roll along the road. Hint of the sinister.
A news vendor sells the afternoon papers squatting on the ground as is typical in India, shouting out his wares. The cloth merchant walks towards him to buy the Afternoon newspaper.
The wheels of the car move in slow motion.
Long shot: the cloth merchant opens his briefcase to put the newspaper in. The crowd in the foreground.
The car now rolls into the frame to stop. The cloth merchant can be seen through the back seat window of the car in the process of putting the newspaper in his briefcase. Two people sit in the backseat of the car. From the dark shadow of the car interior, the killer raises the gun at the window.
Match action as the gun emerges frontal from the window. The killer takes aim and shoots.
Mid-shot: The cloth merchant falls on the pavement, his briefcase thudding to the floor. The vendor runs away screaming as does the crowd. Feet run helter-skelter.
The wheels of the car reverse sharply out of frame….exposing the cloth merchant lying dead face down on the ground. The crowd runs away from the scene. Grocery bags are dropped, a child is pulled away, a tomato squashed in the chaos, running feet, screaming faces.
And then the utter silence and loneliness of the dead man.
In soft sadness….
SAPNA (voiceover)
A cloth merchant’s son shot dead
Silent shots of the grocery bag on the road. The flutter at the edges, the squashed tomato, the open briefcase, the newspaper vendor’s papers fluttering.
SAPNA (VO)
As the crowd lurched…
vanishing roaches in dampened cracks…
Intimate glimpses of the dead man’s hand on the wet road, his hair fluttering in the breeze, his legs and feet lying still.
SAPNA (VO)
One more body….one more soul….
The faint tintinnabulation of temple bells floats in with Sanskrit shlokas (verses) for the dead being recited under…
The blood spreads on the road. Droplets of blood plink on this spreading pool from the hole in his back.
SAPNA (VO)
Wiped out….by the Gang.
Close-up: the man’s dead eyes.
SAPNA (VO)
We knew him, Amma.
His shop was on our street….
Tell Me It Isn’t True….
The sound of the bells continues with the Sanskrit shlokas under. Soft music build-up. A soulful female voice hums “aaaa…mmmmm”.
A paper flutters in the open briefcase. It breaks loose and flies off with a whip of wind….like a soul taking off. It rolls and flies off into the distance in slow-motion - free, unshackled.
Scene 2:
Out-focussed shot of Indian stamps especially of Gandhi on an envelope. As the stamps pull into focus, the camera pans across letters, items, pictures, photographs, news clippings of India scattered on the coffee table. As the camera travels over these items - slow, and sad, we hear Sapna’s voiceover. It is hushed like a lullaby, haunting, ephemeral, a soul longing for deep, deep sleep.
SAPNA (VO)
Tell Me It Isn’t True
The camera travels to one of the news clips on the table. There is a hint of a circle of stain on the edge. Sapna’s hand enters the frame and places the cup on the stain as her voiceover continues. The cup has a Canadian motif on it.
SAPNA (VO in a whisper)
Tell Me It Isn’t True
Echo in Hindi:
Keh do yeh sach nahin…
Keh do na Amma, yeh sach nahin ho sakta….
Music builds up along with the final shlokas of the Sanskrit prayers…
The camera pans slowly to Sapna’s back as she sits in the soft glow of the room….unmoving as the chant fades out….
(This is just a snippet of the full screenplay….)
The Lifeline Express (song-script)
Photo Credit: Impact Norway
Brief:
This song script was written for a puppet presentation performed aboard the Lifeline Express, the world’s first hospital-on-wheels.
This train equipped with state-of-the-art operation theatre, surgical facilities and medicines travels to the remote villages of India to treat cases of polio, partial deafness and cataract.
A team of dedicated volunteer doctors, social workers actively participate in this project.
This puppet show was performed on the moving train for managers of reputed corporate organizations in Mumbai. The purpose was to give a lively but and poignant presentation of the theme and purpose of the Lifeline Express.
____________________________________________
SCENE 1
Music. The sound of birds. The feel of a fresh early morning. Three frogs sit listlessly watching the changing colour of the dawn.
They see three figures trudging along the road with cloth bags slung over their shoulders…
they look weary, dishevelled, downcast.
The frogs croak.
FROG 1
Look there go the three scoundrels.
FROG 2
Where?
FROG 1
See the one with the silly crown…
FROG 2 & 3
Ah-hah
FROG 1
He is the half-blind Andhra-Raja.
The one stooping low, biting the dust -
he is the half-deaf Behra-babu.
FROG 3
And who is the one with the frightful limp?
FROG 1
He is Langda-lal.
Look at him go - hah-hah-hah.
They croak and laugh.
Exit frame.
Music build-up to the song:
THE THREE CREATURES SING (a bit off-key)
“We’ve travelled far..we’ve travelled far
on the dusty roads, on the dusty roads…
Under the fevered sun and cold-night stars
past owls and rats and teasing toads….
oh these teasing toads!
No shelter in sight, no water in sight…
just this road, this road…this dusty road
no huts, no homes, no warm fire-lights…
just sweat and cramps - and oh, what a load!”
They put down their bags with a heavy sigh.
ANDHA-RAJ
Who was the devil who drove us out?
BEHRA-BABU(cupping his ears):
What?
ANDHA-RAJ
Who was the devil who drove us out?
LANGDA-LAL
He came in white…he was shining bright!
OWLS AND FROGS IN BACKGROUND
Too-wit, too-hoo…toooowit too-hoodoo….braaack, braaack, braaack…
The three walk huddled together cringing.
ANDHA-RAJ
Is it still after us - you think?
The three bump into a lazy, grazing cow and fall like a pack of cards.
SFX of bump and the fall.
LANGDA-LAL
Aaaaah…he’s come. The devil has come!
BEHRA-BABU
Spare us! Spare us! Spare us!
COW (startled):
Ammmmm? Mooooo?
They turn around and see the cow blinking back at them. They spring up.
BEHRA-BABU
A cow! It’s nothing but a cow!
ANDHA-RAJ
A cow?
ALL THREE (in sudden revelation):
A cow! A cow! C-O-W - cow! Cow means - village. Yay!
LANGDA-LAL
A village is here…a village is here…
ALL THREE
Hee-heee….ya-hooooo.
COW
Ayyyy? Mooooo….
Music build up.
THE THREE CREATURES
(bounce away singing).
“Home and huts and warm fire lights…
Lead us you road, you sweet dusty road…
(the song is interspersed with
whistles of joy as they run off)
All three: heh-he…happy homes…
ya-hoo…ya-hoooo!
Music.
BEHRA-BABU
Heh-heh….there look the happy homes!
LANGDA-LAL
Look - smoke at the foot of the hill -
A village! A village!
ANDHA-RAJ
Let’s go…let’s go...
They jump and sprint away.
—————————————————————
SCENE 2
Village with huts, dogs, sheep, loughs, farmers working, children romping, smoke snaking up from the wood fire. Kamal, a young woman in her late twenties bustles around her hut.
KAMLA (angry)
Wonder where that cow has wandered off to?
No trace of her till now!
ROOSTER
Cock-a-doodle doo…cock-a-doodle-dooo…
The three creatures enter the frame in the foreground. The started rooster flaps away.
LANGDA_LAL
Homes and lights. A rooster in flight!
ANDHA_RAJ
Smoke and food…aaah, it smells soon good!
They hold hands and dance singing:
So simple and sweet - the people here
we’ll multiply, we’ll multiply…
among young and old -
and children so dear…
we’ll multiply, we’ll multiply…
with all our might, with all our might
the place is right, just right…yes right!
yes riiighttt - yes riiiighhhttt!!
They dance away singing.
COW (chewing)
Mmmmmm.
Those three are up to no good, I’ll say!
KAMLA
Where have you been all morning? Come here at once!
COW
Mooooooo
——————————————————————
SCENE 3
Night time. Interior: Kamla’s house. A lantern glows. Kamla and her husband, Lalit sit in silence.
KAMLA:
The village doctor said it was a curse.
LALIT
I went to the Health Centre today
KAMLA
Is that why you came home so late?
LALIT
Hmmmm
KAMLA
And what did they say?
LALIT
They suspect polio….
KAMLA
What is that?
LALIT
It attacks small children….
KAMLA
Is there no hope for our Rupa?
LALIT
I don’t know
KAMLA
Poor Rupa…who will marry a girl who can’t walk!
Lalit is silent.
KAMLA
Is there no cure…did you ask them?
LALIT
It is too late….
Kamla weeps.
The light dims on them. It now glows on Rupa who has entered the frame from the far corner. She can hear her mother sobbing in the dark.
RUPA
Wonder why Amma cries so much…
is it because I cannot walk? I try….
I really do….but my legs…
they don’t listen….
they just don’t listen…
GANESH
“I know it’s beautiful out there
There’s music in the air
The song of birds…the tinkle of bells
Just by listening…I can tell…
There’s sweetness in the universe
Earth’s honey - it’s all hers…
The magic’s there…to touch…so near…
The flowers are a-bloom…the pond is clear.
I know the gifts are there for all to see…
For all have eyes - except me…
The grass, the birds, the butterflies….
I’m sure they all can see - except me.
They all can see -except me.”
He bows his head and begins to sob quietly. Kamla enters and walks up to him. She pats him on the head and cheek and begins to sing to him….
KAMLA
“Our village was happy…
There were smiles to share…
even in times of worry and cares…
Smiles on ponds and bushes and trees…
(GANESH asks: “What happened to it all Amma?”)
No songs, no smiles,
no sweet-dance near those hills
Only shadows and greys
that creep up sills”
BOTH
“Our village was happy and smiling …once
Our village was happy and smiling….once”
Light fades out.
(This is just a snippet of the full script)