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April 25, 2007
The
following morning started of grandly! I awoke
again at six and elected to try a run outdoors.
This was something that would simply be out of
the question in Mumbai. In Goa I felt the only
danger might come in getting lost, but as
Anthony Hopkins once told me in one of my many
blessed moment in this life – be brave and great
forces will come to your aid. I laced up the
sneakers, turned on my Thumps and headed down
the road. I won’t bore you with all the details
of my jog but I will say that once I found my
way to a small rural road I truly began to
experience one of those magical moment that come
along so rarely in life. I love to run –
always. I don’t’ run to sightsee. I usually
choose routes I’ve run hundreds, if not
thousands of times before. I do this so I don’t
have to think about anything other than
running. I prefer to run alone. I look down
and try to find my rhythm. That wasn’t going to
fly on this run. For one thing I wanted to see
the sights and for another, I needed to keep my
wits about me to avoid getting lost.
What
a gorgeous place to run. The sea was only a few
miles away and the air was clean and heavy.
Cows with great spreading horns ambled along
freely everywhere. Men and women occasionally
walked the road and the sight of white man
running down the road seemed to draw little
attention, like it happened all the time. I saw
some twenty five workers hauling sand in little
weaved bowls on their heads from the highway to
a house being construct up the side of hill.
The sand was being mixed into concrete at the
house.
I
saw an aged woman walking down the road with a
log on her head a good sixteen feet long and
five inches across. Amazing.
I
ended up putting in 52 spectacular minutes.
When I’d left the hotel at 7 is was probably 27
degrees. Almost an hour later it was at least
33. You sweat for a long time after a run like
that.
Back
in the hotel room, after a long cool shower I
set up the lap top in the living room and
started to do some writing. A short while later
I heard DJ stirring in his room. He came
busting out the door in his boxers and charged
into my room. He was disappointed to see my bed
empty. He was certain he was going to do the
waking this morning. I told him he would have
to get up earlier.
Soon
Kabir and Nashaud awoke and we all went down and
had a good breakfast.
Today the plan was for us to see some old
churches and ruins, find internet for DJ and I
then go to a nice café where we would open the
discussion of the movie. A big day for me.
The
churches were incredible. I lack the oratory
skills to describe them. Needless to say I took
a lot of pictures but to date I’ve been unable
to send them to Shawn to post on the site. I’m
working on it.
After that began the task of jacking into the
net.
Our
first stop was a sterile little shop whose name
escapes me. I paid $8 for an hour and was
bitterly disappointed to learn I could not use
my own laptop. This meant I could only access
webmail which barred me from accessing the PRPP
inquiries. That wasn’t going to work. My
stress meter was starting to red line and we
jumped in the car to blindly search for another
café. Eagle eyed Kabir signalled to Naushad to
turn down a narrow alley. The next place was a
tiny little room with two ancient systems
sitting on cubby desks. Again I wasn’t able to
plug in my own system so I still wouldn’t be
able to access the PRPP mail but there was an
open USB port available so I could at least
upload my latest blog entry and use webmail to
send it to Shawn. I would also take the
opportunity to ask Shawn if there was a way to
forward the PRPP mail to my Shaw account. I
would also let my mother know I was still
alive. I drafted up a nice note to Shawn – was
frustrated to find I could not “attach” on this
system and was forced to cut and past the blog
entry into the note – no big deal. Got it all
set up and hit send. The system froze.
Nothing. I was ready to go postal – cursing
India and all things Indian! I tried to reboot
and log on to Shawmail again. I was greeted by
a little pop up. Webmail was down for some
upgrades. The problem had nothing to do with
India. The pop up from Shaw suggested I try
again in a few hours and they were sorry for any
inconvenience this might be causing me. They
have no idea how sorry they would have been had
one of them been within striking distance. I
took in a deep breath, chuckled to myself at
the bad timing of it all and went next door to
join the boys for a meal and a beer. The food
was great.
Next
would come our story meeting.
Story meetings are like sex. If everything is
gelling between those involved it’s a pretty
great experience. If things aren’t it can leave
you frustrated.
I’m
pleased to report this was a satisfying
session. As I reported earlier, I’d been
brought here to write a horror movie. The
initial idea – which I’m prevent from discussing
for obvious reasons, was one that excited me. I
was bitterly disappointed when I learned they
wanted to go in a different direction. When a
producer tells you that in Hollywood it usually
means your fired.
It
turns out the problems the guys were having with
the original plot were easily addressed and the
idea was resurrected. I was jazzed.
For
the next few hours we talked movie and for the
first time in a great long time I was starting
to get excited about writing a screenplay. An
interesting difference between Indian story
meetings and LA story meetings was the constant
interruptions. I’ve been doing this for close
to thirteen years now and I’ve never attended a
story meeting where all the cell phones weren’t
turned off, the doors shut with water, coffee
and whatever you needed all lined up so the flow
didn’t get interrupted. Shit could get lost
otherwise. But not with these guys. The longest
we’d make it before the phone would ring or
someone excused themselves for a smoke was about
eight minutes. I was stunned but when in Rome…
Despite my wonder at the pace we had a great
meeting and some solid ideas were put down.
From
there Kabir was going to the gym. My run in the
morning had satisfied my exercise fix and I
found a quiet little tavern of sorts to write my
thoughts down on the movie while they were fresh
in my head. It was an hour well spent.
It
was getting close to 6 PM by now and Naushad
suggested we check out a flea market where great
bargains could be found on a wide assortment of
goods. I loved the idea and into the car we
jumped for a forty five minute drive.
Sadly, when we arrived we found the market was
closing down for the final time until next
October. It was clear that Naushad was correct
in his assessment of the place though. Had we
arrived an hour earlier we would have been
treated to a great shopping experience. I ended
buying a few trinkets from a stunningly
beautiful young woman in traditional dress who
spoke perfect English. She had a sarcastic
little grin that was utterly charming. I paid
in the neighbourhood of five times to much for
the stuff but I didn’t mind. As I walked away I
realized this was the first time I’d spoken to a
woman since I’d left home.
I
wanted to head back to the hotel and see what I
could do about my internet dilemma but Naushad
seemed to be on some kind of a mission. He was
making his way quickly through the closing
market. The narrow path was bumper to bumper
with little trucks, cars, and rickshaws filled
with goods leaving the area. There wasn’t
enough room for walkers and vehicles yet onward
he trudged as darkness fell fast. Kabir, DJ and
I exchanged shrugs. Suddenly out of the pitch
black we popped into a small clearing and there
was a little bamboo bar named Litos. It was
packed. Nashaud spoke to someone in authority
and a table next to the band area was found for
us.
On
the stage was a French guy playing some kind of
hybrid Hindi jazz. Lyrically he didn’t have
much to offer but his musical skills – along
with his partners, another white guy who looked
like an accountant, were amazing. Most of the
songs were some kind of a tribute to one Indian
god or another. The accountant sat in the lotus
the entire hour and half we were there and how
much longer before we arrived I don’t know. He
mostly played the flute but would often
accompany the French guy’s sitar with Hindi
chanting. It was a strange sight to say the
least. The French guy would invoke the name of
a god, along with one or two sentences and
simply repeat them over and over, all the while
incorporating auditory effects on his voice.
The audience was comprised of white people who
had time-warped here from Height Ashbury, circa
1968. Tie dyed shirts and dread locks
abounded. I also suspect we were the only
people in the room not high on something.
One
of the most surreal experiences of my life.
As
nine thirty rolled around I predictably started
to fade. We headed back to the hotel when the
act ended. Kabir and DJ had lost money the
night before in the casino and were determined
to get some of it back tonight. They dropped me
off at the hotel, spruced themselves up and
headed out.
I
gave the night manager 100 rupees and he left me
alone on the internet. I was able to plug in my
laptop to the Ethernet and all things were right
and true in the world.
Two
hours later I crawled into bed and once again,
slept peacefully. |
