Bang Bang Galore!
A Filmmaker’s BLOGELLA
Written by Steve Rosenberg
Blog 31 (Bus Ride)
I left our tour today. The group has one final day in the temple city of Tanjore, but I am unable to accompany them, because of a dormant film project in Canada is suddenly requiring my attention. International calls to cell phones can be problematic here in the best of circumstances, but conducting an interview from inside of van full of screaming kids would certainly kill my chances.
The central bus station in Tanjore is crowded and chaotic and I spend twenty minutes jockeying back and forth between the ticket counter and the bus line up. In all of the confusion, I manage to miss my bus to Bangalore and learn the next bus will not leave for another four hours. In one of my many famous moments of stupidity, I lash out with a stream of shameless invectives. The affable agent gently withstands my assault by outlining a few more viable options. All of the suggested options add five extra hours of unnecessary travel to my itinery. I am embarrassed and apologize for my volcanic temper; it blows up so unexpectedly and without warning and surprises me because I’ve always considered myself a mellow guy. I guess I am not as easygoing as I thought.
“You want to go to Bangalore?” A stocky oily man with wavy hair hands me a card with a picture of a bus on it. “When is the bus to Bangalore leaving and how long the ride will take?” “Yes, yes come with me” “But when does it leave?” “Very Soon!” “Can you just answer my question please?” “It’s leaving soon!” He is deliberately vague, but I feel like trusting him, because I don’t want to hang out in a bus station for four hours. We arrive at his kiosk and I am thrilled to see that the private air- conditioned coach is leaving in fifteen minutes.
I take a seat at the front of the bus and pack all of my things in the adjacent empty chair. I am on my way to Bang Bang Galore. How luxurious it feels to be sitting on a velour- covered brown cushioned chair that reclines to a semi-prone position. The coach driver revs up the engine and we head towards the arid Indian countryside. The sun beats down through the dusty windows and most passengers respond by drawing their curtains closed. It is 2:00 pm and our bus resembles an empty theatre with all eyes fixed on the overhead TV screen featuring a Tamil matinee idol as the lead character We are in Tamil territory and in this part of India people rave about Bollywood set in Bombay often take a back seat to Collywood films, set in Chenai. The movie seems stupid and charming; it is a romance- action film with dance sequences thrown in for good measure.
It’s the first time in days that I don’t feel beaten up by the sun, instead the light nourishes me like it a house plant. I peel open my book entitled The Argumentative Indian, a collection of dense essays written by Nobel Prize winning author Amartya Sen. India with it’s long traditions of heterodoxy is a tolerant nation which thrives on public debate. I am enjoying the book, but the level of concentration required to deconstruct every polemical argument knocks me out. I go from issues of weighty cultural identity complex problems to deep slumber where I dream of the photographing children’ feet scampering across the red earth. only to be mugged and beaten by a group of bus station thugs. The malaria pills I take induce vivid dreams that leave me anxious and gasping for air in the middle of the night. It happened again on the bus.
My daydreams are far more pleasant. Like most aspiring doc filmmakers, I fantasize about making a socially conscious Indie hit that comes out of nowhere to be recognized at a an international film festival. The success of this a film will hopefully generate publicity and funding for The Born Free School and more importantly give me the credibility I desperately need to establish myself as a filmmaker worth funding in future projects.
John talks about children liberating other children, but I think this is an adult problem. Six weeks of sticking a camera in people’s faces, prodding them to spout their views, does not give me clarity on the subject of child labour. I wish I could hint at a viable solution that would not oversimplify the problem. It is a long bus ride and I am thankful for the space to think. I smile when I think about all the fun I had with the kids, but I am still not sure how I feel about John.
