This was 
during my unemployed days in Bombay. Another of my unemployed friends (misery loves company after all) approached me with a quick money making scheme that would take care of our rent for at least a couple of months with a few chiken-tikka-nan dinners thrown in at Punjabi Junction (doesn't exist any longer) near Lotus petrol pump.
My friend, Aamir, was (is?...lost touch with him) one of those small time ad filmm
akers specialising in cable ads. Cheap ads with cheaper production values. His ad with the Sachin lookalike plugging a particular kind of agarbatti was a moderate success. Mother lights an agarbatti, Sachin hits a six...you get the idea. Aamir met this Gujju gentleman who was sort of a fly-by-night shyster. Jigneshbhai wanted an ad for one of his products. SX is a blue capsule with apparently 10 times the power of the more internationally renowned blue pill. Anyways, we decided to meet up at Ideal Cafe near Andheri station where I would narrate a script based on the mysterious ways of blue capsules.
5pm was the des
ignated time. The advantages of not being gainfully employed meant that I was dot on time. I ordered my usual bun maska chai and looked around for a Mid-Day (somebody leaves one behind means I save two bucks which means one more cup of irani chai...those were the days of simple calculations). No Mid-Day meant I was missing half of my daily fix. The other half arrived and as I was just about to take the first sip, Aamir enters with a portly man with the subtle demeanour of a Chinese bull in a Tibetan shop. Talking incessantly on his 'condom' case covered Nokia 3310, Jigneshbhai looks in the direction Aamir was pointing. They both pull up chairs and sit down facing me. Aamir looked a bit strained. Translated it meant this is Mr. Moneybags and he wants to make a good impression.
Jigneshbhai finished his monologue and bared his teeth at me. I bared mine at him. Societal norms over, we got down to business. "So, you are writing the script for me!" I muttered something. Aamir shook his head up and down. "Dekho bhai...ekdum simple...my product is for men...who (here he paused...looking around)...need something to get them excited. And keep them excited. ..." I nod understandingly. "I trust you have something good for me...now tell me your story."
I began my 'story'. Film opens on a typical pre suhaag raat scenario wher
e giggling girls push the groom inside a bedecked room where the bride is sitting coyly on a bed strewn with rose petals. As the groom looks lasciviously at the bride, he looks around for something. He looks under the pillows, below the bed, pulls out the drawers of the adjacent table, but nothing. Zilch. His wife asks timidly "Kya aap palangtod pan dhoond rahe hain?" The groom sort of hems and haws. A hennaed hand appears from the folds of the bridal sari. "Ye zyaada accha hain." Cut to a close up of the hand. We see a blue capsule with 'SX' written on it.
Cut to next morning. The door opens and we see an old couple dressed in bridal finery step out smiling at each other coyly.
Cut to pack shot. MVO: SX capsules. Pyar karo lambe samay tak.
Jigneshbhai grunted. He looked at Aamir, looked back at me, and started having my bun maska.
I held my glass of now lukewarm chai with a steady hand. He's not going to deprive me of this at least.
Jigneshbhai polished off the bun maska, blew some crumbs off his shirt and declared "Story accha hain...but there's no male-female excitement you know...my audience wants to see what will happen after having SX capsule..." He looked at me with a half smile playing on his lips..."You haven't shown the excitement".
Right on cue, a popular Anu Malik number started emanating from his Nokia. Jigneshbhai started barking. The call was obviously of great importance. He got up abruptly, nodded his goodbye and walked out, leaving me staring at the remnants of my breakfast cum lunch.
Aamir made some symphatetic noises and gulped down my chai.
I got a call from Aamir a few days later. Jigneshbhai has a 'story' with lots of 'excitement'. He
wanted me to flesh (pun not intended) it out. Can we again meet up at Ideal?
during my unemployed days in Bombay. Another of my unemployed friends (misery loves company after all) approached me with a quick money making scheme that would take care of our rent for at least a couple of months with a few chiken-tikka-nan dinners thrown in at Punjabi Junction (doesn't exist any longer) near Lotus petrol pump.My friend, Aamir, was (is?...lost touch with him) one of those small time ad filmm
akers specialising in cable ads. Cheap ads with cheaper production values. His ad with the Sachin lookalike plugging a particular kind of agarbatti was a moderate success. Mother lights an agarbatti, Sachin hits a six...you get the idea. Aamir met this Gujju gentleman who was sort of a fly-by-night shyster. Jigneshbhai wanted an ad for one of his products. SX is a blue capsule with apparently 10 times the power of the more internationally renowned blue pill. Anyways, we decided to meet up at Ideal Cafe near Andheri station where I would narrate a script based on the mysterious ways of blue capsules.5pm was the des
ignated time. The advantages of not being gainfully employed meant that I was dot on time. I ordered my usual bun maska chai and looked around for a Mid-Day (somebody leaves one behind means I save two bucks which means one more cup of irani chai...those were the days of simple calculations). No Mid-Day meant I was missing half of my daily fix. The other half arrived and as I was just about to take the first sip, Aamir enters with a portly man with the subtle demeanour of a Chinese bull in a Tibetan shop. Talking incessantly on his 'condom' case covered Nokia 3310, Jigneshbhai looks in the direction Aamir was pointing. They both pull up chairs and sit down facing me. Aamir looked a bit strained. Translated it meant this is Mr. Moneybags and he wants to make a good impression.Jigneshbhai finished his monologue and bared his teeth at me. I bared mine at him. Societal norms over, we got down to business. "So, you are writing the script for me!" I muttered something. Aamir shook his head up and down. "Dekho bhai...ekdum simple...my product is for men...who (here he paused...looking around)...need something to get them excited. And keep them excited. ..." I nod understandingly. "I trust you have something good for me...now tell me your story."
I began my 'story'. Film opens on a typical pre suhaag raat scenario wher
e giggling girls push the groom inside a bedecked room where the bride is sitting coyly on a bed strewn with rose petals. As the groom looks lasciviously at the bride, he looks around for something. He looks under the pillows, below the bed, pulls out the drawers of the adjacent table, but nothing. Zilch. His wife asks timidly "Kya aap palangtod pan dhoond rahe hain?" The groom sort of hems and haws. A hennaed hand appears from the folds of the bridal sari. "Ye zyaada accha hain." Cut to a close up of the hand. We see a blue capsule with 'SX' written on it.Cut to next morning. The door opens and we see an old couple dressed in bridal finery step out smiling at each other coyly.
Cut to pack shot. MVO: SX capsules. Pyar karo lambe samay tak.
Jigneshbhai grunted. He looked at Aamir, looked back at me, and started having my bun maska.
I held my glass of now lukewarm chai with a steady hand. He's not going to deprive me of this at least.
Jigneshbhai polished off the bun maska, blew some crumbs off his shirt and declared "Story accha hain...but there's no male-female excitement you know...my audience wants to see what will happen after having SX capsule..." He looked at me with a half smile playing on his lips..."You haven't shown the excitement".
Right on cue, a popular Anu Malik number started emanating from his Nokia. Jigneshbhai started barking. The call was obviously of great importance. He got up abruptly, nodded his goodbye and walked out, leaving me staring at the remnants of my breakfast cum lunch.
Aamir made some symphatetic noises and gulped down my chai.
I got a call from Aamir a few days later. Jigneshbhai has a 'story' with lots of 'excitement'. He
wanted me to flesh (pun not intended) it out. Can we again meet up at Ideal? 500 bucks for the script. I looked at my wallet. The lone hundred made up my mind.
I just won't order anything.
I just won't order anything.