Seria

I am here for an assignment in my true art, photography. My pitiful attempts at writing stories have failed always, and so the job that puts money in my pocket remains my current occupation. Actually, I never send my stories to anyone to read – I just write them, and leave the papers in a drawer.

Layers within layers. A prominent film producer here in Mumbai wants me to shoot some photographs. They have a meeting scheduled for this evening, at 5 pm. His assistant called me up about a week ago to tell me to come. As usual, it was because I am the Wedding Photographer, I believe. What other reason could be there?

But this time the circumstances are a little different. This producer is in the process of making a new movie. He is the holder of a record – the most important one in Bollywood. Producerji X (I am unable to disclose his name) has made 16 hit movies in a row. Commercial success. And so he is now a Big Man, the Biggest, perhaps, in Mumbai. Producerji X has never called me before, so I know there was something strange going on when I got the call.

His assistant, Mehta, wanted me to take photographs of the first meeting for this movie. I asked him why me, why not one of a thousand other photographers in Mumbai. Why not someone from Producerji’s own film crew, in fact?

There is no way for me to know. At 5 pm, I am outside Producerji’s home, a palace really, in Bandra, a suburban area. The house is made of silver, it seems, starting from the pearly gates where two burly security guards keep watch. I hear the growls of the guard dogs in the distance, perhaps kept hungry on purpose in order to protect their master if called for. The inside of the house is pure luxury, a far cry from my hut back in the village. I feel a little lost with how big the inside is, and can only compare it to my visit once to a museum, with so many things left out to display. Where do the people of this house sleep and eat?

Anyway, I am still curious to know why I am here, as I look at the pictures of Producerji accepting a film award and one of a meeting with the Prime Minister. A screech of tires outside the house, and I know the Man has arrived. He enters the house in haste, his assistant trailing. Mehta briefs him quickly as to who this visitor is (me), and he turns to me and smiles his greeting.

Following the quick and obligatory small talk, he tell me what he wants. It is surprising, his request, but somehow it does not surprise me all that much. Here are the facts of the case: Producerji wants to make a movie, a movie that he wants to be a hit. But his main intention for this movie is not for it to be a success, though he anticipates it will be (having already made so many). He wants the main actor of this movie to marry his daughter. His daughter, Seria, is a bold, and intelligent young woman, and even has a degree in business from the USA. She is the first woman from the family to have a degree. Anyway, she is not interested in marrying right now (being only 21), and wants to work overseas for a few years.

Producerji, on the other hand, wants her to marry straight away, and to marry the biggest actor in Bollywood (whose name I must also keep confidential, my apologies) because, then, as he visualizes, this Actor will work for him without causing too much trouble, when he wants him to. One less hassle in the great business of Production, may every movie be a Hit!

He and his assistant (Mehta, who I suspect is smarter than he looks) have hatched a cunning plan. Only a few weeks ago, Producerji while talking to Seria (who even then, was making plans to leave Mumbai for London) asked if she would like to learn to dance the Salsa. She idly replied that she did, and to her surprise, the next day there was a professional Salsa teacher in their house. Arrangements were made for this teacher to come once a week, Friday, at a given hour (5.30 pm).

That is today. In 15 minutes.

As the second part, Producerji and Mehta have set up a meeting between The Actor and themselves, also today, at 5. 45 pm, to discuss the grand new Hit that they were going to make, and that the Actor would of course take the lead role in.

The plan is as follows: When the Actor arrives at their home, Producerji will be late, having been detained at a meeting. Mehta will then usher Actorji into a meeting room, but will then find that Seria and her salsa teacher are dancing there. Mehta will then introduce Seria to the Actor, and suggest that they dance together. The Actor being the best salsa dancer in Mumbai, will gladly accept. And once they start to dance together..who knows?

My part in this is to take a picture of the Actor and Seria’s first accidental, fortuitous meeting, for their wedding album. My cover story is that I am taking pictures of her learning to dance for Producerji, for he will miss her sorely while she is gone to London.

So it happened as planned- Producerji creating a moment in his daughter’s life as beautifully natural as one of his moments on the big screen. Both the Actor and Seria danced in each other’s arms for but a brief moment, before Producerji returned. The two stole a single glance (a glance I was able to capture, having being lying in wait all along) at each other as she was whisked away.

And Producerji knew that this too, would be a big Hit. He was discussing wedding plans with Mehta just before I left, my photos to be the sole and silent remnant of these events, and me the talisman (I think) that would create the impending miracle of a wedding. Surely my reputation has spread far and wide, now! For the click of my camera is to guarantee the future happiness of the people in it, so the legend goes. It has been proven many a time by the smiling faces of the brides and the grooms.

Or maybe Producerji was only covering all his bases, he knew that his crazy plan would succeed with or without me. He wanted the photos to be on the first page of the wedding album- this is all he told me.

Alas, this movie (no. 17) failed at the box office, and this marriage produced in heaven never took place, as a result. The Actor swore never to work with Producerji again, who retired a broken man. Seria moved to London, where presumably she found other males to dance the salsa with, her newly acquired skill. Mehta never called me to ask about the photos, and of course they did not pay me.