Uncle Aunty - The Short Film

Stills from the Short Movie UNCLE AUNTY

2015 Production

Written & Directed by Pankul Gupta

(pankulatwork@gmail.com)

Low Budget Road Trip

The Sun was high. The wind was windy and the sea was warm. And we navigated from Mumbai to Bombay, South Bombay. The tip of the city, where life is still cool and chilled out.

It was a low budget road trip, infact a No-Budget-Road-Trip.

I spent 2 years of my life in Bombay staying in Marine Lines, which is 5 minutes walking from one of the world’s busiest beach, Marine Drive and 15 mins from one of the costliest land Nariman Point. It was a paradise.

I always missed my life in the town* after shifting to the dark world of Andheri. My roommate who is a South Bombay fanatic got his Activa from his hometown a couple of months back.

And one day when frustration level was too high in my apartment because one producer refused to pay me, we decided to just go sailing to Marine drive on our Activa from Lokhandwala, our current residence.

It was a Sunday, perfect for a road trip. After an afternoon siesta and then a couple of drinks of tea, we left.

The roads were empty and signals were more than happy to let us go. Otherwise Bombay traffic is hell. The moment we crossed Juhu Beach the feeling started sinking in. I have been to town* from Andheri some 100 times but this time it was different. This time it’s not work but a made up road trip. I don’t know how many restaurants, cafe, shops and life in Bombay as a whole I saw and observed. I never knew all this existed. There was this cinema hall called.... which came in between, beautifully made.

We reached the destination in One hour. Nariman Point was busy, damn busy. Couples, grandpa-ma’s, family, friends. We managed to catch the sunset there. I spotted a boat, a reflection of it, far in the sea, sailing like anything. The feeling was mutual.

From there we sailed along marine drive and reached the shadiest and the coolest bar of the town. #Sunlight. A place which plays all kinds of songs, loud enough. A couple of drinks of Romanov and we hit the road again.

Romanov showed its effects on Ambrish. His slow riding was making the Activa dance. Moving all the way from Xavier’s College, then Victoria Terminus & Jahangir Art Gallery we reached Colaba Causeway.

With so much to offer Causeway tempts you as a newlywed bride. But I could only afford a cheap print of Jhumpa Lahri’s The Lowdown. The return gift of this road trip.

Till the time we were at Gateway of India it was eleven but the town was still buzzing with people. As if all they had is this day to live.

We were back on the road to Andheri around midnight. Luckily the roads were totally free from the chaos then. From Peddar road and then Senapati Bridge we could sense the mad wind.

A road trip which began with tea sips has to end with tea sips. So we took a halt at Dadar. Till that time the night hawkers of Bombay were out.   

The trip was small. It was not even a road trip but I assumed it to be and made myself happy. The next one to marine drive will be in the morning. Around 5’o clock. I want to see the sunrise there.

*Town in Bombay refers to South Bombay

The gossip balcony of lokhandwala

Pigeons from as far as Bhandup, Kurla, Virar, and on weekends even Karjat, visit me religiously in search of true love. Due to my blessings and magic they find one too. They meet, date, kiss, fall in love and make love, here in my arena. But in all this bullshit, only I know how much shit I take, literally.

Though being small in size and colored with a cheap local paint, I am the chatterbox, rumour exploder, gossip balcony of Lokhandwala Complex.  

Being located at the 4^th floor in the centre of the society, I have the pleasure to sneak at almost seventeen other balconies in my vicinity, except for the ones behind me as I am suffering from a severe backache these days. You know the changing weather of Bombay!

I am the property of the Jadeja’s, Mr. & Mrs. Jadeja. Apart from me they are also gifted with two daughters, Pallavi and Parul.

Pallavi is 20, as she always claims, and is fair - in fact too fair for any Indian, Bangladeshi or Sri Lankan. She has a sleek figure which she likes to drape with a sleeveless dark dress. With her soft creamy arms she carries her phone for hours, shouting and giving unnecessary orders to her event manager like a blond female boss whom everyone hates and wants to nail someday.

Parul, 18, visits me less. There is no ego problem as such but she seems fonder of that shady balcony on the other side of our house. That place is not even a balcony. More of a store room, keeping a stack of those books these girls have never read in their school and college life. That washing machine of Mrs. Jadeja, which the poor frustrated lady has used day in day out for the past eight and a half years of her useless life, more after the separation from Mr. Jadeja, is also dying there.

Earlier, all the washed clothes would come to me as it was my job to blow them dry. But then I started throwing tantrums, allowed the winds from Versova Beach to take away Pallavi’s bra and Mrs. Jadeja’s tent-sized polka dotted kurta. Besides, I overexposed Parul’s transparent too-short-to-handle mini skirt in the blazing sun. Then they realised who I am. As they say, in an organisation you have to snatch your respect. 

I’d have resigned from this useless family if it wouldn’t have been for Monty. The three-year old Labrador comes running and takes me in his powerful arms. He likes to pat on my chest with his wagging thick tail and licks all over my cheeks, taking away all that dirt which falls over me when Mrs. Chadha from above dusts her broken jealous balcony.

Mr. Jadeja who parted with Mrs. Jadeja due to her obesity issues used to see me first thing in the morning in his patent loose banyan and home-made chequered pyjamas. He would drink his green tea, read his favourite Maharashtra Times till the time his morning pressure hits him. That was his love for me.

Interesting people exist near us. They all like to spend some time looking at me, every day. Ajay, the fashion designer from the opposite balcony who only likes to dress-up in a towel, Udit the struggling actor from 3^rd floor in the adjacent building, Roshan the fat supplier of wood. He is married and now bored of his wife. Chandan and Raju, the students from far right who’d come one by one to get lost in my beauty. Jignesh in the opposite building uses too much sun-screen before coming to meet me. It is as if he is in competition with Pallavi's skin. 

These people seem to be fond of Pallavi too. Whenever she is in my arms, chatting and shouting on her phone, her voice is like that of a temple priest’s - beckoning her devotees. I have seen lights being switched on, windows being opened, faces popping out and staring at her as if they all want to eat her. Sooraj and Aamir are the only ones who peep from the little openings of their window, not wanting to get revealed in anyway, just looking at me and Pallavi with their desperate eyes.

But Pallavi hardly cares about these nuts. She is too busy with her non sense orders. She only responds to her boy Akul who stops on the by-lane visible from here, honks out loud, hearing which she comes running in slow motion, signalling him to wait. She meets him in exact six minutes. She looks crazy in love sitting behind him on his Scooty. Mrs. Jadeja is too old to know this and stop Pallavi from this insanity. 

I like when guys look at me but I feel unsafe when Rangaa from the shadiest apartment of the society gives me and Pallavi evil looks. With Daler Mahendi songs beating in the background, he looks no less than a maniac.

On the other hand, Parul is too difficult to understand and unwind, exactly like her curly hair. Whenever she is here, all she attracts is old, middle aged crowd.

Jaideep the father of two; Mr.Pradeep the famous bald guy and Ambrish Puri the retired professor are all crazy about her youth. She has limited audience no doubt, less than me of course, but she looks at them and smiles back, to which they blush with their greying moustache and broken teeth.

Mrs. Jadeja is only fond of food apart from washing clothes. She buys all her vegetables standing here, talking directly to her permanent vendor Sharad. After all the bargaining, she doesn’t forget to curse this government which has made everything so costly, and Mr. Jadeja who left so little for her. 

Everything is quite acceptable to me, but all hell breaks loose when Monty breaks my afternoon nap. His constant barks to tease and pamper Suzi, Mrs. Sharma’s Chihuahua are as painful as any  Sonam Kapoor movie.

Presently, I am single and dying to mingle. But there is still not a single as charismatic, intelligent and majestic a balcony that can match my standards, and with whom I can go on a moonlit dinner. I think God has something great for me coming. Oh no, that’s just the overweight Mrs. Jadeja trudging in.

PS: I am fed up of pigeons now!!!

The Old Monk Lovers

Where does a creative guy who is looking for some strength to counter his struggle & failures which are much more than his success stories will head to after a week’s work? Most probably a bar and especially a shady one where they play Hindi film songs. There he will like to treat himself with something which is classic and liked by the masses. Chances are high that he might end up with the world’s largest selling dark rum i.e. Old Monk.

In my last 2 years in Bombay, I’ve bumped into writers, directors, musicians, fashion designers, cinematographers, entrepreneurs, producers, actors, VO Artists and yes even spot boys.

They all tend to carry an opinion on almost everything from films, music, advertising, books & politics. Above all they are diehard consumers of Pankaj Kapur’s favourite, Gulabo a.k.a. Daaru a.k.a. Alcohol. They have all made me believe in the notion that in this chaotic city, apart from hard work and good luck, you also need a little “Old monk”. So here are some of my analysis of why they say so.  

v  Somehow Old Monk has become the face and the phase of the struggle. It is consumed to run-over bad experiences and to have a good time. It is like a whorehouse where you’d like to visit frequently to just leave behind the past & still make memories.

v  Manufactured by Mohan Meakin Ltd. Old Monk has earned the status of being the most popular drink of the creative lot. Tastes like a virgin, it injects a sudden rush. Even the hangover next morning doesn’t make you feel like some dead body. But the drink commands monopoly because you can get drunk and fall in love with life in just 200 bucks. With Monk, happiness comes cheap

v  One thing which cuts these old monk lovers from this dead society is the crazy dreams they thrive on. Sadly, society doesn’t have dreams, but boring aspiration. From Chetak to Maruti, from Rupa to Jockey. On the other hand these dreamers proudly blabber about “seems-difficult” things to achieve after gulping down 3 pegs of Old Monk. The drink reminds them of their dream, snatches the real men out of them and puts it on the table.

v  A peg of 60ml Old Monk mixed with Thumbs Up, poured over 2 ice cubes makes a perfect drink, a perfect evening & a perfect conversation. A conversation between 2 guys starts with, “Do you drink? Do you like Old monk?”

   

v  The greatness of the drink is such that even when people get over their struggling days they never forget the whore, the drink. Because it was one of the few honest things which came along with them this far, trusted them like a lover. 

Recently an aspiring director shared his first film's script with me. I loved it and after discussing some details he asked me, "Would you like a drink?" and then went ahead and poured Old Monk. 

In a nutshell I’ll say, Old Monk doesn't guarantee you any success. It just makes up your mood and nothing else. And it might give you a couple of friends who like to share their views, thoughts, talents and dreams. People who are least worried what the f*** this world will think of them.

To summarize the greatness of this great drink, I’ll quote the famous dialogue from the cult Andaz Apna Apna, ‘Gum Ka Saathi Rum’. 
Cheers!!

**Please note: This article is not written to put down any other beverage/drink or to propagate the popularity of Old Monk. 
***Above all, the writer talks about alcohol much more than consuming it.