The alarm went off at 6:00. I found the snooze button at 6:01.
The nights and mornings are getting colder. There’s a delicious nip in the air. The quilt feels like home. And then, at 7:00: “Keys? We got some stuff in your car.”
At 7:20, it’s Sheriff again: “We’re too many people. Think you guys can get your car out and come with us to the site?”
“Let’s go.”
9:00, I’m sweating already.
The festival site is a battlefield. The deputies have spread out. No instruction required. Three tractors are in mad swing. Another two are joining the ranks. A JCB is lining up.
I walk from one corner of the perimeter to another. It takes me thirty minutes. There is a buzz of activity all along. Tractors shaving shrubbery off the land, local men and women collecting and burning the waste, deputies taking point at the centre and marking out sections on the field.
Smoke, sand and chalk is flying everywhere.
I’m trying to think where I’ve seen this before. Starship Troopers, maybe.
At some point, it becomes apparent that the local labour is losing motivation. They are used to being called in to work for film production units. Film units usually have a catering service. Where’s lunch? And more importantly, where’s chai?
Soon, there are people disappearing behind bushes. Some line up for water every five minutes. Can’t blame them. The sun is merciless today.
That’s when we leave the site. The plot still looks like it has a bad hair day. Stubble on razor burn. We drive Grand Meister to the city and grab a bite. We get back after five hours. Clean shave.
At sundown, Kaptaan takes a break and plops down on the sand beside us. “But that man,” he says, “has been a backbone. He’s been on his feet all day.”
Padam Singh Ji.
He has probably walked every inch of the site. Deputy S says that they’d walk together for some time and then he’d have to sit down for a break. But Padam Ji just went on and on. He directed the local help all through the day, all over the plot.
Post lunch, he noticed that the men were not coming back to work.
“So I asked one of the women workers to sing. She’s actually a Kalbeliya dancer. She started singing. Then the men started coming one by one. As soon as they were all there, I asked her to stop. Back to work!”
The nights and mornings are getting colder. There’s a delicious nip in the air. The quilt feels like home. And then, at 7:00: “Keys? We got some stuff in your car.”
At 7:20, it’s Sheriff again: “We’re too many people. Think you guys can get your car out and come with us to the site?”
“Let’s go.”
9:00, I’m sweating already.
The festival site is a battlefield. The deputies have spread out. No instruction required. Three tractors are in mad swing. Another two are joining the ranks. A JCB is lining up.
I walk from one corner of the perimeter to another. It takes me thirty minutes. There is a buzz of activity all along. Tractors shaving shrubbery off the land, local men and women collecting and burning the waste, deputies taking point at the centre and marking out sections on the field.
Smoke, sand and chalk is flying everywhere.
I’m trying to think where I’ve seen this before. Starship Troopers, maybe.
Jab Tak Hai Jaan. Shahrukh Stage Khan.
At some point, it becomes apparent that the local labour is losing motivation. They are used to being called in to work for film production units. Film units usually have a catering service. Where’s lunch? And more importantly, where’s chai?
Soon, there are people disappearing behind bushes. Some line up for water every five minutes. Can’t blame them. The sun is merciless today.
That’s when we leave the site. The plot still looks like it has a bad hair day. Stubble on razor burn. We drive Grand Meister to the city and grab a bite. We get back after five hours. Clean shave.
At sundown, Kaptaan takes a break and plops down on the sand beside us. “But that man,” he says, “has been a backbone. He’s been on his feet all day.”
Padam Singh Ji.
He has probably walked every inch of the site. Deputy S says that they’d walk together for some time and then he’d have to sit down for a break. But Padam Ji just went on and on. He directed the local help all through the day, all over the plot.
Chalk to chalk. Dust to dust.
Post lunch, he noticed that the men were not coming back to work.
“So I asked one of the women workers to sing. She’s actually a Kalbeliya dancer. She started singing. Then the men started coming one by one. As soon as they were all there, I asked her to stop. Back to work!”
No comments:
Post a Comment