You know what they say, If you think it’s your lucky day, don’t worry, it too shall pass. So true.
And there was moi, thinking just that I was having one of the best days of my life. No script to turn in, an off day from my running schedule, nowhere to go, plus I had just received a fresh stock of DVDs.
This is how it went. My DVD bootlegger (sort of), let’s call him Imran (name changed to protect his identity) texted me in the morning saying: Charlie Whilsun War@Maicaal Clinton@No Conttry for Old Men@There Will be Blud@Atonemen@Joonu@and any@holiwood boliwood intar netinal wald cinema im Imran DVD.
He followed it up with a call. “Sistaar, I was in the area so I thought I would call and check. Naya Maal has come in. All the Oscar filims -,” He paused hopefully.
Now Imran is in ‘the area’ everyday because all film and TV fraternity is based there. And he gets Naya Maal every day. So, recognising his spiel for a pitch I asked suspiciously, “Need money? ’Cos if that’s the case don’t even think about coming here. I don’t have any.”
He sounded horrified. “No, sistaar! I was just trying to get you the best DVDs! If I don’t then you complain that the good stock is gone.”
I do do that.
“All right, come on in,” I sighed reluctantly. “But, I’m warning you, don’t even think of showing me anything other than the films you mentioned. I can’t afford it.”
He swore on his mother and dear departed father that he wouldn’t.
A half hour later he had chitkoed (can’t quite get an English word to convey the same feeling. ‘Saddled me with?’ Nah!) 80 plus DVD on me and lightened my wallet by 8000 plus rupees. (Yes, the math works out to 100 rupees per DVD. I did say he was a bootlegger.)
I had inserted 3:10 to Yuma into the DVD player and already indentified the next flick that I was going to watch when I got a call from a film producer. He wanted to sit in on a narration of a romantic comedy I had promised him. And since I had boasted that I already had a ready script (which I didn’t), I had to work out a reasonable screenplay, or at the very least, a scenic order (which I’m working on) to justify the huge signing amount (which I had gladly accepted).
I have yet to find the time to approach my DVD player again. Sigh! And you wonder why I’m not writing sparkling posts.
When tall, suave, handsome Kaustav Kapoor walks into her office, ditzy private investigator Kasthuri (aka Katie) Kumar has anything but detection on her mind. He is, after all, a scion of Bollywood’s first family—perhaps he has a role for her? Perhaps she will, at last, get to sashay down the red carpet in a designer gown, with flash bulbs following her every move?
But Kapoor’s intentions are much more prosaic: he wishes Katie to trace the heroine of his new blockbuster (and, if Katie’s read the glossies correctly, his life) who is mysteriously AWOL. Despite her misgivings, Katie finds herself unable to refuse the task entrusted to her, and thereon follows a bewildering hunt for the film star across a trail of corpses.
And if that isn’t excitement enough, she has to contend with the maddening and mysterious, but, oh-so-hot, Tejas Deshpande.
The first in a brand new detective series.
IN BOOKSTORES NOW.
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