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I knew a guy who took a crack at it, gave it his all, and nearly grasped success. The man in question had a decent academic record from law school and was convinced that he possessed striking physical attributes, which made him stand out amongst his law-school peers. His cheerleaders often commented on his impressive looks and the personality that, they claimed, would be 'wasted' if he pursued the mediocre path of law. Like many others at the law school, he was a cinephile, always eager to discuss Hollywood and Indian classics. He lauded De Niro's performances in 'Taxi Driver' and 'Raging Bull', and Pacino's in 'Carlito’s Way', and he sang high praises for Kulbhushan Kharbanda in 'Arth'. His impersonations of scenes from Big B’s epic 'Agneepath' delighted his friends, earning him heaps of praise for his acting prowess and unsolicited assertions that he was destined for stardom and perhaps the illustrious Manikchand Filmfare Award.
He basked in the adoration, dabbling in local theater productions designed for the young, English-speaking, collegiate crowds of the city. Some of my acquaintances were lucky enough to catch his live performances. While praises varied in generosity, the skeptics simply admired his guts to brave the stage with his... let's say, unique talents.
After law school, he joined the ranks at one of the 'Big Laws' on Barakhamba Road, Delhi. Yet, the seed of stardom had already taken root, and he often envisioned himself far from the plains of Delhi, in the city by the Bay. Following three and a half years of contemplation and nagging self-doubt, he convinced himself of his true calling. With what he believed was enough savings, he took the leap of faith. He vowed never to return to the rat race, determined to honor his own aspirations and the expectations of his law school admirers by making an 'all-in' attempt to penetrate the dazzling world of stardom. Inspired by the Shah of Bollywood himself, he put his faith in the stories of outsiders who had achieved great success based solely on their talent.
Leaving his job and a cushy two-bedroom shared builder-floor apartment in South Ex behind, he moved into a modest one-room kitchen at Yari Road. He joined an upscale gym frequented by hopeful starlets and hired a personal trainer to sculpt his physique to cinematic perfection. He poured more of his nest egg into a respected but has-been actor's crash course on cinema acting, quickly learning that his diction, dialogue delivery, body language, and screen presence needed considerable work. Transitioning to a more intensive and pricier acting program seemed only sensible. Professional photographers captured his portfolio across Bombay, and he spent lavishly on trendy Bandra drip for numerous auditions.
A grueling year of auditions ensued, filled with long lines and brief encounters with dubious individuals and their questionable bargains. He was one in a sea of dreamy-eyed, eager hopefuls, each hungrier and more desperate than our protagonist and mostly without a safety net. Some had even torched their bridges for a one-way ticket to the dream factory.
After almost nine months of relentless door-knocking and rejections for not having the "right" voice or "face-cut", his funds dwindled to nothing, culminating in overdue rent.
At a soiree hosted by a batchmate fresh from a Japanese bank secondment, he reconnected with old friends who had once sung his praises. As they lamented their corporate lives and flaunted their 'aquaracers', while repeatedly trying to impress each other with the stories they picked up or were part of while negotiating some ‘who-give-a-shit’ SHA. For a brief moment, our man was transported back to his law school glory days, where life seemed easy and dreams meant to be conquered. Sharing tales of audition room woes and lines from roles that never were, he found clarity.
The next day, he borrowed money from his brother, settled his rent, and reached out to his old boss—who, as fate would have it, ghosted him. By week's end, his resume was spruced up on Naukar.com, courtesy of classmates, and distributed to the who's who of headhunters.
By year's end, he secured a job at a modest law firm and returned to Delhi — the land of 'Dally Maitro', 'Cholesterol Bhature', and loud mouths. His cinematic aspirations were quietly shelved, his retainer fee a tad below his peers, his passion for film buried in the graveyard of forgotten dreams.