There are two Bollywoods in our heads. One thrives in theatres and shows Salman Khan dispatching bad guys like they’re Frisbees. Then there’s the other, which is an equivalent of Azkaban to Indian families. The horror stories about Bollywood are many – casting couches, exploitation, poverty – and it doesn’t help to have films like Heroine, in which pretty, intelligent girls turn into cigarette-munching zombies because of Bollywood.
You’d imagine 25-year-old Samvedna Suwalka would have been swayed by such doom-laden stories while growing up in the small town of Jamnagar, Gujarat. “I come from a family of doctors where Bollywood is a world that belongs to ‘other people’,” she said. Only Suwalka decided very early in life that those stories would not get the better of her ambition. “I loved dancing, being on stage and had decided, one day, I’ll be an actor,” she said. “So it didn’t bother me what people had to say about the film industry.”
Being an ‘outsider’ who didn’t have a network of contacts to help set up the perfect Bollywood debut, Suwalka applied at Whistling Woods in Mumbai. Compared to the average Indian, Suwalka is tall, pretty, with a curly mop of mahogany hair. She looks like the kind who friendly aunties will crown the neighbourhood’s version of a Bollywood heroine. But unlike the small-town girl that Bollywood often shows us, who comes to Mumbai with stars in her eyes, Suwalka has no unreal aspirations. “I knew it won’t be easy so I had planned my career over a long time,” she said. Suwalka first went to Pune to study medicine and then got an internship at Mumbai’s Sion Hospital. “While I was doing my internship I started doing theatre, turning up at auditions, getting portfolios shot,” she said. So far, Suwalka has done one Gujarati film, one Hindi film (no release date so far) and a few ads. “There’s one with Vidya Balan. But you won’t recognise me in it,” she said with deadpan humour.
Patience and objectivity are the trademarks of the thousands of Bollywood aspirants who stay afloat in Mumbai. Take for example, Anil Mange who says he appeared for at least a 1,000 auditions over the past three-odd years. “There’ll be times they’ll not take your call, there’ll be times you’ll be turned away by the assistants, there’ll be times that you’ll know you’re meeting someone who is least interested in you,” said Mange. “Your degree will be trashed, you’ll be dismissed as ‘too thin’, ‘not good looking enough’ etc. If that perturbs you, you should pack your bags and leave.” Mange was ultimately cast in a Dharma Productions film. It took three years to catch the casting agents’ attention.
“Who doesn’t want to play the lead in a Bollywood film?,” asked Ankit Varshneya, 24 and a Whistling Woods alumnus. “Everyone does. But that doesn’t mean I’ll become a hero overnight or maybe even in a long time. I have done everything that was in my power to try make it in Bollywood – joined a film school, learned filmmaking, got portfolios shot and circulated them. Now, it’s about luck and patience.”
But there’s more. Being a “struggler”, as aspirants are termed in the industry, isn’t cheap. The filmmaking course in Whistling Woods costs Rs 12 lakh. Acting schools are another cash trap. The Kishore Namit Kapoor Acting (Lab) Institute – it lists Hrithik Roshan, Priyanka Chopra, Kareena Kapoor and a host of Bollywood heavies among their alumni – is priced at Rs 2 lakh for a six-month acting course. Add to that the cost of the personal grooming and wardrobe required to look like you belong in Bollywood, and that’s a few fixed deposits blowing in the wind.
“I have a friend who spends Rs 10,000 on one tin of a protein supplement,” said Varshneya, who says he has no illusions about his buff potential and therefore doesn’t invest in a gym and a personal trainer. Harsh (name changed on request), on the other hand, is a struggling model-actor who is shocked by the suggestion that great biceps might not land him a role in a commercial. “They all look for hot people,” he said. “You have to spend on gyms and grooming. Why will anyone pay a fat, uncouth looking person to appear in an ad or in a film? Who will pay to watch him on screen?” As far as Harsh is concerned, “looking great” is a priority, regardless of whether you can actually afford it. Most out-of-work actors can’t. “You’re okay if your family supports you,” Harsh said.
It’s not as though all this guarantees a smooth entry and most Bollywood hopefuls know this. As Varshneya put it, “There will be people like me, people better than me or maybe people who have come with strong recommendations.” Part of being an actor, in particular, is to not get disheartened by this.
The industry is judgmental and prone to objectifying aspiring actors. “Oh, we’re objectified all the time,” said Suwalka. “You’re too chubby for some ad, your face is not ‘young’ enough, you don’t look adequately urbane or your face is not rural enough – you’re never without some flaw or the other.” You’d expect someone like Suwalka to be shaken by stories like these, but her sympathies are with the clients and the directors. “What to do? Who’ll pay to watch not-so-nice looking people,” she said with a smile.
Few people in the industry have any patience for sob stories; least of all the casting directors who are believed to have the power of turning a struggler into a star. Abhimanyu Ray, one of the foremost casting directors in Bollywood and Indian advertising, believes the main problem in Indian show business is this preoccupation with stardom. “A sizeable number of people who turn up in Mumbai to be actors come here with no great passion for acting,” said Ray. “They all want to be stars. … What am I supposed to do with a guy who has the beard predicted to be ‘hot’ in GQ if he can’t act? What am I going to do with a girl who looks fantastic in photographs, wears a lot of make-up but can’t move a muscle on her face?”
Ray admits he’s felt bad turning people down but his job has to satisfy the audience that watches movies and is critical about the slightest imperfections in actors. “Don’t you turn up your nose at the mere sight of cellulite on the thighs?” he asked. “Don’t you call an actor too fair, too chocolate boy, too macho? The consumers of our industry are neither easy nor lenient. How can we be different?”
Most of us wouldn’t bother scaling the walls of the fortress called Bollywood. It’s a daunting and seemingly futile exercise. Mange’s “first step” inside Bollywood was as a dancer in live shows. He was paid Rs 300 rupees and years later, he is the first to admit he’s standing at the end of the very long queue. He doesn’t know where it leads to, but he’s hopeful. “Koi thak jayega, kisika jhagra ho jayega, kisiko doosra kaam yaad aa jayega… aur tab, mera bhi number ayega (some will tire, another will fight, one will decide he’s got better things to do, and that’s when my turn will come),” he said confidently. To some, Mange’s optimism may sound delusional. For others, this is the Bollywood dream and they’ll keep their manicured fingers crossed that it comes true.
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