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He knew what it meant to be the background. He had spent his whole life there.
“Your job is to fill the background, while the artist delivers his performance,” his directors had always told him for the past thirty years.
He was the rioter in the mob, the spectator in the stadium, the vendor in the crowded market, the shopper in the mall, the audience in the concert. If he got lucky, sometimes he got to become one among the gang of goons who get bashed up. In that case, he got a dialogue. Or if his stars were really bright, he was cast as an obscure relative in a wedding who speaks a few lines and cracks a few jokes, and dances with the hero’s friends, too.
He was the quintessential extra. The real, unseen background without which no film is complete, but that which no one notices.
He often thought about his life spent as the background with his glass in hand in the evenings.
He sat alone in his dark living room waiting for the night to fall. He liked to sit in the dark. He never switched on the light in the evening. He seemed to like it that way. He stared at his dinner table.
A half-eaten plate. A tumbler that had spilt over. He often wondered what he had achieved in his life, filling the backgrounds of other people’s stories.
But today was different.
Today he wanted to go to sleep early so that tomorrow came fast. Today he didn’t drink, and he completed his dinner early. The dinner table was clear. Except for a printout of an email.
He had received the email today. Someone from some magazine was interested in interviewing him. He didn’t know how she had found him out. He didn’t know why she wanted to interview him, of all people. But he didn’t care. For the first time in his life, someone had shown interest in interviewing him. That alone was enough. The how and why didn’t matter. He was thrilled to bits.
He got up early the next day and got ready for the interviewer to arrive. The doorbell rang at 10 AM.
“Sir, I am from Youth Tribune,” she said. He had never heard of it. But how does it matter? It was time for his fifteen minutes of fame. “I had booked an appointment for an interview with Mr Dev….,”
“Oh yes, yes.. I almost forgot,” he replied, like the stars he knew. They always did this to the press, forever appearing busy, at first. “I was about to start something. How long will you take?”
She hesitated and stepped back a little. “Sorry to disturb you Sir. I came a bit early….”
“Oh.. it’s fine. Otherwise, umm, come in, have a seat,” he added, opening the door fully.
“Sir, around thirty minutes, if you don’t mind. Or I can finish in ten minutes if we don’t have time.”
“No…No problem.. I will.. we will.. you know.. find time, as much as you, umm.. as possible.”
He welcomed her in. She was in her early twenties, wearing jeans and a spaghetti top. Her hair was tied, and she carried a laptop bag on one shoulder, and a notebook and pen in the other hand.
Along with her was another youngster, who had a microphone and a video lens attached to a mobile phone with him. They got themselves ready with the equipment.
Dev went inside to get ready like he used to before any shot. But this time, he took extra care to look his best, because he knew he was not the extra. He was not the background. For once, he was not the one waiting after getting ready for the shot. Someone was waiting with the camera for him.
“Sir, can we start?” she asked.
“Yes, all set. Is the shot ready? I mean – are you guys ready?” he asked. She nodded and got it rolling.
For the next twenty minutes, she asked him questions, and he wholeheartedly answered them. Here was someone so interested in the life and times of an extra, he constantly felt. He had never felt happier in front of the camera. After general questions, she then came to his specific roles.
“Sir, which is your most memorable role?” she asked.
For the past thirty years, he must have been in hundreds of films. Every week, sometimes every day, he wandered to the sets of a new film. How was he to tell her that for an extra, there is no role as such? He is an unnamed cog in the wheel. Most of the times, he just stood there while the camera rolled past. If lucky, sometimes he got to perform an action. If incredibly lucky, sometimes, he even got a dialogue or two. Very rarely did he get in the same frame as the hero.
He could count such roles on his fingers, over the years.
“Sir, any memorable role?” she repeated, interrupting his reverie.
“There are so many of them,” he replied. “I was just thinking.. It is tough to choose one.”
“But still.. there must be one,” she insisted.
There, indeed, was one. He remembered it clearly. It was from a film many years back. He had played the role of the main sidekick of the villain’s right-hand man. He had been on the sets for an entire month. That had been his lucky break. He had appeared in at least ten or fifteen shots.
“Well, one of the memorable ones was that of Chiman Tiklu,” he said, reminiscent of the role.
“I am sorry Sir. Chiman Tiklu? Was it a comic role?” she asked, suppressing the laughter.
“No, no…,” he smiled. “I was the villain’s main man,” he replied. She was visibly impressed.
“Wow, that’s amazing. It must have been exciting, isn’t it?” she exulted.
Dev remembered that getting bashed up by the hero and his flunkies wasn’t exactly exciting. On top of that, there were so many retakes and he had to fall so much that he had to rest his back after the end of that routine.
“Oh, yes. It was great fun, now that I think of it,” he replied. She made a note of it in her notebook.
“And any other?” she asked with avid interest.
Dev had another role in a TV serial off late that he remembered. It was of the role of the priest performing prayers at a funeral in a church. But he didn’t mention it. She would laugh more, he felt.
“Oh so many of them,” he started. “A priest at a funeral, a doctor giving the good news, a vegetable vendor that the heroine’s mother buys from, a dancing relative in a wedding, the list goes on and on….,” he told her all about them. To his delight, she noted the details of all of them.
Dev hadn’t felt so elated in many days. Or years, perhaps. He loved the attention.
After she left at the end of almost forty-five minutes, he spent the entire day telling his former extra colleagues that someone had interviewed him. His lifelong desire to be famous had been fulfilled.
Youth Tribune published his interview in their issue next month. His granddaughter saw the magazine as it was circulated in her college. She came running that evening to his house with the magazine in hand. She was all excited. Her hero’s interview was in the magazine, she told everyone she met. She cut out the interview and it occupied the pride of place on the desk of Dev and his family.
She also sent him the video link to his interview online which he watched with pride, and promptly forwarded to everyone he knew. Everyone called him and congratulated him that evening.
After many years of working as an unknown extra, Dev was finally happy that he was famous. His lifelong desire, albeit for his fifteen minutes of fame, had been fulfilled.
On his 70th birthday later that month, his granddaughter declared to everyone present, “My grandpa is world famous.” All the guests were proud that someone in their circle had been interviewed.
After everyone left, his granddaughter silently sent a thank you note to the editor of Youth Tribune for acceding to her request. Dev was now the hero in his own story.
He started switching on the light in the evenings.
***