The Big Bad Bombay Audition
Call me naive, call me privileged, call me an idiot for not understanding this sooner, but there is no teacher more effective than first hand experience. I present, the culture shock of a wannabe actor:
Earlier this week I was in Mumbai for an audition. It was the second round of auditions for a web series that I had been scouted for. I did the first round from home and they asked me to come to Mumbai for round two. I would have to pay out of my own pocket, but it was a good opportunity for learning and networking so I gritted my teeth and spent my savings on that one day trip. It turned out to be worth every paisa.
I was given the address of a studio in Andheri West, in a part of Mumbai I had never been to before. I wasn’t too concerned because in the year and a half of auditioning I had seen quite a spectrum of audition locations and figured that I would manage. It was also a casting call from a fairly large production house so I assumed they would have the money for a decent enough studio space.
I got off where Google Maps said I should and was immediately hit by the smell of dead fish. Apparently this wasn’t too far from the Versova fish market. Great. I looked around and saw some buildings that were smaller than I expected but still decent. I had to ask around to find the exact venue because it didn’t match google maps. I saw a few other youngsters walk into a very narrow lane that looked like it was a few notches above being a shantytown and figured that it must be that way. The lanes were terrible but I was hoping it would lead to a decent building. I was wrong.
The so called “bungalow” where the studio was, was only called a bungalow because it had two floors as opposed to 30+ like most buildings in Mumbai. A young boy opened up the gate to the balcony and let us in. Us being the few other youngsters I had seen earlier. The gate opened up into a balcony that had a kitchenette, a table, and five plastic chairs. It was clearly low budget, low maintenance, but only by my frame of reference which was Bangalore, where everything is 10x cheaper than Bombay. There was a prehistoric looking fan and two plastic bottles of water making a weak attempt at saving us from the heat.
The four of us who were there sat down and started to sweat. For lack of anything else to do, we introduced ourselves and got chatting. It was 11:10 am. Auditions were supposed to have started at 11:00 am. The producers said there were still ten minutes away. So we waited, sweating, thirsty, and nervous for what was to come.
The producers only got there at 11:30 or even later, I can’t remember. But the scripts still weren’t ready. At least they let us in to the air conditioned room which was the studio. They gave us an overview of what we were auditioning for and what the process would be going forward. The scripts finally showed up around noon. I knew it would be in Hindi, I knew I would need at least an hour to memorize a two minute long segment. So I stepped outside to start learning the lines without being surrounded by five other people. Little did I know what was to come.
Over the next hour the four people in that balcony multiplied four times over. People were constantly walking in asking if they were a fit for the role. Every time an audition finished the producers would come outside, scan the balcony, shortlist one or two people and send the rest of them on their way.
I just couldn’t focus on my lines. Is this what it was like to be a full time actor in Bombay? Walking from building to building in the sweltering heat trying to literally get a foot in the door? I couldn’t believe my eyes. I had heard the stories of full time auditioners, I thought I knew what to expect, but I was so wrong. I was nowhere close to prepared for this culture shock.
I thought I was coming for a closed, shortlisted audition but apparently that’s not how it works. There were lookalikes of famous actors, hopes high because someone who looked like them had made it, some of the actors looked just like each other, tight clothes, buff bodies, slicked back hair. They were in leather jackets and jeans in 30 degree weather. I could barely breathe in my loose cotton dress. What kind of fortitude did these people have?
I was flooded with emotion. Confusion, pity, shock. I was re-evaluating my life choices. Is this what the reality of my career choice was? If I moved to Bombay would this be my life? Would I be destined to do 100 tiny roles that would take 100000 auditions and never actually make it? There were so many people so desperate for this chance. People who had probably spent their lives and savings on acting school and training and fitness to be the next big star. Who the hell was I to show up from Bangalore, some English speaking, foreign educated, upper class, privileged brat who was giving her passion a chance? I had NOTHING on these people. Even if I got this role I would feel so guilty. Someone wanted it so much more than I did.
I spent that hour BARELY focusing on my lines.
The producers called me in to give my first take. I knew I wasn’t ready. I struggled, I nervously just read the lines from the audition sheet, barely looking up, barely fluent, barely audible. I finished and looked up at them. They looked disappointed, no, more than disappointed, irritated. Had they wasted their time on me?
I pleaded that I needed more time. I’m not a native Hindi speaker, I could learn the lines but I needed more time. They told me to get lunch and come back. I ran. I jumped in an auto and found the nearest air conditioned cafe. Got a corner table and sat facing the back wall, the rest of the restaurant behind me. I ordered some food and called my boyfriend in a panic. I couldn’t process what was happening. I needed help. He tried running lines with me, it didn’t work, I told him I would have to do this on my own.
I spent five minutes just breathing and five more minutes eating before I picked up that audition script again. I decided I would take my time. I would sit here for an hour if I needed to but I would get it. I could finally breathe in the air conditioning, without thirty people stuffed into the same balcony with me. I felt like such a soft, privileged, weakling compared to those hardened full time auditioners I saw there.
The only thing I could do now was get this shit done. So I sat there for 45 minutes longer than I had planned, taking my time, learning the lines, internalizing them, adapting some sentences to better suit my weak diction. I finally felt better.
I took an auto back to the studio and the auto driver knew exactly where the “audition wale bungalows” were and even dropped me to the right one. This place was a different planet and I felt like I had been culture shocked out of my own skin.
I walked back to the studio and saw that it was even more crowded than when I had left. There were now actors I recognized. They had played supporting roles in big budget films, why were they still here going from audition to audition? Even they still hadn’t made it? What was I getting myself into?
I couldn’t even elbow my way to the studio door so I texted the producer from outside saying I was back and would like to go as soon as possible because my flight back was in a few hours. They let me skip the line because I was shortlisted ahead of time, thank goodness. I gave it three more takes, the third one was barely passable. They were relieved. I was unhappy, but I was also tired. I honestly didn’t have what it would take to give this another shot. I wasn’t going to get much better than the take I had just given. We decided to call it a wrap. I shook hands with them and left.
As I waited for my uber which was 13 minutes away, I called my boyfriend to vent. I had to get this out of my head. I was still sweating, standing on the side of the road partially on the phone, partially unable to stop watching what was going on around me. I recognized a few more actors I had seen in different shows. There were attractive young girls walking around in dresses and heels and their hair down and a face full of makeup. There were attractive young boys in dark jeans and heavy jackets and sunglasses, gym worn bodies bursting out of their clothes. No one batted an eyelid. This was status quo. I was still reeling from culture shock. What universe was this.
I finally got my cab and called my mom and told her the whole story because I couldn’t process what I had just experienced without talking about it to multiple people. I got back to my friend’s place where I had left my bags and talked about it some more.
It was finally settling in. This was status quo in Mumbai. What a place. What a world. Hopes and dreams shoved into over crowded balconies, sweating together in the humidity. I was not ready. I don’t think I will ever be ready. If I make it to Bombay it’ll be with work IN HAND. I would focus on Kannada and English and theater and my youtube channel and at this point literally anything that will keep me busy and away from this auditioners’ life. If I got visibility from my other work, sure, if I was shortlisted for something ahead of time, sure, that would all be great. But I don’t think I will ever have the fortitude to do what these people do every day.
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