Production: Day 2

Our first day in Hyderabad was guaranteed to be a long one, because we had to do 95% of our remaining India preproduction by the time we went to sleep that night.

Since the Green Park is a hotel meant primarily for businessmen, a breakfast buffet was included. I know a buffet isn't the best way to taste local cuisine, but I saw it as a great compromise between blindly ordering from a menu (not knowing what to expect when the server brought the food) and chickening out with Western food. Plus, buffets allow for sampling, which greatly decreases the risk and embarrassment of Unpleasant First Bite Face (and since we were eating with Rob, I was a little more aware of this). I scooped small, neat piles of rice and vegetable dishes, like upma and bisi bele bath onto my plate, along with corn and mutton idly.

A van was sent to pick us up at the hotel and take the three of us to the Andhra Pradesh Productivity Council's Hyderabad headquarters, which also house the CMU Information Centre and some computer companies. We had to take all of our equipment with us, but by this time we were reasonably comfortable lugging everything around. Of course, as soon as we approached the van, the driver wordlessly took everything out of our hands to load it into the back. He didn't make eye contact, and didn't even look up when I thanked him. It's unnerving to be served like that, and I don't think I can fully explain how every new instance of it made me so uncomfortable.

Each time we sat down in a vehicle, we had a new experience of what it was like to get around India. The drivers that had been arranged for us seemed to fit into a hierarchy based on the level of terror induced by the ride. Our driver this morning was the same we had the previous night on the trip from the airport, so the ride was relatively smooth and stops were gentle. At the time, of course, it felt like he was weaving crazily and stopping just short of ramming us into idling cars. The traffic in Hyderabad was jam-packed, and we saw how motorcycles and scooters were preferable to larger vehicles. On some roads, they made up 2/3 of the traffic, and even when the lights were red, motorcycles jockeyed for a slightly closer position. They were like buzzing insects, constantly moving. Some intersections had traffic police stationed in kiosks to monitor violations, but we had to wonder how they would be able to catch someone in that kind of traffic (as it turns out, cameras and e-tickets). Pursuit would be nearly impossible.

Upon arriving at the APPC building, we were greeted and given bouquets of roses again. Then we were given a tour of the place, which served as our first round of location scouting so we could get all of the shots we needed (especially the India shots that were supposed to look like somewhere other than the CMUIC). The building was five or six stories tall (the top two floors were unfinished) with one or two companies on each floor. The main floor, where the APPC is located, has one large office with a few smaller offices and alcoves with desks in them for some of the staff. The rest of the employees worked at rows of desks with computers on them. We were introduced to every single person working there--about 25-30 in all.

Have you ever been introduced to thirty people, one at a time? It's an odd experience. There was little hope that we'd remember even a fraction of the names we were told, but it was helpful for them to see us so they wouldn't wonder what we were doing in their building for the rest of the week. They were gracious and welcoming, even though Aaron and I were just two white people with some camera equipment, suddenly standing in an office building in India.

Next we sat down with two of the APPC's administrators to talk about the Council's mission and goals, which was one of the most interesting conversations I've ever had because we learned so much about India in general and the state of Andhra Pradesh in particular. Much of what the APPC does is linked to economic and entrepreneurial development, but there's a huge focus on the development of human resources, especially in terms of education. Call me a nerd, but I can listen to people discuss education all day long, especially over cookies and Fanta orange.

In our discussions of Andhra Pradesh and Hyderabad, we were told that the region has excellent (and very spicy) food. We had lunch at a restaurant called Southern Spice, and the name alone had me panicking a little. Here we go, I thought. A spicy meal in India is going to make me cry, and that's going to be really embarrassing. Even though the menus are printed in English, our companions spoke English, and the waitstaff seemed to have a good command of English, ordering was tricky because most items were labeled with a name and a very simple explanation that didn't reveal much about what was actually in the food. Spice was never mentioned. Ingredients remained a mystery.

For the picky and non-adventurous, it was a gamble. Rob asked about some fish on the menu. "What's the sauce like?" he asked. "Is it spicy?"

"Not too spicy," our waiter said. Unfortunately, that was his default answer. Rob asked them to make the fish without any sauce on it. The waiter nodded.

Aaron and I were a little more conflicted in our ordering, as Aaron is both slightly picky and not-too-adventurous. He was also still quite concerned about getting sick. I had stupidly adopted a "NOTHING CAN HURT ME!" attitude, but that didn't help me understand what any of the menu items were. We asked the waiters a lot of questions. We struggled with the unclear answers. In the end, we settled on Chinese food, which seems to be quite popular in India.

When our food came, Rob let us try his fish, which was in a mildly spicy sauce. We shared our chicken, which was in a red, burn-your-lips-off spicy sauce that made Rob cry a little. I thought he must be exaggerating, but the initial bite coated my tongue in a blanket of hot. Unlike other spicy food I've suffered through, however, this wasn't about pain--it was just heat, and it faded rather quickly. In fact, the sauce would have been delicious, had it not also been chock-full of cilantro leaves. Oh, the soap-tasting humanity. I filled up on vegetarian soup and chicken fried rice instead.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the CMUIC for preproduction. We rearranged the furniture and displayed the CMU paraphernalia Rob had brought with him, including some banners, pennants, and a new clock. A light kit had been rented for us, so we blocked out our shots and figured out how to make the best use of the room's two windows, the fluorescent fixtures and the diffused incandescents in the kit lights. Since Rob had to meet with some students regarding CMU's graduate programs, we were shuffled over to Dr. Reddi's office to finalize our shot list and make a list of the props we'd need to buy that night so we could shoot the next day.

And then Aaron had an unfortunate post-meal incident I cannot discuss. I will only say that we were prepared.

As the afternoon wore on into the evening, Rob and Vinay (the CMUIC advisor) were ready to take us shopping for props. Our task was to transform the slightly bland and mildly industrial CMUIC into a prospective student's living room, where she would discuss her education options with her parents. We had a couch, two chairs, and a glass coffee table to work with, so we set out to the mall with a list that included curtains, a rug, a vase, a lamp, and some throw pillows.

The mall was like a very large department store, spanning several floors of the building and divided into merchandise categories. We had to go through security scanners to enter the building (with, once again, a separate curtained-off area for women). In a country that constantly challenges the senses, the mall was another form of sensory overload: the displays were bright and crammed with merchandise; the music was loud, pulsating; salespeople wove their way into the crowds; and the colors were exaggeratedly bright. It was like the vision of consumerism I'd first noticed growing up in the late 1980s and early 1990s had been reanimated, but with a foreign flavor. There was so much there, screaming to be purchased, and crowds of people with that adrenaline-infused, slightly glassy stare of want glinting in their eyes.

We were here on business, though, so I couldn't let myself get distracted by every fascinating detail. I couldn't buy anything for myself (or for others--I so badly wanted to find the perfect turquoise sari for Allison Joseph). And even though we had a list, a set of directives guiding us through the towering displays and labyrinthine halls of stuff, it took us forever to find the right items. We had to try to make an office look like a home, but we also had to think about the way these props would photograph. We had to think about matching color and pattern but also textures, reflectivity, saturation, the scale of the pattern in relation to other elements. It's definitely not how we normally think about furnishings.

Somewhere between one store and the next, I had developed a strange rash on my arm. It was a little red, a little bumpy, and a little itchy--and unlike any contact dermatitis I had ever had. It was only on one arm, so I went to the restroom to wash it and (maybe) prevent it from spreading. All I needed was to wake up in the morning with my left arm red, swollen to twice its normal size, and completely unusable. We finished up at the mall and had the driver take us to a pharmacy, since I had somehow neglected to pack any kind of Benadryl in my gigantic toiletry/first-aid kit.

The pharmacy was marked with a green plus sign, like the ones I had grown accustomed to (but had never visited) in Rome. It was tiny, with most merchandise behind the counter and two pharmacy clerks there to help. I was very grateful to have Vinay with us, since the pharmacist spoke Telugu and I didn't recognize the brands on the shelves. I held up my arm to show the pharmacist, and he gave me a tube of something called Fourderm. It was a white cream and smelled vaguely medicinal (I still can't figure out what it reminds me of), but it didn't contain hydrocortisone. I paid my rupees and fervently hoped I wouldn't have a bad reaction to the cream, since my skin does not act like other people's skin. In fact, my skin sometimes decides to react to things that were once safe, like laundry detergent and certain fabrics. I can only imagine what my immune system was going through.

By this time, it had been dark for hours and I was ready to be in a quiet place, alone. But first we had to go back to the CMUIC to set up the props for the living room scene, and we managed to do that in about 20 minutes. I think we were all ready to go back to the hotel, to come up for air. None of us had even eaten dinner, because we had all been so busy working on the video project (and Rob and Vinay had meetings with students).

At least the work was getting done.

Be Prepared (or, When Boy Scouts Go to India) Part 2

Thankfully, and for the sake of Aaron's sanity, there were some aspects of planning and preproduction that we did together, like a dysfunctional team. Like dyslexic synchronized swimmers who are highly allergic to chlorine (no offense to the dyslexic, synchronized swimming, and those with allergies). I was just happy that sometimes Aaron was able to fall asleep at night without an incessant commentary about all things associated with INDIA (which became a capitalized, four-letter word in blazing, buzzing neon quite quickly). It's not that we were ungrateful for the opportunity--it's that we didn't always know what we had signed up for, and sometimes the surprises were a little unpleasant, and usually expensive.

Script

We had our first face-to-face preproduction meeting at CMU in August 2011, where I finally met Rob Hassen, CMU's coordinator of graduate recruiting. Aaron had worked with him in 2008 on a recruiting video for CMU that apparently got really good results for the university, which is how Aaron got the India opportunity. We also met Kundana, an Indian student (and now an alumna!) of CMU's MSA program. Through a few days of meetings, we discussed the purpose of the video and came up with a rough outline of the content. Rob was our subject-matter expert, and Kundana was our uncompensated actress.

Through e-mails, online collaboration tools (thank you, Adobe), phone calls, messages, and more e-mails, Rob got us a working script that we then edited, line by line, in another face-to-face meeting in December. Aaron developed a shooting script with all of the visuals so that we would know what needed to be shot, when, where, and how. I helped when I could, making some use of all those years as an English major as well as the few film classes I've taken (thanks to Tracy Cox, Patty Williamson, and Anthony Williams--all wonderful professors).

When we were finished, we had a 28-page shot-for-shot and line-by-line plan, which was somehow a source of both relief and terror. "Oh, this is what we're doing. That's nice." But also: "Oh, wow, THIS is what we're doing? Can we do this?" I was the doubter, of course, because I worry like it's a sport.

Medical

Having traveled very little outside the U.S., Aaron and I had only heard tales of horror, supplied by helpful friends, regarding what would happen to our bodies once we landed in India. We knew the cliche warnings: Don't drink the water. Get vaccinated. Bring an arsenal of remedies for all things gastrointestinal. And, the worst one: You're going to get sick, no matter what. Except when you're traveling to the other side of the world for work, getting sick isn't an option.

We scoured the U.S. State Department and CDC websites for tips and some of idea of what to expect, and got the somewhat puzzling advice to see a "travel doctor," which both travel agencies and medical professionals in southern Illinois think is a made-up term, right up there with Obamacare and Lady Gaga. We called various doctor's offices and health departments, only to be referred, again and again, to SIUC's student health center for a travel consultation.

Had we been current SIUC students, this would have been more affordable. As it was, the lady cut us a break since she was meeting with us together, charging Aaron for a full session and me for a half-session. Rejoice, my frugal heart. We sat in a little room, filled out our complete medical histories, shared our Bay County Health Department vaccination record books, and let the scare-fest begin.

Most of the information she gave us was a repeat of what we had seen on various government websites, but this medical practitioner described diseases in bone-chilling, graphic detail and with accompanying printouts. Dengue fever? Yeah, there's no vaccination for that one. And it sucks. There were tales of biting and burrowing insects; warnings about bites from rabid bats, dogs, and monkeys (which we knew we might encounter, given our plans); admonitions about vaccinations for typhoid, polio, measles, hepatitis, tuberculosis, and tetanus; dire warnings against tap water, even if used for rinsing fruits/vegetables or brushing your teeth; and a reminder about avian flu--we scoffed at her advice to stay away from places where live poultry was being caged, processed or otherwise handled, but this was a rule we ended up breaking on our last day (foreshadowing! Exciting, I know!). I felt all of the symptoms as she described them, like my own roller coaster of sick.

And then I acknowledged that, contrary to my nature, I would have to make a promise that I would not, under any circumstances, touch any animals while in India. I would not seek out stray dogs or cats. I would not pet the cows. I would not startle the bats or get too close to the monkeys (it turns out that was more up to them than up to me, because those suckers were FAST). I would not, as I normally tend to do, treat any animal in sight as my own personal petting zoo. It was a matter of life or death! I told Aaron that he had to make me promise, and to remind me during our trip if it looked like I was about to reach out and get friendly with living things.

We also got two prescriptions each: one for antimalarial pills and one to treat traveler's diarrhea, which was described as "you'll definitely know it if you have it." The choices for antimalarials are almost comical. The one that is quite effective and low on side effects also happens to cost around $6/pill (and we would need a total of 40 between the two of us). The other option, which had a long list of unpleasant side effects including severe nausea, yeast infections, and photosensitivity, only cost about $.30/pill but had to be taken for much longer. We opted for the generic form of the expensive one, which the Marion Walgreens had to special order but which would have cost almost double at CVS.

After our travel consultation, where we found out the atrocious prices SIUC charges non-students for vaccinations, we called the Jackson County Health Department for their price list. It was cheaper. And then, like the consummate bargain-hunter I've been all my life, I suggested we call yet another health department, which was even cheaper. We made an appointment to get all of our vaccinations and boosters on the same day, which I only recommend for the truly masochistic, since the aftermath of getting 4-5 shots at once is feeling feverish, achy and generally crappy for a few days. But it brought us one step closer to being ready for the promised microbial onslaught.

Yup, that's some Pinconning cheese. Oh, and some typhoid. No big deal.

 

Together, we assembled a massive toiletry/first-aid/death prevention kit for the greatest possible chance that we would remain physically functional for the duration of our stay in India. We based our gathering on the summation of recommendations from anecdotal and professional sources alike. Here's some of what we packed, between our hand baggage, in our quart-size clear zippered bags for gels/liquids, and in our checked luggage:

• Hand sanitizer gel
• 100% DEET mosquito repellent
• Sunscreen in both SPF 50 and SPF 30
• SPF 15 lip balm
• Baby powder (since the expected average daily temperature was between 75 and 90 degrees F, and Jude was kind enough to warn me about what that's like.)
• Gatorade packets for mixing with bottled water for the inevitable dehydration
• Delicious snacks that also traveled well: canned chicken and tuna, raisins, toaster pastries, granola and trailmix bars, since we had no idea how our bodies would respond to Indian food
• Bottled water (Yes. We brought bottled water, JUST IN CASE)
• Bandages
• A manicure set that included tweezers, scissors, etc.
• Eyedrops
• Over-the-counter drugs: aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, naproxen sodium, sleep aids
• Facial tissues in travel packs
• Earplugs
• Chewing gum
• Hiking boots, long socks, and long-sleeved shirts

We ended up using/needing* most of these things. But that still didn't prevent a late-night trip to a pharmacy for me (More ominous foreshadowing! Dun dun dun...!).


*I have to qualify that term after experiencing India, for reasons which will become apparent in subsequent posts.