Monkey & me

I am still recovering. Let me first be frank. I am an animal lover. Always have been. So is my wife, otherwise she wouldn’t have married me. Yet, being asked to be a spokesperson for animals is a big deal. Especially for the animals. I felt quite touched. I’ll never forget the exact words on the phone: “Cyrus, it’s recession time and we can’t find any real celebrities this week, so you’ll have to do”. What an honour. I was ecstatic. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta) had approached me. I had not approached them, mind you, Peta had in an apparently acute fit of absolute desperation, approached me. Me!

The issue, of course, was monkeys. Monkeys held in captivity at the All-India Institute of Medical Sciences, and I don’t mean the hairless monkeys being treated in the hospital. In fact, I really wish they’d put some of them in those cages, instead.
Peta organised a photoshoot and I was to be the protester portrayed in the photograph, in support of the monkeys. Of course, this was just between them and me and nobody bothered to tell the monkeys. But, that’s another story.
The location was a studio in Byculla, south Mumbai. We entered a mill gate and then travelled a distance roughly the circumference of Pataliputra. In fact, I’m convinced it was Pataliputra because the ancient city of Pataliputra is one of the very few cities in India that doesn’t put up any signs. Outside the studio was a huge river. First I thought it was the Ravi, then I realised I was being facetious. It very clearly was the Chenab.
A couple of kingfishers were visible near its bank. I knew immediately that they were kingfishers because there were no signs to say they weren’t kingfishers.
The photographer, Himanshu, greeted me by laughing hysterically. This carried on for an hour. Then he was administered some Benadryl and fruitcake. He took too much. And everyone knows that too much fruitcake can kill you.
Himanshu declared himself fit for the shoot, but first he had to lie down. This, of course, led to more fruitcake and more Benedryl.
After a two-hour nap Himanshu woke up, and feeling refreshed he called for a wig. After putting on one turned him into Celine Dion, he started the shoot. First he asked me to stand up. Not satisfied with the result, he asked me then to sit down. This continued until I pulled off his wig and begged him for mercy. This gave him a bright idea. He made me into Celine Dion and started clicking away.
Himanshu had devised three basic shots. In the first one I enter his frame with both hands up and feet spread wide and off the ground.
We tried explaining to him that this shot was only possible if you were a crow.
Himanshu would hear none of it. He had 00563 of a second in terms of time while I held the pose, after which I hit the ground. We tried this 26 times and each time I landed on a different body part, some of whom I hadn’t visited in a while. But 00563 of a second is more than enough time if you are either an ace photographer or a germ. (In a germ’s case, I’m told, 00563 of a second is half the germ’s lifetime. This, of course, is in the event the germ has not been killed accidentally by say a speeding train or a misguided cough.)
The second shot had me enact more simian-like poses. I strained every sinew, flexed every facial muscle and contoured every possible expression. However, Himanshu wasn’t happy. He asked me to restrain myself and instead be perfectly still as he clicked away. After a few clicks he seemed satisfied, or so I gathered as he asked for more fruitcake and Benadryl which was promptly denied.
The third pose I think was devised with the possible connivance of my enemies.
I was to stand tall, all five-foot-eight-inches Celine Dion of me, with one finger from each hand immersed in an electric socket.
It soon became clear to me that Marconi was a complete liar, and Edison a fraud. Electricity had to have been discovered by Albert Einstein, and maybe boxing promoter Don King. How else can you explain their hairstyles? Not only did I look like the bi-product of a relationship between Einstein & Don King (leaning more towards Mr King), but the electric shock induced into my body made everything numb except for my hair. Which means all my feeling was now in my hair alone. The hair itself stood ramrod straight, like a testimonial for Viagra gone wrong.
I don’t know which of these pictures Peta has chosen to display, but I do know that if he is watching from a meadow up above, looking at those pictures Darwin would be proud. His connection couldn’t have been made more clear.