Kalki Koechlin only waxes her armpits to better grip Vinyl Records.

(FULLY UPDATED)

Rome is burning. Nero is fiddling, away. Oh, what a mess, it’s the monster from Loch Ness. 

I'm here to save you. 

     Smell the smoke of cigarettes, hidden songs in cassette tapes, whiskey, gin, sex, drugs, gravy, biscuits, pizzas, condoms, pigs, bacon, Vaseline, shower gel, sweaty t-shirts, and Paracetamol. If the generation manages to turn the predicament over on its side, I’d say living well is the best revenge. If not, there’s little left. 

Something tells me I’m not going to see my 30s.

     So the big question is which song to play at the funeral. I’m torn between Warren Zevon and R.E.M. Or maybe both: “Hindu Love Gods”.

     See the writers have nothing to say. The fuck do we write about? But every once in a while, something gives, keeps the flowers in full bloom. See what I mean?

The Bubonic plague of mediocrity is going to kill a billion people. Tom Waits said, “The world is a hellish place, and bad writing is destroying the quality of our suffering”.

     You can DDX (differential diagnosis) it all you like. But the world needs a miracle drug. Hence this piece - because Kalki Koechlin is a shot of Penicillin - for the third and the first world. She’s not just French; she’s a Frenchkiss in a time of cannibalism. Now don’t get too excited. She’s a nutcase, and a freak. But the best ones are.

I love her.

I’m just a writer; living off tragedy.

     But suddenly, dying becomes living. I sent her a tweet, told her she was a “character”, and then one thing led to another, like sex. We didn’t have sex; just saying.

     But I did score an interview for my blog Tumblr (which no longer exists), the usual, frustration of not having a Studio 54 to spend our early twenties in, or the long wait of Elton John records, and the popularity of the 70’s playboy bush. We shave down there these days; wax and shit.

Kalki was someone I could write about.

I was beginning to compare her to Andy Kaufman.

     We scheduled an interview at the Flying Windows Café – the alpha ray, coffees, sandwiches, salads but no Cabernet. That a superior Bordeaux by the way. Graphic novels and shit. Great place to meet, write, fight, lip-bite, be up-tight, do what’s right, do what’s wrong; smoke weed from a bong.

     When I was a kid I wanted to be the greatest writer since Charles Bukowski. Or Kerouac; the seller of blue jeans. But there was no world left to write about. In the scheme of things yet to come; Kalki was going to save my ass.

3:13 PM. 

I was late. 

Punctuality usually murders time. 

     I walked inside and caught her in the act, reading Patti Smith’s “Just Kids”. God I love it when girls that sexy love Patti Smith. We shook hands, ordered chocolate milkshakes and coffee and discussed my custom made sunglasses which she looked at curiously.

I think she was planning theft.  

     She told me stories of being first of the sets of films. This was classicality, acid washed jeans rivaling FTV, Ray Bans that blind you if you started too long.  She looked like someone who carried a switchblade in her back pocket. Plus the girl played guitar. Bono confirmed, never mess with someone who depends on hand-eye co-ordination. 

     Here’s the kicker, her post-apocalyptic world includes mix tapes, recorders, vinyl records, radio, writing pads, swimsuits, Jack Kerouac, Patti Smith, gardening at night, flashlights, telescopes, sausages, land-lines, low necks, shoes, emails, cameras, instant noodles, jackets, cigarettes, and olive oil. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a rare talent.

To bunk and de-bunk the myth; what exactly is your last name?

“Koechlin”. But its pronounced as “Cake la”. Like bring me cake in Hindi.

Oh so they’ve really fucked it up.  

You have no idea. All it took was one journalist somewhere. And there’s no point repairing it. I’ll look stupid saying “Cake La” by myself.

You’re born in ‘84. Great year. You’ve seen the 90s. I’m trying to compare the classicality of the 90s with these days. We went from something Helvetica-good to crap. Any reflections?

See I grew up in all sorts of places. I was born in Pondicherry. Went to boarding school in Ooty. (Smiles) My folks lived in Bangalore; my teenage years. Now that was the quintessential Rock-City. Loud bands. The noise. I was always in love with the messy haired guitar players. (Laughs) It’s sad to see what’s happened to that city now. Closed. Conservative. Dangerous. There was this freedom I distinctly remember. (Laughs). You know, as a kid I didn’t know I was white. I’d stare at foreigners the way people who haven’t seen them do. The curiosity of things.  We girls, we’re run around on the beaches, these dark Tamil girls, and I was one of them. This nativity. I’ve got these old photos. Blows my mind. And it was a French colony. Even the food, there was this influence. (Ponders) I’m really saddened by the fact that the places I grew up in are unsafe. Mumbai is still good. I’m lucky to be here. As a kid, I never worried about that. What time I got home or went out. The boys who dropped me home. There wasn’t a judgment to wearing short skirts. (Pauses) We had this Roger Water’s concert we went to.

’98 I think.

Ah. Those were awesome times. I mean even concerts aren’t the same anymore. I went to a Beyonce concert. It was another zone. Everyone was in high heels. I was the odd man out. I’m usually in the front row, connecting. But this time, it’s made it difficult to anyone to do things. Last night I went to a Nirvana tribute concert where a drink cost 800 rupees. The people who come there aren’t the fans. They are people with money. It’s tragic for people like me. The dedication to the artist is missing. The fans who even read the CD notes.

We were sitting inside the whole time; talking about Glen Hansard and the Frames. The most passionate singer in the world. I could see them working together.

Thought I’d connect them.

     But a loud motherfucking drilling machine drowned our voices like the metal-heads at Sabbath concert. We stepped out; took our coffees, and stationary. My laptop.

She picked a spot; there was no arguing.

     But every time we got into a particular line of conversation, there was always a detour sign out there, stopping us. It was happening again and again; someone or something was disturbing us on loop.

“Ostinato”.

     It was driving me up the fucking wall. This time, they were fixing wires overhead, like crows. We moved again. A few minutes went by. 

The question is how does one recover from this? I was interested in finding the magnetic north. 

(Slouching) Do you think Lipton employees take coffee breaks?

(Laughs) Yes. Of course they do.

Chinese Democracy.

What?

The Guns N’ Roses record.

Haven’t heard it.

Okay. But Guns or Roses?

I’m killing you aren’t I? But I was never really into them.

Teach me a French curse word.

‘Enculee’. It’s used like bastard. But it means getting fucked up the arse. (Laughs)

Your name is derived from the Dashavtars right?

Yes. My mum really reads into things. She isn’t a Hindu or anything. But Hinduism is more than religion really. She’s really been influence by the mythologies. I find them fascinating.

Do you like Saucisson?

Oui.

Oh dear.

Oui. See I love the smelly cheese, older the better. The older the Saucisson. I’ve ruined it for you have I?

A little. You’d love these girls I know in Pune, Diana and Tina Chinoy. Twins who own this little place called ABC Farms. You should visit. They once fed me Yak Milk cheese. Tina had to give me Basil leaves.

(Laughs). It’s an acquired taste.

Can you make a Spanish omelet?

Yes. As a matter of fact. Tortilla with Potatoes. My brother lived in Spain for a while. Madrid. I visited him. Great trip. Learnt the stuff.

I’m asking you these questions to confirm the coolness.

Oh. (Laughs).

Can you give me a great line out of the 90s? Like “The truth is out there” for example. 

Ah.  See now there’s a great line. Growing up, I never missed “The X Files”. God I loved that show. I always made time for it you know. (Ponders in surprise) “The truth is out there”. Good times.

Your accent still sounds South Indian.

In my defense I was born and raised in the south. I grew up speaking Tamil, French, and English. Hindi was acquired.

Acquired? I was born and raised in Pune, and I don’t think I have the nerve to try Hindi cinema. There’s this finesse that one needs. You didn’t have it. How the hell did you do the movies?

(Laughs)  I moved to Mumbai seven years ago. I couldn’t get around without learning Hindi. The first year was difficult. You can’t even get a cab if you don’t speak the tongue. I mean even in films like Dev D, it was horrible. I’d say Toda-Toda (Thoda-Thoda). Even now, it needs refinement. But I mean, as an actor it’s your job. That’s what actors are supposed to do. But I do find it limiting. I can’t improvise in Hindi the way I do in English. For my theater for example.

Are you into theater?

Yeah. I love it. Right now I’m doing this “clown” play. It’s Hamlet, but we’re goofing around. Its English and gibberish, comes to me automatically, you know what I’m saying. So maybe it’s because I don’t think in Hindi which makes the inventiveness difficult.

Are you insecure? I mean I hope you are.

I get what you’re saying. I don’t have a choice. It makes me happy, doing this. I’d be clinically depressed if I wasn’t acting.

That bad?

Yeah. I lose it a little. I do my own plays when I’m not acting. I put out my own work. After “Dev D”, I didn’t get work for a year and a half. I suppose it’s a two way street, you’re seeking love, that admiration. But it’s also a great way of self-discovery. I’d have issues if I didn’t express myself. I don’t want to write a diary for myself. I want a blog for someone else to read. Know what I’m saying? That’s why Twitter’s so addictive. Why else are people on Twitter?

Because it’s lonely.

Exactly. One of the loneliest places on the internet. I had corn flakes for breakfast. (Laughs)

You’re fun though. If the girls in our industry were lined up I’d be perplexed finding the odd man out. You’d stick out like a sore thumb on that list. And here’s the thing, I’ve never seen your films. But the face strikes out. Why aren’t you going out and making things happen?

It’s a double edged sword isn’t it? You make that mark, and you’re untagged from the commercial post. It’s ridiculous. People don’t want anything else. Producers have told me I was perfect for a part but unknown to the masses. You’re what you open with. You become your own enemy. Breaking that fucking mold, there’s another job apart from acting. After Dev D, most of the roles were that of a prostitute. That’s why a “Zindagi”(na milegi dobara) is important. Take Anurag Kashyap, for what he’s done; even he has a hard time getting finance on his projects. Think about that.

You’re not bullshitting me right?

No. They don’t want to invest in potential. The investments are based on trends. I don’t get consistent work. You have to find a creative way to get your things done. Look at you, the writing; it doesn’t make the kind of money. You don’t have Coca-Cola asking you to endorse.

Yeah. But I come from music. The “influence of my influence” school of thinking. Writing to rockstars. That’s my secret. If I made a movie, I’d make 100 million dollars at the box office and get an Oscar.

(Laughs) I love the confidence.

Hey I came up with the most beautiful name for a girl. Ever.

That’s a big claim. Let’s hear it.

Promise not to steal it?

I promise.

But do you swear?

Yes, I swear. You child.

Ch*****

(Laughs)

I had blogged about meeting her a few nights ago.

     Shit, I’m quoting myself: “Here’s what I want: Madonna, Elton John, plain white t-shirts, steak, water, swimming, cameras, mics, an Irish Falcon, Jade, a birthday cake, Christmas in May, weddings, sex, smell of rain, Jack Kerouac, tapes, otherness, astronomy, novels, Australia, Anurag Kashyap films, first time, millionth time, The Wonder Years, knives, lights, gun, BBC, and an interview with Kalki Koechlin.”

     But that was my master plan, sell platinum pages; act like it’s been ages, since she was born in ’84, saw the sweet rush of ’94.

I think the woman can do wonders in the mainstream.

     Here’s what I should do, buy her some R.E.M records. And I did. Except I made her a mix tape, which she took seriously.

Thanks for the Mix tape.

Pleasure. (Pauses) Would you consider directing?

I don’t know the medium enough. I’ve never been interested really. I do want to direct a play that I wrote but the buck stops there. I’m too excited about acting.

You should truly do some groundbreaking stuff. I could compare your acting skills to Axl Rose’s vocal pitch. You’re great at comedy. But I can see you scream bloody murder. I want to sort of emphasize on what Charles Bukowski said: “Style is the answer to everything”.

It is. Isn’t it? There are these layers of work we’re dealing with. Working from elastic limits. But people are used to mediocrity. I’d like to be an enemy of a bad product. I hate selling crap. I’m the kind of actor who begs for homework. The idealism of doing groundbreaking stuff is great, but we’re trying to reinvent ourselves through the things we love. look at where we’re sitting. Everyone here wants to be a writer or a painter or a film-maker. Everyone I know on “Yari Road”. It’s amazing. None of them are making regular money. Even the guy who started this café. They started making sandwiches and selling graphic novels.

I approach work the way bands approach records. A book, a painting, a conversation, it has to tell a story and start talking to people. See labels invested in artists at one point of time. I don’t know how it works in Bollywood. But I want to fuck up the mainstream

To do that you have to be mainstream.

See but I can see you make that comet impact kind of film and still make that 100 million.

Right in the middle of Bollywood, the movement that I am into, it has no competition. The mainstream will always exist.  

You can. You should.

That’s a lot of pressure. (Laughs)

Are you crazy?

(Laughs) I’ve had someone come up to me and tell me I’m crazy just like you. I’m not crazy. I use humor as a weapon. I love the sarcasm. I was an awkward child. Bunny teeth, braces. I have ruined everything for you. (Laughs) I just wanted to do something in the world, getting up and surprising people. I’ve got my guard up. But I play it cool.

Is coolness a part of the celebrity manual?

Yes.

You aren’t an actor. You’re an anti-actor.

I’m not trying to be an anti-actor. But I am conscious of it. That’s when I begin to question my own difference. My preparation is to be in a place that allows me to be spontaneous. That takes an effort. The work happens before I get to a set. I’m on holiday when I’m working. Tricky thing. Film-making isn’t linear. So research is crucial. I use about 20% of that data. But I need that 100% to pluck. Knowledge offers choices. There are always resorts, like breathing techniques that make you cry. But I try and experience it. Also I'm always on time. (Laughs) Sweeping the sets. 

So are you destroying yourself in the process?

There are withdraws. Depression. You go from shooting 15 hours a day to nothing. I don’t know how that’s going to affect me in the long run. I love acting because I get to discover myself. If I break down in real life, I notice myself. I have better control over the enterprise. Observing. Sensitivity. A constant documentary.

Have you spoken to fellow actors about their methods of self-preservation?

Not really. It’s a very private thing. Most people aren’t okay with discussing that.

When people ask me how to write I show them tetra packs. It comes with instructions: “cut here”. That goes on a writer’s wrist. Then the writing comes. Can you compare acting to that feeling?

Yes. Stewing takes time. Even when I write for example, it happens only at the brim. It’s a stream of consciousness

That’s the shit. But people are interested in plastic. Something tells me the 90s were a curse and a gift. The real genius begins to wane. That’s why I’m blogging. Just cribbing, you know.

No wonder you love Bukowski.

I come from music.

Well, music has this idealism to it. But that’s true even in the case of good actors. That’s the contribution. Take Daniel Day Lewis. He makes you understand anything.

Kevin Spacey.

Yes. Again. Genius. I used to work in his theater in London, selling tickets. (Laughs)

Kalki, you’re loving, caring, clementine, can you name some of your heroes?

Joni Mitchel, Patti Smith, Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Chagall. I always found Dali to be cold. (Laughs).

Hmm. More coffee?

No. Just water.

I’ll get it.

No, no, they’ll bring it.

I want to turn 2013 into 1969.

Good year. I’d love to have been born in the 50s.

Right in time for Woodstock.

Yes. I mean, I’d love to walk around without a bra.

(Laughs) And the used Vinyl.

Oh yes. I used to buy a lot of Vinyl when I was in London. One pound each. Joan Baez. I had to give the records away when I moved back from. I miss them. Some of them are out of print.

Are you having a conversation with people? Leaving behind a dialogue?

Yes. Certain films. But certain amount of work has to be put in for it to make any sense. Time has to pass for that dialogue to exist. But that’s a goal. R.E.M retired. I think it’s amazing, that a band can just retire. 31 great years. Maybe after that kind of time, one can look back at the dialogue.

It’s a sad world isn’t it? The older we get the better we used to be.

Yes. It is a sad world. I’m often daunted by the enormity of the work that needs to be done.

Kalki, you contribution to Indian cinema is unique. You’re an original of specie. You’re going to have to take care of yourself okay.

Okay. I will. (Laughs) Touch wood.

IT WAS TIME for us to go. And we had put on some show. That girl was electric. Sure I saved most of the conversation to myself – “Life's rich pageant”.

Kalki, how does one get out of here?

Oh don’t worry; I’ll drop you to the main road.

We got into her car. She pushed in the R.E.M mix tape I made her and we played “Nightswimming” - my favorite ballad from the “Automatic for the people” record.

And then it happened - and unforgettable moment.

     It’s actually my perfect memory of Kalki - she leaned her head on the head-rest and closed her eyes. Bunnyteeth smiled.

Eyes still closed. I wonder what she was thinking.

But this was tenderness.

     Not to mention the piano on Nightswimming is shamanistic. It's also the best song ever written. Michael Stipe, a fucking genius. And in so many ways that song is about her. Fuck the metaphors; this girl loves swimming at night. I set out to discuss the mortality of my generation, but she sweetened the sugarfree. Here’s what I know for sure, Kalki Koechlin is essential for the generation. She’s the sense of closure for dying writers. 

Still loving her.