Salaam Bayonne

While making Mississippi Masala in Greenwood, it was catfish. With Kama Sutra, it was, absurdly enough, a combination of chicken kathi rolls and an open-faced tuna fish sandwich. With Monsoon Wedding, it was my mother8217;s cooking. With Vanity Fair, which was filmed in London, it was baked beans over fried toast, because this rang a childhood bell, recalling a snack from the Gymkhana Club in Delhi.

In the summer of 2001, my pal Uma Thurman persuaded me to direct her in Hysterical Blindness, a slice of 1980s Americana. Fuelled by John Cassavetes8217; portraits of dented souls in urban America, I settled on Bayonne, a little town just across the river from New York, as my locale.

As the crew began to light the set, I found myself at a craft-services truck on a street in Bayonne, teaching my new assistant how to make chai with black cardamom and ginger. But we had no fresh ginger. Impulsively, we hopped into a car and drove past strip malls, delis and corner groceries, looking for ginger8212;but not one person seemed to know what it was.

Suddenly we arrived in Jersey City, and as we descended onto Newark Avenue, I felt as if I was back in Chandni Chowk. Higgledy-piggledy neon signs Roopali Jewelers, Patel8217;s Video, Baba Hut Buffet broke the bland cityscape, sari-clad Gujarati ladies crossed the street carrying large bunches of fresh coriander, and next to gaudy posters screaming 8216;Shahrukh Khan at Nassau Coliseum8217; were stacks of wooden crates filled with garlic and ginger, sunning on the sidewalk.

By 11.15 am, the craft-services trays would be circulated among the crew on the set. Krispy Kreme doughnuts, mountains of over bright candy and bagels slathered with cream cheese would be shovelled into the mouths of a crew on autopilot8212;give me something, anything, a sugar rush, a caffeine fix, to get through this day. Granted, I was filming Americana, but surely Cassavetes would not have insisted on eating American food to make an American film.

And Americana now included Newark Avenue, too, so I indulged in a bit of director-as-goddess, and sent my assistant out to look for the steamed and fried vegetarian snacks characteristic of the Gujarati community that had made Jersey City its capital for the past 30 years.

And sure enough, from Rajbhog Sweets and Snacks, a small storefront, came fresh kachoris, samosas, gathias and chutneys. A small tray would make its way through the Bayonne bar set, past dozens of Madonna look-alike extras in spandex and shoulder pads. As others tucked into Krispy Kremes, I8217;d pop the just-made almond kachori in my mouth, no cutlery needed, licking the sour-sweet taste of tamarind chutney off my fingers. Instead of being worn out by the suburban angst I was filming, I felt clean and refreshed.

Gradually, as the fragrance of freshly roasted mustard seeds, green coriander chutney and fresh coconut wafted through the set each morning, I began to have more and more takers. Uma would sidle over to me in her ripped Joan Jett T-shirt and blue eye shadow to ask, 8216;8216;Is it samosa time yet?8217;8217; Tim Monich, our dialect coach and fellow foodie, would lumber over for his daily portion. I would pop kachoris directly into Juliette Lewis8217;s rosebud mouth so not to disturb her lipstick. The gaffers and grips would holler across to me, 8216;8216;Did my Indian balls come in?8217;8217;

Soon the little box of snacks from Rajbhog grew into a stack, and kachoris conquered Krispy Kremes. An American film was made, entirely fueled by Indian food. As we say at home, pet-puja is vital: the stomach must be happy in order to create beauty.

New York Times News Service