Long before the mafia arrived, the Bombay film industry was a playground of misfits. Apart from early mavens who were seduced by the fantastical moving images, Russian and German technicians had fled the European wars and settled in the city of dreams in pursuit of their art – an art that was looked down upon by the wider society, only to be consumed in dark and dingy cinema halls like a guilty pleasure. However, to the men and women behind the screen, it was religion, politics and philosophy, all combined into one. Individuals who translated deeply personal ideas into sound and sight while collectively defining their existence in this new language. Some borrowed heavily from Western impressionism, while others highlighted swadesi iconography in an attempt to shed their colonial hangover.

Sitting in the Bombay Talkies office in faraway Malad to discuss upcoming projects, Meera found herself alone in a world caught in between worlds. She felt like an imposter when maestros and financiers alike courted her to be a part of their dream projects. Just when she felt that she would fall apart and be seen as a con artist, she found a way to hold her own. Her intense belief in her own capabilities grew with time, allowing her to find her footing in the hyper-competitive and often-jealous world of playback singing. At one of the technical meetings in the state-of-the-art facilities of Bombay Talkies, a bunch of European sound technicians were discussing the minutiae of recording arrangements – a far cry from Sahil Malik’s street hustle that Meera was used to.

‘Zhe drums will have to come off zhe floor,’ said Hermann, a highly-regarded technician from Hamburg, in his thick German accent.

He did not want the sound of the drumbeats coupling with the vibrations from the floor to enter the sound pick-up area of microphones meant for other instruments. This was done to avoid the slightest of second-hand sounds in the final product. Another engineer laid out his personal collection of mics from his trunk which he would ferry around to every sound recording. Once he had gauged Meera’s voice, he picked out two classic Neumann mics that he felt would work well for her. The recording room itself was treated like a musical instrument as they discussed fittings that would have to be added for a particular song, and individual instrument settings were tinkered with to achieve the effect the sound engineers wanted.

‘Let’s go with mu-metal baffle to reduce the hi-hat spill on the snare close mic,’ another guy noted. So much talk was taking place without anybody playing any music, Meera thought to herself. The team kept their heads down on thousands of sheets of paper with musical notes scribbled on them from top to bottom, left to right.

‘Hermann is so musical, it hurts,’ the film’s producer proudly noted and looked towards Meera, expecting her to nod in agreement.