The leader of the posse barks out some orders to the men. The sharp high voice hangs in the air like a surprise. It belongs to a female police officer. The cruelty in her eyes fails to mask her classical Slavic beauty.A newspaper is lowered by the wall. From behind it, emerge two men. One lanky, tall and bearded, in a top hat and overcoat. The other, squat, swarthy and shiny of pate, dressed in a preposterous red fur coat that clashes with the surrounding grey.

The policewoman sees the pair. She commands her men to apprehend them. The black beard and the red fur coat bolt.

The director, Prasoon Pandey, shouts, `cut'.Irony. We are shooting a commercial in the Kremlin's backyard. Irony. Our local producers are Mosfilm, the propaganda arm of the Soviets. The commercial, for a newtwin-blade shaver, is a spoof of the Cold War thriller. Irony. The villains, police officials of the Evil Empire, are being played by the Moscow police themselves.

On day one of the shoot, our locations are all outdoors. We spend nine hours in the wind and snow, as the mercury plummets from five to 20 degrees below zero. Nobody of sane mind is outdoors. A categorisation that clearly does not apply to us.

At the end of the day our frozen bodies are returned to the hotel. The Ukraine, like most Moscow buildings, is imposing. The 30-storey 1,000-room hotel is housed in one of the seven edifices built under Stalin, nicknamed the Seven Sisters. Monuments to Soviet architecture, as grandiose as their plans for a New World Order; though more durable.

Cognac and hot water thaw us out. It warms me to hear that the second day's shoot will be indoors. I retire but am not to have a restful night. I am awakened repeatedly by the telephone. Each time a woman's voice asks me solicitously if I desire a "girl forsex and massage, $150 an hour". I discover later that all nine of our crew have been woken by similar calls. The Russian economy has truly opened up.

Eight am. In the courtyard of the Moscow Conservatory stands the Russian composer Tchaikovsky. On his stony ears have fallen the graceful strains of many a concerto from within the walls of this 130-year-old haven of music.

Inside are sweeping chandelier-lit staircases that lead up to the main hall where we will shoot the climax of our film. The crew sets up lights and camera to the accompaniment of musicians practising for tonight's performance. The music suggests the ideal background score for our film. It also makes me wish I could attend the evening's concert.

It turns out to be a long day. Our male model, a would-be star imported from Mumbai, attempts to bring true Bollywood flair to his performance. With great effort, we restrain him.

After the shoot, my wish comes true. Producer Srila Chatterjee organises tickets for the concert. The 50-memberGosudarstvenny Simfonichesky Orkestr perform Beethoven's third symphony, Eroica. Beethoven had written it for his hero Napoleon. But when Bonaparte betrayed the ideals of the Revolution, Beethoven was devastated. He ripped the dedication page bearing the Emperor's name and rededicated the symphony `to a hero who died'.

We take the Metro on the way back. A never-ending escalator plunges us into the bowels of Moscow, a hushed, echoing world of platforms and lines that take 13 million Muscovites about their daily business.

We arrive at the last day of our shoot. This is when the twin-blade razor, the true hero, will work its magic on our protagonists-on-the-run. We are in the hi-tech bathroom of the glittering Sovin Convention Centre, a symbol of the New Russia.

The Russian crew members seem as uncomfortable with the taps and driers that switch themselves on as we are.

That night we celebrate the completion of our shoot with wild boar and white wine. Our restaurant has Animal Farm as its theme,the height of anti-Soviet chic. "It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma," said Churchill of Russia 60 years ago. I'm glad we've been able to capture that quality on film before it's all gone.

(Sumanto Chattopadhyay is associate creative director, Ogilvy & Mather)