Siddharth Roy Kapur – TBIP Tête-à-Tête

The Hindi film industry has changed beyond recognition in the last five years and to get a proper sense of this change one has to go behind the scenes and look at how movies are produced now. At the helm of this change is UTV which was acquired by the Walt Disney Company in 2012. Siddharth Roy Kapur is Managing Director (MD) of The Walt Disney Company India’s studio wing Studios – Disney UTV. From January 1, 2014, he will be MD, The Walt Disney Company India. Kapur loves the movies and knows the movies but foremost he is a hardnosed businessman. In this all-you-need-to-know interview he gives us the lowdown on the business of films in Mumbai.

 

 

An edited transcript:

 

WHAT IS A PRODUCER? 

 

I’m going to start with asking you how you define the term ‘producer’? Also how has the Indian definition been different from the West and how is it changing now?

Sure. I think the best way to define the term producer, really, is a creative catalyst. I think it’s someone who doesn’t get in there and do the writing or do the directing themselves but ensures that the creative people have got the wherewithal and all the means to do whatever it is that they need to do.

So I’d say that’s probably the best way to define it, you know, someone who makes things happen from the outside rather than sort of, rolling their sleeves up and doing the creative work themselves, but understands creative, has a point of view, has a commercial hat on and a creative hat on, is able to manage relationships, is able to manage crisis, is able to manage situations that need managing so that the creative people can just focus on getting the movie made. And then give the film the platform it deserves, market it and distribute it in the right manner and really take it forward and give it the scale that it deserves. So I think that would be the best way to define a producer.

 

And how, traditionally, has the definition been different in the West and in India?

I think the term producer in the West really refers to… In India you have got a combination, like we (Studios – Disney UTV) are, of a studio-cum-producer. I mean we’re a little bit of a unique model in that sense, where we’re a production house as well as a studio. Whereas the way it works in the West is really you’ve got individual producers who do the job of, firstly, raising finances, getting the whole creative team together, putting the whole package together of the film, talking to talent, talking to directors, talking to technicians and then going to a studio and selling it to a studio and then working on the best deal possible. That model does exist in India as well. But we follow a model where we produce our own movies and then we go out and market and distribute them. So, effectively, we are the producer as well as the distributor, or the studio. But when we’re doing co-productions with other talent or probably with another producer then it follows pretty much the same model as it is in the West.

 

Okay. Name three qualities that you think a producer must have.

Perseverance and tenacity. I think that’s one, sort of, joint quality. I mean, each term is different in its own way but it really talks about the same thing, which is going forth and doing what you need to. Also I’d say definitely a creative bent of mind where you’re able to understand creative people and able to understand creative work. And an understanding of the way the commercials (the commercial elements) would work where filmmaking is concerned. So I think it’s really these three things that might define what would make a successful producer.

 

WHICH FILM TO PRODUCE

 

How do you pick a script? And what at stage do you usually pick a script? What are the factors? Is trends one of the factors?

You know I think things like trends etc. come into the picture later once you’ve reacted instinctively to a script. I don’t think you can start off reacting to trends. You really react to the creative work. You react to the story. We actually come in early in the process where… I mean, one could be, of course, someone’s done a final screenplay draft and we’re reading it. The other could be that we really like a story, or we’ve read a newspaper article that we really like, there’s just a one line story idea that we really like and then we work with the writer to develop it into a screenplay. So it really depends.

 

You know, a lot of people have been talking about the aggregator-to-aggregator model. Is that something you guys are using as well? And how do you approach it?

What exactly is… I mean I haven’t heard that term before.

 

Basically when you pick a portfolio of films rather than picking up one film. Each one sort of feeds of the others, economically.

Right. Well, you know, we actually call it our slate of movies for the year. So when we’re building a slate for a year we’re pretty genre-agnostic. We make romance, comedy, horror, drama, historicals— any sort of film, as long as it’s entertaining and it moves us creatively. Sometimes we’ll go right, sometimes we’ll go wrong, but hopefully we’ll go more right than wrong. So that’s how we define our slate. We don’t define it by budget or genre or star cast or… you know… But we know that we’ll be making approximately 10 to 12 movies a year. We know roughly that maybe four will fall into what you call your ‘tent-pole films’ which are your big ticket productions. Four might be in the medium zone and four in the small zone but we’re pretty flexible about four becoming five or three or whatever. And that’s really how we do it. And then when we are going out on a business to business basis—if you’re going to broadcasters, you’re going to exhibitors, you’re going out to distribute your movie—I think the strength of your slate, as a combined entity, is really what they react to. And they’re like: ‘Okay, I’m getting all this great content from one studio. So obviously the commercial terms that I’ll negotiate with them will be in accordance with understanding that they bring a certain heft year after year.’

 

Okay. So you’re saying it’s roughly divided into big, medium, small films but you don’t say ‘Maybe this genre or that genre… ‘ Everything else is wide open?

Well we do and there may be a time when we realise that, you know, we don’t have any romantic films in our slate. But we’re not going to make one because we have to. We’re going to make one only if we come across a great script. But we will actively then try to develop one. And if we really like it, then that would be a priority to do. But it’s really defined by the sort of material that we are able to react to and…


So you’re a lot more open. So, for example, if you had already had a horror film and you were more inclined towards a romantic film but you came across a fantastic horror film you would go ahead and make it.

Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely.

 

You know, there used to be a way of talking about films which was ‘pre-Friday films’ and ‘post-Friday films’. I’m talking about way back where this depended on whether you could sell the film before it was released or not. Is that an outdated concept? The second question is, of course, the changing equations between distributors and producers and producers, like you said, turning distributors themselves. Of course, there are advantages. You don’t have to undersell, you get a lot more revenue. Are there any cons to it? Is there something to watch out for as well? What are your thoughts on that?

So, to your first question actually, where you talked about the pre-Friday and post-Friday, I wouldn’t quite say it’s an outdated concept. I’d say that probably still exists. You know, stars have a value and at the end of the day if your film is a film with a star, then you’re more likely than not to be able to pre-sell it. If it’s a film without a star and if it’s a high concept movie that is really being made because of your courage of conviction in actually making it then you’re more likely not going to find someone who backs your vision in the way you are backing it and you’ll be out there on that Friday figuring out whether you made the right call or not, not being able to de-risk. But the benefit of being a studio is, like I said, when you’re going out into the market with your slate and you’re going to broadcasters, they’ll invest in your slate of movies. So you might actually be able to de-risk in that sense. But if you’re an individual producer with a smaller film that doesn’t have a star cast you either might have to undersell because someone is only going to react to saying, ‘This is the genre of the movie, this is the director’s track record, your stars don’t have much of a track record. If you want me to buy a pre-release, this is all I can offer you.’ And then you’re probably better off, if you have the ability, financially, to withstand it, to go ahead and take the risk. You have made the movie, right? So you might as well take the risk all the way through.

To your second question, regarding producers turning distributors, the studio model in India used to be around in the twenties and thirties and forties. And after that it got fragmented once again and you had individual directors and then producers for those directors and then 14 distributors across the country paying you an advance so you could get your film made and then… But it has changed over the last decade or 15 years where you had Yash Raj really developing a studio model. You’ve had us developing a studio model and now we’re The Walt Disney company which is a studio. You’ve got Fox, you’ve got Viacom, you’ve got lots of players out there today who are effectively studios. So a few years ago, the fragmented distribution model was undergoing a change because there weren’t that many movies out there for individual distributors to go out and acquire. Having said that, today I think the water’s reached its own level where you’ve got smaller individual distributors in various territories who go out and acquire movies from studios at a price that the studio is happy to dispose it off at, because they’re able to de-risk at that point of time. So I think that’s something that every studio looks at tactically, on every film, where you’ve got a certain estimate of what you’ll do theatrically and if someone’s willing to offer you more than that pre-release you’d rather sell and repent rather than not sell and repent. That’s just the way that I think the studio would look at it.

 

EXHIBITOR ISSUES

 

Okay I’m going to talk to you a bit about exhibitors. I will come to the commercial end of it but this is purely on the creative level. How have the attitudes of the exhibitors changed, if at all, when it comes to films? Because, of course, a lot of studios, a lot of production houses, like your own, are making very different kind of films now. In your experience, the exhibitors here, in tier one, tier two cities— how have their attitudes changed? Have they changed enough? Have they kept up with the way production is happening today?

I think the multiplexes are pretty much on the cutting edge of knowing exactly what is going on. I think when it comes to single screens, of course, you have some people who might be old school and might think in a certain manner and some who have moved with the times and digitized their cinemas and are now looking at much more movies being released in their cinemas because of digitization. Whereas earlier, because physical prints were involved, studios or producers had maybe stopped sending physical prints to certain cinemas because the returns from there didn’t justify the cost of the print. So it’s a mix. But, having said that, today 60 percent of your revenue, whatever type of movie it is, is coming from multiplexes across the country. So the term that had been coined a few years ago, that it’s a ‘multiplex film’ is really irrelevant today because every film is a multiplex film in that sense. More than 50 percent of revenue of even a Rowdy Rathore is coming from multiplexes, which means that even your massiest film in that sense is still getting more than half its revenue from the multiplexes.

 

See that might be for several reasons, which we’ll come to later. One is digitization, which you mentioned. One is, of course, the screen density which is abysmal. But I’m talking about purely on an attitudinal level, on how they perceive cinema. Is that not changing? Because that can be a block in itself.

Well, it’s changing to a certain extent. But having said that, if you’re asking about whether they are open to looking at a smaller film, having reduced ticket prices through the week, being given a platform release and being allowed to grow and therefore being given terms in subsequent weeks which will be equivalent to the previous week’s terms because it’s the first week in that particular centre… things like that haven’t happened and I think you can’t blame them also, to a certain extent, because they’ve invested a lot of capital in building these massive multiplexes. The returns have got to be justified. They’ve got an installed capacity of ‘X’ number of seats and they’ve got to basically juice as much as they can from those seats. Now if they had to do that they would rather give more screens to a bigger film rather than giving it to a smaller film in its fourth week of release where they’re not that sure what’s going to happen. So, I think it’s a bit of chicken and egg and it’s really baby steps we’ll be taking as we go along making cinema like that towards everyone realising that cinema like that can also be commercial— which I think we’ve seen last year. Last year was really quite a watershed year in that sense. And I think it’s going to take its own time. So as long as everyone’s appreciating everyone’s challenges. I think it’s very important to do that because we can bemoan the fact that it’s not happening but the reason we’re able to distribute our films so widely today is because these people have invested hundreds of crores in building these massive multiplexes.

 

Now coming to the commercial side of it, INOX, PVR, BIG (Cinemas), they own almost 75 percent of the screen space in India today. Is an exhibitor’s strike like what happened in 2009 likely again and how far have the negotiations that happened in 2009 gone?

No I don’t think a situation like that is likely again. I think everyone today is dealing individually. Every studio is dealing individually with every multiplex operator and striking a deal that makes sense for them. I think it’s going to be dictated by supply and demand at the end of the day. And depending on how badly each one needs a deal, as I said, really water is going to find its own level, and a deal will be dictated by one studio talking to one multiplex chain and sort of doing a deal with them.

 

So you’re saying that this sort of stand-off, which is them versus us, is not likely.

I think it came to a flashpoint at that point of time and then there’s been a cooling off period after that and naturally when there are commercial terms involved there is going to be some friction, right? But that’s in any deal. I think you ultimately realise that they need to screen movies and you need to get your movies screened. So you will reach an understanding.

 

You know there has been a lot of talk of exhibitors wanting a base revenue of 30-35 percent. Distributors are not very happy with that, nor are producers. So what you’re saying is that this is not going to be a joint struggle anymore? This is more going to end up playing out on an individual level?

I think everyone is going to be negotiating individually with everyone, which is the way it should be in any free market. Really, the intention is not for any one side to join together and cartelise and start negotiating as a group because that’s just not the way it should work in any market dynamic.

 

And there are pitfalls in that as well. I mean you may be able to pull off a deal that a smaller producer may not be able to pull off. But if you are setting that standard. I mean there can be…

Except that’s the way a free market needs to work.

 

Sadly, yes.

There’s got to be competition. Otherwise, if you’re talking about everyone coming together every time, then you are talking about two monopolistic entities negotiating with each other which, I think, is against any rules of free market economy. So I think we’re all very clear. Everyone’s got their own scale and based on that scale if you’re able to reach commercial terms which are better than someone else, that’s just how it is.

 

Okay. Now a lot of exhibitors have also tried to go into production instead of going up. PVR has tried it. BIG has tried it. PVR hasn’t done as well as BIG has. But are tie-ups and consolidations like this the future or do you feel like there could be a stagnation if there is too much of consolidation of power? Maybe it’s too early to tell but…

You know, we haven’t even scratched the surface of how wide we can go with the number of screens in the country. So I think there has been a period of consolidation within the exhibition space but that’s only going to fuel the next level of growth. It has to. And things have to grow from here. And you’ve got other players. You’ve got Cinepolis which has come in and which is also making strides. You’ve got, as you said, you’ve got BIG, you’ve got PVR, you’ve got INOX. You’ve lots of other smaller multiplex players as well. You’ve got a whole plethora of single screens. So the consolidation has happened, there’s no doubt about it. But it’s happened in order for them now to be able to invest in future growth. So I’m pretty bullish about that happening actually.

 

REGIONAL FILMS

 

Okay. You know there is a notion that regional films tend to be more experimental. Do you feel one of the reasons is because the production costs are low or that they run longer windows at the box office— perhaps because they can be released in stages as Hindi films used to be released earlier. Do you think any of these factors contribute or do you feel it’s actually maybe not even true that regional films are more experimental?

You know there might be some truth in it when it comes to the more marginalised regional cinema. If you look at the big commercial regional cinemas like Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Kannada, they’re doing pretty hardcore commercial cinema and they do have the odd experimental film as we do, but I don’t see that much of a disparity. But I suppose if you’re looking at Bengali cinema, if you’re looking at cinema of that nature which has got a lot of crossover with Hindi cinema… Because you’ve got to look at cultures where Hindi is also a second language. Most Bengalis do also understand Hindi whereas in South India it’s just not where anyone would want to go watch a Hindi movie, because they don’t get the language. They have their own stars, they have their own star system. It’s different. So when that tends to happen, I suppose, the one route that they find they can use for their expression, creatively, is by making something that’s different. Because they are competing with a hardcore commercial Hindi movie which their viewers also want to watch. So if they want to make a Bengali film it’s got to be offering the viewer something different because they can’t offer them Ranbir Kapoor and Priyanka Chopra and Barfi!, right? And that’s a, sort of experimental but commercial Hindi film. So they might as well look at something so unique to their culture and sensibility that people really go and watch it because it’s something that appeals to their regionalism.

 

DEALING WITH STARS

 

I want to talk you a little bit about star prices. First question I’m going to ask you here is, how is the balance holding up of the draw that the stars get at the box office today and the kind of prices they command?

Well the draw is huge. I think there is no doubt about that. Stars are very, very important and stars do draw in audiences at the opening weekend, however the film is. Friday, Saturday, to some extent till Sunday, are dictated by star power, and then the film takes over from Monday. So I think that’s the reason they’re paid the fees that they are. Having said that, as I said, last year for example, you saw a lot of films that were star-less that did spectacular business given their budgets. So I think, right now, you’ve got an environment where both sorts of movies are working. If you look at Hollywood, their top 10 movies are without stars but that’s because they are still making massive, million dollar, blockbuster franchise movies. It’s not because they are making experimental cinema or non-commercial cinema without stars. They’re making blockbusters that don’t need stars anymore. I think we’re also going into a phase where we’ll have to both co-exist. You’ll have your big star-studded vehicles and they’re not going anywhere but you’re also going to have a whole different economy of films that are not star dependant, which is great.

 

In India what do star fees end up depending on? How does it actually work, to whatever extent you can share with us? Does it depend on their last release? Does it depend on the kind of director or producer they are working with?

I think it’s really supply and demand. So if you’ve got 10 saleable stars in the country and you’ve got many studios and producers and they are wanting to make many movies with them. Then there’s limited supply, there is massive demand, and the prices will be what they are and they’ll be dictated primarily by the stars. And obviously it needs to make economic sense in the overall scheme of things but it will be on the higher side. So that is just the way that the star fees are dictated in that sense.

 

You know there has been a lot of accusation that UTV initially, when they came into the business, they hiked up star prices because they were signing on so many people and they wanted so many. I want to ask you if it is still making economic sense. It’s not a question of are they overcharging or not, but is it affecting the economy in any way? Of course there are quotes from producers saying that almost 35 percent of a film’s cost ends up being star fees. There are also debates about whether they should pay their own staff more etc.— which means prices being hiked. So what I am asking is is it affecting, is it challenging the economy at this point or is it a comfortable balance?

Well I wouldn’t say it’s a very comfortable balance because the fact is that there is a certain value that you have to ascribe if you want to make a film with a star today and that just is what it is. Now the question is whether that’s on the back end, a sharing on the back end and maybe a lower payment upfront, or whether it’s an overall fee and there is no sharing in IP or on the back end. So star prices are definitely pretty high. But it’s interesting because it challenges you then to think of some vehicles with stars and some without. And we still have to make commercial cinema and that’s what I think a lot of us have been doing over the last few years. I mean we’ve made ABCD and Kai Po Che just this year. Both movies released in February. They did spectacular business for films without stars. But we’re also making films with stars, we’ve also made Chennai Express. So it just helps you to have a balanced slate that’s not completely star dependent but accepts that we are a star driven film culture. People love their stars on screen. And if you want to make commercial movies, we have to make some of them with stars.

 

Sure. That’s a given. That’s a given in any… No, I was just wondering if you feel that the way stars are thinking will also need to change. And I also actually want to do add that…

You know, why should it? If someone is willing to pay them a certain fee, I don’t see why they should change the way they are thinking.

 

Because of the larger picture? You know everybody is part of the …

I think we’re in a capitalist economy that is dictated by self interest. So at the end of the day everybody is part of the system where they are in it because they have certain ambitions for themselves. And I don’t think any of us are in here for social cause, you know, at the end of the day. So I think it’s fine.

 

Okay. Stars. You spoke about the back end of paying stars. A lot of stars are becoming producers. Either they are tying up at the back end and co producing a film or they’re turning producers in a full fledged way. Two questions here. One is, is the back end model a good substitute for having to pay upfront fees or is it more of a gamble? Two, do you feel stars bring in value to promoting a film? Say, John Abraham is producing a film which he is not starring in. Does he have an edge over other producers in promoting that film. I mean, is that a…

You know, honestly, Vicky Donor  was such a great film that I think it would have worked regardless.

 

Yes. Of course.

But John had faith in the film to put his name on it and get the movie made. So he added a tremendous amount of value in just getting the movie made. But, frankly, in the promotions, whether there was a video with John or not, I think would not have been that relevant because the film worked on its own. Now sure, if you’ve got the ability to have a music video with John in it and he’s promoting it, why would you not do it? He’s a producer of the film. Anything that’s going to sell. But honestly, when it comes to promotions for movies where the star’s not in the film, it can help but maybe not all that much. Except with someone like an Aamir Khan where the fact that he’s producing a movie adds so much value to it and so much dignity to it and actually adds a lot of commercial value to the project as well because there’s a certain brand that he’s built that stands for quality. And you always believe that: ‘Okay, if Aamir’s producing this film, we’ve just got to go on that first day.’ But, you know, other than that I think it’s pretty important for stars to back movies. And like if an Akshay Kumar backed an Oh My God! And it was a great thing that he did because honestly the business of that film would probably have been 15 percent lower of he hadn’t been in it. But it would still have been a massive hit.

 

And the back end thing where …

So back end. I think it’s a good model if the upfront fees actually do come down. I think if the fee is going to be higher and the back end is also going to be there, then it’s a bit of a self-defeating proposition. But I do believe that if someone’s willing to put their neck on the line and say ‘We want to put some skin in the game as well and we’ll be willing to cut our fee and earn from the profit. And we believe so strongly in the movie that we think that we will actually get much more than our fee because it’s going to be a really profitable movie.’ I mean, it’s something that Aamir does, something that Shah Rukh does.

 

SCREEN DENSITY

 

Okay now I’m going to come to the screen density. How acute is the shortage? I mean you know the numbers but numbers don’t really explain the on ground reality. It’s around eight screens to one million people as opposed to 117 in the US.

Yeah it’s around 130 screens per million in the US as opposed to 10 screens, 10-12 screens here in India.

 

And what I also want to ask you is why is the shortage so acute in a country where cinema is perceived widely to be the biggest thing?

I guess we live in so many Indias, right? And we talk about one India and probably this is not… I mean we shouldn’t be looking at screen density here because when you have got such a large proportion of the population below the poverty line I don’t think you can consider them as a denominator in that equation because they’re struggling to just make ends meet. So I think cinema really wouldn’t come into the picture there for them, right? So if you had to look at it that way our screen density is probably higher than is reported because we can’t look at the entire 1.3 billion population. Having said that, even if you look at say half—that are people who can afford a cinema ticket, a really cheap cinema ticket—it would still be abysmally low. It’s not that 3 Idiots  has not been watched by a vast proportion of the population but they’ve watched it on Doordarshan, they’ve watched it on satellite television, they’ve watched a pirated DVD and so on and so forth. So only three crore people have actually watched it in the cinema but a whole lot of people have watched it not in the cinema. A state like UP has a population of 18 crores and they’ve got 150 screens— that’s the sort of disparity in terms of screen availability. So as I said, I don’t think we’ve scratched the surface of that. And we have the burgeoning middle class with everyone getting richer and having more disposable income over the next few years. I do think we need to keep pace with the number of screens we are putting out there too. And as I said, I feel the exhibition sector… usually a market consolidates when it’s reached a certain level of maturity. I don’t believe we’ve reached that level of maturity yet to really talk about consolidation. So one or two players have bought each other and that’s fine. But I do hope that that signals the next phase of growth because it has to.

 

And I also want to get a sense of… we know, like you agreed, that there aren’t enough screens but I also want a sense of how acute is this problem? How fast does this need to give?

Well, you know what’s happened is that the metros have gotten pretty saturated. So there are many, many screens across your top 15 to 20 to maybe even 35 cities, but after that there is a massive, massive gap. And that’s really that tier two, tier three city that needs to be looked at in the next phase.


Which is what everyone is talking about right now.

Exactly.

 

Do you feel that that’s just about to happen? That’s just around the corner? Is that also something you guys are gearing up for in some way?

You know, I have to say, I don’t see it around the corner. I don’t think you’ve got players looking at that level of capital investment right now. But I’m hoping that they are bullish enough in the next few years to be looking at that as the next phase of growth because one player buying the other and maybe saturating the metros even more is not going to be an answer.

 

And everyone does seem to understand that?

Absolutely. I think the exhibition sector is acutely aware of it. It’s just that the economics for them need to work out. I think the real estate business has also been going through a bit of a phase right now where it’s been tough for them to make that investment in places in order for it to be justified in terms of the returns that they are going to be seeing from there. So it’s an interesting time. I’m pretty optimistic about it and I think that we are going to grow. But I can’t say I’m seeing something imminent in the next 12 months or so.

 

THE MULTIPLEXES

 

Okay. Multiplexes. Undue focus on multiplexes. I want to get a sense of how much or how that has distorted both the market and the content?

When you say undue focus…

 

As in, we are depending a lot on revenues from the multiplexes. Like you said, it’s not called a ‘multiplex film’ because every film is a multiplex film. This is a fact we all know but what has been the real import of this? How has it distorted the market or the content in any way?

I guess I think it’s been a positive distortion, if you ask me. The sort of cinema that was not getting backing seven or eight years ago has now gotten the backing because I think studios are seeing that, because of the higher ticket prices in multiplexes and because of the sort of people who are visiting multiplexes, I can make movie that’s maybe rarefied in its sensibility and still expect it to give me returns. So I think it’s actually helped cinema to a very large extent. So I don’t believe a film like Dev D or a film like Kahaani or a film like Gangs of Wasseypur would have gotten made if it wasn’t for studios now seeing that actually even if these massive multitudes don’t start thronging the cinemas, as long as in my key metros I’m able to get the multiplexes at a certain capacity, then I know it’ll pay out if I invest in this movie.

 

This is great and we’ve all been celebrating this, but isn’t there a sort of danger that the kind of movies… that if the economy is depending too much on multiplexes cinema might stop reaching out to other parts of this country?

See I’ll tell you what, if we’re talking about multiplexes in metros then I would agree with you. But multiplexes exist everywhere. A multiplex is basically more than one screen. Now that can be Bhilai or it can be in Bombay. Actually if you’re asking that if the exhibition sector focuses only on the cities, then there’s going to be less growth? Sure. Yes. There will be. But I’m looking at multiplexes going as far and wide as possible and hopefully looking at no frills options as well where you have a scaled down version of what you would get in a Bombay or a Delhi. It’s still a two or three screen multiplex and you’ve got decent seating and good air-conditioning and good projection and all that but it doesn’t have to be state-of-the-art like some of our cinemas are. But as long as they are looking at penetrating the heart of India, I’m fine with multiplexes going as deep as they can.

 

DIGITIZATION

 

Okay, digitization. Both in filmmaking and in distribution. How fast are we moving and are we moving fast enough?

In filmmaking, we’re moving pretty fast. I think most people now look at digital as a first option. It’s faster. You don’t need to light that much as you need to do for film. You don’t need to be obsessive about wasting raw stock. It’s just a great medium to shoot in. I mean as long as the director’s comfortable and the DoP (Director of Photography) is comfortable in that medium, then it’s something that everyone is exploring today. When it comes to distribution I’d give it another year and a half before we may not have a physical print which exists anymore. You might still be making it…

 

Well, that’s great news.

That’s great news.

 

Because there was a feeling, at least a year or two ago, that the initial cost might be a deterrent. So people may not have been looking at the larger picture when it came to distribution and when it came to filmmaking also, because they felt they had to sort of…

No, I think cinemas are definitely digitizing really, really fast and it’s happening very, very quickly. So I don’t see that as being something that’ll… It’ll be another nine months to a year and a half away and there might be only 20 physical prints of a massive film that we need to release all across the country.

 

And filmmakers and DoPs, they’re not worried about… you don’t feel like they are still not creatively hung up on film?

Some of them are. Some are. But if you look at, compared to two years ago, the number of people using digital today has gone up significantly.

 

Okay. And you feel like it’s keeping pace. That’s actually…

It is keeping pace. I think it’s the responsibility of everybody to really educate each other about the medium and about shooting on digital. Obviously now there is a certain charm to shooting on film and everybody’s going to be feeling that way for a while. As with any new technology that comes into the picture you tend to romanticise the earlier one. But I think as we go forward, I do believe digital will be the medium to shoot in.

 

CO-PRODUCTION

 

I want to talk a little bit about co-production. It seems to be picking up. I mean, at least, it seems that most films are co-produced at some level or the other. I want to understand how that works, especially for you guys. How does the revenue sharing happen and at what stage do you guys come in? And why is it so attractive? I think you should start with that.

So, I think, starting with the fact that movie-making is about looking for the next great idea or the next great story. And really, every deal then works its way around that proposition. So if someone comes to you with something superb and you really want to make that movie and it’s going to be… the nature of that deal is going to be a co-production because they are the ones who came to you with it. Then if there’s another production house, or their director, who also has a line production unit, then you are open to it because you want to make a great movie and if the economics work out, you are happy for it to be a co-production. On the other hand if you have got movies that you have developed and incubated yourself, then it’s your own production. So we don’t like to stymie our growth by saying we’ll only look at one model because ultimately we’re all in the search for great stories to tell. And if they are coming from a prospective co-producer, why not?

 

And you haven’t developed any sort of working model or formula for yourself that… you’re just open to whoever is coming in, at whichever stage the film is in?

Well, we prefer to be involved very early because I think the idea really is that we do want to add value to the creative process in a collaborative manner and in the best way possible.

 

Say like for a film like Udaan. You guys came in pretty late. I believe the film was offered to you guys in the beginning and then you came in…

Absolutely. Well I’m not aware of it being offered to us in the beginning but I know when I saw the rough cut, I hadn’t read the script before that, and when I saw the rough cut I loved it and we said that we did want to back it immediately. So, yes, that was one film we got involved in on the edit. But there are movies like… I mean Dev D  was our own production but I’m trying to think of an example of a co-production. So, like a film like Delhi Belly. That’s a film that Aamir showed us the script for. We loved the script and said, ‘Absolutely. We’re on.’ And we were on from the start.

 

And the revenue-sharing, the profit sharing, is there a set way which it works? Or is it like each…

So each deal is different. Each negotiation is different. So it really depends from deal to deal and depending on the deal that you strike with your co-producer. But we have one general template model and then that sort of undergoes modifications, depending on who you are dealing with.

 

DATA ON CINEMA

 

I want to talk to you a little bit about the information available. At least to an outsider, there isn’t good information available on how a film has done. You can’t trust the figures that you are reading. Or how much is being spent on a film. Do you guys have all the information that you need or do you guys have to go out and conduct your own survey?

It’s really unfortunate that we don’t have the equivalent of a Rentrak or an A. C. Nielsen in India and hopefully that’ll get corrected in the next few years. And that’s mainly because we’re still a 40 percent single screen market and data from there tends not to be computerised, it tends to come in bits and bobs from here and there. Some of it tends to be understated sometimes but that really depends on who you are dealing with. And no studio is obliged to share their information. Even if they are a public company you are not obliged to share your movie by movie figures with anyone. So people tend not to do that. So when there is this opaqueness involved…

 

Sorry, so then there is a case to be made for greater sharing at this stage when the industry is evolving.

I think it needs to come the other way around. I don’t think studios are going to do it voluntarily. But if everything is out there and computerised and all your theatrical business is out there on a server because that’s just the way the business has evolved and everything is there to be seen, that I think is the best way for us to go about it. I don’t think anyone is going to obligatorily share their theatrical information if they are not obliged to. But the moment we get into a Nielsen situation or a Rentrak situation where the figures are just available to everyone, that would be a nirvana situation I think for all of us.

 

AN OPTIMAL RELEASE

 

This is related to the information question. Have you guys been able to figure out your optimal release? How many screens should you release a film on and what is your maximum? Do you know your optimal or is that being impacted by…

Well, we think we do. We think…You know, it’s been 60 movies in the last seven or eight years. We’ve made mistakes and we’ve done things right as well and I think we’ve come to a really good understanding having mapped out the entire country and having mapped out the cinemas across the country. Which sort of audiences that frequent which cinemas for which type of movie, what our own numbers have been and now we’ve gotten a pretty decent amount of empirical data on our own films, across genres—big star cast, non-star cast—for us to come to an optimal release strategy which I think we’ve been adopting now for the last few years. On a film like Barfi!, for example, I mean a Ranbir Kapoor film can go to 3000 screens today. We decided to go to a thousand and we decided to build capacities, build a word-of-mouth and then go wider. And I think that was a really smart strategy because we didn’t overspend on prints and at the same time we got into situations where the film was housefull. And there is nothing like watching a housefull movie. When you are not able to get tickets it just adds to the word-of-mouth and it builds the interest and excitement around a movie, and then your movie tends to run much longer because of that positive halo around it. So I think we do that from film to film. And on a film like Rowdy Rathore we just went to 3500 screens because that was the nature of the movie. It was a really mass oriented film and we wanted it to go as far and wide as possible. So, yes, I think we do think of optimal release strategies rather than flooding the market with prints.

 

And you think you’ve built them irrespective of how much of data is available?

Yes, because we have done a lot of competitive mapping as well. I mean, one is obviously looking at every cinema in the country and looking at its capacity and looking at the business that we’re able to get from our own films obviously, as well as the information that is available out there in the market. So mapping that, mapping what other movies have done in the same genre of the movie that we are releasing and, yes, I think from all our trade sources we have managed to get a fair amount of data to take those calls well.

 

Okay, and what about when to release a film? What are the factors that go into that? I mean, are there seasons for particular films? And, of course, I also want to talk to you about conversations with other producers and distributors to avoid clashes— how is that working? How is that changing?

Well it’s really crucial. It’s one of those five or six really key factors that really affect the success of the movie. And, obviously, seasonality, cricket matches, school holidays, weather, religious festivals, non-festivals, Shraadh, Eid (Ramzan), all those obviously impact your release strategy across the year. Fact is that there are 52 Fridays in a year and you have 250 Hindi movies that will release every year. So there are going to be clashes; you can’t avoid that. But I guess you just have to pick the right dates for your movies and move on. And with the smaller ones you might have to be quite flexible about hopping from one release date to another depending on which other big movies are announcing. But with your bigger ones you tend to lock them in advance and then just not change them because once you’ve decided that’s the right date for your movie then you stick with it.

 

And are there conversations across platforms? Do you guys also negotiate with other producers and distributors?

Not really.

 

Or is it just about timing?

We just… yeah. And then I think everyone, if you take ego out of it, I think, everyone realises which film is a bigger film and then takes their own call about whether to clash with it or not. And I think that’s fair. As I said, it’s a free market.

 

And with the market changing and becoming a free market, are the egos going down as well? Because this used to be quite a major thing, the egos…

Well we’ve taken ego out of our equations completely. I mean we just take a decision based on whether it makes sense for our movie or not. I mean the movie is the most important thing. The movie has to work. Who cares if you’re moving your release date? No one is going to know, except the five people in the trade who are going to talk about you having gotten scared of this bigger film and moving your date. It really makes no difference to anyone. Everyone is finally going to look at the business of that movie and how well it did. And why would you because of your own ego not move a film if it just deserves a better release date? I mean, I can speak for us. We definitely are not in that situation.

 

HOW TO MARKET A FILM

 

I want to come to marketing, which is going to be a big section. Again, first I want to begin with information? Do you guys now have really good information on how marketing works and how much you should spend on marketing? Before we come to specific models, how much should you spend on marketing overall?

We have a really good sense of how much we should rationally be spending on marketing. What tends to happen is as you go into the media noise corridor two months before your release and you are competing pretty aggressively with maybe 15 other movies that are all shouting out at the same time, and not just competing with them but competing with all the other brand messages that are going on around you plus a fragmentation of media that has happened, you tend to have to attribute a little bit more to your marketing budget just based on… Say rationally I know should be spending this but I do need to shout out a little bit louder— that might on paper not make sense because I’m hitting my reach and my frequency parameters on my media plan. But I do need to shout out a little bit more, purely so that I can project my movie bigger.

 

And do you tend to use a lot of pre-release surveys to see how much information is available…

We do. We track our movies very, very closely. So we’ve got… we have a weekly tracking mechanism where we know how we’re doing on buzz and interest and on desire to see.

 

So basically what are the surveys? Are they talking to people and trying to figure how much they are aware of the film and how excited they are about the film?

Yeah. Yup. So you’ve got a many city survey that happens weekly where you talk to frequent moviegoers. So you should be someone who watches at least a movie a month in a cinema hall and you’re asked about spontaneously which are the movies you want to watch. So the movies that come to your mind are ones that you are not being goaded into answering about. And then you ask in an aided manner— ‘Have you heard of these films as well?’ and then you see what the responses are on that. And you ask about excitement to watch the film, whether you would go on an opening weekend or you’re going to wait to hear what people have to tell you and so on and so forth. There are five or six parameters that we look at. Each one gives you an indication of how well you are doing. So you might be high on the awareness of the film because you’ve managed to communicate your message to everyone but no one’s really that excited about it. Then you realise that your creative isn’t working. The people have seen it but they are like ‘Yeah, okay. I’m going to take my chances and go later.’ So then you need to build that. Or you might be really high on excitement with the people you have managed to reach but you haven’t managed to reach too many people, in which case you need to be able to take your media plan wider. So those are things that we are tracking everyday actually but we get a weekly report card on how we are doing and how everyone else is doing as well.

 

What are the big marketing trends right now? Is one of the trends spending lesser on big films with what happened on a film like Ra.One? So much money spent on the publicity. So much publicity that there is large section of people who believe that that is what worked against the film. Is that one of the trends? And, of course, I’ll come to the second trend which is bigger marketing for a smaller budget film— the Vicky Donor, English, Vinglish  kind of thing.

Sure. I don’t think there is a trend of spending less on bigger films. I have to be honest. I don’t think anyone’s doing that because I think the simple logic that a studio or producer would use is that: ‘I’ve spent 50 crores making this movie. Now am I going to scrimp on that final two more crores?’ Because in any case, there is a certain basic marketing budget that you need to spend and then it’s about, incrementally, to shout that much louder, it’ll probably take a couple of more crores or three crores to do that. So am I going to scrimp at that last stage or do I just ensure that the entire investment is not contingent on me being miserly about that last mile?

 

But again, it is about optimisation, not maximisation.

You’re absolutely right about that. I think what tends to happen is that you might believe that you’re optimised in your own environment but you have to realise that you’re dealing with people who are subjected to multiple messages every day. So you might think that you’re optimally reaching them with your message the right number of times but you need to look at the competitive subset that you are in. And the right number of times might not be the right number of times relative to the way someone else is reaching them.

 

So, I mean I know these are not your productions, that you are not qualified to comment beyond a point, but what could be your learning from something like Ra.One?

I think my learning ultimately would be that the film has to work. You can over hype and it can live up to that hype and there is nothing wrong with that. Or you can over hype a film and it doesn’t live up to that hype and then people are disappointed. But if a film works, then the marketing works. A film doesn’t work, then frankly everything is going to be seen in retrospect as, ‘Oh okay, they over hyped it and it didn’t work.’ But finally, you aren’t talking about a detergent, right? Which, if you do a blind test with someone with two beverages or two detergents, it’s all about the branding that you have created around it and frankly they might not see the difference in when they are using it. But a film is something that they are going to be going out there to experience. So it’s that much more important for them to really feel that your marketing has really lived up to your promise.

 

So you’re saying this is not so much about strategy as about the brass tacks of a film. Because I know Don 2 followed closely on the heels of that and they really cut down on the publicity of that because they were afraid of what happened with Ra.One. But you’re feeling that that kind of reaction is not really…

You know I can’t comment on what they did because I was not privy to it but I have to say… See each film is an entity on its own and you need to market it. I mean we’re very careful about the softer issues rather than how much we’re spending and the media plan. All that obviously will follow. But what are we trying to position the film as? What is the tonality that we’re using? The medium is the message also. Which medium are we using? Are we using social media more? Are we using TV more? Because, what type of movie is it? Things like that are very important to us and we need to stay true to the film while obviously emphasising all the great things about the movie. But it can’t be something so divorced from the film that there is a mismatch or a dissonance when you are watching it. That I think is the most important thing that we have learnt over the years.

 

And I want to talk a little bit about, again, one big trend that has been talked about in the market which is taking smaller budget films, spending a lot more, more than the cost of the film almost, on the marketing. How is that working out? Is that something that is working well? Or do you feel that it’s just a balance that has been reached for now and, maybe that also will start shifting? Maybe you won’t need to spend so much on marketing a Vicky Donor once people start to naturally gravitate towards films like this?

You know, honestly, I think you need to back a small film really aggressively, if you’ve made it. Because, ultimately, you’re making it because you believe it can work. And if you’re going to finally then not give it the promotion it deserves because it’s not a big filmyou could have made a film for four crores and a film for 40 crores, that doesn’t mean the marketing budget of that film will be one-tenth that one because then you’d just be not serving the film that you’ve made at all. I’d say that there is bare minimum today that you need to do for every film below which you are just not going to be heard at all in the system. And that’s just how it is. And that can be significantly higher than the budget of your film in the first place but you’ve got to factor that in when you are making the film to start with. Which is why you have to be so careful when making a smaller film because you are completely reliant on the quality of the film. You’re not going to be able to pre-sell. You are not going to be able to get that opening weekend easily. So it’s really all about the movie at the end of it. And then you better market it as well as you can in order to ensure that people know about it and come and watch it. So it’s crucial, I think.

 

Again, opening weekend. Lot of focus. Much higher than it used to be in the last couple of decades. Is that skewing the trade in any way? Number one. Number two, is a Sholay  possible in this climate at all?

A film that will run for seven years?

 

No. A film that would pick up so slowly, almost being on the verge of declared a flop and then go on to become… (one of the biggest grossers of all time).

It’s tough. It’s tough. Because that’s just not the dynamic that exists today. I mean, you have social media today where the verdict is pronounced pretty much on Twitter by Friday evening. You’ve got the number of screens that you are releasing your movie in because you are also combating piracy and you want to ensure that you’re as widely seen as possible so that you don’t succumb to piracy. All of this just dictates that, by that Monday, the verdict is out and everyone’s… all the thought leaders have watched the film. If it’s a smaller film then it’s very important what the critics have to say about it. With a bigger film sometimes it’s irrelevant, sometimes it is. But a Sholay  is pretty difficult. I mean a film that’s not… you won’t get shows the next weekend if by Monday you haven’t performed and by Tuesday the exhibitors need to decide on the showcasing for the next week, which is how it works.

 

We’ve been talking about the free market economy. We’ve been talking about the capitalist economy we live in. But business ethics is one question that still holds. So marketing ethics. You spoke about how you market a film. Is that something you guys are grappling with? How you position a film? Or does it not matter? Is any publicity good publicity? How is that working out? That’s one thing. The other thing is, I know that pretty much tough luck would be the answer but where does this leave space for independent cinema? So even though digitization has come in and all of us can potentially make a film but then you stumble at that, ‘I can’t market my film for 30 crores or 40 crores.’ Then what happens? I mean I just want to get a sense of… I mean you might not be able to action anything. You are a part of the market but what are the business ethics that producers should be, or are, grappling with at this point?

You know, I think good business ethics will also mean good business. Honestly, I don’t believe any publicity is good publicity. It’s just not true. Because you can be in the papers everyday and people can be completely turned off what you are saying because you’re saying it in a very aggressive manner or you’re saying it in a way which puts people off or you’re talking about things so unrelated to the movie that it’s not funny. So I think there needs to be one round of questioning from everyone about… because you have got so many different avenues open to you to get your movie spoken about. I think we all need to just sit and introspect a little bit about what is it that we are saying because we can get whatever we say published or we can get it aired. But is that going to really help one more person say, ‘Oh, because I’ve seen (or read) that, I must go watch the movie on Friday’? I’m not so sure. So I think good business ethics really is about promoting your film for the film it is. And really if there is any way to get the message of the film across or the ethos of the film across in a way that’s going to help you on that weekend that’s good marketing ethics because then you’re really telling people the best part about the movie that you want them to watch. When it comes to independent cinema, I have to say we use this term independent cinema in India but it’s a bit of a misnomer because we’ve taken one term from the West and used it here.

 

You know what I’m talking about.

Every film’s been… they’ve all been backed by studios. You talk about any film that’s managed to get a release it’s been a studio film. So starting from our movies, from Khosla ka Ghosla  to Aamir  to a Dev D  to A Wednesday  to Mumbai Meri Jaan  to Udaan  to Kai Po Che, you know, any of these movies, they’ve been backed by studios so they’re not really independent. I think if you’re talking about really experimental stuff, stuff that’s so rarefied that it would really be a South Bombay, South Delhi, Bangalore, Calcutta experience… I think going to the exhibitors directly might be the best and tying up with an exhibitor and getting them to showcase the film in a way that they talk to their patrons about it. You trailer it there… (in those cinemas). I think one has to look at those ways. If you don’t want to go the studio route, which is perfectly legitimate, you go to an exhibitor directly.

 

So you’re talking about more local economies…

Because I’m assuming a movie like that might not be able to afford a budget to be on television. You might not be able to spend on television and be able to promote your movie in that medium. Trailering is much cheaper and it gives across the whole… you can do a two and a half minute, a three minute. It really communicates what the movie is about. So ensure that you do a fair amount of trailering. Go to one exhibitor probably, who’s got nationwide presence and do an exclusive date with them where they can give you one show per screen and then if it grows, it grows. It’s not easy and that’s just the environment that we’re in.

 

Any other things that you feel that everybody across the board needs to introspect about when it comes to business ethics and how they are shaping the market, overall, for the movies?

I think that the way the television industries were told to have their own standards and practices body and it doesn’t undergo certification or censorship. I mean a lot of us believe that there is regressive content on television and blah blah blah. It is not monitored by a government body at all. It’s just there and if you’ve got grievance with it you can contact someone and you can have yourself heard. I really hope that we can move into that for cinema as well. Just because we’re a more high profile medium doesn’t mean that we need to be subjected to certain certifications. I’m sure if everyone is just told to have their own models of standards and practices the way the broadcasters do, then they will get more responsible. If you just impose a responsibility on the person themselves to take that call then I suspect it’ll be a much healthier environment for us to be in. I don’t see that happening any time soon but…

 

CENSORSHIP

 

Actually that was going to be a later question but I’m going to ask it now because we’ve brought this up. There has been a lot of talk about moving into a system where movies are certified according to them being suitable for ages above 12, 15, 18…  A lot of filmmakers have not responded very well to that at all because they feel like that will cut down on the audience. Does that affect producers at all? Is that something that you’re concerned with?

Not if the guidelines are really cast in stone and are very clear, like probably the BBFC guidelines are in the UK where it’s very specific what is 12, what is 15 and what is 18. If it becomes arbitrary and really something so subjective that any individual body watching it can decide on that, then it will lead to even more chaos. Then I’d rather stick to what we have right now which is U/A, A and U because there at least you’ve got the three broad parameters and now through trial and error I think we generally know which direction we’re heading when we’re making a film. So if we impose a new certification there has got to be very, very clear guidelines. Having said that I think I have to say I think the Censor Board, which likes to be called the Certification Board, because they’re not the Censor Board, has made quite a few strides in the last few years and you have to hand it to them. They are not in an easy situation. They are having to deal with any fringe group coming and protesting, going to the MIB (Ministry of Information and Broadcasting) and the MIB clamping down on them because they passed the movie. And at the same time, they’ve got to deal with the irate fraternity which is always questioning things and trying to push the boundaries. So, they’re in a tricky situation purely because they’ve been, the way that they’ve been legislated as a body. Having said that, I do believe that we need to be more progressive, even more progressive than we are right now. And I think we need to accept that if you’re giving someone the right to vote, they should have the right to watch what they want to watch. If they can elect their own government, they should be able to watch a movie and decide whether they wanted to watch it or not. If there is something misogynistic in the film, something that is just beyond the bounds of what is permissible in a society, that’s something that one should be looking at. But, really, I think we’re in a situation now where we should be able to watch a film we want to see considering you can watch whatever you want on the internet and that’s completely free.

 

THE OVERSEAS MARKET

 

Okay, in the nineties, there was this whole conversation about the NRI film and the NRI markets to the extent that there seemed to be such a great discovery of that market that it started to dictate content in a lot of ways. Has that balance been restored or is that focus still pretty much there? How much are we depending on overseas markets right now?

You know the overseas market for a small film is pretty much non-existent because you’re talking about the diaspora. You’re talking about the 30 million South Asians overseas and trying to reach out to them. For a big film, it would probably be 10% of your overall revenue, which is significant, but when you compare it to domestic theatrical which is 50-60%, it’s a small part. So I’d say we’re probably you know… it was an interesting new phenomenon in the nineties because it had opened up as a market and therefore it was being spoken about. Now you have reached a steady state of that being the contribution. You’re dealing with rampant piracy, especially overseas where you have got massive bandwidths where people can access movies and sort of download them really fast and you’ve got your movie available on Friday evening on a bit torrent site regardless of what sort of movie you’ve made. So you’re combating massive piracy and the fact that you still have a worldwide release of only 500 screens for 30 million people and they’re going to want to watch a Hindi film because they are as movie obsessed as their brethren here and they’re going to go online and download it. Because you’re not giving them a legitimate way to see it. You also can’t have it available legitimately online on the day and date of the release because that is just not something the exhibitors will accept. So it’s a bit of a chicken and egg overseas where we haven’t, again, scratched the surface of that market. But till we enter new markets at least through, maybe through free-to-air television and get our movies shown there and then move on to other platforms and then to theatrical, it’s going to be a slow process. But it’s something.

 

Are they any new emerging NRI overseas markets? Which ones are the biggest ones right now?

There is… you’ve got the usual suspects. There is the US, there’s UK, there’s Canada, Australia, New Zealand and the Gulf. Those are your key markets, that comprises maybe 80-90% of your total revenue. South America we have not ventured into at all. We’ve released a couple of movies in Brazil and Peru but that’s really a one-off and depending on if you’ve found the right film that the distributor wants to distribute. Africa is pretty unexplored other than South Africa and maybe a few other markets.

 

But that is a huge potential isn’t it?

Massive. Massive potential.

 

Africa, yeah.

It’s a bit of a function of the economy there also where the whole went into a depression and therefore the exhibition sector suffered, movie prices went down by one-fifth. Europe, again, is important. France, Germany, a lot of the Eastern-European countries. Then down in the Mediterranean you’ve got Turkey, you’ve got interesting markets where you’ve a got a South Asian diaspora. Russia is another market which has been largely unexploited since the fifties and the sixties. Japan, Taiwan, Korea, these are markets where we are releasing our movies much more. China, of course, suffers from regulations about a certain number of movies that can be released. Then the South Asian markets of course, massive South Asian population, we know that but not as widely exploited as it can be. So there’s a lot of work ahead.

Very diverse markets, so you can’t answer it in a holistic way but some key ways in which the marketing differs for overseas market than it does here?

A lot of online. We use online quite extensively because that’s where our people are and we can’t afford mass media for those markets. We use a lot of localised platforms. So local radio stations, local newspapers for the South Asian population, local television stations and we go into catchment areas. So we know there are certain catchment areas where, you know, there are South Asian populations existing— leaflets and flyers and door-to-door marketing.

 

What about non-NRI overseas market? Where are we on that?

Nowhere, honestly. I don’t think Indian cinema has really crossed over at all. Some of our movies are watched a little more widely than others. We probably have some directors who are known within a certain section of those who watch world cinema but honestly I don’t think we’ve really made too much progress.

 

But which way does the progress need to happen? Do films need to get up to par? Do we need to be making enough films? Or do you feel like you need to start exploring exhibition possibilities and then create awareness?

It’s a combination of both and I guess we’ve tried it with some movies. It’s debatable whether they were the right movies or the wrong movies. With a film like Peepli Live  which we believed was a satire, it has some resonance in terms of being able to reflect what’s going on in India, is tongue-in-cheek, but might be appreciated by a world cinema audience. We did a delayed release in the UK but probably it was too delayed which is why it didn’t work as well as it could have. It worked well but not as well as we would have liked it to. With films like Barfi! we are entering into markets like Japan, like Korea, like Taiwan, like Turkey where the film is going to be watched by an audience broader than just the Indian audience. So there is progress being made but it’s really negligible when you look at the overall revenues of the movie right now. So we’re doing it for our movies but we haven’t had that one massive crossover hit like a Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was for Taiwan. We’ve just not had that.

 

Okay, now that Disney has tied up with UTV, acquired UTV what potential new avenues, what possibilities, are you looking at whether or not you end up exploring them?

It’s a huge, huge, huge opportunity.

 

Tell me some of the possibilities that are on the table right now.

One is the distribution, just tapping into the global Disney distribution system, which we’re doing very actively right now. And, I mean one doesn’t want to speak too early and we just want the results to show but that’s something that we are looking at very actively, getting our movies distributed as widely as we can using that infrastructure. And two is obviously creating franchises here in India. We haven’t really had Indian franchises yet. We’ve had sequels but a franchise is something that goes beyond a movie and that goes beyond the ancillary rights around a movie. It goes into other spheres altogether. We haven’t had that yet in India and I think we’re ripe for it now. So using the Disney creative learnings across the last 80 years and to begin to tap into that.

 

Are there also conversations about the kind of films that you are producing? You know we still primarily make movies for our market and the South Asian population. So is there more of a chance of making films that might work across the board? For the lack of a better example, a Slumdog Millionaire, is that possibility very…

You know I think you need to root a movie somewhere.  Slumdog Millionaire  didn’t work in India and it was obvious why. It didn’t speak about the country as we know it and therefore we rejected it as an audience but obviously it did gangbusters business everywhere else. We’re looking at movies that work for India. We’re very clear about our objective. We want to make Indian movies that work for our people. Now if by their very nature they transcend just a South Asian population and are able to go wider? We’d always have an eye on that, that’s something we will look at. But it’s really important to root a film and know who you are making it for. And if you’re working with filmmakers who have a sensibility, just naturally, where the grammar of their cinema is, and it will travel, that’s great.

 

SURVEY BASED FILMMAKING

 

We spoke about surveys earlier. There are a whole lot of other kind of surveys being commissioned. There are surveys being commissioned at the development stage, before a film, to kind of try to figure out what kind of films to make. Then of course during the making of the film. Now that is something that intrigues me. We’ve heard of instances where even with something say like Oh My God!  there was a survey and people saying “Oh, we want to see god as god.” (They wanted to see Akshay Kumar, playing Krishna, dressed as Krishna was depicted in mythological and religious portraits. And so he was dressed like this in a climactic scene.) and therefore there are changes made… So where are you guys with that? Is there a conversation about where to draw the line because, like you said, that if you start influencing creatives enough… It’s also important for the creative industry to grow on its own. So what is the tricky balance with that?

I think Steve Jobs said something really interesting once, he said that research is all fine but someone’s not going to be able to tell you what they want till they get it. Because if you want to give them something new, they’re not going to be able to tell you what that something new is. When you give it to them, that’s when they are going to say: ‘Wow! I can’t do without this anymore.’ Right? So I doubt that anything breakthrough or path-breaking creatively is going to come purely out of research, right? Having said that, if you immerse yourself a little bit in just trends and what’s going on, in lingo, just understanding new interesting things happening in society and just keeping your ear open and eyes open to reading more about it, just interacting with people a bit more and that sparks a creative thought, I think that’s the most important research a creative person can do. Right? But the ideation of that insight to the story that really needs to come from there. I think it’s really important.

 

But I was talking about the surveys that are being commissioned by producers while the film is being…

I can speak for what we do. We’ve tried script research before. It hasn’t quite worked because I think it’s very difficult for an audience to envision a film the way that the director is envisioning it. It’s not their job to do so. Where research comes into play for us really, in the filmmaking process, is at the rough cut stage where we have a director who we’re creatively collaborating with who also buys into it. And we say, “We all have certain views about the film. Let’s just show it to people.” And here I’m not talking about friends from the industry, trade etc. because then everyone is a little tricky about giving their honest opinion. I’m talking about proper structured research where you have 20 people who represent the rough target audience and they just watch the film and they have a chat with a moderator after that. And the director is sitting in another room and just watching it on a close-circuit television and ten things might come out of there. We do it across various cities. Not that we learn what to discard and what to take on because people can have very individual, very subjective opinions on something that is not relevant, but maybe two or three very important themes are coming through about the beginning of the film, about the character and about a certain motivation and about the end. Those are the things on which we then sit and we have really important discussions.

 

What are the things that you are likely to more do it for? Are you likely to more do it for, say, genre films because that’s fairly new in India?

We’d like to do it for every film that we’re working on but we’re very sensitive about the people that we’re working with. So if we’re working with a director who is completely closed to it we won’t get very far and we don’t like to exercise final cut because that’s just not the way we like to operate. We want to creatively work with people and we do believe it’s a director’s medium ultimately. So if it’s a director who’s open to feedback and is very happy to get test screenings on board, then that’s something that we would do. But maybe it’s a cut we’ve all watched and we really like the way it is and we decide that actually whatever research tells us this is the movie we’ve made, this is the movie we want to go ahead with— then we take that call. So really there’s nothing that’s cast in stone. I do believe it can’t hurt if there is trust on both sides. The director and producer trust each other enough to know that whatever comes out of it we’re going to sit together and we’re really going to have a proper discussion about it and not get swayed so much that we’re going to take…

 

So you’re saying that basically it’s just another aid. It’s not something that…

It’s not something that’s going to make or break our decision on the film.

 

REGIONAL FILMS 2

 

Fair enough. You guys have made, what, five regional films, backed five regional films last year?

That’s right.

 

Where is that going? Are you guys looking at making more regional films? Is the concentration, focus more on South India? How is that working out? Is that the way for all distributors, producers to go?

See, I think if you want to be a truly pan-Indian studio then you need to be doing more than just Hindi cinema. I think it’s important. Having said that you also need to accept that you don’t know that sensibility at all. You could make a movie in China for all you know and you know it as much as you know a Tamil film. But you have to learn it and learn it in a systematic manner and first accept that you don’t know anything. And then go in there and start making movies that you sort of believe in, that probably are less risky than the other ones because they’re star driven, they’re proper commercial movies. Some will work, some won’t. But I think the first thing is to just seep yourself into that culture. So we don’t want to spread ourselves too thin. We’re doing Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam… That’s what we’ve started with and for the next couple of years I think we’ll be focusing on that.

 

And do you have to shift operations in a big way there? Do you need to have a completely…

We have a set-up there already. So we have our head of the South business and he’s got offices cross Chennai, Bangalore, Hyderabad…

 

Okay, you will be looking at other regional films? Marathi?

We might. As I said, those regional cinemas that have an overlap with Hindi are ones that are much less lucrative, in a sense, because they are not really cinemas that have potential to grow that much because the same audience is also watching Hindi movies and is quite happy to watch a Hindi movie. The South is interesting because it’s a different audience altogether. Hindi movies just don’t do much business in the South at all. So it’s a different cinema. It’s a different set of stars, it’s a different system, a different operation altogether.

 

SATELLITE RIGHTS, MUSIC SALES, MERCHANDIZING, LICENSING AND OTHER ALTERNATIVE REVENUE SOURCES

 

I want to come to satellite rights. There is a lot of talk about how movies are actually sold. And what movies work. And what movies don’t work. When you look into the figures as an outsider, a lot of things don’t make sense. Agent Vinod selling for a lot more than a Kahaani. Or Barfi! not selling as well. All these notions that a thriller does not do as well or this film does not have a ‘repeat value’ or this film does have a ‘repeat value’. How accurate are these surveys, given the TRPs themselves are actually extremely questionable, at least in India? How evolved is the process of selling satellite rights?

So I guess TRPs are questionable but that’s the only benchmark to go by. So that’s what we go by.

 

But that’s something that needs to change?

Well, the whole broadcasting industry needs to work on that so that’s not something we’re going to worry about. That’s just what we take as the Holy Grail to determine whether a film’s working or not on TV. That’s what the advertiser looks at, that’s how media is bought and so on. Yes it is true that broadcasters have their own theories about which movies are TV friendly and which ones are not and that might not be proportional at all to how they have done theatrically. But that’s just how it is and that’s the environment that you need to work with. So the buyer has the right to have their own theories about what they want to buy.

 

But are these theories based on any kind of proper…

I have to say they are based on the logic, whether we believe it or not, that movie viewing on television has to be something that you can snack on. You’ve got to be able to watch five minutes, go off somewhere, do something, be okay with two breaks, come back and pick off where you left it. So they tend to believe that action movies and comedy movies tend to work really well. When it’s a drama, when it’s something you need to be very, very compellingly involved in the story with on an ongoing basis, they tend to believe that that’s not something that lends itself to viewing on TV. Now I’m sure they’ve got a lot of studies that they have done to tell them that because obviously they are all very smart people. This really dictates massive budgets for them. So that I think is a theory that they operate on.

 

And you feel that that is… do you see a lot of acceptance for that theory in your own experience or… ?

Well you don’t have any choice to accept if that is what the buyer believes. That’s what the buyer is going to be paying good money for. And that might in the future dictate the kind of movies that get green-lit too. Because if 30 percent of your revenue is going to be based on satellite television, you’ve got to believe that you’re making cinema that will finally be bought by a channel.

 

And how big a factor is it for you when you take on a film?

It’s a factor.

 

Let’s talk about home video quickly because that’s the only market that is dropping. It’s… what? Fifteen percent or negative something? Is that only because of piracy or do you feel also because VoD (Video on Demand) and Direct to Home are catching on? Are they really catching on?

Actually, I think more than VoD and Direct to Home it’s that… One, is, obviously, piracy, two is the fact that a film is going to be available on satellite television pretty quickly and everyone knows that. It’s going to be 60 days, 65 days, before the movie is on a satellite channel and they can watch it for free. If they haven’t watched it before that on a pirated DVD, or if they haven’t watched it in a theatre. So the whole joy of owning a copy of the film is really irrelevant today I think for most people because they can either download it from somewhere or there’ll be some way of watching where they won’t need to own a physical DVD and it’s just become a bit irrelevant to have a physical copy of a film anymore.

 

Vishwaroopam was released simultaneously.

Actually it didn’t. He wanted to but it didn’t happen.

 

It didn’t work out? Is that a way to go? Is that something that could…

I don’t think it’s a way to go because it’s just you won’t be able to release your movie theatrically because exhibitors won’t accept it. So it’s just…

 

But if you could, hypothetically, convince the exhibitors is that something that could make market sense?

I do believe there is no harm in doing it because I don’t believe that you are going to cannibalise very much at all on your theatrical business. I think someone who wants to watch a film in a cinema hall is still going to go and watch it. Someone who was anyway going to watch it on television later or on home video will access it on VoD. Having said that the exhibitors have a legitimate reason to say, ‘Guys, if you want showcasing in a cinema don’t have it available on another platform the same day that you are giving it to us because we’re just not going to take that.’ And it’s not something that is done anywhere in the world actually. Windows in India are much shorter than anywhere in the world.

 

PIRACY

 

Okay. Piracy. There was an anti-piracy cell. A bunch of you producers got together. Has that seen any traction? Has that been able to do anything? What are some of the steps that can be taken even today? Or do you feel that the market needs to just develop around piracy?

Well, the market is developing around piracy. I don’t think anyone is under any illusion that it’ll be stamped out completely. I believe that legislation is going to be the only way to get to make a difference to that. If you’ve got really stringent collective action against the pirate and the person who is going in and accessing content from the pirate, only then are you really going to be able to move forward.

 

Legislation and implementation, of course.

Absolutely, absolutely.

 

The cell that you guys set up, has that been able to take any measures? What can producer do themselves?

You do what you can. You’ve got an online anti-piracy agency when you release your film that ensures that take down notices are sent to any website that is pirating your movie. But given the level of proliferation you do your best but you know that it’s never going to be enough. You’ve got codes on every print that you send out so you know from where a print has been pirated. You know from where your movie has been pirated so you can take action against that cinema. The cinema will invariably tell you that it’s not the case, that if it’s a physical print it could have happened on the way. So you’re never going to be able to tell exactly where it happened. The stakes are so high that even if you put a security guard on every print, you know how much they pay and the lure of the sort of money that they would get if they had to go out and pirate that film would be so high that it’s not really going to be worth your while. So there are lots of reasons why you have to accept that you do need to work around piracy and that’s just how it is.

 

What are the alternative revenue sources that are hot right now? What are you guys talking about? One of the things that you spoke about earlier, licensing, gaming, merchandising, that is still a nascent market in India. One of the questions that I wanted to ask you was: Is that something that needs to develop more India specifically? I mean so far what we have seen is that we’re trying to import it exactly in the way it exists abroad. So if you have an action or sci-fi film in India, you’re going to have an action figure corresponding to that, or whatever, which we don’t make much of. But we might have a different market. Maybe Gangs of Wasseypur could have merchandising around it which is not the kind of film that you will have merchandising for abroad. So is that something you guys are thinking of in a completely different way now?

Very much. And I think it needs to happen with the right movie. Of course gaming we do on a number of our movies already. There are lots of other platforms like your Netflix and Hulu and YouTube and Samsung and various other platforms that we are on today which were non-existent a few years ago. But yes I think merchandising is definitely something that we need to look at much more.

 

In a different way. I mean I remember, for example, when Hum Aapke Hain Koun released there wasn’t a girl anywhere who didn’t have that green and white disastrous dress that Madhuri (Dixit) wore.

Or the felt cap of Maine Pyar Kiya.

 

Which is not what how you would think of merchandising abroad.

That just happened organically. It was just that people really wanted it badly. As an organised effort it could have done much more.

 

But I’m thinking that is the kind of merchandising that might work here much more than a Superman costume?

Absolutely. Absolutely.

 

What about in-cinema advertising? One does believe that the revenues in India are lower than the revenues that you earn aboard with in-cinema advertising. Is that something that needs to give?

So that’s revenue that goes to the cinema.


Okay. What about radio and music sales? How is that shaping up?

Well it’s shaping up pretty well. Of course, physical sales are pretty much non-existent today. So you’re really looking at digital. Radio and broadcasting as your key drivers as far as music is concerned. And the physical format, in music, is not really something that we look at at all. But music is the best way to promote a movie in India and so we look at it as a marketing tool…

 

As well as a revenue tool. What are the one or two alternative revenue sources that producers are most… which would you would bet your money on? Which are the ones that are coming up?

I’d say that if 4G is implemented in India the way that it is anticipated, 4G might be a massive source of revenue for studios because there will be a lot of audio-visual content that will be very easily downloadable and accessible. And if you are able to repurpose your catalogue where you are able to provide byte size content for platforms you might be in a really good position there. That’s one. Two is, I think, if you look at the online models today so from a Netflix to a Hulu to a YouTube. These are all models that I think are growing and evolving as we move along and they are new mediums completely. We’ve already got deals in place with most of them and we will continue to do a lot about that in the future.

 

THE COPYRIGHT ACT

 

I want to talk a little bit about the latest amendment to the Copyright Act, which gives a lot of people now a right to royalty. Is that something that you guys are concerned about? Have you had a look at the legislation? Are you rethinking your contracts? There is also ambiguity about how much royalty to be paid. So what are your concerns about that amendment?

So I don’t want to get too much into this because it might be something that is subject to litigation in a while etc. so I really don’t want to dwell on that too much. But yes it’s obviously something that we have looked at very, very closely.

 

And it is a concern?

It is a concern. Absolutely.

 

What are the concerns? If you can just tell me what is it that is of concern in the…

I do believe we need to look at India as the market that it is rather than ascribing western models of copyright to it. I think you need to look at music in Hindi cinema as a different entity altogether as compared to music that is not commissioned for a particular piece of work, that just stands on its own completely which is an album that someone’s created and sold as a separate album of that artist as against something that is commissioned by a producer to be written for a film to be shot and to be picturised on actors and actresses and then sold as a part of the movie. So I do believe that we’re in a little bit of a different situation here and I think those nuances need to be something that we all consider very carefully before we come to any final conclusion there.

 

Okay. And the ambiguity. Is that also something that is or that can be…

There is a fair amount of ambiguity which is what we’re all seeking some clarification on.

 

I don’t know if you are aware of it at all but screenwriters have been talking about a common minimum contract. Is that something that you guys have spoken about or…

No it’s not something that has been spoken about in any official capacity.

 

THE STATE AND THE NEED TO LOBBY

 

Fair enough. I want to talk a little bit about what the state can do overall. Of course there is the taxation. Resources and taxation are two main areas that I wanted to ask your opinion on. In taxation, of course, there is talk of entertainment tax being included in the GST. We don’t know if that’ll happen or not. There are discrepancies in the entertainment tax and service tax paid in each state. What are some of the concerns that you guys have? Where do you feel the state can, keeping their concerns in mind, aid the industry in any way at this point?

I think as cultural ambassadors of India in many ways and in many ways as the most public face of India to the world it’s probably important for the government to look at the sector a little bit differently and to look at how they can motivate this sector and how it can be given the impetus to grow. Because we haven’t really reached the stage where the sort of tax structures that are imposed on the industry right now are sustainable for growth in the long run. So I think it’s very important for the sector to be looked at and, frankly, also for us to represent ourselves in the right manner to them as well because I don’t think there has been a very concerted way in the past where we have represented our issues the way that Nasscom does for the IT industry, for example. So that I think is very important. The entire structure of taxation for the entertainment industry needs to be looked at. The other thing of course is piracy and I think legislation is the key role that the government can play in ensuring that piracy is dealt with in a very severe manner where the deterrent is so high that it becomes difficult for people who want to indulge in it. So those are the…

 

And do you feel like there needs to be a little more organisation in the industry to lobby, for the lack of a better word?

There are organisations. The problem is that there are three or four of them and I think it’s important for us to come under one body that represent the issues of the industry in a professional manner.

 

BETTER SCRIPTS AND AVOIDING PLAGIARISM

 

What are the changes that you can think of offhand in the creative… that need to happen in the creative industry which will aid the market at this point? Better scripts maybe, better scriptwriters, more film education, anything that you can think of.

You know there is a lot that studios can do and we’ve spoken about that but definitely the creative community needs to look inward a bit. Because I think the quality of writing that one has been exposed to in the last so many years and the stage at which writers are happy to put that out as their work and really ask someone for an opinion… One might be purely because of the training but I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s a certain amount of laziness in putting in that extra effort and getting it to exactly where it needs to get because I think there is such a dearth of concepts and ideas today that something that is even vaguely interesting can get picked up pretty early on but it’s not been developed into the best that it can be. The studios on the other hand have to ensure that writers aren’t feeling so desperate for their next meal that they feel the need to do that and are feeling more secure in order to focus on the writing. So I think just the quality of writing and the depth and intensity of effort put into a screenplay can change quite a bit.

 

And you did mention that studios also can do more in terms of allocating funds for research on a script or development.

I think many studios today, us included, are happy to do so. The problem is really the dearth of really great writing talent out there and the dearth of really great ideas out there that are represented in a manner that can pique someone’s interest. So I have to say that there is a massive dearth of talent.

 

What about, for the lack of a better word, approachability? Because honestly there is a lot of talent out there but one tends to believe that… There are fabulous writers out there. Come to think of it Indian literature today is the hottest property anywhere. There are fabulous writers sitting in Delhi but they are not going to come out here to try and write scripts. Because their whole impression is that: ‘I’m going to have to sit struggling in Versova, in a cafe.’ That’s not something they would do because book advances are so great. So is approachability, talent scouting, a wider reach something that you guys are also…

It’s important. I can’t deny that. Approachability is key. We try to be as transparent and as open as we can but obviously we’re not going to be able to meet everyone who has a great idea. But, yes I think it’s important for studios to be as approachable as they can be. And to actually be going out there to seek out people.

 

The way we used to plagiarise films in the eighties and the nineties is not how… a lot of things are changing. A lot of people are buying rights to remakes if they want to. Is corporatisation one of the major reasons for that clean up that has happened or is there a greater risk of litigation? Also I want to ask you guys, do you have systems in place to screen content for originality?

We do. Having said that, we might make a slip now and then. If we realise it later on in the process, it’s something that we would definitely look at. Because one couldn’t possibly have watched every film that exists in the world and in world cinema to identify if something has been taken from somewhere. So, but it’s something that we look at very, very carefully. It’s not something that we would accept at all. We do have a system in place where our lawyers get to watch a rough cut at some stage to give us feedback on potential issues that might come up later. But there is a lot of frivolous litigation as well, and we just assume there will be. With every film we allocate a certain budget to that because we know that that is something that is going to happen.

 

FINANCING MODELS

 

Okay, quickly. The industry status came a while ago. Have the financing models developed as one would have hoped when the industry status was accorded to films? And what is currently the prime source of financing? I mean public listing is one of them. I believe UTV has been delisted now.

It is part of The Walt Disney Company now.

 

But you guys had gone public earlier. What other organised funding? Venture capitalists…

Well, you have all your studios in the game today so they (films) are all privately funded by studios. You’ve got banks willing to offer, to credible production houses, loans at pretty decent rates of interest. So it’s fine now I think. If you want to raise finance for a film, and you want to do it through legitimate means, there are many legitimate means open to you.

 

You’re saying there are enough legitimate means that are available?

One is obviously going to the studio. Two is going to a bank and raising funding based on your credentials and based on your pedigree obviously. If you are a credible production house today you can raise funding from banks.

 

RELEASE AGREEMENTS

 

We touched upon this a little bit earlier. For example when Anurag (Kashyap) spoke about how even though Gangs of Wasseypur was doing well, the minute Ek Tha Tiger  was released Gangs of Wasseypur had to removed from screens. Are there larger agreements that can be worked out with exhibitors so that bigger movies don’t end up swallowing smaller movies?

I don’t think so.


No?

I think that the market is going to dictate that. And I don’t know about this specific example but finally you have to accept the exhibitor is going to be doing the best thing for their business in that week. So if a film is doing well I doubt if it’s going to be taken off screens if there is a big film. It will be accorded a certain number of screens but because there is a big film coming the week after, that is going to come in and take more screens. You just have to be savvy about where you are going to place your movie. If you believe you’re a film that will grow, don’t come one week before Ek Tha Tiger.  It’s a tough one. It is going to be tough.

 

COST-CONTROL

 

How are you investing in keeping costs low? I know there are producers who are hiring docket management systems to monitor the per-day costs and stuff like that. Is that a huge priority for you guys right now or do you feel that…

It is a big priority that you just have to do it on an ongoing basis. It’s just part of the deal.

 

What are some of the ways?

Well we just take on a really good line producer and we monitor the entire process really well. We pre-plan, we do our pre-production pretty meticulously. And that’s the best way to do it really, to just plan well in advance.

 

WHAT IS A STUDIO?

 

Final question. You started this conversation with speaking about how studios are coming back after decades. What is new studio system? How is it a sort of hybrid between a corporate and the way studios were thought of traditionally? What is this hybrid?

You know I think the way studios were thought of originally was you’ve got a massive studio lot. So there is a physical studio. You’ve got actors on contract, who work only with you, and you can loan out other studios. You’ve got your physical infrastructure to make movies. Today things are a bit more virtual. So today as a studio you don’t need to necessarily own sound stages. You can get most of your post-production work done outside of you. You don’t need to sign on talent that only works with you. You can choose to do long term deals with certain talent— like directing talent, acting talent. You don’t necessarily need to be… I mean you don’t need to have everything on one lot. It can be done in various places and it can still be all coming in to one studio. So I think the model today is really having creative, production, marketing, distribution, syndication- the whole value chain involved in the making of a movie and then the releasing of the movie can happen in your control, and for you to be responsible for all that but not necessarily having to physically control it.

 

Okay. And do you guys see yourselves as a studio? Would you say…

Absolutely.

 

The same model? Okay. That’s it.

Superb.

Lovely and Bright with Soft Curls

Nakul Krishna on the American Dream, Indian values, a touch of lipstick and what we and our movies have made of such ideas.

 

When I was eight years old, I came home from school every day to an American sitcom called Small Wonder.  I have never yet met an American my age who has seen it; I have never yet met a middle-class Indian my age who hasn’t. If you belong to that second category, you’ll probably know what I mean. I for one saw every episode twice, first in English, and later dubbed in Hindi. You probably did too. You might remember its opening music— “She’s a small wonder / Lovely and bright with soft curls… ”

 

Small Wonder  is set in an unnamed American town, in the suburban home of the Lawson family. Ted Lawson is an engineer at United Robotronics, married to Joan, who is, when the show starts, a housewife. In the first episode, he brings home a robot he calls V.I.C.I. It stands for Voice Input Child Identicant, but they call her Vicki, and pass her off, for reasons too complicated to explain, as a member of their family.

 

Over the show’s four seasons, she is legally adopted after the social services get suspicious, and even gets to go to school. Even for a work of ‘soft’ science fiction (in other words, one with little interest in making the science believable), Small Wonder  is full of implausibilities. How does no one notice that Vicki, who speaks in a robotic monotone throughout, is, well, a little strange?

 

For this but not only this reason, there are television critics who’ve declared it to be the worst ever show on American television. This can’t be strictly true: where American television is concerned, there are always lower depths to plumb. But even if it is, it doesn’t matter. Small Wonder  got to me long before my inner critic could think about whether it was any good. And it is perhaps the mark of something in the show, an earnestness, a kind of naïve integrity, that its absurd premise soon comes to seem the most natural thing in the world.

 

I love bringing up Small Wonder  in conversation with Indians of my age and background. It is, along with the opening music of Doordarshan News and that image of Sushmita Sen as Miss Universe with her hands to her mouth, part of that set of collective memories that make for the materials of future nostalgia. But it interests me in a different capacity as well.

 

I am interested—it is one of the subjects of my academic work—in what goes into the making of our sensibilities. The little things—an image, a story, a turn of phrase—are often the most important. They come to us before we are able to subject them to rational scrutiny. They go into how we perceive the world, into recesses of the mind so deep that it is an impossible task dislodging them afterwards. There are places no argument can reach.

 

Small Wonder  was my first glimpse of (what I did not then know was called) the American Dream. If there is a part of me that still believes in that dream, it is the one schooled on the images of suburban happiness I first encountered in the house of the Lawsons.

 

The Lawson house is a stereotypical ‘sitcom’ house, full of stereotypical sitcom furniture. But it presented my eight-year-old self with the image of a nuclear family in a home of their own. The children, if not so much dad, helped with the chores and things were discussed at the dinner table. It was an image of family, the American family, not the province of indiscipline and disrespect I had been told it was—an old Indian cliché—but a quite familiar mix of humour and tough love, full of soppiness and teachable moments.

 

Small Wonder  was also a glimpse—though it is not the most obvious way of looking at it—of American capitalism. Ted Lawson, let us remember, works at United Robotronics, and we are on half a dozen or so occasions given episodes whose plotlines centre around its internal shenanigans. A memorable episode has the president of the company, Mr. Jennings, telling (evidently for the umpteenth time) his rags-to-riches story about building his company from nothing. For reasons again too complicated to explain here, Vicki has been pumping laughing gas into the room while this happens. Soon the point of the story is revealed: Mr. Jennings is about to announce the necessity of laying off workers to save the company. His sombre announcement is greeted with bellows of uncontrollable laughter— the writers and actors handle the irony nicely: all is not well in Reagan’s America.

 

Yet, American capitalism could have no better advertisement. This image of white-collar workers living their idyllic family lives supported by a regime of science and technological innovation is a compelling one, even if there is the further question of whether this was an accurate representation of American capitalism. But I wonder about what these images did to those of my generation watching them as the world was learning how to conduct itself now that the Cold War was over.

 

There is one episode in which the Cold War figures explicitly. A young schoolboy from the Soviet Union is touring the United States, taking on and intending to defeat American students in a series of one-on-one quizzes— proof, surely, of the superiority of the Soviet educational, and no doubt political, system. Young Vladimir seems a formidable opponent, until it is discovered, halfway through the episode, that he is, in fact, a robot.

 

The Lawsons, who had baulked at having Vicki compete against a real boy, even a Soviet one, now need have no such qualms. Vicki gets to compete against him, and things are neck and neck, until Ted decides that things have gone too far and gives Vladimir a bit of ‘old-fashioned American reprogramming’; the echo with ‘re-education’ was no doubt deliberate. Vladimir interrupts the quiz to announce that he is defecting and that he loves America, and breaks out into a robotic rendition of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. Small Wonder  is the sort of programme that could well have been made by the cultural wing of the CIA. It probably wasn’t, but the CIA couldn’t have produced a better piece of propaganda if they’d tried.

 

It is central to my experience of Small Wonder  that what it depicted, its science fictional component apart, I took to be a portrayal of what American life was like. Other things people of my generation watched—the Wonder Years  will certainly ring some bells and, five or six years later, Friends—were presenting us with appropriately smoothened, comically inflected pictures of somebody else’s way of life, lives people somewhere far away were leading. And the crucial thing is that these were not, as generations of Indians before mine had thought, lives fundamentally without values except those of materialism and technological efficiency, but values of a more straightforwardly moral kind: liberty, individualism, and the pursuit of happiness.

 

 

Neither America, nor the West more generally, nor capitalism, come out well in the Indian cinema on which my parents’ generation grew up— I’m thinking of the long lineage of films from Purab aur Pachhim (1970) through Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), and their descendants: Pardes (1997), Aa Ab Laut Chalen (1999), Dhan Dhana Dhan Goal (2007), Namastey London (2007) to Luv Shuv Tey Chicken Khurana (2012).  With their images of Indians abroad either full of nostalgia for the old country, or full of contempt for it until they have a sudden epiphany. Then the boys cut their hair, girls cover their legs, everyone gives up smoking, and all is well with the world again.

 

It is a common trope in this genre of cinema that the West—that undifferentiated continent—is a place without values. Only the lure of money makes it worth an Indian’s while to be there, such is its unmitigated racism, greed and licentiousness. The old here are refuse, to be emptied into old-age homes, and women, who spend their days smoking in louche nightclubs, are mere objects. And so on— the images are too familiar to need rehearsing. The point is that only India, the old country, has values.

 

Against this, there were the images on television where the West spoke for itself every day. The images on television were ones of autonomy: the suburban nuclear family not as a cruel rupture from some purer and more organic way of life but an ideal in its own right. And they were images of freedom: living alone in a big city not as a tragedy to be avoided with an early marriage but as an adventure, at least while it lasted. The relationship of children with their families, especially their parents, was presented with a mixture of irony, awkwardness, indulgence and love, a good distance away from the solemn and sentimentalized images of these relationships our cinema had given us. It is, again, a further question whether these were ‘better’ values than the ones our cinema had been defending. Still, it was a help to be shown that these things were values, even if they were not our own.

 

I mentioned CIA propaganda, in part because such a thing did exist— the Cold War was, as we now know, in part a struggle for the proverbial ‘hearts and minds’ of the non-aligned. I have the vaguest memory of issues of Span—an American attempt to disseminate images of American superiority across the third world along the lines of the Russians’ Soviet Life—on an uncle’s coffee table. But really, it was the Soviets who had, from the fifties through the eighties, invested in the hearts and minds of India’s young. Pankaj Mishra has an affecting memoir of these years in an essay published in the magazine n+1  some years ago:

 

Mobile bookshops toured the towns offering subscriptions to Soviet magazines and organising book fairs where you could buy two hardback editions of Russian classics for five rupees (at a time when one dollar equalled 18 rupees). … The mobile bookshops came to our town without warning, often appearing in a field where gypsies from Rajasthan set up their black tents. Inside the long truck, books stood in open dusty shelves, monitored by thin young men in glasses. There were many Soviet translations of Russian classics, in addition to the works of Marx, Lenin and Plekhanov. … My earliest purchases were collections of Russian fairy tales, and I now wish I still had, or could recall the titles of, the beautifully illustrated volumes that enlivened much of my childhood.

 

There is much in Mishra’s memoir that I can recognize, just about, but mine is the last generation to have any memory at all of the sort of thing he is talking about. Cousins born a few years after me know little of the mixed economy and even less of the non-aligned movement. They did not grow up, as I did, however briefly, on Soviet-subsidized books of lavishly illustrated Russian folktales, and the drawing-room politics of the nineties were not disposed to the same reflexive anti-Americanism of previous decades. Instead, in those drawing rooms sat colour televisions, with cable, broadcasting American propaganda that did its job precisely because it was not made to be propaganda.

 

In the early 1990s, few people had any coherent idea of the kind of brave new world into which Manmohan Singh’s economic policy was dragging us. Still less did we know what kind of society it would create. Our popular culture has responded in its way to the transition, with both television and cinema in the nineties full of scenes of sinister tycoons signing ten-crore-rupee contracts. But I am thinking about the daily life of capitalism, its effects, good and ill, on ordinary human beings: what does it do to family, what does it do to friendship, what does it feel like to live under it? Here, our popular culture has been of less help.

 

Twenty years later, we are getting the hang of freedom, that ambiguous value— or rather, the peculiar variety of freedom the American Dream represents. It is a powerful idea, powerful enough to command the loyalty of serious and intelligent people. But I am hardly the first person to point out that the dream always had its dark side— violence and exploitation on the one hand, alienation and loneliness on the other. Yet, the idea can have a hold on some of us.

 

We should be honest enough not to deny the part of us that believes, sometimes despite itself, in that dream, even if we believe this only because the fairy tales we grow up with were not Russian but American. The immigrant’s New York is going to look nothing like Friends, but the fantasy of New York is part of what brings some of its immigrants there. The half-truth that dares not speak its name in our cinema is the possibility that it is not just the desire for money that attracts Indians to the West— it is also the promise of freedom and the responsibility that comes with it, however seldom that promise is realized.

 

It is tempting, too tempting, to think the impulse a Western one. But India has always had the ingredients of that impulse– the renunciant in the Sanskrit tradition seeks freedom of a sort, as does the ancient Tamil poet who complains that “living / among relations / binds the feet”. Within the terms of such a worldview, the American dream is a paradox: the householder whose feet are still unbound.

 

There is a winsome moment in Satyajit Ray’s Mahanagar (The Big City, 1963) where Madhabi Mukherjee’s Arati, a housewife unexpectedly successful in her job as door-to-door saleswoman, is offered a lesson in applying lipstick by her (inevitably) Anglo-Indian colleague Edith. Arati protests at first, then blushes, then checks that the door is locked, insists that Edith put “not much, just a little”. Edith reminds her of the “Indian book on sex, you know, the famous one, that said that Indian girls used to paint their lips and eyebrows and fingernails and everything, in the old days. So why shouldn’t you?” Arati looks at herself in the mirror shyly, preens for a moment, then wipes it all off.

 

Things come to grief for both Edith and Arati soon enough, but the moment stays with you, a brief moment of daring, a little experiment in being free. Not much, just a little.

 

EVERGREEN

On Dev Anand’s second death anniversary, Sidharth Bhatia writes about India’s longest lasting star who changed cinema forever.

 

 

During my interviews with Dev Anand for the book I was writing, the octogenarian star used to often talk about his friendship with Hollywood stars and his love for western cinema. Kirk Douglas, James Stewart, Shirley MacLaine, he had met them all. He admired Charlie Chaplin. He had discussed the possibility of an English film with David O. Selznick, but the latter died suddenly. What he liked about Hollywood was the glamour. Stars, he often said, should be stars. They should have mystique and style and not be seen to be just like everyone else. “Why should stars advertise soap or cement?” he used to say. That larger than life glamour was reflected in his own films and his own persona.

 

But I think there was more to it than just notions of stardom or the dazzle of Hollywood. He admired the West for its modernity. For Dev Anand was the quintessential modern man, on screen and off. He was an urban and urbane man, from the debonair manner in which he carried himself to the films he made. His films were always set in the city, in an industrial urban landscape, rejecting implicitly the traditional and the conventional. Indian films in the 1930s and 1940s were pegged mostly around mythological, historic or nationalistic themes, often focusing on and glorifying the village. In their manner, mores and technique, the films of Navketan, Dev Anand’s production house, sought out new ideas and values that could have belonged anywhere, not necessarily in the rooted Indian context. For instance, Navketan’s first film Afsar, released in 1950, is a social satire based on Russian dramatist Nikolai Gogol’s The Government Inspector. The second, Baazi (1951), Guru Dutt’s directorial debut, falls squarely in the genre of early Hollywood noir. The city became Navketan’s milieu.

 

Making urban-centric films in the 1950s was a brave decision. Newly independent India was a predominantly rural nation. Gandhi had said India lives in its villages, which was taken to mean that that is where the country’s policy emphasis should be. The sub-text was also that the village was an idyllic society and the repository of Indian values while the city was alienating, cruel and, most damningly, a Western construct. Rich and exploitative capitalists lived there, who were out to cheat simple and good-hearted villagers.

 

Raj Kapoor, along with K. A. Abbas, made Shree 420 on that theme and Bimal Roy’s film Do Bigha Zamin brought this out even more starkly. The trope remained with filmmakers for years, well into the 1970s and beyond.

 

Dev Anand and his brothers, Chetan and Vijay, were not of that mindset. They saw the city, with all its good and evil, for itself. It was the sole protagonist of the Navketan films, which did not resort to using village life as a foil. Elder brother Chetan Anand and Dev had been to Government College, Lahore, an elitist institution which was steeped in Western mores. Chetan’s wife Uma Anand came from a highly Westernized family of Bengali Christians and her father worked in the college; life centred around tea parties and tennis matches. The ICS (Indian Civil Service) was thought to be the natural home for Chetan and he went off to London to prepare; when he did not make it, he joined The Doon School, one of India’s best residential schools, to teach. Young Dev was in the same Westernized, or more specifically, Anglicised mould.

 

Navketan always remained off the beaten path and Dev Anand and his brothers must take the credit for this. The earlier Bombay Noir black and white films—Baazi, Taxi Driver (1954) etc.—and the later colour films such as Guide (1965), Jewel Thief (1967) and Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971) were equally bold in their conception and execution. Besides being completely city-centric (Taxi Driver was possibly the first film to be shot completely outdoors in Mumbai), the early Navketan films were unique in that Dev Anand played a kind of anti-hero mostly, with shades of grey to his character. For years afterwards, he continued to play such characters—from House No. 44 (1955) in the fifties to Jewel Thief and Johny Mera Naam (1970) in the sixties and after. Even though he often turned out to be the good cop, his character pretended to be a crook. The heroines in their films too were different from their peers. They were not clingy, weepy or traditional as heroines were likely to be in that era. Often, they were ambitious. In the first Navketan hit, Baazi, the heroine is a doctor; in Taxi Driver, she is a hopeful singer who comes to Bombay to try her luck; in Nau Do Gyarah (1957) she is someone who has run away from home to get out of a wedding. This tradition continues right up to Jewel Thief, Hare Rama Hare Krishna and Heera Panna (1973). More remarkably, the “vamps” or even heroines were not embarrassed about their sexuality and no one gave preachy lectures about that. In B. R. Chopra’s Gumrah, for example, the rich housewife who yearns for a former lover is suitably chastised by her husband for her waywardness; contrast that with Navketan’s Guide. Here, Rosie the dancer leaves two men—one of them her husband—who disappoint her, and makes her own life. Guide is bold even by today’s standards; adultery is still a subject that makes Indian filmmakers nervous.

 

Guide is worth examining in some depth, because it is a landmark film not only for Navketan but also in the annals of Indian cinema. There is of course the English Guide and the Hindi one, but the former remains nondescript and unseen and is not worth discussing (I have seen it, but it is little more than a curiosity, a novelty rather than a serious film).

 

When Dev Anand with his typical enthusiasm decided to make the film, he chose to pull out all stops, getting Pearl Buck involved. He flew to meet R. K. Narayan and impressed him with his energy. Soon the film shoot was up and running but it became clear that the initial plan of shooting it bilingually at the same time would not work; the two directors could not see eye to eye. When Chetan Anand, the director of the Hindi version left to make his own film (Haqeeqat), Dev Anand asked his younger brother Vijay “Goldie” Anand to direct. He flatly refused, pointing out that the subject was not in conformity with Indian attitudes. How could they show an Indian heroine (who needs to be purer than the driven snow) having an affair, whatever the motivation? In the book the hero, Raju guide, is an unscrupulous man who seduces Rosie soon after he meets her. Rosie is an unsatisfied wife whose husband is more interested in statues than her. Even so, why would she stray? After Dev Anand prevailed on Goldie, the latter shut himself in a room for a few weeks to write a new script with a completely new angle to the story. This version had a few plot twists— a scene that justified the adultery and the desertion by the wife and then, subsequently, a new ending which was more cathartic and satisfying.

 

There was redemption and closure, which are very important in Hindi cinema. Guide is not without its flaws, but remains a great film. Its story, its scale and even the routine song and dance are handled with great sophistication. Watch the song Tere Mere Sapne, which is shot at dawn in just three shots. Or the superb Aaj Phir Jeene Ki Tamanna Hai, which fully expresses the newfound freedom of the heroine. The film works even today.

 

Navketan did not only make great entertainers and classics and many of its latter films were poorly conceived and made. Dev Anand became a parody of himself eventually and his latter films were unsuccessful because he had lost touch with a younger audience and didn’t seem to get that. In films like Love at Times Square (2003) or Mr. Prime Minister (2005) or Chargesheet (2011) he appeared as he would in his youth, in colourful mufflers, suede waistcoats and denim jackets. He was trying hard through these films to reinvent the cinema of Navketan but, sadly, failed to reinvent himself. His films became by him and about him; he had become the institution.

 

He had, however, had a great run as a star and, until the end, remained one. In Navketan films (and in other Dev Anand films too), the individual faces the challenges of life in a non-complaining way and with a smile. Almost all early films he made had him singing a happy-go-lucky song about facing life in a cheerful manner: Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke (Nau do Gyarah); Chahe koi khush ho chaahe gaaliyan hazaar de / Mastram ban ke zindagi ke din guzaar de, (Taxi Driver) and, of course, Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya (Hum Dono), which was written for him by his friend Sahir Ludhianvi, and became his personal anthem.

 

My intention in writing my book was not only to celebrate the wonderful films they made but also give Navketan—and all those who worked in it—its due. The directors, actors and technicians, the musicians and lyricists, were among the best in the industry. Technicians, such as V. Ratra, who was cinematographer for most of the well-known Navketan films (from Afsar and Baazi, to Hum Dono, right up to Jewel Thief and Chhupa Rustam, in 1973). Their works delight us even today. Also, who can forget all those songs, beginning with Tadbeer Se Bigdi Hui Taqdeer Bana Le in Baazi (written by Sahir Ludhianvi, set to music by the legendary S. D. Burman), to Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya (again a Sahir lyric, composed by Jaidev) to Dum Maaro Dum in Hare Rama Hare Krishna (written by Anand Bakshi and composed by S. D. Burman’s son R. D. Burman)?

 

I was pleasantly surprised to see the phenomenal media coverage of Dev Anand’s death, two years ago, on this date. That an 88 year old actor, long forgotten by everybody and whose name means nothing to the younger generation today got wall to wall coverage for days on television and in the newspapers says something about him. It shows that Dev Anand was the original cool hero who would have been a hit with the youth of any generation, including the current one. Dev Anand engendered the carefree Shammi Kapoor and the current crop of actors too owe a lot to him. Vijay Anand has a huge following among the next generation of Indian directors, like Sriram Raghavan and Sudhir Mishra. Navketan translates into ‘new banner’ and, true enough to its name, it unfurled a banner that was radically new for its time.

 

 

The writer’s book on Navketan, ‘Cinema Modern: The Navketan Story’ is available here. 

Eye of the Beholder: Atul Dodiya

54 year old artist Atul Dodiya was, in 1977, in a fix as to whether he should pursue art or films because “they were both intense passions”. He chose art. The boy who was “brought up on old Guru Dutt movies” studied at the Sir J. J. School of Art, Mumbai, and the École Des Beaux Arts, Paris. He went on to win the Sanskriti Award, the Sotheby’s Prize for Contemporary Indian Art and the Raza Award. Among his acclaimed work has been his series on Mahatma Gandhi and one titled Bombay: Labyrinth / Laboratory. But his love of cinema persisted and continues to do so. A sort of self-portrait called ‘The Bombay Buccaneer’, an oil, acrylic and wood on canvas that marked a step away from his earlier photo-realistic approach in 1994, is actually a take on the poster of the Hindi film Baazigar. ‘Gabbar on Gamboge’ is a portrait of actor Amjad Khan’s character from Sholay. In ‘The Trans-Siberian Express for Kajal’ he painted the last shot—of a son perched on a father’s shoulders—from Satyajit Ray’s Apur Sansar (released the year Dodiya was born). ‘Sunday Morning, Marine Drive’ comprised, among other images, an angry young Amitabh Bachchan. Saptapadi is a series featuring actresses from regional and Hindi films, in a sort of commentary on marriage. Portrait of a Dealer features, alongside characters from Bollywood, Heath Ledger as The Dark Knight’s Joker, Daryl Hannah as Elle Driver from Kill Bill and Anthony Hopkin’s chilling Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

In keeping with this penchant for referencing and retaining cinematic images, Dodiya’s latest tribute to cinema (a part of the multi-disciplinary project Cinema City— that addresses the relationship between Mumbai and its film industry) has been on Bollywood antagonists, where he juxtaposes iconic old Hindi film villains against signboards for railway stations on the city’s Central Line, which he used to travel on when he went to art school. Ghatkopar, where Dodiya grew up and where his studio is still, has been assigned Pran, his own favourite villain. There is an anomaly in the series. Bindu, the only female antagonist in the series, is juxtaposed against ‘Atul’, a station that is actually not on the Central Line, but somewhere near Gujarat.

Back in Ghatkopar, he lets us into his studio, close to the chawl where he grew up, and settles down amidst scores of stunning collected and created works of art, to talk about his work and cinema’s imprint on it.

 

 

An edited transcript:

 

So before you went to the Sir J. J. School of Art, there was a moment you were considering studying Cinema. Now, you clearly love the movies, ample proof everywhere. You have also called it the ‘complete medium’, quite often. What tilted the scale in favour of studying Art over studying Cinema at that point?

 

Well, I was very good at drawing and painting and it was very easy to take a paper and start drawing on your small desk. So, I think one of the reasons was that painting was accessible. And I immediately realized… I was looking at lots of movies, and soon I realized that it’s teamwork, you work with many people. And there are instruments, and there are technologies, and there’s chemistry which is involved. And those things— I was a little scared of that. And then I was also aware that it’s an expensive medium, so even to take a simple photograph, you need a camera and, in those days, of course, film was there. So you have to get film, and get it developed and all that. So, in that sense, the painting was the most sort of ‘at hand’ thing. That I can just buy a small notebook and start drawing with a pencil, it was that easy. And I was good at painting also, of course. That’s why I am a painter.

 

 

Even possibly, at 11 or 12, you started to think of taking up painting as a career. You grew up in Bombay, in Ghatkopar… It’s interesting to me to try and understand where you were growing up. Was this an option back then? Did too many kids think of becoming a painter, or becoming a writer, or was it a very unconventional choice? Did it come from someone in your family?

 

No, actually, it was unconventional. It wasn’t easy, even for me. Though my parents were very supportive, but my elder sister insisted that I should go do Architecture, and she insisted that I should take in my 11 standard, instead of History, Geography, and Civics— Maths, Physics, and Chemistry. And I failed twice in my SSC (Secondary School Certificate) due to that. Of course, during those two years, I did a lot of painting, and my father gave me a first class pass, you know, a railway train pass, to go from Ghatkopar to VT (Victoria Terminus, now Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus) so I could have a look at the exhibitions at the Jehangir Art Gallery. The fear was that there is no future in this. There is no one star. At the most you can be a drawing teacher or have the job of a professor in some art school, but otherwise, what about the future, surviving, all those things? So, even the neighbours or relatives would encourage that point, that— ‘Don’t allow him to do painting.’ But then I was so good and I was winning these competitions, awards, and prizes and they realized that there’s so much passion and love I have for painting. So, it was decided that I should be allowed. And, of course, when I failed twice in SSC it was decided that I’m a gone case, and that I should simply do what I really love. And then I joined Sir J.J. School of Art, and then, there, I was like a king— enjoying painting so much. That passion, you know, of those days, till today remains the same. It’s not that now I have achieved, got, everything. It’s not that. That anxiety, that joy, is still there.

 

 

That’s terrific. But coming back to art and cinema, other than the obvious what for you are the key similarities and differences between the two mediums. I mean, purely in terms of the expression of each, because obviously, logistically, they are completely different mediums. For example, what does art afford you that cinema would not be able to. And, vice versa. What could perhaps cinema have afforded you as an artist which art cannot?

 

Yeah, well there are two things. As far as art or painting is concerned, it’s like a one-man-activity in your private space. Andthere’s total freedom. Whatever I want to do. Of course, there are viewers, there are people who look at your work, and your past, and your future and there are a lot of constraints and pressure once you are out there as a professional, but otherwise, basically, essentially, total freedom is there. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone; I just do it for myself. I just do what I really want to do. And no one can dictate to me, guide me. I am not painting for someone so that’s how it starts. And in cinema, first of all, you need a huge amount of finance and someone who puts in that money expects some return and that’s how it starts. But otherwise, for me, cinema is a complete medium, no doubt about it. There are visuals, there are sounds, there’s performance, there’s music, so much to it. And there’s a time span involved in it. So it is something, which is, I think, one of the greatest mediums of the 20th century. And it engages you immediately. When a viewer goes to the cinema hall or a theatre, watching a movie, within a few minutes, he’s there, forgetting everything. So I think the medium has a profound quality.

 

 

You know, from what I understand of your body of work, I would say roughly there are two ways in which cinema has influenced your work. One is, what I would call the indirect influence, which is from watching cinema. You know the craft you have learnt from watching a filmmaker and what he has done with a movie and then translated it in to your own medium. But then that is invisible, indirect. And then there’s a direct influence, where you have referenced cinematic tropes or cinematic images in your artworks. So I want to start talking about the latter first. And my first question would be that, in a world populated with Bollywood images, which have been rehashed as kitschy cool—it has become a trend over the last decade or so—how do you stay inspired to reference Hindi cinema?

 

Yeah, I mean, see from early days, from when I was born and brought up, here in Ghatkopar actually, the movies were always here. You know, one of my first experiences of… if I have to say which are the first paintings that I saw… One kind would be at home— the earlier images of gods, goddesses, my mother being a very religious person. So they were all those calendars which used to come during Diwali, and they were framed, and they were all up there on the wall. And the second thing was, while going to town, I would see the huge hoardings, the painted ones. Nowadays, we have digitally created hoardings and posters of films. But in those days, there were a few studios where the hoardings or posters were hand painted. So that was my first exposure to art, I would say, or painted images. And I was, you know, quite astonished, quite sort of stunned to see those large, huge hoardings where the heroine is painted in very soft turquoise or emerald colours, and villains, often, with a palette knife, which has a texture. I still remember there was a film called Kuchche Dhaage. It was about the dacoits, with Kabir Bedi and Vinod Khanna—they were the dacoits—and the large heads were painted with a palette knife, with extreme orange and violet thrown on both the sides with green and red. So, you know, I still remember those things. And, would love to see all that. So, that’s how it started.

 

And I remember, like when, I was in my sixth standard, when I really, passionately began looking at art, drawing, and painting, I think Aradhana came, of Rajesh Khanna, and my God! It was, and it’s sad that last year he passed away, but it was phenomenal. I remember watching his movies, Rajesh Khanna’s films like Aradhana, Do Raaste, Anand and Amar Prem. I have five sisters, and four are elder to me, and they were all fans of Rajesh Khanna, like everyone else. And, to impress my sisters’ friends, all those girls, who used to come home, I would keep on drawing portraits of Rajesh Khanna, one after the other. From whatever magazines used to come at home, or the newspaper ads, so these things were there. And I think much later, when I started… ‘quotations’ and ‘reference’ was always a part of my work. I see all kinds of art and I get engaged with all those, from the early masters to Chinese calligraphy to contemporary art— whatever. And somehow, when I start doing my own work, I immediately, I am reminded of something, and if I am remembering some other artist’s image, I incorporate it. I allow it to be included in my painting. So that was happening—lots of it actually happened, mostly after ’91 or ’92, when I was a French government scholar in Paris and when I returned from Paris—and at one point, I thought: ‘Well, there’s a whole world out there, which I was probably interested in but ignoring in my own eye, which was the popular culture— the calendar art, the element of kitsch in popular art, which is so much a part of our life.’ Particularly if you are living in a suburb like Ghatkopar you are constantly bombarded with these kinds of images, during the festivals, like Diwali or the Ganesh festival. Images that I was not allowing in. And I remember one of the first paintings that I did then, which was called ‘The Bombay Buccaneer’, and it was about myself, holding the gun like in a James Bond pose, and the painting was inspired by a film called Baazigar, with Shah Rukh Khan and two actresses being depicted in his glasses. It was a newspaper ad that I kind of saw, and I did my own version of that depicting my two favourite painters in my glasses and after that I thought, ‘This I should allow’, more and more, and I was enjoying it actually. You know, when I paint a film star and then people recognize it, it’s already an established image, which I am kind of incorporating into my work. But, along with that, I would juxtapose things in such a way that it would create a different meaning all together, all the while retaining the personality of those film stars. For example, I wanted to do for a long time, this series of station signs, and when the Project Cinema City happened, I did this thing. And it’s obvious that cinema is there, and the city is also there. I wanted to create the villains of Bollywood, particularly of the sixties and late fifties, seventies. Now we have different kinds of villains but those were very, very stylized people in the way they would be depicted in those films.

 

 

I would interrupt you for a second; I want to talk about this series in some detail. I am going to come to it a little later. You know you said this, that you quote a lot in your work, so, you don’t need to necessarily have an answer to this question, but I would put it to you anyway. Why reference directly? See every art, every piece of writing, comes from somewhere— we are building upon the collective consciousness that we have, the artistic, or the mythological, or whateverthat is. So, invisibly, it’s there, in everything we create and everything we do, but why do you choose to make direct cinematic references in your work? Do you feel like it falls upon the artist to understand and interpret the enormous impact, the monumental impact, cinema has on our culture and psyche, or is there any other reason?

 

No, I think. Not because the cinema has this, as you said, monumental impact on our psyche. Not for that, but I think, some of the images or even… I often go to the actors whom I depict, whom I admire because I like them. And you know, what I do, as far as painting references are concerned—also the images which I do they are already established, already known—they are things which I like. So, what I used to do as a young boy is just copy a portrait of Van Gogh. You know, that’s how I started. My very first oil painting was a self portrait of Vincent Van Gogh which I attempted, so I think. And there was an immense joy, when I achieved the likeness of a Van Gogh painting in my painting, and I think, somewhere I retain that even today, that when I am coating complex paintings of mine, or maybe these cabinets that you see here, there are lots of Piet Mondrian abstract paintings inside. Actually I still have that same innocent approach— that ‘Oh! It’s so good, and I like it, and I did it for myself’. But of course, along with that, a lot of other things come, and then I noticed while doing that that though the established meaning is there, at the same time sometimes it also gets another meaning, when you put other elements together or juxtapose it with something else. So I think, basically, the images which came, particularly from cinema, they came because of the movies which I enjoy and the stills which are so popular, which people are familiar with. And I think one of the reasons is— the viewer matters to me a lot. You see, often artists are very private people, they just do it in the studio, what they want to do, and it gets exhibited. They are not, maybe for the right reason also, very concerned with how the other people would see it. They say it’s open— what one wants to see, let them see. But in my case, I am really concerned about how people see and how people don’t see a painting— particularly when you are living in a country like India, and a city like Bombay, a suburb like Ghatkopar, in a chawl. I have moved into this studio two to three years back, but where I was born and brought up, the same home in my chawl became my studio for more than 20 years. And, so my neighbours, they were my first viewer, they were the audience who would see me. They would have seen me drawing portraits of Rajesh Khanna as well as creating much more complex works with roller shutters and other stuff, so they were also getting educated with me. Because they were watching my paintings and I would love to share. I love to talk about what I am doing, why I am doing it, and in that context I think, I feel that I want to create something which one should be able to understand or which one should be able to relate to at least. So there are elements, whichare familiar and so the viewers are immediately drawn to those things and along with that I add many other things, which they are not familiar with sometimes.And that creates a sort of a conflict and they want to struggle to understand ‘why’. Why, for instance, do I have in one of my paintings, which is called ‘A Poem of Friends’, a Jayshree T. and an Aruna Irani dancing in a corner and otherwise it is full of text. And then there are two film stars dancing, so I think they immediately get drawn to it and then they try to understand what it all means. So I think how to get people engaged in my work has been my prior concern till today.

 

 

So, in a sense, you are saying that, for you, a lot of cinematic references come from a need to stay connected with your first viewers. You know, people who you grew up around. And in a sense also to stay connected with your own self. To start where you started and then take everything along as well but the other thing that I feel you express very well through cinematic references, that comes across really well, is your sense of humour. There’s a little bit of a tongue-in-cheek, there’s a little bit of a wry smile. Would you say that cinematic references are one of your primary, you know, sort of vehicles for a little bit of fun that you have?

 

Yeah, I think you are right. Whenever I have used particularly Bollywood and film stars or villains there’s been a lot of humour and wit, which is not to say that I am making fun of them, but I think there’s certainly humour in it, some element of tongue-in-cheek, those things are there. But then there are also other references I have from other cinema, like films of Satyajit Ray, (Federico) Fellini, or (Jean-Luc) Godard.

 

 

I was going to come to that. You are one of the artists that reference both commercial masala cinema as well as serious cinema. How is your approach to each of these references different?

 

Of course, the Hindi masala films or popular films were very much there. In Bombay it’s everywhere, at home also. And of course, the radio was very much there with Hindi film songs and the songs that we know from the forties, the fifties, the sixties… they were just amazing. The great musicians, the great singers, the great songwriters… the songs which I still hear. When I am painting, constantly, the songs of Mohammed Rafi and Geeta Dutt are constantly on my music system. But that is one thing. But I think when I saw other films, like regional films in India or not just Hollywood films from the United States but French cinema or German films or Italian films, then I felt that ‘Oh! This is also cinema. But this is so different’, and I must tell you a small… what happened to me when I saw my very first Satyajit Ray film on Doordarshan. It was on a Saturday. The movie was Nayak. And when I saw Nayak, the story goes like the film star is going to get an award in Delhi and he chooses to not fly, but to travel by train and the journalist Sharmila Tagore, the beautiful Sharmila Tagore in that film, they start talking and she wants to take an interview at some point. A station comes, the train stops just outside a small village near Calcutta, and he gets down just to stretch his arms and orders a cup of tea. And he takes in that small cup and as he is about to drink a cup of tea he sees that the journalist is sitting near the window and she’s looking at him. So he just asks in a gesture, whether she would like some, and she says, ‘No’, and that shot, you know, that changed my life, I would say.

 

 

What about that shot?

 

That was so natural, that was so real. I thought this is as if I was there. And it was not just a film; it was like life itself. I mean, this is the way people behave, this is the way people talk, this is the way people make gestures, and, I don’t know, it was probably… it was a kind of evening light, the tonality of the film, the expression of the actors, maybe the shot…whatever. I don’t even remember. Probably the subtitle. I don’t speak Bangla or understand it, but that was a huge impact. After that I had heard of Pather Panchali and the Apu Trilogy, but that was the first film (by Ray) that I saw. And I said this is something, a different kind of a film, and then I wanted to see more and more of that kind of film.

 

 

Coming back to your own work, can you tell us by examples how differently you would reference something from serious cinema that stayed with you? Like, if we take something from Charulata and something from popular cinema that you havegrown up listening to and watching, something as a part of all of our collective memories. If by example you could say how differently the references come to your work and what you do with your references, which is different in both the cases?

 

I think I will have to select the specific paintings. For example, in 1997, or ’95, I think, Sholay was celebrating its 25 years. I did a painting called ‘Gabbar on Gamboge’, which had a chrome yellow background— yellow gamboge. Amjad Khan as Gabbar Singh from Sholay. The story around him, narrated with violent imagery and the skulls, and bones, and other things around. But it was like a strong painting in terms of colour and sound. Like, if the painting is there, no one can miss it. Its brightness and the image was obvious. There I wanted to do this in a certain way. But before I did that painting, just the previous painting was called ‘The Trans Siberian Express for Kajal’, which was the last shot of Apu Trilogy or Apur Sansar, when the father ultimately goes to the boy and he takes him on his shoulders. And Soumitra Chatterjee is on a frontal face and some of the written text comes on screen. And that painting had to do with… the film was made in ’59, and I was born in ’59 and I painted it at the end of the century. And along with that there was another complex world; in fact, Joseph Beuys’ drawing books is here. And the artist Joseph Beuys, the major installation called the ‘The End of the Twentieth Century’, with large granite pieces lying in a gallery studio. I had put all of that in the background and I was just wondering how time has changed, even in art, the artwork was happening in a very different way. I mean, people were familiar with oil in canvas, and sculptures in bronze or marble, but lots of things changed in the last 25 to 30 years, so I was thinking about it and how I myself have changed in all these years. And, probably, the boy who’s there in that film, acting as Kajal, he must be around my age. Of course, a little elder. So I wanted to think about the time— the changing time, and how life gets changed and how in the film that man’s wife suddenly dies during the childbirth and how his life changes. We know the whole story about that particular film, Apur Sansar. So it was a very brown, sepia-tone picture, with imagery from Satyajit Ray’s cinema and the images from Joseph Beuys— the German artist’s works. Each came from absolutely separate kinds of areas. So, that was a different kind of film, but ‘Gabbar on Gamboge’… I enjoyed Sholay a lot. I saw it first day, first show, I remember, ’75, I think. And I saw it at Basant theatre in Chembur. It was a long film and I remember in the interval, people were talking about how Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra, they are fantastic, and Sanjeev Kumar, of course, he is a great actor, but the villain, why, they should have gone for some well known name. And I had gone for the film with my cousin and I was telling him, I think, someone called Amjad Khan— he’s the high point of this movie, he’s going to be a fantastic actor in future, and that’s what happened. So, I remember that. So, I think probably with a popular film like Sholay, and of course we know how popular that film was…

 

So I think, it was in ’97 when India was celebrating 50 years of its independence and many events were happening. So when I painted ‘Trans Siberian Express for Kajal’ I was asked in Bombay for a show and I said I am going to depict one artist, whom I admire and for that I went to Satyajit Ray’s film. And ‘Gabbar on Gamboge’ was shown in an exhibition in Delhi in the National Gallery of Modern Art, and it was about choosing something from popular cinema. And then I thought of doing something from Sholay and that’s how I did it. And, in the process, I took a challenge. You see one can keep doing serious art and references which are much more serious, either from the art world or from serious cinema. But you know, here, for the first time, my palette was changed completely. I came up with bright colours and garish imagery in my painting, which happened for the first time. Of course, people loved the painting very much. In fact, it’s in a museum in Japan in their collection— the Fukuoka Art Museum. But I think, I feel that I don’t want to be bound or limit myself to one type of work. I keep on changing always. I feel that every time either with my work on watercolour, or work on laminate, or work on shutters or oils, I attempt things differently and I thought, ‘This popular cinema has a lot where I can experiment and explore things in a different way.’ And a very different kind of a genre would come out of this if I try. A different kind of narrative would come about in my painting, and I should do that, because I also like that. It is not necessary that I would sit through the films every time I was watching them at home but, and I must tell you that I really am quite familiar, particularly with the actresses, villains, comedians, heroines, and these were the kinds of things that were quite common in the seventies or eighties. The hero, the heroine, the villain, the character actors, the father, and the mother, and the extras who support them in a different way, like the servants or people who would come and give a cup of tea and things like that. I mean, I know everyone, including the, you know… I can make out by listening to the flute that this is S.D. Burman and not Salil Chowdhury, or I can say this is Sajjad Hussain and not Ghulam Mohammed. I am that good in understanding, the music particularly. So, Madan Mohan and Jaidev, all these people. Actually, there’s a lot of love for films, I must say.

 

 

Well, that in itself is a very good reason to keep it alive. But, I also have to ask you, most of the references are from older films. Is that because of nostalgia or because the newer Indian cinema has just not been able to sustain your interest in that way?

 

Yeah, I must tell you that. I would not say nostalgia because when I was watching those films, even at that time, there were some films that I liked and some films, which I didn’t like. But frankly, say, after 1980 onwards, or maybe in last 20 years, the Hindi films which emerged, I never liked those films really. Very few people, very few, literally like… I want to watch Talaash, say, Aamir Khan’s films. Even the early Aamir Khan films I have not seen, but I think after Lagaan, five or seven films that came in this decade they were all, I thought there is someone who’s thinking or wants to take films to a different level.  So, I think there are very few, whose films I enjoy. Because first of all music has very much been a part of films all these years. And the contemporary film musicians, their music, and the songs— I very rarely like. It’s… yeah, I don’t know, but I tell you one thing that recently, when I saw, which film did I see of his… Anurag Kashyap’s? When I saw his film, Gangs of Wasseypur, the recent one, but the first one… I think, no, I saw it on DVD I think… Black Friday. When I saw that film, initially I said: ‘Okay, the bomb blasts and all those things… ’ But when I saw the way the film moved, the way it travels, and there’s also travelling happening in the film, and I thought this is something interesting. And then I saw Dev. D, and then I saw Gulaal. I said: ‘This is someone who interests me.’ I like the subject matter, the solid performances, the great camera work, and the very unusual take on music— the songs composed are totally different, not the way normal Hindi films would have it, so I think there I felt that there is something. And then of course, I saw both the Gangs of Wasseypurs, and I like his films. He’s good.

 

 

I wanted you to tell me a little more about your Charulata images. Again, one of your Ray references, how did that come about?

 

You know, I actually was doing a series called ‘Saptapadi: Scenes from Marriage’ regardless. There were 24 paintings on laminates and I was doing the readymade laminates, like mica, which already had a pattern on it and I had earlier done works on that medium. Initially, of course, Saptapadi was also a film in Bengali, with Uttam Kumar and Suchitra Sen. And Scenes From A Marriage, it’s also a film by (Ingmar) Bergman, a very serious film. And I thought I wanted to sort of work on this subject of marriage: man, woman, the husband-wife relationship. And I thought, what would happen, what kind of imagery would come about? And soon I realized that if I take this in a Bergmanian way then it’s going to be very boring and I wouldn’t be able to engage my viewer. And even I would not be able to handle the subject probably or maybe it would become too personal. And if it would become too personal then maybe I would find it difficult to engage my viewer and soon I realized, ‘Okay, create a fiction, create a narrative,’ which is not necessarily a truth, but go to a wide range of images from calendar art to popular films etc. And in that case, I had, of course, three films, with Madhabi Mukherjee, which Satyajit Ray made – Mahanagar, Kapurush, and Charulata. All these films had the wife very much there, the central figure, and a relationship with the husband, or ex-boyfriend. So I thought it would be great to have three paintings called Arati, Karuna, and Charu, these three characters from Ray films. Also, since I like all these films so much. So I basically wanted to do a portrait of Madhabi Mukherjee also. And when I painted ‘Charu’, I thought why not have three other actresses from European cinema, which was anidea that came in the process. And I painted Brigitte Bardot from Godard’s film, Contempt, Jeanne Moreau from La Notte (The Night) by (Michelangelo) Antonioni, and of course, Liv Ullmann from Scenes From A Marriage. And having them together in one picture plane, these four actresses from the four greatest films, according to me, and scenes from those films together in one picture plane would be fantastic to just look at. Beautiful actresses, great actresses, and great films, and I just enjoyed doing that painting. In fact, I kept it for myself. That work is with me in my collection.

 

 

Did you ever get a chance to meet Ray?

 

No, never. I was too young and of course in ’91 and ’92 when I was away in Paris for my scholarship, I think it was the month of May or April (April 23, 1992), he died. And I remember the front page news of every newspaper, ‘The Master is no more’, on TV channels, his interviews, and other films were on. And I noticed, in fact, you know my biggest regret is his movies most of which I now watch on DVDs are rarely shown. Sometimes in a film club screening, but, you know, never screened here. His last film Agantuk was released in Paris then, but it was never released in Bombay. Of course in Calcutta people can see Ray films sometimes but not in Bombay. So that was a big regret.

 

 

Would you have liked to meet him and show him some of your work, which references his movies?

 

When I had my first solo show in ’89, there was a small, tiny catalogue, which I had sent in, to his Calcutta address, but that’s it. Never met him.

 

 

But, in any case, like you said, your quotation comes more from love, more than coming from, you know, picking up bits of craft, directly following a path that someone has followed. It comes more from expressing your love for what you do, which also should bring me to the series you did for the ‘Cinema City’, project in 2012 for NGMA. The first thing that of course struck me was you painted the villains and station signage together, and that this is the Central Line that goes from Ghatkopar to Victoria Terminus and it’s interesting how you… if somebody knows Bombay they would know that the Western line is a more ‘heroic’ line and this is the line that gets beaten. So, again, a sense of humour is very visible but how did you allocate the villains to the stations?

 

Yeah, well, actually long back when I was in the final year at J.J. School of Arts, was when the painting about the Ghatkopar stations signs called ‘Homage to Ghatkopar’ came about, and you would see the actual scale of the canvas and there are two types of signs— one, where the station ends, a long rectangular sort of a thing, and in between you have this metro sign, which is… So, what I did was I went back to the small scale and so when you see this, one of the questions is whether is it a painting or is it a station sign? Because it covers the whole thing. It doesn’t show the tracks or trees or other people or platform, nothing. Just that. You are so close to the whole painting that it’s exactly the station sign, you know, which you see. So, that is one of the questions: Whether is it a painting or is it a painting sign. That’s one thing which I love, that kind of a pictorial puzzle to put in front of my viewer. Second thing, when we were discussing the ‘Cinema City’, it was obvious that it’s a city because the station signs are there, and that too Bombay, and that too the Central Railway line, because Ghatkopar, where I live, that comes on the Central Line and from Ghatkopar to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, or CST, there are 13 stations, and I added the 14th one— my name. If you go near Vapi, in Gujarat, there’s a station called, a small town called Atul, where I put Bindu.

 

 

But, how did you choose which villains go where? Clearly you have reserved Pran for Ghatkopar, which is artist’s liberty so I guessed you picked the best for Ghatkopar.

 

Pran is my favourite villain and I have always remained that way. So, I was always clear that I would like to have Pran on Ghatkopar.

 

 

And, Gabbar would have to be on CST.

 

Yeah, exactly, I thought Amjad Khan, you know, but there is no reason. Like a lot of people were asking me whether some of the actors at some point lived in these specific suburbs, and I said, no, except for K.N. Singh, who lived in Matunga. Actually, I had another image there previously and I read somewhere and I said, ‘Oh! If he was living in Matunga, then I have not yet finished the painting so let me have Singh in Matunga.’ So, I just added him, because I like him also, very much.

 

 

Amrish Puri, of course, lived in Juhu. But he’s shown at Sion, so, there was no reason why he was at Sion? The rest of the selections you just made randomly?

 

Yeah, and also because the local name of Sion is also ‘Shiv’. And I think when I chose this image of Amrish Puri from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, from there he looks like some kind of a… he looks like some kind of a priest, who’s probably not a good man. So I thought, ‘Let me have one at Sion, Amrish Puri’, but otherwise, basically it was just going to be 14 villains, so which 14 people should be there. And the people who I enjoyed very much, that was important, you know. And that’s kind of how I selected people like Shatrughan Sinha, Jeevan, Shakti Kapoor…

 

 

That’s a very immaculate choice. But the youngest villain that you have is Gulshan Grover. Would you say that the era of villains is over now?

 

Yeah, the kind of villains… like yesterday I was watching your interview with Amitabh Bachchan, and I said let me see the website and he said, how earlier it was like either the dacoit or Thakur was the villain. Then, the times changed, and the politicians came, and then the underworld don kind of villains came, with Ajit and many others. So with the story and the heroic aspect— of a hero and his glory, the narrative was such that it was the demand. But I think now probably, I can’t comment much because I haven’t seen many contemporary films, but, I think, now it has changed, and probably what was interesting about these villains was that it was very stylized, the way they would talk, the way they would dress, or the way they would… like if you watch K.N. Singh, the way he would put one eyebrow up, the way his eyes would move and all, it was very special, I think.

 

But I think while basically trying to put the villains from cinema on station signs, the most important aspect is also the surface of the painting, which is kind of a very cracked surface and as if things are falling apart. Then blood drips and there’s those things. And I know what we have gone through, the whole country actually, but Bombay during and after the (Babri) mosque was demolished, the serial bomb blasts, the rise of underworld, terrorism, and 26/11 and all these things, I also think it’s an elegy, I feel. This series is an elegy to the city. Yeah, I mean, not that these people are bad and the city is bad, but the element of evil, which makes one nervous, scared, and there’s fear and I think I wanted to say that as well, with a…it falls in the popular style, with popular culture, with station signs, bright colours and popular actors from popular films, but there is also an underneath feeling of the pathos, sadness, fear, doubts, and loss of faith.

 

 

You know, you said that your references from cinema was one way to connect with your first, premier audience, your viewer, which was the people you grew up around. You have come along a long way, like you have said; all your paintings have been shown all over the world. How does referencing work when you have such a diverse viewership of art? Does it become restrictive, because obviously, not everyone is going to get every reference? I mean, there will be a certain viewer of yours, who would not have seen Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage, and maybe a lot of your Japanese viewers would not have watched Sholay? So, experientially what has your experience been? Does it become restrictive or does it become a very interesting exercise in layering or a sort of exercise in interpretation, between the art and the viewer? What is your observation?

 

You are quite right actually. Because often I have quite specific references in my work, which are not necessarily… Often people would recognize those sort of things. But along with that, there are also some other things, which I also add or include in my painting, like one of my paintings ‘Gangavatra: After Raja Ravi Varma’, on the descent of Ganga. Now, out of the earlier graph of Ravi Varma I painted that and on the river which comes from the sky, there’s a female figure which Ravi Varma painted. On top of it I had superimposed ‘Nude Descending A Staircase’, by an avant-garde early 20th century artist, Marcel Duchamp. Now what happened when I did that painting, my mother, when she saw it, she is familiar with this image, and she’s familiar with the myth of Ganga, and so she recognized everything but she could not understand the very abstract, dark kind of a form which is superimposed over the image of Ganga, and so she was quite baffled. So, what happens is when I am showing this image through slide presentations or through the actual painting, when it travels abroad, people are there in Europe and they recognize and are familiar with Duchamp, Marcel Duchamp, this well-known iconic image of earlier 20th century art, but they are not familiar at all with the myth of Ganga. And now I am aware of both. So then, they are also puzzled there, like my mother. So, I think, in the process, I engage them for a longer time. They try to understand what it means, because partly they have got it— it’s only a part that they are not getting. So, I think, I like to puzzle, put my viewer in a position so that they have to struggle hard to understand, and in the process I have realized they remain with the painting for a longer time. And actually, physically also sometimes, but mentally also, psychologically as well.

 

There’s this chance of not reaching to a large audience. But I think of how large an audience you can reach and how much one should attempt. So, ultimately, I just do it. The first thing is, whether I am enjoying this or not while doing it.

 

 

I am going to come back to Ray for a second: do you feel like his education in Art—you know he went to Shantiniketan, was (Rabindranath) Tagore’s student—that showed through his films? Could you see it as tangible?

 

I think he also has said that. After doing Economics or something, it was his mother who insisted, he wasn’t keen to go to Shantiniketan, but she made a big fuss and he was forced to go to Shantiniketan to become a painter. Of course, he never continued painting, but he became a graphic artist and went into advertising. But two years of what he studied under Nandalal Bose and, of course, as a young boy, he did meet Rabindranath Tagore, and I think that had… Binod Behari Mukherjee was there, and of course there’s a beautiful documentary called The Inner Eye on Binod babu (made by Ray), but I think certainly— Shantiniketan. Because he got acquainted with the western classical music there, with a German teacher who was there, who would be listening and he would kind of put notes and that’s how he learnt notations there. And I think the basic philosophy of life, like in one of the interviews he says that Nandalal Bose said that when you draw a tree don’t draw the branches and leaves first and come down, tree grows like this—not from the sky—so put your strokes also in that manner. I think this is quite a key point in Ray’s approach to all his movies, and general philosophy of his life, that howI mean… it’s difficult for me to say, but he has an extremely sensitive approach to relationships, towards human beings, the life in the village or in the city. How much to show, how much not to show, that control, that immense control over the expression, that’s something that’s definitely Shantiniketan, and apart from that the great visual sense this man had in terms of tonality, in terms of form, in terms of texture, you see. I mean Pather Panchali is sheer unbelievable, the old lady and the shadows and the young boy, all that I think. The amazing thing also is the drawing and painting which he studied there. While we know of Ray mainly as an illustrator, but those drawing qualities… I tell you, it is the best drawing any Indian artist would probably draw. I mean, of course, there are painters and there are masters who had great drawings in their oeuvre but the sketches and drawings of Ray are not in the way of normal illustrators, which you find in applied art, in Bombay or in any other art school. It’s not that, that illustrative quality is not there. It’s pure painterly qualities, which are there, which I admire. They are great, they are fantastic. Even the doodles and the tiniest thing about the costumes, which he created for his scripts, which we see, they are masterful absolutely. It’s unbelievable. I mean, so many aspects together in one man, it’s just sheer genius.

 

 

Other than Ray, who might be a couple of filmmakers who have influenced you indirectly? When I say indirectly, I mean with their craft. What they do with their medium, inspiring your work with your own medium?

 

I remember when I was studying in Sir J.J. School of Art, we were members of a film society and we would go to see all kind of films. And the first time I saw a film by Jean-Luc Godard, the French filmmaker, and there I noticed that often there’s a soldier there in Remora print on the walls, or even Pierrot le Fou, or the Picasso reproductions on the wall. All that I saw because I could relate, ‘Oh Picasso prints or remora image in the background and something else is happening in the front.’ And the complexity of making the film itself, the way the shots were taken, the way the narrative was told. Often I would not follow it. And much later, Godard’s films, which are much more complex, which are difficult to understand sometimes, I think, but I think too layered, having various layers, working simultaneously, and seeing what happens, that kind of thing in my work has certainly come from Godard. Meaning: the language of the painting. That itself is a subject matter for me, or a painting in itself, or what if that is my subject matter. If Bollywood is not my subject matter; if the city of Bombay is not my subject matter, but the act of painting, what if that becomes my subject matter? What will happen? What kind of painting? And of course, I could hear American artist, Jasper Johns,who also has this thing… he was heavily influenced from philosophy of (Ludwig ) Wittgenstein, German philosopher, and he would select, he would want to say Red, but you say Red and you mean Blue, then what happens? I mean, I want to say something. Like that’s what happens with the languages, like I want to say something and I am using this language and I have a limitation with the language, now I am trying to explain and convey these things, but am I saying what I am really feeling? What I am saying is one thing, and what I am feeling is another thing, so there’s a gap in between. So that gap he would sometime attempt to focus on, and somewhere I feel in Godard that the language of cinema—shooting, actor, the city, content—he suddenly becomes detached. And he would show you a slightly dislocated kind of thing. And in Gujarati, we have this, though quite old and not that well known, poet called Labhshankar Thakar. Now Labhshankar had a series of poems about the creative process itself, the poem is about writing poetry, and then what happens… So, I think, I was quite influenced, in that sense, more than Ray. Of course, as I said, there’s no direct influence of Satyajit Ray on my work but it think it is Godard.

 

 

If I quickly asked you to name a couple of films for each category. A film, which you remember for the portrayal of a character? A film or a couple of films that you remember for the way in which they portrayed a particular character? What comes to mind first?

 

I mean, there are so many films actually. Few days back I saw a film called Million Dollar Baby, a film by Clint Eastwood. And it was a fantastic film, and the actress, the way she performed, Hilary Swank, I think it was great. I also enjoyed the Dirty Harry series, so that’s also another thing. But it think, I mean, all Satyajit Ray’s films have lots of great characters like Chhabi Biswas in Jalsaghar, then Sharmila Tagore in Aranyer Din Ratri, and the young Jean-Pierre Léaud in Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows. And many, many films are there.

 

 

Okay, what about building a mood? A film you remember in the way it built a mood? Or, a couple of films?

 

Oh! Bergman comes to my mind. A film called The Silence, it has a real mood in it, you know, with characters and actors— amazing. And all Bergman films had a really profound, I wouldn’t say grief, but a poignant melancholy and they were extremely sensitive. So, Bergman I like. I also enjoy (Andrei) Tarkovsky. Tarkovsky’s films have that kind of a thing. Mood, the way water drips or milk flows. Stalker, The Mirror, and, of course, Andrei Rublev. Also Ivan’s Childhood. So these films I remember. Then much later, I saw, if you say, The Three Colors (a trilogy) by (Krzysztof) Kieślowski, those films I liked.

 

 

What about a film you remember for stylization?

 

I had not seen it for a long time, but when I saw, not recently but some years back, (Quentin) Tarantino’s film Pulp Fiction. It’s obviously a very stylized film, so that comes to my mind; it’s an obvious choice. I think Anurag Kashyap has certain style, and manner, although there’s natural acting, but I think he has a certain style, that’s a good thing. And, I also like very much Mrinal Sen’s Bhuvan Shome, you know, and it is a fantastic film with K. K. Mahajan’s great photography and it was quite a stylized film. In the way it’s shot, in the way it’s cut, in the way the narration has been told, it is good.

 

 

You know, you have touched upon this a little earlier when you were talking about how you were very interested in your viewer, unlike, a lot of artists perhaps. But, has cinema in any way influenced who you engage with? And, how you engage with people? Can you think of any instances?

 

In my own context?

 

 

Yes.

 

No, I think, what I feel is that it’s strange that when I see world art. Particularly, the art of paintings, and there are a lots of minimalists. There was this period in sixties, seventies in America, where paintings were just flat colours or very little sort of gesture and action, so I like those work as well. But what I noticed in the west, particularly in visual arts, they are more… they hold, and they don’t go for ‘loud’ or to say much. It’s very minimal. Minimal is the word, which I find, even if they do video work, even if they do sometimes sculptures or installations, it’s the minimal which is like our very own Anish Kapoor, Indian born, living in London, doing work from there, large scale things, huge sculptures, amazing artist, no doubt, but I would still feel that there’s a certain aspect of minimal, which they follow, that’s Western. But in India, I feel I can’t do that. I feel I will have to tell you everything, you know? When I was in the old chawl—and I still go, my studio is still there—everyone would ask, who had come? Why he was here? This would come on television or is this a special film? Tell us, and everyone wants to know everything. And we are kind of intimidated, and people would come and talk to you all the time. So, I think, in a country like India, a city like Bombay, how can you be minimal? So, I think in cinema I find, a lot of things have been told. And particularly in Hindi films you have emotions shown through songs, through weeping and crying, through festivals and all kinds of things. You know, things are suddenly… either they are in Matheran or in Switzerland; you don’t get to know those jumps which are there, which I think is fantastic, which I like. And, I think that comes, so when I started doing these cabinets I thought I’d keep it a little small, but then gradually, I had to have a lot of things. I must have a lot of things in my work, so I think probably that has to do with my interest in cinema because there’s a story, there’s a music, there’s actors, emotions, all these things, and I put them together. But some of my friends often tell me that why don’t you make a film? Now, probably okay, in those days, you opted for pure painting, no doubt, but often, just yesterday I got this mail from a friend called Lynda Benglis, one of the top artists from America. I had sent her some pictures of my installations, and she said, ‘Oh! I see lots of stories there. It’s a film, it’s just like a film.’

 

 

You know, the line in Hindi cinema between the commercial cinema and the Art cinema is very, very distinct. We have two separate worlds. I want your opinion on how that’s reflecting currently on the art world in India? Given how important commerce has become now, is the line between the work that is dictated by commercial concern and the work that purely comes out of the creative vision of an artist becoming more and more distinct? In other words are market forces beginning to dictate creative content very forcefully in the art world?Like it is in cinema? Or, do you think it is still not too distinct a line between art, which has overt commercial concerns?

 

No, I think… see as far as fine art, visual art is concerned, there are people who start with serious art, and once they get settled, known, their work starts selling. I think then they keep on churning the same stuff, and that’s the biggest problem. You know, then that becomes more commercial, so that is one, it’s a serious thing. So, one has to be constantly alert, why one is doing it, for whom one is doing it, and if a painting becomes a stepping stone for me to achieve name, fame, success or money then I think there’s a big mistake. So I am extremely alert about this, so this should not happen. That’s one thing, and lot of people are aware of this, of course, but then there are temptations and that happens. But I think as far as cinema is concerned I feel that basically it’s an expensive medium. And if you do something very serious then probably it would be difficult to reach people, and that’s the way probably it is, and that’s why no one wants to invest in that because a lot of money has to go for making a film and then there are two separate parts. That’s why we have very few people, there are many, many young filmmakers, there are many friends of mine, who would like to do films in a serious way but for a long time, I have not heard of them, I have not seen their films while the usual churning of commercial type of cinema is there. But people say that there’s no art film and commercial film. It’s only a good film or a bad film. I don’t believe in that. I would say, there’s an art film and then there’s commercial film or popular film. Within art film, there are good films and bad films; within commercial films there are good films and bad films. So that happens you know, and I think in that case, some people’s films run, some we like, some we don’t like, that happens but I think it’s just… I personally feel that often people from the Hindi film world say that their audience is lower middle class, poor people, but India is a big country and to forget three hours of pain and worry, we make these films with songs and… I think this is underestimating people and their…  I mean all kinds of people see films. I am an educated, sensitive artist. I also watch films. So am I not supposed to see the films? Only someone who’s doing a small business on the street? Is the film only made for them?

 

 

Also, even that is underestimating. I mean, we grew up with the folk culture, and if you look back to 100 years ago, the man on the street, the so called ‘proverbial poor man’, was listening to a rich folk tradition and their music and the stories and, you know, so it was not exactly…

 

So, I feel that just to give this excuse that: ‘We make films for common people.  And common people are like this’, that is something… well, probably true everywhere in the world. And people like those kinds of films probably, but I don’t know somehow, it’s a very… at one side there are so many popular films, which I really like and enjoy and at the same time I hate this Hindi cinema. I hate it. It’s actually that kind of feeling.

 

 

 

 

 

Irani Chai, Cinema Afghani

Voices from Afar is a series of interviews with filmmakers and film professionals, critics and experts from various countries around the world. The idea is to, through these voices, better our understanding of films and filmmaking communities which may seem alien at first glance, but whose joys and struggles, on closer examination, may have a deep resonance with our own. 

 

Siddiq Barmak, 51, is an Afghan filmmaker, screenwriter and producer. He left Afghanistan during the Taliban regime to live in exile, in Pakistan, from 1996 to 2002. He returned to make his first feature film, Osama, which follows the life of a pre-adolescent girl living in Afghanistan, who disguises herself as a boy in order to be able to support her family. It was the first film to be shot completely in Afghanistan since the Taliban banned filmmaking in the country. Barmak received a special mention for Osama in the Camera d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 2003 and won the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film in 2004. His second film, Opium War, a black comedy, won the Golden Marc’Aurelio Critics’ Award for Best Film at the Rome Film Festival in 2008. Barmak is also the director of the Afghan Children Education Movement (ACEM), founded by Mohsen Makhmalbaf. He is a mentor to many emerging Afghan filmmakers.

When we finally meet Barmak, in between Mumbai Film Festival screenings, it is at Kyani & Co., an Iranian joint in South Bombay. He sips on some Irani chai, listening to our questions intently. He then proceeds to speak about films he remembers from his childhood, political turmoil in Afghanistan, the hopes he has for Afghan cinema, and more.

 

What kind of films did you watch while growing up? What were the films that inspired you to become a filmmaker?

Actually, we grew up on Indian films. We watched everything. We watched a lot of commercial films from the 1960s, but I must say that I really admire Shyam Benegal saab a lot— his earlier films Ankur and Nishant. These kinds of films had a big influence on me at the time, when I was young. Of course, when I went to Moscow for a higher education in cinema, I realized that there was a new wave of cinema from Italy, France, and Russia. But in my childhood, and when I was a teenager, Shyam Benegal saab was my favourite.

 

Did Iranian cinema have an influence on you? Your film Osama was partially funded by Iranian filmmaker Mohsen Makhmalbaf…

Yes.

 

And many parallels have been drawn between your style of filmmaking and the style of the Iranian new wave…

Iran has a lot of great masters like (Abbas) Kiarostami, Makhmalbaf, Jafar Panahi, and even (Asghar) Farhadi’s last two films… I love them. But I must say I get influenced by different filmmakers from around the world. As for why we are so close to Iranian cinema— we have the same culture, the same tradition, the same literature, the same language. That’s why you feel it looks like an Iranian film. When you are speaking in one language, when you’re reading poetry in one language, such as Hafez-e-Shirazi, for instance, or Saadi, or Shahnameh (an epic Persian poem) by Ferdowsi— you can find this Shahnameh being celebrated in a very remote village in Panjshir, in North East Afghanistan, as well as in Shiraz, which is in south Iran.

 

Panjshir is where you were born?

I was born in Panjshir.

 

We’ve read that Osama is partially inspired by a true story. Can you elaborate on that?

It was a true story. Actually, I was searching… I wanted to make a short film together with my friends in exile. I was living in the Northern part of Pakistan, during the Taliban regime. So I was searching for a kind of subject or story. And I saw this short story that was published in an Afghan newspaper in Peshawar. There are many Afghan refugees in Peshawar, and they have their own publications that they read. This newspaper was called Sahar, and there was a true story about a little girl who wanted to go to school, but it was forbidden for her by the Taliban. Then she decided to get dressed like a boy and go to school. But unfortunately she was found out, everybody knew about her, and the police forces—the religious police forces of the Taliban—came in and punished her. I was really shocked by this, and I started thinking about it, and started writing a script. Then I saw that this story is not a short film. It needs to be a big feature film. But it was impossible to make the film at the time. When the Taliban collapsed, in 2001, I found an opportunity to make this film. But I changed a lot of things, of course, in the story.

 

That’s what we wanted to ask you about. The initial title of Osama was Rainbow. Also, originally, the film was not supposed to end on a sad note, but you went ahead and cut a lot of scenes which you felt would have seemed too hopeful. Why did you do that?

Because that would be a big lie. Because nothing has changed, because we still have a lot of problems. Also, now there’s a concern about the return of the Taliban, for instance. So my concern was to make people aware about the future as well.

 

Even after the collapse of the Taliban, what were the biggest challenges that Afghan cinema faced?

Not just the Taliban, it is generally seen that Afghanistan is a traditional country, a very religious country. And there’s a very dangerous interpretation of religion, such as one that translates into keeping women inside a kind of ‘jail’, in their houses, where it is impossible to get out. I think it’s a very bad phenomenon in our society. And not only females— both males and females are still in mythological jails.

 

What are the biggest challenges Afghan filmmakers face today?

You know, it’s a very long list of big challenges, but I’ll try to tell it in short. In the whole history of the world, and especially in our country, there are big tensions that exist between power, religion, culture, art and cinema. If they don’t get together or find some kind of reconciliation, we’ll never have a good future for art and culture in our country. When power meets religion and both ignore culture, it’s a big challenge to writers, poets, filmmakers, painters… Now for instance, there is a big unity between very radical religious figures and very corrupt politicians. And they are afraid of cinema, they are afraid of culture, they are afraid of poetry. At the same time, they can’t stop artistes. So they simply don’t provide support and create a lot of barriers against art, culture, poetry, and writing. Our only privilege after 2001 is that we have freedom of speech in our society. We can say everything. But we don’t have the money to make films and to tell the stories we want to.

 

In the last seven to eight years there’s been a surge of new filmmakers in Afghanistan. How do you think their cinema and the subjects they are tapping into are different from those highlighted by earlier Afghan filmmakers?

They are from the young generation, so they view things with a fresh set of eyes. They have more strength, more energy, and they have the courage to tell different stories. They are telling stories that were forbidden for years. For example, these short (Afghan) films that were shown here (at the Mumbai Film Festival)… there’s a big ‘package’ of these kind of films, and I must say that these films are very brave. One of the documentaries is about a girl who becomes a prostitute in our society, and she says she’s telling her story in front of the camera because “you must find me in your sister, in your mother, in your house”. Nobody had the courage to show such stories in previous times but now the new generation is doing it. We have to tell these stories to our society.

 

You set up the Afghan Children’s Education Movement. Are you playing an active role in training the young generation of Afghan filmmakers and actors as well?

Yes I am. I am teaching at Kabul University, and I’m also helping organize some private, not long-term but short-term workshops to teach them. If there’s any possibility to help in a financial way as well, I do so.

 

How does the political upheaval in Afghanistan have a consequence on kind of the cinema Afghanistan is producing?

The consequence has been very bad. As I told you, our government is handled by crap people— including the Opposition. They are afraid of cinema, of the power of cinema. They are really scared because cinema is a medium that can tell the truth, and the people will then know what’s going on in this country.

 

You have written a screenplay, directed three films and also produced and co-produced three films. What do you find more creatively satisfying— writing scripts, directing films or producing movies?

I really enjoy all of these, but most of all being a director. Besides that, I’m enjoying making films in any capacity, whether in the position of a director, writer, or producer. I really enjoy watching films— especially when I watch my own films as part of the audience. I just enjoy films.

 

Also Read“A European journalistic point of view” Hamed Alizadeh on an alternative cinema emerging in Afghanistan and what is needed to nurture it.

 

“A European journalistic point of view.”

Voices from Afar is a series of interviews with filmmakers and film professionals, critics and experts from various countries around the world. The idea is to, through these voices, better our understanding of films and filmmaking communities which may seem alien at first glance, but whose joys and struggles, on closer examination, may have a deep resonance with our own. 

 

33 year old Hamed Alizadeh, an Afghan documentary filmmaker, left his country after the Taliban took over and spent his formative years growing up in exile, in Iran. He returned to Afghanistan after the Taliban were ousted and enrolled in Kabul University’s Department of Theatre and Cinema in 2006, working simultaneously as a journalist for a weekly magazine. After graduating, he began making documentaries, which reflected Afghanistan’s social and cultural issues. His documentaries, Check Point, Afsanah, Memory Box and A Time Called Oldness, have been screened in film festivals around the world and broadcasted on Afghan as well as European TV channels. Also, Alizadeh currently heads the Afghanistan Documentary Filmmakers Organization, a first of its kind in the country, which fosters documentary filmmaking. In addition to this, he is the technical manager of the Afghanistan Human Rights Film Festival and teaches documentary filmmaking to students of cinema at the Kabul University.

During this interview, Alizadeh speaks slowly, as if deliberately weighing the meaning of each sentence. This helps, because we are in a noisy lobby of South Mumbai’s Metro theatre, which is packed with chattering, ebullient film enthusiasts. So, at times, Alizadeh asks for a question to be repeated to ensure he has understood it. 

 

How did you come to be a filmmaker?

I started making films seven years ago. I started off as a journalist and worked with a magazine. Then I began making fiction films and then switched to making documentaries, and now I solely focus on documentary films.

 

What are some of the biggest challenges young Afghan filmmakers face?

Initially, we had a lot of technical problems while making films. But now we’re better in that respect. The biggest challenge right now is procuring money for making films, and broadcasting them on TV in Afghanistan and other countries. We also need local money for making films, especially for making feature films. The Government doesn’t support the filmmakers— neither monetarily nor in any other form.

 

What were the technical problems filmmakers faced initially and how did they get resolved?

Earlier, we didn’t have film schools in the country, and hence the crew often faced problems in technical departments such as sound, editing and cinematography. Afghan filmmakers had to go to countries such as Russia or India to learn filmmaking. Things further worsened when the Taliban took over Afghanistan. Everything stopped. It was a troubled time for making films. But, five years ago, Kabul University initiated a Department of Cinema— it’s a part of the Fine Arts faculty. But, there as well, almost all faculty members are young and it’s very new for them too. They face problems getting study material to teach from and there’s also a scarcity of teachers, so that also becomes a challenge. But, I recently heard that the University of Pune tried to help the Kabul University’s cinema department. So I hope this sort of help continues.     

 

After the Taliban came to power in 1996, films were banned in the country. Even after the ban has been lifted, there’s hardly been any funding from the Government. How are films in Afghanistan financed?

Some filmmakers are supported by embassies, NGOs or international foundations. There are a few independent filmmakers who raise money themselves for their films. On the other hand, there are Pashtun films made on a very tight budget, where only actors and actresses are paid, and those films are sold straight to the DVD market for merely $ 1000 or $ 2000 per film. But, having said that, those films are very badly made. They look very immature and dated. Especially the fight sequences are shot in a way that makes those films look more than 70 years old. Also the new generation of filmmakers does not like to make such films. They want to make professional films, films which look modern, films which look international.

 

What are the kinds of international foundations that support films in Afghanistan?

The United Nations pays money for making films about human rights, women’s rights and agriculture, among other things. And some other foundations, such as the Human Rights Foundation, commission and fund films on human rights and on the country’s elections. Some European channels also make films in Afghanistan but they always have a ‘European journalistic’ point of view about Afghanistan— something that’s not real. But now even all of the European people know that looking at things through this point of view will not show you the truth. It’s wrong. You must make the film from an Afghan point of view not from a European journalistic point of view.

 

Could you elaborate a little on this foreign or European journalistic point of view? 

There are many foreign journalists in Afghanistan and a lot of films have been made on the country. They capture different parts of Afghanistan, despite facing many security problems, and despite it being very expensive to make films here. But the filmmakers are unable to familiarize themselves with locals of the country. This is why they have a foreign journalistic gaze. When you are making a film you have to keep things real, you have to keep the characters real, but Western filmmakers can’t do that since it’s a very different culture from the one they come from themselves. So these filmmakers can’t really understand the common people of the country. Many people in Afghanistan are not happy about how their country has been portrayed in films abroad. Because, many a times, Western filmmakers have made propaganda films on Afghanistan. Be it about its society or culture…

But the young generation of Afghan filmmakers is making films and changing this point of view that’s been spread about Afghanistan’s culture and society through Western films. So, when these young Afghan filmmakers put forward their point of view through their films, the Western audience begins to understand.

Also I’d like to add that it’s easier for Western filmmakers to make films on a particular culture because they have money for broadcasting and making documentary films. They also have a huge audience that watches documentaries. But in Asia, in countries such as Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iran, there are not a lot of people who watch documentaries. So sometimes even if an Afghan filmmaker wants to make films, especially documentaries, he will often be forced to adopt a European point of view because that’s where the money and the audience come from.

 

In the last 10 years, there have been a new lot of Afghan filmmakers. What are some crucial differences, to your mind, between them and the older filmmakers?

Before the Taliban many filmmakers, who studied filmmaking in Russia, were making films on 35mm. But the new generation of filmmakers is making films on digital and they’ve studied in Pakistan and Iran mostly. Some of them have studied in Europe. Also, the older filmmakers commanded a sizeable audience. When I was a kid films used to run for two months in theatres. Most importantly, before the Taliban rule, feature films would get made because the Government would fund those films. But now the filmmakers are mostly making short films because of a lack of funds. We don’t have money to make a feature film. Also, making a feature film needs experience in storytelling. And younger Afghan filmmakers lack the experience to tell such a story.

 

Afghanistan is still trying to find its place as a nation, trying to achieve some sort of stability. What kind of a role can cinema play in such times?

Cinema can play many roles. But I don’t know why the Government doesn’t want to support films in the country. 80% of the people in the country are uneducated— they can’t write or read. But if you want to inspire people or teach them you can make films, because they don’t need to read and write to understand films. Filmmaking is also very important because, just as in the past we had theatres, musicals, music and poetry for the poor people— now the place of these arts has to be taken by cinema, especially because everything is accessible on TV, DVD and also on the mobile, so watching films has become easy.

 

Also, cinema can be a mirror to citizens, for themselves and their country. Keeping this in mind, what kinds of stories really resonate with the Afghan filmmakers?

Seven to eight years ago, most Afghan films were about victims, wars and human rights. But, one can see a gradual change in the kind of films coming out from the country. Now, the younger generation of filmmakers wants to make films about love, society and culture.

 

What are your aspirations for Afghan cinema?

Afghan filmmakers must find a way to make independent films. And the new government must support the filmmakers in the country by funding films. Many filmmakers must also try to find international producers and co-producers. Afghan films should have a market, be it broadcasting on TV, or the cinema, or something else.

 

Also Read: Irani Chai, Cinema Afghani Golden Globe winner Siddiq Barmak on his film Osama, and on the challenges facing Afghan cinema today.

 

Drama Queen

There are stories about Ekta Kapoor and there is the story of Ekta Kapoor. Here, in a chapter from her book Death in Mumbai, Meenal Baghel profiles India’s most well-known TV producer like never before.

 

‘The young, especially those from small towns and middle class families, like Neeraj, join because they want quick money, they want expression—their names and faces on TV.’

—Ekta Kapoor

 

Ekta Kapoor walked into the meeting late, and within ten seconds, like a tearaway bully on the beach, she dismantled all the castles the others had been building. ‘I want Crash,’ she said, referring to Paul Haggis’s multiple-Oscar winning film.

 

The meeting had been convened to discuss her newest project, a movie ‘inspired’ by Neeraj Grover’s killing. Ten films, Ekta informed everyone, had already been announced on the subject. Since Neeraj was a Balaji product and Maria had come to Mumbai aspiring to work with Ekta, it only made logical sense that they should stake ownership. ‘If there has to be a film on the TV industry then why shouldn’t we be the ones making the story?’

 

Except, at this point, there was no story.

 

The executives of Balaji’s fledgling film division, and the actor Rohit Roy, who had been signed on to direct his first full-length feature film, were in a massive conference room, brainstorming. ‘I have the opening sequence all ready in my head—it begins with a woman’s audition tape running… ’ Rohit said to the young assistant who had joined the company two days ago; the assistant looked suitably impressed. Someone suggested a Madhur Bhandarkar-style voyeuristic drama, while another executive came up with the idea of an ‘intense love story’. The consensus was veering in that direction when Crash landed.

 

‘It blew my mind,’ Ekta said. ‘Let’s also have the plot set over one night featuring several characters and their stories… Your budget,’ she said, turning towards Rohit, who was beginning to lose some of his good cheer, ‘would be Rs. two to three crore.’

 

I met Ekta, India’s most successful television producer—and an astute mind—to get an insider’s perspective on the world that Neeraj and Maria aspired to. At which she suggested I sit in on her meetings to see how she works and creates.

 

In the US, a single episode of a television show like Sex and the City or The Wire costs more than the budget she was offering Rohit for his film. But television in India works on simple volume—the more episodes you produce the more money you make. ‘It’s not amazing talent that makes me special,’ Ekta explained without any hint of self-deprecation, ‘but the sheer volume of work I have done.’ In its fourteen years, her company has produced over seventy shows, which have defined Indian television. Her approach to movies is similar. ‘I’d like to produce quickies made on a tight budget.’

 

The quick turnover demands a constant feed of actors, technicians, and scriptwriters, making Balaji Telefilms one of the largest employers in Bollywood. ‘Every day about a hundred people come to us looking for jobs. I know, because I have to deal with them.’ Like Muammar Gaddafi’s battalion of women bodyguards, a brisk bevy of bejewelled, tilak-sporting women that included a writer, a head of production, and an assistant, insulate Ekta from the pressures of her own celebrity status. Tanushree Dasgupta, who has been with her for nine years, is at their head.

 

When Ekta, famously and publicly devout, goes jogging every Tuesday from Mahim to Siddhivinayak Temple at Prabhadevi, she is often waylaid by people on the road wanting roles for themselves, their children; she hands them Tanushree’s number. Others get in touch with acquaintances working at Balaji Telefilms while trying for a break, as Maria Susairaj did. Maria befriended Balaji employee Jyoti Jhanavi on Orkut, who in turn introduced her to Neeraj, who was in charge of auditions there. Most recently, Ekta’s Facebook account had been overrun with pictures of young men baring their six-packs. ‘They think that’s their show-reel,’ she said, quite tickled.

 

Last year, a twenty-eight-year-old aspiring scriptwriter from Naini, Uttar Pradesh, Akshay Shivam Shukla, having exhausted all avenues of meeting the Boss Lady, came up with a most ingenuous plan. On August 4, the day of Shravan Puja, he infiltrated the Balaji Telefilms office disguised as a priest.

 

Unfortunately for him, the staff soon realized that instead of mantras, Panditji was mumbling mumbo-jumbo. Shukla was pulled aside, questioned, and thrown out. In protest, he spent the night outside Balaji House, and when morning came he tried to immolate himself with a litre and a half of kerosene. The watchmen, desperate to douse the flames, pushed him into the open sewer that runs alongside the building. Cops were called in, a case was registered, and Shukla—finally deterred from his mission to meet Ekta—was admitted to Cooper Hospital.

 

‘Eighty per cent of people in TV today have gone through Balaji,’ she told me, with pride. ‘The young, especially those from small towns and middle class families, like Neeraj, join because they want quick money, they want a platform to express themselves, to see their names and faces on TV. In their hometowns, TV is the primary source of entertainment, and to have their families see their name and face on TV is a big power trip.’

 

Her own creative head, Vikas Gupta, was a loose-limbed, floppy-haired twenty-one-year-old from Uttarakhand who leapfrogged up the hierarchy one evening when he saw Ekta struggling to figure out what had gone wrong with one of her episodes. ‘My mother would not buy the logic of the lead character,’ he told her casually.

 

‘On instinct,’ she said snapping her fingers, ‘I decided to make him Balaji’s creative head. It’s a big job, and I’ve made him sign a tough contract, but he understands the audience consists of women like his mother. Also, I liked his attitude.’

 

That was also what had first brought Neeraj to her attention. As she waited for her private lift to take her up to her fifth floor office, one of the aspirants hanging around on the ground floor saw Ekta and flicked an impertinent salute. ‘It was a really arrogant gesture, but I liked it,’ she said, letting me into the secret of how she creates stars. ‘There are only two things we look for in our lead actors: the man should have attitude, and the woman should look innocent. Between you and me,’ she said with a wink, ‘virginal.’ This has led to some peculiar casting problems—‘It’s become difficult to find young urban women who meet this criterion.’ Ekta bypassed this problem by casting schoolgirls. Her youngest heroine has been a sixteen-year-old.

 

As television boomed into a Rs 27,000 crore industry in just over ten years, Oshiwara transformed from the dump Ekta first came to in 2000 into one of Mumbai’s most fashionable neighbourhoods. Young television stars and technicians, who spent upwards of twelve hours a day in near-squalid studios at Goregaon, Saki Naka, and Malad, going weeks without a break, invested heavily in plush homes here. The skyline is dotted with Singapore-style condominiums with hard-to-pronounce French-sounding names. (The illusion of a First World lifestyle is reinforced with easy access to fancy cold cuts, cheese and wines, the latest Almodovar DVD, and 24/7 air-conditioned houses. This lasts only until one steps outside, and is rudely brought down to potholed earth.) Real estate expansion has been matched by a thriving nightlife, forcing even frou-frou South Mumbai restaurateurs like Rahul Akerkar, the owner of Indigo, to open branches here.

 

The idea and attitude of Oshiwara now pushes beyond the reclaimed marsh. It is in the vanity of little-known designers housed in glass-plated buildings announcing their genius tersely, like Giorgio Armani, or Jimmy Choo, and without a smidgen of irony: Rahul Agasti, Turakhia Dhaval, Roopa Vora, Babita Malkani.

 

It is implicit in the flashy EMI-driven lifestyle prevalent here. But most of all it lies, said Jaideep Sahni, in the ‘severe ambition’ that crackles in the air. His is the classic story of the outsider who made it big in Mumbai. The forty-one-year-old from Delhi is the most sought after scriptwriter in the film industry. ‘Just sit at the Yari Road Barista for half an hour and you will know what it’s about. The atmosphere is electric,’ he said referring to another coffee shop not far from where Neeraj and his friends hung out each evening. ‘Those men and women who look like Conan or Barbie behave as if they are out not for a cup of coffee, but for a screen test. Everything is about getting face time with the right people,’ said the writer of hit films like Company, Bunty Aur Babli, Khosla Ka Ghosla, and Chak De.

 

Jaideep himself is often accosted at film premieres, where a glass wall cuts the Bollywood hierarchy off from the hoi polloi. Such is the premium on these opening nights that cinema chains like PVR have introduced the idea of ‘paid premiere’ tickets. ‘A well-dressed stranger will persistently catch your eye and since it would be rude to not respond, and one may be unsure of having met them, you go across. That’s all they need. After small talk about how they admire your work, or similar fawning attentiveness, they’ll follow you back into the enclosure, past the usher, as if that’s their natural destination.’ He laughed half-admiringly. ‘Once in, the person will drop you to go mingle with other directors and producers. Mission accomplished.’

 

~

 

‘Every nation has a defining characteristic. If it is confidence for the American, for the Australian it’s his appetite for fun. In India, what defines us is striving,’ Rajesh Kamat told me. A Mumbai boy, Rajesh was the CEO of Viacom 18, the company that owns the entertainment channel Colors, at the age of thirty-seven. He has left that job since we last spoke. Colors had raced to the top of the Television Rating Point (TRP) chart within a year of its launch, forcing others, including Ekta, to modify their formula. ‘It’s our striving for a better life, a better lifestyle. There is, even in these tough times, a disproportionate amount of money to be made in TV, which is why it’s so seductive for the young.’

 

Having worked previously with Endemol, a Dutch company that licenses reality show formats—they produced two of the biggest shows on Colors, Fear Factor and Big Boss 2—Rajesh has closely watched this young workforce turn around the country’s television habits—television’s eternal saas–bahu sagas ceding ground to starlet Dolly Bindra getting foul-mouthed on camera.

 

Over the course of an interview that stretched past midnight, Ekta, who is now routinely counted among India’s wealthiest women, recounted how she started her own career as an eighteen-year-old producer. ‘I was in class twelve when my parents shifted from Bandra to their bungalow in Juhu, which I hated. I’d run away to Bandra every day to hang out at the Otters’ Club with my friends Anupam and Parvin Dabas, who went on to become an actor, and to walk around Joggers’ Park with Aunty Neetu [Singh-Kapoor].’

 

Additionally, three days of the week were scheduled for partying, which caught the attention of the ever-vigilant Stardust. ‘I was just excited about doing nothing. I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t smoke, I rarely drank, but Stardust ran a piece saying Jeetendra’s daughter was running wild.’ Her father, a man of modest and conservative upbringing—his family ran a small business selling artificial jewellery before he went on to become a big star, was appalled. ‘He couldn’t understand why I needed to be out of the house every second day… Not long after I turned eighteen he came into my room one evening and gave me an ultimatum— either I start working, or get married.’

 

Ekta grew up watching endless hours of television and devouring tubs of ice cream while her father was busy shooting three shifts a day, and her mother stayed away either travelling with him or at kitty parties. She decided to make television serials. ‘I loved TV, it gave me great joy.’ Her friend Ratna Rajiah wrote a plot outline, which her cousin Gattu (better known as Abhishek Kapoor, the director of the Farhan Akhtar starrer Rock On) would direct. ‘Our pilot was called Jeans ‘n’ Josh and I must confess that the title was the only colourful thing about it; the serial was a grim look at things like peer pressure, AIDS, bisexuality, parental hypocrisy. We wanted to be dark and meaningful,’ she said, letting out an ironic little giggle. ‘It was our equivalent of a Madhur Bhandarkar movie, and both Gattu and I were very proud of it. But when we showed it to Ravina Raj Kohli at Star TV, she took one look at it and dismissed us, saying no channel would commission something so dark, and which dealt with suicide and all. “Give me something happy and family oriented,” she said. We were crushed. I remember getting out of the Star office and shaking my head to Gattu: “What’s the world come to, I say!”’

 

But she imbibed Ravina Raj Kohli’s instructions well. ‘I am not saying we are ashamed of what we do… We did create Kyunki, Kanyadaan, Kkavyanjali, Kasautii, which have been about the urban middle class, but you are not my audience. You can go home and see Desperate Housewives just like I do.’

 

Her serials are a volatile mix of traditional Indian motifs, often featuring joint families with all their stereotypes, clashing modern values, and are as formulaic as a Bollywood film. When Peter Chernin, then COO of Rupert Murdoch’s News Corp (which owns Star TV in India), came to Ekta’s home for a meal he asked her what was wrong with one of their new launches, and why it wasn’t doing well. ‘Even then I told him that his new channel was trying to be a niche channel, and that could never be profitable in India.’

 

A few years after this well-meaning advice, Star TV terminated their decade-long exclusive partnership with Ekta, axed three of her daily soaps, and divested their 25.99 per cent share in her company. Balaji Telefilms’ stock went into a tailspin, sparking a shiver of excitement among Bollywood’s obituary writers.

 

We met again on the day her company lost its arbitration case against Star TV. She had just emerged from a marathon meeting with her creative team, but was still smarting from the judgment. ‘I gave Star the best eight, nine years of my life, I took them at face value, but they f***** me over… ’

 

‘Then again,’ she lowered her pitch by a notch or two, ‘my Rahu mahadasha has begun, and I’ve been told my secret enemies will start to surface.’

 

I asked with curiosity: ‘For how long will the mahadasha go on?’

 

‘Eighteen years, man!’

 

Early propagators of astrology, the Babylonians and the Mayans would read chicken liver for as many as six thousand warning signs. The greater the fear of uncertainty, and the less assurance there is of certitude, leaves the diviner and the follower to try every possible form of propitiation.

 

Such was the case with Ekta, who wore a stone on every finger, even two on some. Over the many doors of the seven-storeyed Balaji House, horseshoes, clutches of fresh neon-green chillies and lemon are tied along with coconuts wrapped in an auspicious red, dangling like the breasts of a baboon. On Ekta’s fifth floor domain as well as at her Juhu house the Gayatri mantra, sung in a fast-paced tinny-voice, as if on a worn-out tape, plays round the clock working like a force field against any possible evil eyes.

 

A former employee clued me in, ‘Whenever you meet her, take a close look at her shoes.’ The woman who could easily afford the latest Manolos and Louboutins only ever wore a pair of worn-out platform slip-ons, straps in tatters, with the clunky rubber heels roughened. ‘She considers them her lucky shoes and won’t trade them for another pair.’

 

Not long after hearing this, I read an interview with Ekta in Hindustan Times in which, speaking about her shows on Colors, Ekta said her association with the channel would be fruitful, she knew, because when its creative head first called she’d been in a puja, and as soon as their conversation ended a flower dropped from the head of the idol. It was, Ekta said, a divine seal of approval.
~~

 

I sat in on one of her meetings, hoping to catch some of the action—it was rumoured that in fits of rage she threw slippers (the lucky ones?) at errant employees; but while I was there, she remained regrettably in control.

 

Of the ten serials that are in production at any given time, Ekta only looks after three—the rest are taken care of by associates—but she decides the look and casting for each of the shows. ‘I remember we shortlisted a girl for our serial Kasturi, but when I came back from out of town and saw the hoardings, I realized her face did not reflect the innocence demanded by the character. Overnight the hoardings were brought down, a fake story about how pressure had made the actress ill was circulated in the media, and a new girl was found.’

 

Ekta talked from behind a presidential-size desk as Vikas showed her auditions of aspirants—this is what Neeraj Grover used to do at Balaji Telefilms. Also present were seven or eight young women, all under thirty. Ekta stared hard at the computer screen, and pressed the enter key with the speed and concentration of a tabla player beating a riff on the dagga. Though the air conditioner remote was lying next to her, she passed it to one of the girls every few minutes: ‘On karoab off karo. Switch it on… ab off… ’

 

Mothers, sisters—‘kindly faces’, buas and sisters-in-law—‘nice bitchy faces’ were swiftly cast before trouble erupted. ‘Where’s the father? The Marathi actor I asked you guys to locate, the one who looks like an older Ajay Devgn?’ There was a shuffle of confusion, and Vikas pressed ahead trying to show her other options, but she refused to be appeased.

 

‘WHERE IS THE GUY I WANT?’

 

The entire group involuntarily moved back a step. Was I about to witness a famous Ekta blowout? Instead, she abruptly switched her tone and turned to me. ‘I got the idea for the film on Neeraj from something you said. General wisdom is that creative directors like him have no clout, they merely audition… but I got thinking, and it struck me that I get to see only what they choose to show me. They actually have the power to make or break someone’s career. If my staff shows me the photograph of an actor just as I am leaving for home, getting into the car, ninety per cent chances are I’ll say okay. That’s the time I am exhausted and not as hawk-eyed… This power and what they choose to do with it is what I want to explore in the film.’

 

She then got up, and with a gesture intended to be theatrical, pulled me into the corridor. ‘If you’re doing a book on Neeraj Grover, you must speak to Smita Patil,’ she said sotto voce. ‘She’s a spook, man!’

 

Though Neeraj had quit working for Ekta Kapoor several months earlier, when he went missing Ekta got one of her colleagues to contact a clairvoyant for his whereabouts. It was a far more reliable source of information for her than any detective could offer. ‘I knew Neeraj was dead even before the police announced it. This woman had told us that his girlfriend, along with two other men, had killed him, and she also gave details of where his body could be found.’

 

Two days later she texted me the mobile number of her clairvoyant, Smita Patil.

 

The phone beeped, and Narendra Chanchal’s ‘Chalo bulawaa aaya hai, maata ne bulaya hai… ’ rang in my ear. Mid-crescendo, Smita Patil cut him short and answered the phone. She had been a Goregaon girl who got her degree in textile designing from Sophia Polytechnic, and married an assistant geologist in ONGC. For several years she taught art in various schools, all the while nursing political ambitions. In 1999 she was jailed during a political agitation, and was featured in the Bombay Times as ‘Star of the Week’.

 

A devotee of Durga from her early days, she did the punishing nine-day nirjala vrat every Navratri to invoke the goddess. ‘People started making fun of my bhakti so I prayed hard to Mata Rani, saying she needed to manifest herself and save me from such humiliation. In 2005, Mata Rani housed herself in my body and she has stayed on since, constantly showing herchamatkar.’

 

Every Tuesday at her home, which is right next to a teeming mall at Bhayander, she holds a durbar where Mata Rani—and here Smita Patil referred to herself in the third person—gives darshan seated on her high chair, doling out individual benedictions after the prayers. From healing invalids to blessing the childless, Mata Rani’s bounty, she says, knows no limit.

 

‘In May last year one of my bhakts, a girl called Rasika, came in with her boyfriend Kushal who works at Balaji, he wanted to know the whereabouts of his friend Neeraj. I took one look at Neeraj’s picture and said, “The boy is no more, his girlfriend and two men are responsible, and the body can be found near water.” Kushal told me no one would kidnap Neeraj, and that he didn’t think that’s what had happened. So I closed my eyes again and told him that Mata Rani had spoken and that the girlfriend should be taken to the CBI and she would confess.’

 

‘This Kushal called me one evening some days later and said, “Mata Rani, please switch on the TV. Whatever you said has come true.”’ She has guided several celebrities in addition to Ekta, even telling a powerful Shiv Sena politician that he was going to die soon.

 

And, did he? It was impossible to resist the question.

 

‘Within three days of my informing him this, he had an accident and died.’

 

But it’s not easy being Mata Rani, taking care of bhoot–balaayein,and dialoguing with the spirits. ‘If it’s a shaitani shaktiI have to counter, I suffer tremendously, my feet get crooked, I start yelling and then my body starts to get heavier and heavier. Mata Rani needs to be in a pure environment and you can imagine what that means in a filthy city like Mumbai… It’s difficult to walk on roads, travel by train, I can’t clean my house, wash utensils, normal life is not possible with Mata Rani constantly living in my body. The family life is affected too.’ But her children, one of whom studies aeronautical engineering in Nashik while the other is in class XI, have come to accept the new presence in their mother’s life.

 

‘My dream is to serve the people and have a temple built in Mata Rani’s name at my residence, for that’s where her shrine stood four hundred years ago, and which was later buried under rubble. Mata Rani needs to be brought out from under the earth and allowed to breathe.’
~~~

 

Superstitions and clinging to totems sit oddly with the woman I’ve been interviewing. Ekta is bright, humorous, and in possession of a combative streak. I mentioned this to a television insider who has dealt closely with Balaji Telefilms, and who agreed to speak provided I kept his identity concealed. ‘To understand the Ekta phenomenon,’ he said chuckling quietly, ‘you must also know the father and the mother. Brand Ekta is the three of them operating as a unit.’

 

Shobha Kapoor, a former flight attendant, is the canny dowager whose business deals are as sharp as her diamonds. Her rough cuts are offset by Ekta’s father. Jeetendra was India’s original dancing star who, when thirty was thought of as middle age, famously endorsed a brand of virility capsules called ‘Thirty Plus’. ‘Jeetendra is charm and gentleness personified,’ my informer explained.

 

The final member of the troika is Ekta, the unpredictable, superstitious diva with a famous temper, who creates amidst chaos. ‘The mother will play hardball with a channel in the morning, but blame Ekta’s working style when executives complain of schedules going awry or tapes coming in late. If the channel ever suggests dropping a Balaji show that may be faring poorly, Jeetendra will take the executives out for a drink by the evening and get emotional and apologetic, saying: “You know just how eccentric Ekta is, all the shows are like her babies, I understand your problem but if you drop one of the shows, she may get upset, that in turn may affect her creativity, and impact the rest of the serials on the channel…”’ The insider laughed, putting aside his masalachai. ‘It’s a brilliant strategy.’

 

I got the drift of her mercurial style one evening when she called me over to her house. ‘I’ll be relaxed there and we can chat at leisure.’ But the meeting was rescheduled four times before she sent a message saying that she would definitely be home by 11 pm. These days Amitabh Bachchan might woefully blog about waterlogging at his house each time it rains heavily, but until recently, the Juhu Vile-Parle Development Scheme was one of the most elegant addresses in Mumbai. A generation of movie stars—Dharmendra, Amitabh Bachchan, Rakesh Roshan, Shatrughan Sinha, and Hema Malini—live in plush fenced-off bungalows there. A few years ago, when Hema Malini decided to reconstruct her home, she looked around for a temporary apartment in the vicinity—but quickly dropped the idea when she discovered she was expected to share the elevator with the other residents of the building.

 

Her contemporary, and one-time suitor, Jeetendra has a house, which stands out, in the neighbourhood as one of the largest. It also resembles a Jain temple, built as it is in blinding-white marble. But the presiding deity was not in.

 

Instead, I was ushered in with my Mumbai Mirror colleague Vickey Lalwani into a high-ceilinged room so large that it looked unused. In a far corner, Ekta’s photographs in various poses lined the shelf—she has a sweet face and a lovely smile, but the hauteur in the eyes is unmistakable. A sprawling chandelier hung over a bare dining table; Grecian-style pillars and a forlorn-looking marble nymph added to the mausoleum-like feel. The same tinny-voiced Gayatri mantra was playing here too, though there didn’t seem to be a soul around. As the minutes elapsed, Vickey and I silently stared at Ekta’s black pug desperately humping a velvet sofa cushion.

 

Suddenly, Jeetendra glided noiselessly into the room, looking dressed for a night out. After solicitous small talk he called out, conjuring a flurry of liveried attendants, as he did Ekta who arrived within seconds. It was past midnight, but she had been out jogging. ‘The three most important things in my day are: exercise, prayer, meetings, in that order of priority.’ She would jog anywhere, any time, which explained her perennial uniform of T-shirts and track pants. Very different from her growing-up years, when she favoured hip clothing.

 

‘I was 84 kilos when I was eighteen, that’s the heaviest I’ve ever been. That happened because when I’d be at home, I would do nothing but sit in front of the TV or talk to my friends on the phone, and eat tubs of ice cream. That too full cream—there were none of the 96 percent fat-free gelatos in those days.’ She laughed. ‘One of the reasons I partied so hard was to get slim. It was my way of keeping away from junk. I wanted to get into “fashionable” clothes,’ she rolls her eyes and makes the quote sign, ‘dance like crazy, and just hang. By the time I was twenty, I was drinking hot water twenty times a day and my weight had come down to 51 kilos.’

 

That must have made her happy.

 

‘I can’t say about that but I do know I looked ill. I remember my friend, the former actress Neelam, was hospitalized with meningitis; when I went to see her at the hospital her mother was berating her for not eating properly, and then she whipped around to stare at me and said, “You’re falling sick next.”’

 

The partying and the skimpy clothes, Ekta said, were a passing phase. Recently, she tried to stop her friend’s sixteen-year-old daughter from going off with a television actor after a late night party, and was snubbed for her efforts. ‘The young these days are so at ease with their sexuality, and they know what they want in life. They have the drive and the ambition, but I find many of them are so happy with their limited forty-thousand-rupee-a-month lifestyle that they will not work harder to get into the one- lakh-rupee bracket. They need to inculcate the value of hard work.’

 

Her own strong work ethic and her faith guide her life. Apart from visiting Siddhivinayak Temple every Tuesday, a Shani temple every Saturday, and the Tirupati Balaji temple before launching a show, Ekta said she needed to pray for ‘just seven minutes’ every day.

 

Ekta puts in sixteen hours a day—her friend, the Bollywood scriptwriter Mushtaq Shaikh, is writing a book on her called Holidays Not Allowed—working through the night, and very often clearing an episode that’s scheduled for telecast later that evening at 4 am. When Balaji Telefilms became a public listed company, the joke in the Star TV office was that the risk factor in the share prospectus should mention ‘Possibility of Ekta getting married’. Neeraj, who often complained to his roommate Haresh Sondarva about the ‘inhuman working conditions at Balaji’, and fretted about the long and irregular hours, nonetheless greatly admired Ekta’s drive and success.

 

‘I have no family time,’ she admitted. Four years ago she built herself a multi-storey bungalow a few hundred metres away from her parents’ home. ‘I wanted to know what it was like to live by myself.’ She shifted into the house with three household helpers, but didn’t last beyond a few days. ‘It was beautiful, but awfully quiet. . . Here, I know that I have my space but also the knowledge that my parents are floating about somewhere.’

 

At thirty-six, she is in a ‘happy space: I have satisfying work, friends, my own time, I lead a cocooned life.’ But things at Balaji have been getting worrisome. News came in that their ambitious show Mahabharat on 9X channel (for which Maria had auditioned) would go off the air mid-narrative. The expensive period sets erected cannot be used for any other show, and the money owed to them is unlikely to be paid.

 

Elsewhere, reality TV shows were flourishing, contributing about 25 percent of the total programming. During a trip to Mysore I met Maria Susairaj’s journalism teacher Shabana Mansoor, who has since quit teaching to pursue research on the ‘Priming Effect of Television on Young Female Adults’. The research was inspired by a train conversation with a young woman who said she would never want to marry a man whose mother was alive. She had been convinced that mothers-in-law were terrible creatures after growing up on a staple of Ekta Kapoor’s trademark ‘K’-serials. ‘But when I went for my fieldwork I found that most young women now watch the soaps mainly for fashion and interior tips, and their real interest lies elsewhere.’ In the villages of Kerala and Karnataka, Shabana was repeatedly asked why she had omitted asking questions about Roadies and Splitsvilla, the two most popular reality shows on television.

 

Balaji had been unable to cash in on this brash new phenomenon, still stuck with heavy duty drama. But Ekta had a plan to expand her business, which was soon revealed. As a first step she made up with Star TV, producing new shows for them. After parting ways with her mamaji, Shobha Kapoor’s brother and the well-known film distributor Ramesh Sippy, Ekta became firmly in charge of the family’s film business. A new CEO was hired, and five films had already been green lit. Three of these were based on real-life incidents, trying for a touch of realism that Ekta could not bring to her television programmes. The film on Neeraj Grover’s death never got made, though Ekta produced one of the most celebrated movies of 2009, Love, Sex Aur Dhoka, an edgy triptych about sexual betrayal, cinematic aspirations, and parental disapproval—themes that deeply resonated with Neeraj’s killing.
~~~~
But none of the stress from the dwindling bottom line was evident at the party the day after Diwali. It was the annual card fixture the Kapoors hosted to celebrate the festival. Invites had been texted that morning, but it was expected to be a full house. At 1 am the road leading to Ekta’s house was crammed with gleaming Mercedes and Beemers. In that darkened lane, Ekta’s bungalow was lit up like a piece of jewellery. The lift inside the house carried us to the third floor, and into a hall marked by its quietness. On a cluster of large round tables, Jeetendra, Rakesh Roshan, Sunita Menon, Saawan Kumar Tak, and Manish Malhotra were playing cards with serious intent.

 

Nobody looked up as other guests walked in and went past. The only sound was the clink of ice in the glasses of single malt and the rueful phew! of a substantial loss. In the adjoining hall, dominated by a stunning chandelier that descended from a dome at least fifty feet high, the scene resembled a Las Vegas casino more than a Mumbai house party. Certainly the décor bore out the excesses of Las Vegas. The room I was in favoured the ladies—Rakesh Roshan’s wife Pinky, Karan Johar’s mother Hiroo, Dimple Kapadia (stunning in green), and the actor Akashdeep were dealing with wads of thousand and five hundred rupee notes. Currency was spread out like a tablecloth.

 

A sudden shriek from the corner of the room had the others rushing over—Dimple had won her first big hand—Rs 50,000. The Juhu film aristocracy was out to play.

 

I spotted the now-familiar faces of Ekta’s associates Tanushree, Vikas, and some of the other girls—her young team was always invited to her parties—not participating yet, but absorbing the opportunities their new world offered; relishing the idea.

 

In the centre of the third enclosure, Shobha Kapoor presided over a mammoth table in white make-up, a white sari, and gothic lipstick. She wore rubies and emeralds the size of some exotic animal’s eggs. But there was something troublingly familiar about her. An attendant stood patiently behind her holding a crystal bowl of black grapes that she absent-mindedly picked at every few minutes. At one point she stretched out her hand and frowned when she couldn’t reach him, and suddenly I knew why she looked so familiar—all the vamps in Ekta’s shows, from their clothes down to their intricate bindis—looked remarkably like her mother.

 

There was no sign yet of Ekta. I was told she liked to make dramatic appearances. Familiar faces from television serials were killing time playing for far lower stakes near the bar. The scalloped ecru curtains had been drawn back, and from across the French windows there was a curious sight. In the adjoining building, standing at the window of their unremarkable two-bedroom flat through which the mussed-up bed and drying towels were visible, Ekta’s neighbours were lined up and looking in, stargazing.

 

At around 2 am a little buzz went around the party. Belying her reputation, Ekta had slipped shyly into the room, dressed in a zardozi lehenga with a pouch dangling from her wrist. For the television crowd, many of whom were there to mark their presence rather than play the great stakes, the party had just gotten underway.

 

‘This is my parents’ party, I am just being dutiful here… the bashes I throw are more fun, I assure you!’

 

‘But surely this was not going to last long,’ I suggested.

 

‘Oh, I don’t know, the last time round, because there was no place for me here, I went to my own house and when I returned at eleven the next morning these guys were straggling out.’

 

She then made her way around the room, stopping at the various tables, asking her friends whether they were winning or losing. When someone made a little pout signalling loss, she took out a fat wad of notes from her batua and gave it to them with a benevolent command, ‘Come on, play.’ Another wad was similarly offered at another table. Irrespective of losses, the party must continue.

 

Excerpted from ‘Death in Mumbai’, by Meenal Baghel, courtesy of Vintage/ Random House India. You can buy the book here.

MAMI – A Retrospective

TBIP chronicles the life of one of India’s best known film festivals, from its inception till now, through the ups and the downs.

 

On September 25, 2013, the Mumbai Film Festival’s curtain raiser event was held at the Taj Mahal Palace at Apollo Bunder. Here, in its Crystal Room, the lineup of this year’s festival was announced. Prominent films being screened at the festival were being live-tweeted by @Mumbaifilmfest, the festival’s official twitter handle. One tweet read: “Yes it’s true. Blue Is the Warmest Colour is coming to #MAMI this October!” Blue Is the Warmest Colour won the Palme d’Or at the Festival de Cannes this May. This rather enthusiastic tweet is a fair indicator of the long distance that one of India’s best-known film fests still has to travel. Most of the world’s renowned film festivals, including the Festival de Cannes, take great pride in hosting world premieres for films. They seldom screen films that have already been screened at other festivals. “We are not competing with film festivals either in Asia or in the world,” says Srinivasan Narayanan, Director of the Mumbai Film Festival (MFF, or MAMI as it is often called, after the Mumbai Academy of Moving Image which organizes it), when asked about whether MFF matches up to other leading film festivals. “Our only competition is with ourselves.”

 

***

 

On November 24, 1997, the first MFF took off. It was hoped that Mumbai, the city that had never had an independent international film festival to call its own, despite being home to the world’s most prolific film industry, would now play host to ‘good cinema’ from world over. Prior to MFF, the only film festival in the city was the Mumbai International Film Festival (MIFF), but its focus was solely on shorts, documentaries and animation films. Also, back then, the only major film festival in the country was the International Film Festival of India (IFFI). The Kolkata International Film Festival (KFF) was only two years old, and the International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) had only had one innings. All of these had been sponsored by the state.

 

A need was felt for a festival organized by the film industry itself. “Mumbai being the premier filmmaking center in India didn’t have its own festival. We felt an initiative to change that was required, and that’s how we started,” says MAMI trustee, Amit Khanna. So several industry veterans came together to form the Mumbai Academy of Moving Image (MAMI), a not-for-profit trust. Recalls Sudhir Nandgaonkar, former Artistic Director of MFF: “The first ever MAMI meeting was held in April 1997 at Basu Bhattacharya’s home in Carter Road, Bandra. (Filmmakers) Shyam Benegal, Amit Khanna, Kiran Shantaram, Amol Palekar, Basu Bhattacharya, Ramesh Sippy, Manmohan Shetty, and the Film Federation of India (FFI) Secretary General Supran Sen made up that original gathering. And of course, there was the Chairman, Hrishikesh Mukherjee.”

 

A decision was made to set up the Mumbai Film Festival, an event that would cater to a population starved of world cinema. Hollywood films were already popular in the city, but there was scant exposure to regional films and those from other countries. “Our objective was to change that,” states Kiran Shantaram, former MAMI trustee and Secretary.

 

In the first few years of the festival, the films screened could be roughly divided into five categories: World Cinema (films screened worldwide in the last two years), contemporary Indian films (with occasional focus on regional films), retrospectives, tributes, and the ‘focus on a country’. The ‘focus on a country’ section endeavoured to “introduce film from a country that the viewer hasn’t seen before.” This section, still there, not only screened films from countries that were usually known world over for producing renowned auteurs—such as Iran, Japan or Spain—it also screened films from countries, whose cinema most were not familiar with, such as Israel, South Africa, Serbia, Montenegro, and Palestine.

 

Like most film festivals, MFF started small and without a competition section. It showcased 65 films from 23 countries, and its main and only venue, at the outset, was the Y.B. Chavan Centre at Nariman Point. NFDC technicians were brought on board to help check prints and manage screening-related procedures.

 

Getting by on a budget of Rs. 10 lakhs, the festival barely saw 200 delegates in attendance in its first year. Despite being launched as an independent film festival, Rs. 5 lakhs, or half their budget, had been received as subsidy by the MFF from the state government. “The other 5 (lakhs) came from Mahindra & Mahindra,” says Nandgaonkar.

 

The festival had many struggles with funding for the first decade. In fact, the state didn’t contribute to the 1998 edition, and the festival had to be cancelled that year.

 

Also, Air India and Jet Airways were approached to fly down international delegates for free, but only a few tickets for domestic routes were offered. As a result, organizers had to cut down on foreign delegate invites. Kiran Shantaram runs through the list of sponsors: “In 1999, we got Rs. 20 lakhs from Indian Oil (Corporation Ltd.) and Rs. 5 lakhs from the Maharashtra Government. In 2000, Star TV gave Rs. 20 lakhs, Godrej provided Rs.10 lakhs, and the state government increased the annual subsidy from Rs. 5 to 10 lakhs. For the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions, we got Rs. 25 lakhs from Star TV. In 2005, Sahara One contributed Rs. 25 lakhs.” But the backers were still felt to be too few, and the money they pledged wasn’t substantial enough. Nandgaonkar attributes this to the fact that: “In India, corporate companies have no ‘practice’ of supporting a film festival.”

 

The budgetary concerns were especially relevant because the MAMI trustees wanted the festival to be independent in the truest sense and not kowtow to unpalatable demands from corporate giants. For instance, Pepsi had approached MAMI in 2000 with Rs. 50 lakhs but had wanted to rename the festival the ‘Pepsi Film Festival’. “Of course we declined,” says Nandgaonkar.

 

In 2006 too, the festival was about to get cancelled due to budgetary constraints, but an intervention with funds from Zee Cinema and AdlabsFilms Ltd. kept it afloat. Even then, it was in such dire straits financially, that there was no cash prize for Indian films that year.

 

All of this was further exacerbated by the fact that there was no marketing manager for the festival, who could solicit sponsors. The festival couldn’t afford one because of lack of funds. It was a vicious cycle. Then, says Nandgaonkar, “I got a call from Shyam Benegal in 2007 saying, ‘For how long will you toil to support the festival? Why don’t we go to Reliance?’”

 

Reliance had branched out into the media and entertainment business with Big Entertainment two yearsago, in 2005 (It had acquired Adlabs in July 2005). “The company became a sponsor for the festival in 2007 and 2008, contributing Rs. 1 crore in each year,” says Nandgaonkar. “It was then Tina Ambani suggested that: ‘Instead of sponsoring the festival, why don’t we take over?’”

 

In 2009, Reliance Big Entertainment officially partnered with MAMI for the 11th edition of the Mumbai Film Festival. The impact was evident. From no cash prize for Indian films in 2006, the total cash prize in 2009 increased to Rs. 85 lakhs. The budget of the festival has since then increased, and is around Rs. 6 crore for the current year, with cash prizes worth more than Rs. 1.2 crore. Also, with the advent of Reliance and a steady source of funds from 2008 on, the festival seemed to be seeking out ways of reinventing itself, of becoming more inclusive.

 

This can be gauged from the introduction of new sections to the festival, focusing on the younger film enthusiasts of Mumbai. In 2008, MFF introduced ‘Dimensions Mumbai’—a short film competition for filmmakers from Mumbai under the age of 25. In 2009, they launched ‘Mumbai Young Critics’—a film criticism workshop for selected students from various Mumbai colleges, whose critiques got published either in the festival bulletin or the Hindustan Times Café (the festival’s media partner). A jury of young film critics was also formed to confer the ‘Mumbai Young Critics Silver Gateway Award’ upon the best film in the International Competition section. The young are an important ‘target audience’ for the festival. Says Narayanan, to emphasize how important student involvement is: “Besides other reasons (not wanting to clash dates with other major film festivals), the reason we have the festival in October is because at this time of year, schools and colleges are comparatively free, and it’s not exam time.”

 

The festival also simultaneously introduced awards and sections with more international appeal: a global ‘lifetime achievement award’ was introduced in 2008 (Costa-Gavras will be honoured this year), and, finally, an international competition for first feature films was introduced in 2009. Even the nature of the opening film reflected this new trend. From 2009 on, it wasn’t just about a well-made film, but also one that had a buzz around it. In 2009, the festival opened with Steven Soderbergh’s The Informant, followed by David Fincher’s The Social Network, Bennett Miller’s Moneyball, and David O. Russell’s Silver Linings Playbook in years to come.

 

MFF has also garnered a lot of attention for the kind of foreign art house films it has screened in the last few years. Films such as The Turin Horse, The Artist, Amour, Beasts of the Southern Wild. Among this year’s screenings will be Blue Is the Warmest Colour, Inside Llewyn Davis and Le Passé to name a few. “They really track the best films that are being shown at various international film festivals,” says Aseem Chhabra, a film critic and writer who curates the New York Indian Film Festival. “To bring the films and significant jurypersons to India, which is still not a premier market for Hollywood and other foreign language films, is a remarkable feat.”

 

All these films have either been prizewinners or screened in the competition sections of major film festivals of the world. There is a curiosity about them, especially because most of them don’t find a theatrical release in India. And even if they do they are more often than not heavily censored. The interest in these films can also be attributed to a ‘good cinema’ watching culture in the country that is growing slowly but steadily with the proliferation of the internet. “Now people follow what’s happening in other festivals (across the world) online,” says Chhabra. “There’s an audience and they are hungry for good cinema.”

 

Successful film festivals are also often known by the filmmakers they discover. Filmmakers such as Steven Soderbergh, Quentin Tarantino, Wong Kar-Wai, Jafar Panahi, Darren Aronofsky, and, more recently, Ben Zeitlin all found fame through film festivals. This is possibly one of the reasons behind two of MFF’s new sections— ‘New Faces in Indian Cinema’, a non-competitive section which screens first and second films of Indian filmmakers, was added in 2010, and India Gold, a competitive section comprising Indian films that have not been released elsewhere in the country, in 2012. Aniruddha Guha, Film Editor at Time Out Mumbai, who is part of a 13-member selection panel at MFF, feels MFF has finally made a start at discovering new voices: “Ship of Theseus got a lot of attention this year. I saw Ship of Theseus last year in June, when it was entered into the competition category and it played at the festival where many people watched it, which helped create a lot of buzz.” But, since even films being screened in the India Gold section do not necessarily have to have their world premiere at MFF (something other better known festivals demand) the two acclaimed Indian films that screened at MFF last year—Miss Lovely and Ship of Theseus—were actually first noticed at film festivals abroad (Miss Lovely premiered at the Festival de Cannesand Ship of Theseus premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival).

 

Most leading film festivals around the world not only screen films that break free from conventional commercial restrictions but also host a kind of ‘art film market’ where such films can be picked up for distribution. MFF too introduced the Mumbai Film Mart in 2011. The objective was “to promote Indian films globally, beyond Bollywood. And also provide a platform for a lot of independent filmmakers,” says Rashmi Lamba, Manager of Mumbai Film Mart. In the last 3 years, the mart has helped release three mainstream Indian films (3 Idiots, Don 2, Jab Tak Hai Jaan) break into non-traditional foreign markets such as Japan. But the modest number of buyers (around 15 in 2011, 25 in 2012, and 50 this year) so far means films from Indian independent filmmakers are still waiting to be picked up.

 

While there’s no doubting that MFF is highly anticipated today by cinephiles in the city, it is yet to attract a sustained interest from filmmakers across the world. For instance, the filmmaker and leading actors for last year’s opening film, Silver Linings Playbook, besides Anupam Kher, were absent. So were a lot of other international filmmakers whose films screened at the festival. “Why is it that MAMI is not able to attract a lot of journalists for instance? Sure, there will be journalists coming from outside, but why not the kind of press that comes to Toronto or Berlin—500 to 600 journalists from around the world?” asks Chhabra, before answering the question: “But MAMI can’t have that because most of foreign language films that are screened in the festival have already been shown elsewhere.” He adds: “And even though they hold world premieres for Indian films, there’s very little excitement for Indian cinema abroad.”

 

The Mumbai Film Festival also differs from a lot of international film festivals because of the absence of a permanent venue. Unlike its counterparts in Toronto, Busan, and Venice, MFF has no cultural or cinema complex that serves as a nucleus. This deprives it of a personality. Currently, the film festival resembles a travelling cinema within the city. It kicked off at Y.B. Chavan Centre (Nariman Point) and has since then moved to Marine Lines, Wadala, Versova, Ghatkopar, Juhu, and Sion.

 

Also, the majority of the screening venues being located in South Bombay makes it difficult for people from far-flung suburbs to attend. Most screenings used to be in South Bombay in the initial years of the festival since its cinema halls were technically equipped, but the mushrooming of multiplexes with better technology has opened up many more possibilities.

 

“MFF was held at INOX and NCPA (National Centre for the Performing Arts) last year because both are in one area. So we have Metro and Liberty this year,” says Narayanan. But when deciding on venues for a film festival one has to consider both seating capacities as well as their proximity to the audience. The ideal MFF venue should have one cinema with a large seating capacity for the biggest draws, and there should be a multiplex or multiplexes to allow for multiple screenings as well.

 

Filmmaker Sudhir Mishra, MAMI trustee, reiterates the need for a cultural centre in Bombay: “There should be a facility built by the state for cultural occasions, preferably in a central location like Bandra, so it can be convenient for everyone to visit.” But the dynamics of the space-clogged city poses a logistical challenge to such a permanent venue for the festival.

 

Perhaps such a venue, with state-of-the-art technology, could help prevent technical glitches of the kind the festival witnessed in the last few years: issues with aspect ratio, missing subtitles, disappearing audio, screening cancellations. When asked about this, Amit Khanna says: “NCPA didn’t have the proper facilities, so temporary facilities were made. This year, we have two engineers from the Society of Motion Picture and Television Engineers of America (SMPTE) coming and helping us.”

 

Narayanan elaborates on the remedial measures MFF is taking this year to prevent such catastrophes: “We have brought in Real Image and Reliance MediaWorks, and there’s a big technical team working on that. But remember, even festivals like Cannes and Berlin have minor glitches.” Sudhir Mishra also underlines the need for dry runs before films are screened, which he says are already underway this time.

 

INOX, Nariman Point (one of the venues for last year’s MFF) had come under fire in 2012 for making people stand in line for tickets barely 30 minutes or an hour before films were screened. “They issued tickets for each show instead of letting us get tickets for multiple screenings in a day,” says Deepa Deosthalee, a film writer and last year’s MFF attendee. “It was a huge problem, especially for films that were in demand. I was unable to watch Miss Lovely for this reason.”

 

Narayanan says: “This was a decision made by the exhibitor, and not MFF”. In an effort to cut down on queues and long waits outside venues this year, MFF has now introduced a seat reservation system. Seats can be pre-booked online against a delegate pass. So now viewers can handpick the films they want to attend and make their bookings— a system followed by international film festivals. Delegates will, however, have to turn up at least 15 minutes before a screening to collect their tickets. MFF hopes this will make things easier for everybody. “If you are not there five minutes before (the film), your reservation will be cancelled,” says Narayanan assertively. Here’s hoping they are, in droves. For when all is noted and said on what makes for a successful film festival, nothing is more significant than its audience.

 

 

6 FOR THE ROAD

Tim Etherington-Judge is one of the world’s best mixologists. His quest for the perfect cocktail has led him to travel across the globe. While he was in India he also set up the Bombay Cocktail Club. TBIP asked him to create six cocktails for six of his favourite characters from the movies. 

 

 

White Russian for Jeff Bridges as ‘The Dude’ from The Big Lebowski

 

40 ml Ketel One Vodka

20 ml Homemade Arabica Coffee Liqueur

40 ml Fresh Cream spiced with Cinnamon, Cloves and Star Anise

Garnish: Lightly-Toasted Whole Star Anise

 

His Dudeness’ drink of choice is given a quality makeover. We use the bartender’s favourite vodka, Ketel One, along with a homemade 100% Arabica coffee liqueur and spiced fresh cream. The ‘weight’ of Ketel One marries well with the fresh cream and homemade liqueur for a substantial and ‘fat’ drink.

 

In an old-fashioned glass, add some ice cubes, slowly pour the vodka and coffee liqueur, gently stir, and top up with fresh double cream pre-whisked with cinnamon, cloves and star-anise. Garnish with a lightly toasted star-anise for a spicy nose.

 

 

Martinez for Daniel Craig’s James Bond from Skyfall

 

40 ml Tanqueray No. Ten Gin

15 ml Rosso Vermouth

5 ml Maraschino Liqueur

2 dashes of Orange Bitters

 

Daniel Craig has brought a darker, moodier and grittier side to the James Bond films and with Skyfall it’s about time we updated his signature drink to something more befitting. We use Tanqueray No. Ten Gin, an export-strength (47.3%) gin with a unique full-bodied character, Rosso Vermouth, a dash of maraschino cherry liqueur and a little orange bitters to create a deeper, more intense experience to Bond’s classic martini. Shaken and not stirred, of course.

 

Combine all the liquid ingredients in a mixing glass, add plenty of ice and shake for 45 seconds. Strain into a chilled coupette or cocktail glass.

 

 

‘Storm in a Teacup’ for Tom Hardy as Charles Bronson in Bronson

 

60 ml Ron Zacapa Centenario 23

Fresh Homemade Ginger Beer

4 dashes of Angostura Bitters

Garnish: A 3 to 4 inch chunk of Lightly Toasted Cinnamon Bark

 

Tom Hardy’s performance as Britain’s most notorious criminal is a powerhouse acting performance and deserves a drink to match. We use Ron Zacapa 23— an exceptional Guatemalan rum, created from only the first pressing of the cane followed by Solera blending, fresh homemade fiery ginger beer and lashings of spicy Angostura bitters. Instead of the traditional highball glass, in our version of the Dark and Stormy, we use a teacup that is inspired from the scenes in Bronson where the protagonist is shown serving or drinking tea in prison.

 

In a teacup filled with ice cubes, pour in the rum, followed by the ginger beer. Lash with Angostura bitters and stir. Serve with a big stick of toasted cinnamon on the side.

 

 

‘Pai Mei’s 5 Point Palm Exploding Heart’ for Uma Thurman as Beatrix Kiddo in Kill Bill 2

 

60 ml Don Julio Añejo Tequila

1 bar spoon Fresh Grenadine

3 dashes of Grapefruit Bitters

Garnish: Tangerine Twist

 

Inspired by the final act of Kill Bill 2, which sees Tarantino at his very best with electric dialogue whilst Bill sips tequila, this drink is a perfect tribute to the ‘5 Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique’ that Pai Mei teaches Beatrice Kiddo, and via which she finally kills Bill. Grapefruit bitters give an exquisite twist to the luscious, almost brandy-like aged Añejo.

 

Shake lots of ice, 60 ml of Añejo, a spoonful of grenadine and 3 dashes of grapefruit bitters for 45 seconds and serve in a coupe. Garnish with a grapefruit or tangerine twist.

 

 

Pink Gin for the cult Steve Buscemi as Mr. Pink in Reservoir Dogs

 

90ml pre-chilled Tanqueray London Dry Gin

4 dashes Angostura Bitters

Garnish: Lime Peel

 

Here’s a straight drink for Steve Buscemi’s straight-talking Mr. Pink—”You wanna fuck with me, I’ll show you who you’re fucking with.”—an upsizing of the classic drink with a serious measure of Gin and ample bitters, so the man doesn’t have to complain about Pink sounding too tame (“How ’bout if I’m Mr. Purple?”) ever again.

 

Don your coolest black suit, put on Baker’s ‘Little Green Bag’ on the record player really loud, crack open an icy bottle of Tanqueray London Dry Gin, and stir an extra large measure with lots of Angostura Bitters into a martini glass.

 

Garnish with lime peel, rubbing it first on the rim. Don’t use ice, and don’t tip the bartender for this one, please.

 

 

The ‘Hepburn Martini’ for Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s

 

12 fresh Mint leaves

45 ml Ketel One Vodka

7.5 ml Green Crème de Menthe Liqueur

7.5 ml Dry Vermouth

45 ml Sauvignon Blanc Wine

7.5 ml Sugar Syrup

Garnish: Small to Medium Sized Pink Lily

 

The brightest star ever to shine in Hollywood deserves a complex drink to match the flirtatious sparkle that Audrey brought to the screen. We partner Ketel One vodka with an equal measure of crisp Sauvignon Blanc wine, minty crème de menthe, a little dry French vermouth, fresh mint leaves and just a little sugared sweetness, just like Audrey herself.

 

Lightly muddle (just to bruise) mint in base of shaker. Add all the other ingredients, shake with ice and fine strain into a chilled tall glass. Garnish with a lily or orchid stem inside the glass, facing the guest, and a tall straw.

 

tim

Tim Judge

The Mirror Cracked

Firoz Khan has made a name for himself as the nation’s most popular Amitabh Bachchan lookalike. But his greatest gift is also his prison.

 

When Firoz Khan stood tall on a makeshift stage in Jaunpur, Uttar Pradesh, this June, there was no one around. His only companions were a microphone, two speakers, some chairs lying vacant and a multitude of banners surrounding him that read: “Arize kisaanon ke naam Junior Bachchan ki ek shaam (An evening of ‘Junior Bachchan’, dedicated to the ‘Arize farmers’)”.

 

Not far away from the stage was a bazaar, bustling with people. This absolute lack of any attention seemed to discomfit Firoz. Moments later, his voice boomed on the microphone: “Bhaiyon aur doston, meri jahan tak awaaz jaa rahi hai, mera kisaan bhaiyon se kehna hai ki yahan aa kar humaare program ko dekhne ki koshish karein (Brothers and friends, if my voice is reaching you then I want to ask my farmer brothers to come here and try to watch my show).”

 

Slowly, people began to trickle in. The voice seemed to draw them closer to the microphone. A rich, commanding voice. Most significantly, a voice whose familiarity is emblazoned into the subconscious of every Indian moviegoer. The denizens of Jaunpur were curious. They inched closer to the stage to answer an incredible question: What was Amitabh Bachchan, one of India’s biggest superstars, doing on this unremarkable afternoon in their town?

 

As the sun beat down on him, while he recited iconic dialogues from Bachchan’s movies to regale his audience, Firoz felt a searing pain that ran from his feet to his lower back. The pain was not new to Firoz. Because, when he impersonates Bachchan, his feet are not planted firmly on the ground. To rise up to Bachchan’s six feet and one inch a five feet and eight inch tall Firoz wears an inch-and-a-half of rubber padding under each foot. The padding raises his heels, slants his toes and invariably causes pain. Over time, he has learnt to live with it.

 

In 30 minutes, by the time Firoz had concluded his act, he was surrounded by more than a thousand people who refused to leave. They wanted to be near him, speak to him, ask for his autograph, touch his feet. By now the pain was heightened, but he also found it was easier to endure.

 

***

 

‘Arize’ is the name of a brand of rice seed manufactured by the Bayer Group, a German chemical, pharmaceutical and bio-technology multinational. Besides Firoz they have used popular singers Gurdas Maan and Altaf Raja, and Bhojpuri stars Manoj Tiwari and Ravi Kishan to market their products to the Indian heartland. For Firoz, this is only one of over hundreds of shows he has done, for hundreds of clients.

 

There are over a dozen Amitabh Bachchan lookalikes in the market, but Firoz has been in it for the long run. He has not only impersonated Bachchan for 16 years, he has done so across a whole spectrum of media— besides live shows there have been over 40 movies, 10 spoof and dance shows on television, 30 ad films and 8 music videos. TV shows such as Koffee with Karan, Boogie Woogie, MTV Fully Faltoo and Ek Do Teen. Music videos such as the one for Adnan Sami’s popular song Lift Kara De where the actor Govinda appeared as himself and Firoz appeared as Bachchan. Firoz has been Bachchan in TV commercials for AXE Deodorant as well as one for the Income Tax Department, asking conscientious Indians to file their returns on time. In Cadbury Dairy Milk’s ‘Pappu Pass Ho Gaya’ ad, Firoz was Bachchan’s body double. He played himself, a Bachchan lookalike, in Chandan Arora’s Main Madhuri Dixit Banna Chahti Hoon (2003). In Danny Boyle’s Oscar winning Slumdog Millionaire (2008), he played Bachchan.

 

***

 

“I am not a ‘Amitabh duplicate’,” says Firoz, leisurely climbing the stairs to reach his apartment, a one-bedroom-hall-kitchen on the third floor of a building in Mira Road, one of Mumbai’s more far-flung suburbs. “There are many lookalikes whose only job is to look like him. I don’t look that much like him. I act him out. You can call me more of a performer.”

 

That Firoz does not, at first glance, look like Bachchan, is true. He’s wearing a denim-shirt, a little tight around the stomach, and a pair of black cotton trousers with six pockets. But, when you look closely, certain similarities emerge. Deep set eyes, though Bachchan’s are much larger. A prominent nose. A wide forehead. An oval face with a well-defined jawline whose effect, for Firoz, has been diminished to some degree by an emerging double chin. He has a thick head of hair, parted from the left, it curls up along the sides, covering a portion of his ears.

 

A few minutes later, Firoz sprawls out on a black and red Rexine couch in his living room. The only window in the room is partially veiled by faded brown curtains with white and faded orange polka dots. It faces a five-storied building whose walls are covered with black fungus. Besides the couch, the living room is furnished with two red and black single-seater sofas, two small granite topped side-tables, a tiny closet and another table with a 17 inch TV and a stereo system. On one of the side-tables lie a couple of stray match sticks and a golden packet of chewing tobacco labelled ‘Miraag Tambako’ in Hindi. The other side-table has a laptop and two plastic containers full of medicines. The closet top doubles up as yet another table, displaying various trophies Firoz has received. One small trophy has a circular plaque, broken along its rim, with a picture of Amitabh Bachchan from the film Sarkar (2005). On its base are inscribed the words: “Sattarvein janamdin par sa prem bhent (A gift, with love, on your 70th birthday). Nataani Medical Hall.”

 

Firoz will turn 45 this year.

 

He lights a cigarette and does a Shah Rukh Khan impersonation. “Arre yaar kaisi baat karte hain aap, haan (What are you talking about)? The slightly nasal, hurried voice of the Shah Rukh of the 90s. He cocks his head to one side for effect. During the course of conversation, Firoz breaks off to demonstrate his skills many times. He mimics his effeminate male friend, a street ruffian with a gruff voice, and, of course, Amitabh Bachchan: “Dekhta kya hai be? Ulte haath ka maarunga. Saala samajhta kya hai tu apne aap ko? (What are you looking at? I’ll slap you hard. What do you think of yourself?)” Away from the stage, in the comfort of his living room, when Firoz impersonates Bachchan he does not mouth off the superstar’s famous dialogues— he simply says anything he wants to, the way Bachchan would.

 

But for the padding in his shoes, Firoz’s metamorphosis into Bachchan is not really an elaborate process. He flares his nostrils, curls his upper lip and modulates his voice. “I just put on a wig, a French beard, do my hair like Amit ji, and that’s it,” he says, looking around for the wig. He relies very little on make-up. “What can you do with make-up? What will happen with powder?”

 

Finding the wig, he leaves the room to reappear in a few minutes. His hair is parted from the middle now, with a few strands falling on his forehead. He’s wearing sunglasses and a velvet scarf around his neck. A white shirt with blue stripes and an off-white blazer. His black trousers fall perfectly on a pair of boots that have heels that are at least an inch high. These give Firoz a considerably raised appearance. His gaze, barely visible through the sun glasses, is quiet, relaxed, self-assured. He seems to be smiling without actually doing so. He does not look like the actor on the fringes that he is. He seems to have found his highest calling.

 

In the building opposite, a little girl peers out of the window. She freezes for an instant, then breaks into a giggle and covers her face with a small notebook.

 

 

***

 

Amitabh Bachchan’s family name is actually Srivastava. ‘Bachchan’, which the renowned poet Harivansh Rai—Amitabh Bachchan’s father—chose as his pen name, and which became the family name thereafter, is actually colloquial usage in Uttar Pradesh for the eldest son of a family. Firoz too was the eldest among his three brothers. “All of them would call me Bachchan,” he says. “Aur Bachchan Bhai (What’s up Bachchan?)” was how he was addressed.

 

Firoz watched his first Amitabh Bachchan movie, Khoon Pasina (1977), in his native town, Budaun, in Uttar Pradesh, at the age of 10. In Budaun, people would collect just to stare at the posters of a Bachchan movie, put up outside theatres, 15 days before its release. Inside, they would hoot every time Bachchan appeared, throw money at the screen, dance on their seats or in the aisles.

 

It was after Khoon Pasina that Firoz began frequenting the theatres. Soon his friends began to say “The way you are talking right now, you look like Amitabh” or “We can see glimpses of Amitabh in you”. Then, one day, Firoz found himself in front of a mirror, mimicking Bachchan.

 

But it wasn’t until he was 15 that Firoz imitated Bachchan in front of others. It was when he had just emerged from the theatre after watching Deewaar. He had already begun to style his hair like Bachchan and model his gait and mannerisms on the superstar. He would stop at the paan shop and asked for a paan— not in his own voice, but in Bachchan’s. “A crowd soon gathered around,” says Firoz. “They were probably seeing something like this for the first time.” Since then, Firoz didn’t have to bother paying for paan or cigarettes at that shop. Firoz recalls the shopkeeper saying: “You stand here and do your thing. Seeing you, four to five more people come to my shop.” Soon, he began doing impersonations at other venues in town: a school, his house, his relatives’ weddings. “People would queue up in front of my house to hear dialogues of Amit ji,” he remembers. “I thought, even I am becoming something yaar.”

 

Determined to become an actor, Firoz decided to head to Bombay. But in a small town like his cinema was not seen as a worthwhile profession. Because cinema was a world which had “a lot of nangapan (nakedness).” “My father had not seen a single movie in his life. In fact, he could never get himself to pronounce Amitabh Bachchan properly,” Firoz says. “The closest he got was, ‘Amita ka Bachchan’.”

 

So Firoz ran away from home—from Budaun to Bombay—when he was 21. The year was 1990. But he stayed for just about a fortnight before heading back. He ran away to Bombay again after two years. He didn’t stay long then either. Firoz would rather not talk about those days. His younger brother, Parvez, says: “He left for Bombay in anger. Both times he was in Bombay for 15 to 20 days, till he ran out of money.”

 

Meanwhile, in 1991, actor Vijay Saxena had begun drawing a lot of attention for looking like Amitabh Bachchan after he did the movie Ramgarh Ke Sholay. Saxena followed this up with nine movies in just three years, playing the role of a Bachchan lookalike in most of these. But, in 1994, his career was cut short by a fatal road accident.

 

Firoz reached Bombay for the third time, on January 1, 1995. “I thought that the first thing I would do after reaching Bombay was meet Amit ji,” he says. “But, after I reached, things turned upside down. Bombay is so huge, I wouldn’t ever know where he was. So I wasn’t able to reach the locations where he was shooting. Instead, I would stand in front of his bungalow and wait to catch a glimpse of him.”

 

This time Firoz hadn’t come to Bombay alone. Accompanying him was his friend, Laal Shehazwani from Budaun, who had also come to Bombay to become an actor.

 

This time he stayed. Tired of waiting outside Bachchan’s bungalow he began looking for work instead. He spent months attending auditions, despite being rejected each time, sleeping at the railway stations and being shooed away from there by policemen. Finally, he met a shopkeeper from Budaun, who allowed him to sleep in his shop, in exchange for Firoz helping out with some accounts work.

 

Then, one evening, Firoz was passing by Kurla when he chanced upon a sign for what seemed to be a show by lookalikes. He went in to watch. One of the organizers announced: “Presenting to you the duplicates of Dharmendra and Anil Kapoor.” Firoz saw an opportunity.

 

He went backstage and told the organizer, Shakdeev (Firoz only remembers his first name) that he could “impersonate Amit ji really well”. Shakdeev was not entirely convinced. Firoz wasn’t very tall. He didn’t really look like Bachchan either. Firoz pleaded with him to let him demonstrate on stage “just for a minute”.

 

He stayed on for more. During those crucial few minutes Firoz stole the show. The audience burst out into applause. “I was better received than all the lookalikes who had performed before me.” After the show Shakdeev said to Firoz that he would get a suit made— just for him. Just like the one Amitabh wore then. “Also,” said Shakdeev. “I will get you high-heeled shoes.” And so it was settled. He was paid Rs 300 for every show.

 

But it was a year after this, in 1997, that he got his first real break. Actor and director Sachin Pilgaonkar cast him in a countdown-comedy show called Rin Ek Do Teen, which he had auditioned for. The show spoofed Bachchan’s biggest hits. The names of the films were tweaked for each episode. Muqaddar ka Sikandar became ‘Muqaddar ka Kalandar’, Deewaar became ‘The War, Sholay became ‘Go-lay. Firoz shot 52 episodes. He soon began getting calls for live shows outside Mumbai. Not for Rs. 300, but “30 times that amount”. He wasn’t going back to Budaun.

 

“In those days I used to feel like a superstar,” says Firoz. “Sets were being readied for me; cameras were being readied for me.”

 

He adds: “And all the films were being made for Firoz.” On the heels of Ek Do Teen, came a plethora of B-grade movies like Phool aur Aag (1999), Duplicate Sholay (a spoof on Sholay, 2002), Gangobai (2002), and Kabhi Kranti Kabhie Jung (2004), in most of which Firoz played a Bachchan lookalike.

 

Even among the overkill of Bachchan lookalikes today, Firoz holds sway. This is made evident in an episode of the TV show Entertainment Ke Liye Kuch Bhi Karega, judged by Farah Khan and Anu Malik. There are two Bachchan lookalikes, a ‘younger’ Amitabh Bachchan played by Firoz, and an ‘older’ Bachchan played by an actor named Rajkumar Bakhtiani. In the brief trying-hard-to-be-funny-but-tepid conversation that ensues, it’s clear who has more finesse. Rajkumar’s voice lacks the ring of the famous Bachchan baritone. It is overly solemn at times, and his portrayal of Bachchan’s mannerisms are simply not remarkable. Firoz, on the other hand, not only sounds eerily like Bachchan, he also seems to have seamlessly imbibed into his act Bachchan’s pauses, his gaze, the way the actor’s voice trails off after a robust dialogue, even his comic timing.

 

***

 

Firoz finally met Bachchan in 1999, on the sets of Kohram (released in August, the same year), 22 years after he first saw him on screen. Bachchan on screen had left him awestruck but standing before the man himself Firoz was overwhelmed by nervousness and joy. His hands trembled as he shook hands with the star. “I was scared and kept thinking about how he would react, what he would say,” he says. He had been imitating Bachchan effortlessly for 17 years, but in front of him, “I was trying to do something else, yet something else was happening.” At the end of the whole episode, Firoz felt “as if I was flying”.

 

Any lookalike’s career trajectory depends on the trajectory of the person he is imitating. His career runs parallel to that of the object of his impersonation. From 1995 to 1999, Bachchan himself seemed to be going through an identity crisis of sorts. He had returned to the movie business at the age of 53 and found he could no longer be the ‘angry young man’ that had made him India’s biggest star. This realization had been preceded by a spate of embarrassing, mediocre films such as Mrityudaata (1997) and Lal Badshaah (1999). Bachchan’s fortunes finally turned with Kaun Banega Crorepati (also called KBC, the Indian version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire) that established him as what is possibly the nation’s first older star icon. He cemented this with a role in Mohabbatein (2000) directed by Aditya Chopra who had cast him not as a ‘character actor’ (which in those days still meant that he would merely play out a stereotype on screen, for roughly one-twentieth of the film’s running time) but in a well-etched pivotal part that had almost as much screen-time as the film’s lead actor Shah Rukh Khan.

 

Bachchan was not the only one to benefit from this turning point. “KBC benefitted me too,” says Firoz. “When I did MTV Fully Faltoo; there used to be episodes spoofing Kaun Banega Crorepati called ‘Kaise Banoonga Crorepati (How Will I Become A Millionaire) ’,” says Firoz.

 

Being associated with a big name in the incestuous Mumbai film industry provides a unique advantage to any aspiring actor. Firoz had no godfather but being associated with the biggest name of them all, however obliquely, helped. “He got in pretty easily with the help of Amitabh,” says Rana, Firoz’s wife. “He would have had to struggle a lot as Firoz.”

 

Says Firoz’s competitor Rajkumar: “Due to Bachchan Saab I’m able to make a living. His level of success affects that of us lookalikes.” He had given up on acting for nearly a decade before KBC signalled his return. “It’s quite clear that had there been no KBC, I wouldn’t have made a comeback either.”

 

***

 

Yet today, 16 years after his first big break with Ek Do Teen, Firoz can’t help but wonder if it would have been better if he had struggled, as Firoz.

 

“My initial interest was to do roles of different types,” he says. “That did not happen. Amit ji was so famous that once they got to know about this talent of mine, this is all they wanted me to do. But I have so many talents they are not even aware of. They don’t want to see those.”

 

He adds: “I am fully confident that even in front of Amit ji, I can act as Firoz. I would have no hesitation, no fear.”

 

So there are two Firozes. One, who is grateful for the breaks he has got, and one who rues each of them.

 

In an attempt to reconcile the two, he defends his impersonations: “Even if I enact Amitabh, I do it in my own style, which allows me to show so many things that Amit ji might not have done. I mix my comedy and Amit ji’s comedy.”

 

Also, he says: “Acting as oneself, which so many Indian actors do, is the easiest thing in the world. But being someone else is so much more difficult. Remembering his dialogues, his expressions, how he walks, carrying all those things within you… That’s a double pressure. I don’t have to do all of this while acting as myself, or even while building a character from scratch.” He adds: “You see some artists in a serial, but then you don’t know where they have disappeared. They just come and go. At least I am not like them.” This is his strongest argument so far.

 

Firoz’s friend, Laal Shehazwani, who had come from Budaun to Bombay with him to become an actor, has long since gone back. He tried his luck as an Akshay Kumar lookalike but gave up on his acting aspirations and left the city in four years. Now he runs a property trading business in Budaun. “A duplicate can only work as a duplicate. They will not be able to do their own acting,” says Laal. “Firoz’s identity in Bombay is as an Amitabh duplicate. He doesn’t have an identity of his own.”

 

Even as Amitabh Bachchan managed to reinvent himself, to become more than Bachchan, with his comeback in a series of powerful but understated character parts in the 2000s, Firoz has not been able to exorcise himself of Bachchan.

 

Firoz admits that, of the 40 odd films he did, those that didn’t cast him as a Bachchan lookalike had him play roles that were just as stereotypical, the most common one being that of a dacoit. (In fact, wherever Firoz has not played Bachchan, he has gotten a negative part. He puts this down to his voice which he feels “is very impactful in negative roles”.) “There was nothing to do in these movies,” he says. He was new to the industry when he signed on this spate of tacky films, made by likes of directors such as Kanti Shah (the king of the Indian B movie industry). “There was a lack of respect. I couldn’t make sense of the story. They did not do things in an ‘artistic’ fashion.”

 

Then, suddenly, there is an outburst: “If people ask me, ‘What did you do of your own?’ I would tell them, ‘I would tell you what I can do once you put me in front of the camera.’ Give me a chance at least.”

 

As you spend time with Firoz, you realize suddenly why he doesn’t need to mouth dialogues from Bachchan’s films to sound like the star did in the eighties. Firoz has played Bachchan for so long, he has become ‘Bachchanesque’. In the usual course of his life he sounds like the angry young man Bachchan isn’t any more. Like an actor stuck in the middle of a biopic that was canned.

 

He claims he still did these films because: “I did not want to sit idle. Those movies helped me take care of my family.”

 

When he was finally offered a ‘good role’, a film with Rajpal Yadav (a noted character actor) with a good six to seven minute part that required him to act not impersonate, he had to pass it up. “I couldn’t do the movie because I was stuck in a live show on the date.” A live show impersonating Bachchan.

 

***

 

Occasionally Firoz has managed to step out of the mould. He acted in 10 episodes of a Star TV serial Saath Nibhaana Saathiya, where he played a feudal lord, and around 40 episodes of NDTV Imagine’s Rehna Hai Teri Palkon Ki Chhaon Mein, where, again, he played a troublemaker.

 

Komal Kumar, a Kannada actor and producer, had cast Firoz as a Bachchan lookalike for the Kannada movie Radhana Ganda, released this year. After the shoot, Firoz said to Komal: “Bhaisahab (Brother), without Amitabh Bachchan ji also, I can act.”

 

“I could see that he was very spontaneous and quick,” says Komal. So, in his film Nandeesha, released in December last year, Komal cast Firoz as ‘J. K.’, a villain in his own right, who has 25 to 30 minutes of screentime. “I am planning to cast him in another movie too,” Komal says. “I will be giving him a Hindi lecturer’s character. When Firoz was acting as J. K., not in a single frame was he seen as Bachchan. He was a different Firoz.” If this role of a lecturer, his first non-negative role, works out, it may be a new beginning.

 

***

 

Firoz’s 8 year old son, Faiz, is sitting just a few feet from us, in the living room, watching Transformers on TV. When he was younger he had mistaken Firoz for Amitabh Bachchan. He had seen his father in one of his performances, and Bachchan on TV, and had been unable to tell the difference. “When he grew older, one day, he said to me: ‘But papa, this is not you’. I made him understand that I do mimicry, that this is also one kind of a work.”

 

Firoz wants a movie to be made on his life— “Showcasing both my lives, as Amitabh and as Firoz. You know, those ‘different’ kind of movies? I want to tell them— this is my height. I want to tell them how I become Amitabh, how I wear those high heeled shoes. How it pains. How, when my show gets over, I go back to my room and put my feet in hot water. I want everyone to know who lookalikes are actually. They think all lookalikes are the same.” Firoz feels there is only one person in India who can make such a movie: “Aamir Khan. Only if someone like him makes that movie, will it have the necessary impact.”

 

***

 

He shows me a photograph of himself as the feudal lord he plays in Saath Nibhaana Saathiya. He is wearing a pathani and has a moustache that is twirled at the ends.

 

“As ‘J. K.’ in Nandeesha, my face looks like a dog.” Firoz has stood up all of a sudden, his back straight as a rod. His eyes glare at the wall in front of him. “Randhir Singh Chaudhary bolte hain mereko (They call me Randhir Singh Chaudhary),” he says, in a threatening voice.“Is poore ilaake ke andar kisi mein utni himmat nahin ki Randhir Singh ki taraf ankh utha kar bhi baat kar sake (There is no one in this area who has enough courage to look Randhir Singh in the eye).

 

He laughs menacingly. He turns towards me, vigorously running his hands through his hair. “If I do my hair like this,” he asks. “Will anyone say I look like Amitabh?”