Life on the Lam

Such are the lives and tales of the intrepid NRI film-maker. Recent times have seen an unprecedented influx of desi-born dreamcatchers—including the lady who wants to do a biopic on Sonia Gandhi—head home to try out their camera fingers. These foreign residents and their families have paused careers, sublet homes and bought a ticket to find out if passion has the power to feed, if nothing else, at least the soul.

The pioneering act was in 1995, when an unknown US-based chemical engineer made his way back home to Hyderabad with a cache of savings and loans. He had chucked a lucrative gig as an environmental consultant for a crazy project—to produce and direct a movie. Nagesh Kukunoor made a grimy, stuttering film about an NRI for a paltry Rs 17 lakh; Hyderabad Blues ran to packed houses for 31 weeks and became the year’s biggest hit. Kukunoor’s quixotic journey has fired the imaginations of a whole species like him.

Dehradun-born Digvijay Singh, 32, is staying at his cousin’s place in south Mumbai while writing scripts and working on a TV movie. He has a production company in Los Angeles, Kundalini Pictures. Singh’s 2001 debut Maya, about the devdasi traditions of south India, was a festival favourite—it bagged the People’s Choice Award at the Toronto Film Festival, and five more at other festivals that year. When Singh first began scouting for finance for the film, someone suggested he add a white face in the script to make it more attractive. ‘‘He felt I should change the storyline so that a backpacking white journalist could rescue the devdasi girls. I thought he was joking,’’ says Singh.

It’s a process that begins with a pitch, and ends with a promise. Unfortunately, most times the pot of gold doesn’t materialise. ‘‘They ask you when you want the cheques, and then one day, suddenly, they stop taking your phone call.’’

A great reason why family often works out best—at least they can’t ignore you. When Bose brought her film about the anti-Sikh riots of 1984 to the Mumbai Academy of Moving Images’ (MAMI) film festival this month, Pain took a month off work. Her children, two boys aged seven and 11, were put up with relatives in New Delhi. Bose’s film itself was a collaboration of friends and family. Her aunt, activist Brinda Karat, played the title character’s adoptive mother; another aunt, NDTV head Radhika Roy, was creative consultant, and 60 per cent of the film was shot at a friend’s uncle’s. ‘‘There’s nothing official, and no one you can go to. So you simply ask people you know. You know they’ll help,’’ says Bose.

In a rented flat in suburban Mumbai, Bose’s family pal 39-year-old Somnath Sen knows what she’s talking about. Another LA resident, he’s also part of a husband-wife team. Sen, a Delhi-born engineering graduate, started out hauling production equipment for ‘‘cigarette money’’ in the late ’80s. The bummin’ got serious when he discovered a flair for 70mm drama.

Three years ago, Sen and spouse Kavita Munjal, former marketing head with the Discovery Channel, came up with a script. ‘‘I’d been saying for years I wanted to make a movie, finally Kavita was like just do it,’’ says Sen. And they did. In 2002, they co-produced the Dimple Kapadia-Vinod Khanna starrer, Leela.

The attraction to Bollywood heroes and childhood favourites is a crazy clash with their independent credentials, but for these folks of the firm middle-class, Pakeezah and Bachchan are an intrinsic part of their identity.

Meet Varun Khanna. Earlier this month, the MAMI festival screened his directorial debut, Beyond Honour. The macabre docu-film on female genital mutilation had women shrinking into their seats or running out the door. You’d think the creator of such austerity would look down on Bollywood’s swinging romances and adventures. But you’d be wrong.

Every Christmas, this 30-something sends a greeting card to a man who doesn’t even know his name—Om Puri. ‘‘I don’t even care if he doesn’t know me, I adore the man,’’ says Khanna. And Khanna’s second work, a relatively sedate movie about a family-run restaurant, stars everyone’s favourite NRI dad, Anupam Kher. A hard core Mumbaikar, Khanna is Bose’s old school chum. ‘‘She and I used to be on opposite sides of the debating team,’’ remembers Khanna.

But to the Rs 4,500 crore Mumbai industry, these indies are just bark. ‘‘Of the 20 to 25 small-budget films that came out in 2004, almost none made money,’’ says trade analyst Indu Mirani.

‘‘So independent film-makers are treated with a bit of amusement.’’

Actually, ask these guys about making money and you’ll hear about passion. A cliche, perhaps, but it’s fuel. ‘‘If you ask me do I have a plan, then no. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years, though I know exactly where I would like to be,’’ says Sen.

In between those as-yet-unfulfilled big plans, there are the small opportunities that bring in the bacon and contacts. Zee Telefilms has kick-started a project that will produce 52 short films on subjects varying from an existential piece about a household driver to another about an amnesiac. Many of the stories are being filmed by independents like London-based Sight and Sound film critic Naman Ramachandran, 33, who’s doing Yaad.

Over multiple cups of triple espresso, Ramachandran talks about the winding road he took to find his calling. This odd jobs man of Bengali-Keralite stock hates the 9-5 concept and once ran a talcum powder factory in Bangalore; his first video was for rock band Millennium. The Pune film institute dropout is the brain behind Popcorn Entertainment’s $100 tour of Bollywood (see box). ‘‘Of course it’s lowbrow, but when tourists come to see the paint and glamour of Bollywood, that’s exactly what I’ll give them.’’

And Ramachandran’s connection with Bollywood is about to get cemented. The former HBO producer, who chucked a cushy job in Singapore to go to film school, has signed up a Rs 35-crore film starring some of the biggest names in tinseltown. Ramachandran won’t name any names till things are on paper—a cautiousness that comes from projects that disappeared into thin air. ‘‘Nothing in this town’s for sure till you sign on the dotted line.’’ A tiny detail that can’t dampen the dreams and wishes of this lot.