The Other Bollywood

And then there is that other place,where there is no Shah Rukh or Salman. Or Katrina or Kareena. Brimming with driven young enthusiasts whose cinematic dreams are equally fervent and fertile. But different. In the way they want to tell their stories. In the way they want to entertain you. To break the mould. To break free.

This is what 31-year-old Neeraj Ghaywan,former corporate manager,now forever filmmaker,wants to show you in his short feature,Shor. Meena,in her plain sari and worn chappals,her thaila containing stitched garments,in a crowded compartment of a Mumbai local. The jobless,raging Lallan,walking by the tracks,being left behind by his wife. Literally. And metaphorically. He calls her on the cellphone. She holds it to her ear. And in that cacophonous criss-cross,the clackety-clack of the trains,the rising tempo of the conversation,there is a reaching out. And a redemption.

Ghaywan,who has been learning his craft assisting Anurag Kashyap on his in-the-making Gangs of Wasseypur,beguiles you into the fraught world of his characters. Lallans emasculated masculinity gets a boost,but only temporarily,when he yells at his earning wife,who leaves their shanty with a pallu on her head,but draws it aside as soon as she is out of view. A husband and wife sniping at each other is the oldest story in the world. How does a filmmaker re-imagine it? By painting the snipers anew. By giving them a background which crackles with authentic detail. A shared language and leheja. You hear Lallan saying Gariya kyon rahi ho? Why are you whining?,and you know that he has Banarasi antecedents: no one else can use that word,in that context. You overlook the rough edges. Because this is a budding filmmaker who has the gift of making you see.

Ghaywans own story,which includes a set of parents horrified at his chucking up a very well-paid corporate job to join the uncertain world of film-making where there are no guarantees,or guarantors,is a familiar one. The coffee shops of suburban Mumbai are littered with increasingly embittered 20- and 30-year olds living out a second-hand existence. Never knowing when the time is right,not being able to take the plunge. It can get so that your first film can stay locked in your head. In this scenario,a Ghaywan getting his first film out of his system,freed to get down to write his full-length feature,is a real win.

Can a lifeless statue drive a perfectly sane young woman over the edge? What is obsession all about? The improbably named Kshay The Film tracks the descent of a contented young housewife into darkness: Chayas placid life becomes a rush of mangled desire. The object of her unattainable desire is a Lakshmi murti. Her desperate husband,unable to understand the depths of Chayas longing,asks: Khaane ke liye paise nahin hain,tumhe kya ho gaya hai? She doesnt know. All she knows is that she wants that statue,and nothing else will do. The film is stark,disturbing,and compelling: you see Chaya disintegrating,and you care enough to want something or someone to halt her in her tracks.

Producer Shaan Vyaas,27,calls the film director Karan Gours passion project,one that took four years and several hard lessons to bring to fruition. The money was,as it is in films with spiky subjects that do not lend themselves to song and dance or saleable stars,collected in bits and pieces. A lot of it,says Vyaas,came via crowd sourcing. They were careful not to borrow too much from any individual,but sure enough,it kept drying up: the actors came back on,as and when the cash dribbled in.

On the surface,there is nothing similar between a Shor and a Kshay. But they do have strong commonalities. They have been made by people whose spirits are independent. Whove managed to work through prolonged periods of depression and fear of failure to nurture their vision and transfer it from paper to screen without compromising on the integrity of their characters trajectory,or motivations. Ghaywans journey to Shor includes years of being an unhappy corporate drudge,and being grabbed by the magic of cinema via his brush with the now defunct website Passion For Cinema and tutelage from my mentor Anurag Kashyap. Vyaas was Gours roommate,and the film is an offshoot of trying to create a platform for artists. Both films have been feted on the festival circuits,but neither has seen a release. Shor is a short film,and in the world of conventional distribution and exhibition,there is no space for a short film. Kshay The Film may be on the verge of being seen by a paying audience. If Vyaas manages to open up distribution channels. If an exhibitor agrees. If.

This uncertainty is something all independent filmmakers know well. They are up against a film industry where an indie film is defined simply by the fact that it has no Khan or Kapoor. Or a Kumar or a Devgn. But this is an old story. It has always been thus. There has been the star-driven,big-budget Bollywood. And there have always been crops of defiant filmmakers with fiercely indie spirts,tilting at the windmills,with varying degrees of success.

The difference between Now and Then is not just that with the blinding advance in technology,filmmaking has never been easier. Affordable,good quality digital cameras are enough to make everyone a filmmaker. Even phone cameras are enough. More than anything else,it is that this breed of young filmmakers knows the value of pushing through on a pragmatic checklist. No one owes them a living. No ticket-paying viewer is interested in the tough times theyve had to go through to make that film. Distribution patterns are changing,but are not going to do so overnight. Getting a film out is something that is equally,if not more,important than making it. No one is interested in making home movies solely for the consumption of friends and family,so they will do what it takes to get the films in theatres,raise more funds if necessary. And this might be a good time for such determination,because international interest in Indian indies is rising,and within the country,exhibitors are showing signs of getting slightly more open to broadening their menu: megastar monsters and edgy indies look good on a plate.

That tiny opening up of a theatrical window has benefited Sudhish Kamath whose black-and-white feature Good Night Good Morning got a full-fledged national release at the PVRs this January. The 35-year-old is happy that his film finally did get a theatrical release,but is also candid enough to admit that maybe we got some things wrong,maybe we should we have gone for a smaller release the film had 18 to 19 shows a day spread over a week,with 1,500 seats getting sold. Isnt that number discouraging? Yes,it is,but its still more than what the Chennai-based Kamath,who doubles as a film critic with The Hindu,expected: his audience is not the one which will watch Bodyguard. His is a black-and-white film in English which takes place over a long,rambling phone call,splitting the screen between a girl and a guy,as they spend a New Years night in New York,discovering each other. How does that rate with Salman blowing the roof off as well his shirt and all its buttons? Of course,it doesnt and Kamath is aware of that. But what Im unhappy about is the one per cent of people who could have made a difference,their staying away. All the so-called lovers of different cinema,where were they? Echoes of this sentiment abound,especially when these films run to near-empty theatres.

This is the story of all indie filmmakers and actors,who have to jump into anything and everything,from making tea to being in front of the camera. Yuki Ellias,debutant lead actress of Love You To Death,was a reluctant entrant in front of the camera. That is so Bollywood nepotism,and we the film is a family enterprise; her father Rafeeq,an award winning documentary filmmaker was the director are not like that. But then I said why not? In a film about madcap South Bombay characters,she fits right in. A trained stage actor,Ellias has been looking for well-crafted supporting roles or cameos but has had to turn down sleazy,insipid parts,for which she says with a chuckle,shed have to have plastic surgery. So finally it had to be her in the lead role,in their film which is far from formulaic Bollywood. Its not as if they started off by making an indie film,but the spirit was definitely independent,says Ellias. And as it sometimes happens with indie spirits,they lucked into people who helped them release the film. But not before a long struggle.

Biding your time is something Sanjivan Lal knows a lot about. It took him 17 years of being in Mumbai,working through a series of failed or unmade projects,to get his first feature out. Bubble Gum is about how a family deals with disability,and how the regular sibling can feel left out. It came out last year and it stood out for its heart-warming sincerity. Lal is now in a position to think about more films,and he is now thinking about stars,and star banners. Does that mean he will abandon his indie spiritedness? Not at all,he says,I will tell my stories my way,but within the mainstream. Bubble Gum found a friendly corporate house,and they found a distributor,so in that sense,he feels he is not a completely indie filmmaker whose funding usually comes from a circle of friends and family. But it suffered from a lack of promotion and publicity,and show timings not conducive to attracting audiences,a fatal combination that can kill the best film,let alone a small film that needs nurturing further than the mandatory one week in a multiplex,and out.

This awareness is slowly seeping into theatrical programming. Its not just enough to release these films as throwaway bookends,a show at 9 am and another at 11 pm,and expect people to come flocking. As an aspiring filmmaker himself,Shiladitya Bora,who programs the newly-begun Directors Rare series at PVR Good Night Good Morning was the first release in the series,understands the vital need for making the smaller,independent cinema more visible via trailors and other kinds of promotion including on social networks,than,say,an Agneepath. The plan, he says, is to have a new indie out after every 45 days. But for that there has to be a steady stream of quality films: a bad indie,like a bad masala movie,deserves no breaks.

What can be a breakthrough,though,is the possibility of a film travelling to foreign markets: Anand Gandhis striking debut feature The Ship Of Theseus,a wholly unusual Indian film which weaves disparate stories of a dying monk,a blind photographer who wants to connect with her art,and a man who wants to do the right thing by a victim of a hospital fraud,with a refreshing touch and texture,was picked up by international sales agent Fortissimo to launch in global markets. Its something Ive been working towards for the last decade or so, says Gandhi,who started his career with squelchy Ekta Kapoor soaps,and who is aware that he may on the cusp of something big.

Can a solo global sale,or the opening up of a teeny space in an exhibition chain make all the difference between a deserving indie getting a chance to stand up and be counted and not getting seen at all? Maybe not. But it is a beginning. And sometimes thats all that is needed.