My 'Double Life' at Films Division - Part 1

My association with Films Division first began when my school friends graphically described to me on how Sunil Gavaskar and Gundappa Vishwanth hit boundaries upon boundaries in the 1971 test match against the mighty West Indies team in the Caribbean islands on a newsreel that they saw before the main movie in a local theater, in the early seventies. A couple of days later I did sneak into the movie hall only to savor one of the most significant overseas test cricket victories that the Indian team had  since it started playing cricket

Newsreels such as these were produced by Films Division, an organization under the aegis of the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting of the Government of India. The exhibition of these newsreels were mandated by law - a practice first initiated in pre-independence India by the British, mainly to promote their war efforts. 'The Information Films of India', was what the unit was called then. After independence, this unit was transformed to what is now the 'Films Division' or FD. The practice of compulsory screening of such 'factual' films in theaters before the fiction feature film began, was continued religiously.

That was how I was highly empowered in my childhood watching scores of boundaries hit by my cricketing idols, in rapid succession - obviously unaware that there was also an element of an editing induced pace involved in the matter. 

My next noticeable brush with the Films Division came much later, during the early nineteen nineties when it had just started organising the Bombay International Documentary Films Festival, as the Mumbai International Film Festival for Documentary, Short and Animation Films was called then. My FTII diploma film 'Gotala' had been selected at the second version of it.

Earlier, a few of us had got together and made short films with our own money after graduating from the film school. I also badly wanted my film be screened in the festival. Mani Kaul, I guess, was in charge of the Festival then. He put me on to Amrit Gangar. 'I'll see what I can do,', Amrit had said in front of the old FD canteen. I was sure, if he just had the horrendously bad tea that the canteen served in those days, my film 'The Hot Shot', would never have made it.

But surprise, the film called 'The Hot Shot' about a photographer whose printed photos tear by themselves, made it to the festival despite the horrendous tea that Amrit might have had that day. It was scheduled to be screened on the last day of the festival at 'Little Theater' at the festival venue of NCPA. It was a part of the last screening lot, before the closing ceremony. Simultaneously, 'Gotala' was also scheduled at yet another venue called Eros theater at about the same time, the screening of which I could not attend as I was at NCPA. Later on, a friend's friend who had seen the film at Eros told me that he had liked the black humor in 'Gotala'. 

A negative frame from 'Gotala'.

I remember that I almost had chuckled then. This was the film that our production professor Sharma-ji  told me, with an innocent smile, that was not sent for a mandatory certification process at the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) because a committee at the film school had felt that the subject of the film was controversial. I had helplessly fumed within the confines of my super-ego,  at that time. The film was about Lord Krishna coming down from the heavens to befriend a married earthly woman only to elope with her back into the space, leaving behind a disgruntled groups of devotees behind him. Only a movie maker would know the joys of an uncensored film being screened on a big mainstream theatrical screen that Eros was. It is the Films Division that I should thank for giving me this intense pleasure. People often said that Sharma-ji's smile was very infectious. I realized it that day.

Having roamed around the corridors of Films Divison during that Films Festival, I had tasted blood.  I was now itching to make films for them. After all, many greats whom I had idolized like Shyam Bengal, Mani Kaul, Aravindan too had made films for them. I even once saw a harried Jabbar Patel at a table at the FDP section, the department that deals with film production, trying to forcefully make a point to the concerned officer about the film that he had produced for Films Division. Well, if a person of his stature could be hassled at a FDP section table, then anyone could be and surely, I too could or should. I am of course hinting that it was an entitlement of the highest order.

Beyond Films Division, those were the days of Umatic and Beta tapes. Films Division worked on films, the smell of celluloid was intoxicatingly addictive. So, I walked through the corridors of Films Division with a VHS copy of my show reel with the sole purpose of making documentaries that were to be shot on celluloid. You had to be an 'Outside Producer' to make films in Films Division, an empanelled one at that. 'Directed and outside produced by', sounded like a sexy title on screen. The super gaits of the already existing 'outside producers' zipping in and out of Films Division cabins were also impressive. The only hitch was that getting into the panel seemed like a very uphill task.   

To start anything in Films Division, you have to get into a file. One of the officers had once told me that FD actually stands for Files Division. I do remember meeting the Chief Producer, as the head of Films Division was called then, and handing over my VHS tape. But however hard I try to extract my memories of that period, I don't remember if it ever went into a thin little brown file that had a red ribbon taped around it.  You really needed to be highly privileged, I thought, to be getting into such a position.

Films Division too didn't mind that I got busy with life elsewhere. I heavily got myself involved in the TV nonfiction program called 'Surabhi', produced by Siddarth Kak. And to be brutally honest, the grapes at Peddar road where the organisation exists, were turning tasteless. Of the two reels of ten minutes each that were to be mandatory screened in movie theaters then, most times the projectionist refused to screen the second. Cat calls and whistles from the audience were the nudges and indicators for him to do so. With great modesty I dare say that I too was a partner in such crimes; and although I have no whistling skills, I did the catcall bit with great aplomb. Who would want to see a drag report on an old Prime Minister and his visit to a foreign country or want to know about a government scheme that highlights the importance of pesticides on crops? 

Little did I know then, that that these very catcalls would come back to haunt me, later on. 

***

Despite the negatives, frequent relapses of the celluloid addiction that I talked about earlier brought me back to the corridors of Films Division to see if I ever got into one of the thin brown files that that were wrapped with red tapes. And during those days for no rhyme or reason that I wrote a part live and part animation script called 'Story of a File'. It was about a file desperately trying to search for its master.  It was probably the first proposal that I had pitched to Films Division. It is with great pride I dare say that nobody took it seriously, all though I should admit that I would pick up the subject to work upon, one of these days.

A typical  file in a Government of India office. 

And then I was put on to Yezdi Engineer, the senior most of the FTII graduate employed at Films Division then. He was the person in charge of what are called 'Ad hoc films'. If you are wondering what the hell is this term, don't worry. Even I had initially thought that these are advertisement films. But 'Ad hoc' would mean that which is done for a particular purpose as a necessity that which might be temporary in nature. I guess my frequent visits to Films Division with multiple proposals convinced the powers that be to decide that it was an absolute necessity that my celluloid addiction be encouraged, lest they be subjected to the additional torture of reading more of my proposals. I took the bait.

Before and after every film that Yezdi Engineer produced for me for Films Division, he reminded me that I needed to put the narration voice over in an simple and explaining manner. He would ask me to rehearse the interviews with the subjects and if needed provide them with possible sentences that they could mouth. All interviews not in Hindi needed to be para dubbed into Hindi. Making a film for Films Division comes with great responsibility, as it is the tax payers money that I was dealing with, he used to say with a wry smile.

In pragmatic words, being an Ad hoc director would mean that the production and the crew for the film that you have proposed would be taken care by the Films Division staff. Since the Ad hoc director is not an employee of the organisation, the senior most staff  - normally the camera person - would be the head of shooting unit. The unit would take their own travel and dearness allowances that they would draw before hand, after the director makes the schedule. The director would have to take care of his own stay and food; and would be paid at a nominal rate on a per reel basis - that too only after the film gets completed. Didn't I say somewhere earlier that it was all about privileges?

On my first shoot, while shooting an interview I did not say 'cut' to the camera person. Four minutes of costly celluloid footage - a large chunk of what we had carried for the film - got over in the first take of the first shot. As the subject had kept on taking with great passion about his work, it was unwise of me to have stopped him. It was also a carry forward of my practices in the relatively economically viable Umatic tapes outside Films Division where you could shoot as much as the subject spoke. 

In another shoot, on humanitarian grounds I had to arrange for the stay for the crew, using my own personal contacts. I thought I bargained for some extra crew bonding, but alas that was not to be. In the next shoot after that one, the camera person did not switch off the camera and 'ran off' the film magazine, despite my shouting of those dreaded words '.. and cut it'' loud and clear. The reason was I suspect, that the unit wanted to go back home earlier than planned. My assumption is that they wanted to go back home. as they had run out of their dearness allowances, which in any case I thought at that point of time was very meager and pathetic.

And above all, the identity of being an Ad hoc director was not too fancy or cool. There was an element of temporariness to it.

But all these were minor matters. What mattered most was when my documentary films got 'released' at movie theaters, as per standard operating procedure, I widely announced the dates to my friends and relatives in those pre-social media days. Some of them, I suspect, did go to the theaters only to watch my films - although I was always concerned as to how much of the film would the projectionist actually allow them to watch. The screening that I went, I just saw the first five minutes of my film before the English movie began. From that day, my skills in giving cat calls inside movie theaters diminished considerably. 

Slowly I began to realise that the Films Division news reels were now very dis-empowering, unlike during the days of my childhood. The grapes were now really sour. The only silver on the lining was that I used to suggest subjects to Films Division which were from my home state of Karnataka, the ulterior motive was that after or before the shoot, I could go home and pay a visit to my aging parents. Besides, editing a film on a Steinbeck machine was akin to having an orgasm.

When Yezdi Engineer had enough of me, I had the late Babu Ramaswamy to contend with. Under him, I was once was planning to make a ten minute film on a Tibetan resettlement colony in Mundgod in Karnataka. I think by then I must have made about four or five 'run of the mill' news magazines, as they were called at that point. Babu was from the Madras Film Institute. I told him I wanted to make the entire film with a fish angle lens, wanted to keep moving the camera that was to be hand held and not use any on screen interviews. He listened to me patiently and asked me as to why did I needed to do that? I had no immediate concrete reason to provide him, as it was an instinctive decision taken about the form of the film.

Voices of Mini Tibet

He then told me a golden rule of Films Division - or say of any Governmental organisation in India. When you are onto anything new - big or small - if anyone responsible in the organization asks any questions on it, it simply means that the person would himself / herself would probably be asked the same set of questions by their bosses for which they will have to be ready with satisfactory answers. "Give them a reason - whatever it is - in writing", he had then said with an infectious smile. The person whom you are giving a reason will be happy not only because there is a reason, but also because the superiors too can be forwarded that very reason in case they have the questions and demand an answer.  Everyone would be happy that they have answers to provide.

I gave a reason, in writing, although I don't remember now what that reason was. The film got made exactly as I had envisaged. The camera had a fish eye lens attached to it all the while. It was hand held and the camera person - to his utter dismay - was always roving around spaces in Mundgod. Refugees spoke about their experiences that got recorded on sound tapes, they were placed independently onto the visuals. There was no over powering narration of the 'voice of the god' kind guiding the audience. I did not do the para dubs of the sound bites into Hindi, and if I remember well I gave a reason for that and in writing. I wanted to do the English language sub titling to the  film. But no amount of 'giving reasons in writing' would convince Yezdi Engineer into this, although I should admit that there is a great urge for me to go back to Films Division with the subtitling proposal for the film one of these days.

***

The first de-addiction point came about during the process of making a film on the Natya Shastra, the ancient treatise on dance and drama, called "Bharata Uvaacha.." (Thus spoke Bharata...). It was an ambitious project for an Ad-hoc film and a temporary director. It had shooting schedules in Mumbai, Delhi and Kerala spread over various months. The idea was to highlight a few key features of the ancient treatise that were to be bound together by a traditionally attired English speaking 'Sutradhar' (the person who binds things together), who would speak on a stage; his shots were to be used at few key places in the film. 

Baratha Uvaacha... (Thus Spoke Bharata...)

The 'Sutradhar' was the last of the schedule. I did not hear anything from my Films Division unit members for quite some time since we shot this schedule. Then suddenly one day, the assistant camera person, if I am not mistaken, requested me to go to a film laboratory that processed the negatives to watch the rushes that had been printed. 'Will the camera person come?', I asked. 'No', he said adding, 'Normally, it is the directors who go to film laboratories when we get a call from them'.

Well, I went to the concerned laboratory in Mahim. I was given tea and treated royally. People escorted me to the empty preview theater, made me sit. The lights went off and immediately the screen turned on and lo, the images of my silent English speaking 'Sutradhar' got being beamed on to it. The initial feeling was of excitement for having pulled it through. Then, it gradually seeped in. The stage was supposed to be blackish. It was, but it was also 'raining' on the stage. By 'rain', I mean I was seeing small bluish white diagonal lines all through the frame, as if it was raining on the 'Sutradhar'. It looked as if Normal McLaren had landed in Mumbai and personally hand painted them on to the film strips. I asked the film laboratory guys the reason for this. 'They must have used some expired stock, it did not happen here in our lab', they said. I was also told that that was how it was in Films Division.

Back at Peddar Road, the camera person sheepishly admitted, 'Now, err.. it was a mistake..., do ask Suresh Menon what could to be done'. By now Babu Ramaswamy was planning to take a deputation transfer to be the CBFC chief at Chennai, his home town. Managing 'Ad hoc'-ism was entrusted to Suresh, another sympathetic direction graduate from the Chennai institute. Suresh made me sit in his cabinet, fed me with another cup of tea and asked me if I needed to shoot the portion again, although he would advise me not to opt for it. Already the film was behind schedule, and I must have spent all my Ad hoc director's fees on travel and stay. Re-shooting the English speaking 'Sutradhar' portion would have pushed the completion of the film by at least six to seven more months. Plus, Suresh had to 'put up' for the budget and fight for it.  He promised me that he would see the possibility if the 'rain effect'  could be digitally be removed. Both of us very well knew that Films Division did not have the necessary resources, skill or inclination to do so at that point of time.

The point also was that I had simply lost my addiction. Umatic magnetic tapes had already given way to Beta magnetic tapes, as the visual recording format. Beta tapes too were now being marginalized. I was sailing all though all these changes in the work that I did beyond Peddar road. There was no point in being addicted to celluloid, when celluloid itself was fading off. Moreover, the thought of not having made a fiction feature film even after so many years of graduating from the film school was beginning to haunt me, like a ghost from a Ramsay brothers movie.

I edited the film keeping the 'rain' effect intact, submitted the film and decided that it was time to stop choosing Peddar road for an addiction. Years later, when I met Ms Anuradha Kapur the then director of National School of Drama for the purpose of filming a documentary on the Late BV Karanth, I inadvertently mentioned this film on Natya Shastra to her.  She was aghast, 'How come we don't have a copy of it?'.  Well, I did not volunteer to send a copy of it to her for not only because I did not have one, but also because of that infamous 'rain' effect that the visuals of the traditionally attired English speaking 'Sutradhar' had in the film, although I should admit that after leaving her office in Delhi I did get a great urge to go back to the Films Division and convince them with a proposal to digitally incorporate similar 'rain' effects in all the shots of the film. 

Just imagine the phrase 'Natyashastra in the rains' as the publicity material for such a film! Too much!!! 

(To be continued...)