Watching Parzania brought a blast from the past ...
This is an account of my experience of shooting a film in Ahemdabad, a year after riots in 2002. Was made while I was studying at the Asian College of Journalism in Chennai.Has not been edited.
THE GUJARAT DIARY
Datd June 2003, Mumbai
I can’t imagine that my travelogue for the most important trip in my life is being written so long after the trip , and the sweat , heat , the sweltering sun , all of it is being recollected at this plush T V Channel where people couldn’t care less one way or the other.
Feb 2003-- Preparation, planning and conceptualisation
Four of us from college , me , aarti , deepa and vibha ,set out to make an investigative documentary on the status of the rehabilitation of riot affected victims in Gujarat after the communal carnage in 2002.Chiefly because , there had been little or no media coverage on the lives of the victims after Narendra Modi was elected back to power in December 2002. All of us were conscious of the burden of our identities of being upper caste Hindu women.
Right from the word go , the gujarat trip was a huge success in terms of everything falling into place.Eventually . As if every thing in the universe , conspired to help us achieve what we set out to do(yawn).the way the group eventually formed. In the beginning though we were genuinely committed and interested in the project , there were enough and more factors discouraging us.
It all began when the chairman of ACJ , who easily agreed to lend us the college camera for an out of the station shoot. Then began the laborious process of mailing 30 – 35 people without receiving prompt replies. Those kind enough to reply provided us with a lot more contacts. With college assignments to carve out extra time for the investigative project was trying to say the least.
Quite often , I thought that I had bitten off more than I could chew.After incessantly plaguing my group mates to help me coordinate (by the time we boarded the train to Ahemdabad Aarti castigatingly said ‘stop acting like a matyr.’)Well , then began the process of calling people.We called correspondents at the Times of India , Ahemdabad , Baroda , a doctor at Godhra , painters in Ahemdabad , activists of different NGOs in Delhi , Hyderabad , New York, writers , analysts etc. We mailed and faxed bureaucrats , IAS , IPS officers , district collectors , in Ahemdabad , Baroda , Godhra. We also tried contacting the Chief Minister Narendra Modi , and the mayor of Ahemdabad .We wanted to incorporate every possible view. A liquid plan began to float. We were to recee when we began , then shoot for a couple of days , and finally reach Godhra for the first anniversary of the riots.We boarded the train , having all almost missed it, tempers running high , the heat adding to our travails if I can call it so.
We poured over newspaper reports , articles , magazines, read up the history of riots, different views by political pundits, as much background reading as possible. After 30 hours of journey , full of apprehensions (I remember dashing off a letter to my dad the day before we left thanking him , for allowing me to do this trip, considering we bitterly fought over it)
Reached Ahemdabad , the train was late if I remember correctly. Bhupa uncle who was to help us tremendously during our stay came to pick us and drop us at Lal Darwaza.At 10 in the night the car drove through what looked like a seedy area , to complement it , Bhupa uncle kept saying how unsafe this area was , as it was a muslim dominated area , and much had happened here last year. The place we stayed was pretty decent , infact we loved it, courtesy daddy dearest who had booked us at a SBI training centre. Good food and uninterrupted access to the phone which we virtually monopolised during our stay there. We went to sleep tired without having a clue about what we would do the next day.
Day 1
Well , it dawned on us next day that a lot of hardwork was ahead of us . After a sumptous breakfast, we called our most unlikely source. A so called activist from Care ,(whom I had called from the Vijaywada station on a sleepy Sunday afternoon en route to A’bad , ordering him that he better meet us on Monday).We met up with him at a plush 3 star restaurant where he had been staying since 9 months serving the riot affected , looking all suave and sophisticated. The first thing he said was ‘do you have a list of people you are going to meet ?’ and ofcourse proudly we shoved it into his nose (Deepa had painstakingly typed out the phone numbers , addresses and email Ids of 40 odd people all over India , and trust me its quite a job , deciphering hastily scribbled phone numbers).
God being God , made Monica Wahi our saviour for the trip.We got an intro to her thru this pseudo guy here. After assurances that we will keep him posted , after being drilled into us , about how we must meet up with one Mr. Mishraji , who will give us the right kind of sound byte complete with angst and all , a superb performer , a must-have in our docu , we pushed off to Vatwa.
There began our first day , faster than we had expected.The biggest industrial estate , which our voice over would say 4 months later , we landed in Vatwa after crossing clearly the border , the obvious ghettoisation , the transistion from area to area , as one moves out into the outskirts through Shah Alam.
Actually , now that I realise , its pretty good that I’m writing this stuff now , since I’ve watched the 8 hour footage atleast 3 times , and going over the 20 minute docu atleast 10 times. Well , not to interrupt my narrative and bust your anticipation , I’ll continue as I had seen it.
Day 2
It was blazing hot on the 24th of February,2003. After establishing shots et al , we bravely entered troubled waters. Aarti was doing the camera , and cautiously , Vibs(who in the process would cry copiously much to my embarassment , and so much for professionalism , naivete is not an excuse ) , Deepa (who I’m sure didn’t cry as much as Vibha claims to have.) and I , ofcourse was busy formulating my questions as less jarringly as possible. I don’t think I succeeded as you notice in the film where I keep stressing that the collector’s office turned the victims down , to the extent that the victim is fed of reiterating it.
Within moments , we realised the gravity of the situation. Initially we tried our best to steer the conversation away from riots and were talking only about the post riots scenario , about livelihood , compensation and what-next options. But beyond a point it was difficult to speak of effects without going back to the cause…..our horror was magnified as they described the riots , each individual trauma stories slowly , hesitantly sometimes , tumbling out , they began rather gently as a painful recollection , and the crescendo reached its peak , when all of it culminated to a state of helplessness.We could see the fear, the sense of aleination , the desperation ..
They realise it very well , that they do not have any hope. Plain and simple. The re-elected BJP government is doing everything in its power , to alienate this minority at every level. At one level , I remember thinking to myself , saying , that to hell with objectivity , I’m going to take their side , and I don’t even want to hear the other side of the story.The re-election is almost like a death warrant to some of them. They doubt the authenticity of the election process as one woman said , “who trust these voting machines , God knows what they did”
These widows at Vatwa have absolutley no means of survival , most of them with small children. Apart from the meagre efforts at the NGO level , they have no one to depend on. Most of them languish thinking about the comfortable past they had had ,before the riots. Painful narrations about how they could afford toys for their children , unlike now.One of the women broke , narrating how her 70 year old mother who was holed up in the attic , was dragged out by Bajrang dal rioters and burnt.Most women had lost all kinds of sensitivity. They had multiple sorrows to grapple with. The issue most important to them was their self respect. They shuddered at the thought of being raped. They even went to the extent saying never mind we lost our husbands as long as we were not raped.
Frighteningly , all of the them , had no hopes of life ever retuning to normalcy. We , then met Nazmeen , who was four years old , who , interestingly had not witnessed the riots , she was asleep as rioters murdered and burnt her father. But she showcases the kind of environment , the violence of sensitivities she was exposed to post riots , in the camps etc. Her tenor , tone ,her body language were extremely strange for a four year old.
And that was the end of the first day , as far as I remember , frantically calling up , and fixing up appointments for the next day.Our plans did not fall into place. Our sources were busy.
Day 3
We spent the first half of the day aimlessly , and were disillusioned about our next step. That morning we met a bureaucrat , a mighty helpless one at that. She did not say anything controversial , but refused to come on camera , saying she was on deputation and was not from the Gujarat cadre. She reeled out imaginary figures I think about the number of NGOs working in conjunction with the Government in providing psychsocial help to the victims. She was looking into the ‘Women and Child Department’, and had obviously no clue what was happening to these victims even after an year. She kept giving , references to people we could speak to. It was extremely discomforting to actually meet a helpless bureaucrat who am sure was a bright young woman , all set to change the country – impossible to do that in Modi Land.
We took general shots of the city which we would eventually not use.We went back to our guesthouse and had a brainstorming session ignited by Dran (aarti) who was puffing away.I had little contribution to make . was sleepy. Totally got wasted. Secretly arrived at the conclusion that I do not agree to any of the suggestions made by the others.and frankly I cared two hoots about the form of the docu. Aarti squirmed , and kept arguing how I could separate form and content. This dichotomy killed me , and is killing me as of now.
At this point , all of us were beginning to get overwhelmed assessing the ground realities , and the vastness of the task ahead of us. We were disillusioned for a while , had our own anxieties and moralities to deal with. We began discussing the grammar of making a film of this nature , in terms of visuals. The perplexing dichotomy between the seemingly inseparable issues of form and content plagued us a great deal.
Having nothing better to do , decide to get wasted anyway. Went to some happening Law Garden place for some good food and better shots. We shot till 11.30 that night after dinner. Nice experience , I must say.We shot puppets dancing in the light of the petromax lamps , their shadows were more intriguing than themselves and more intetresting than the puppeteer himself.Ok , here I’m trying to bring in some metaphor and crap effect , which is obviously not working.
Day 4
Bhushan Oza , whom I later fell in love with is this , hotshot lawyer who is looking into the compensation of riot victims , was plagued several times a day. We desperately needed to speak to him for our legal angle , which would not feature in our docu sadly. He gave us an intro to Sohail Tirmizi , who I thought looked very nice.
Well , this dude filed the first petition on behalf of the people for better sanitation facilities for the victims at the relief camps. He explained how dalits were implicated by upper caste hindus, about a single collective FIR for multiple crimes etc.He said , it was unfortunately very complicated to get Modi under trail in the International Court of Justice like Slobodan Milosevic. The people were given , 200-300 rupees compensation when they were entitled to a lakh or more.Also that the team for the government which went for the survey of damage and which would eventually decide the compensation amounts were obviously quite biased.
Day 5
It was a tall order that we were to go for an appointment at 7 in the morning.we reached 45 minutes late at Afzal memon’s residence. He is an important person in the Gujarat Sarvajanic Relief Committee. He said , the community has helped itself to face life after riots. Very little help has come from other quarters of the society , be it the Hindus , or their Government. Everything , in terms of reconstruction , employment , education , etc , were handled by the muslim community , even in the rural areas , where situation he claimed was quite different from the urban areas.
The best part of the morning , were the peacocks in the area. They are a common feature in ahmedabad.there is a brilliant shot of a silhouette of the bird against the morning sun.
We went to meet the mayor.Nothing significant really. He was as spineless, and infact showed silent complicity , being from the congress and their silly soft hindutva positioning.We met a volunteer from action aid, which I think has more credibility than Care , at any rate. Well , she was a cancer patient. She was working overtime , in between her trips for chemotherapy and the like.Now to bring some philosophy , Sartre – like. Tell me , at the threshold of death , what was she accomplishing by working so hard for a situation which is destined to go downhill anyway. Activism , to neutralise communalism , is probably the most pessimistic profession to have , even if you have like 30 years of life remaining. Now that’s what I call , detachment and stuff.anyway I’m glad I met her.
Day 6
Vibs and me went to meet Bhushan Oza. Sweet old man , I would work for him , loss of pay. Poured over the documents , FIRS , maps etc at the legal cell of Behavioural Science Centre, Ahemdabad. He came in late and apologised. Very patiently answered all our questions , and according to vibha was falling asleep towards the end. I feel bad thinking about it. We met Harsh Mander soon after. I forget why my politics prof doesn’t like him.
And then ofcourse we went on a wild goose chase in search of a place called sone-ki-chali.We saw the Jhulta Minara , Jaliwali masjid and stuff on the way. We had to meet Mujeeb Bhai , who would generally make our lives better or something like that. Anyway we had an endless wait near a masjid , where we promptly recorded the room tone. People around grew suspicious should I say , or rather inquisitive about our presence there. A small crowd actually gathered , by which time , Mujeeb Bhai had sent someone for us. Well Mujeeb Bhai a.k.a. Mujeeb Ahmad was from the Gujarat Sarvajanic Committee , he showed us the accounts of the committee , the houses constructed , the money spent , the raw materials used , the areas where it made significant contribution .He showed us maps , photographs of demolished houses.(which he gave us later)I had a lot of fun shooting. But we didn’t use any of those visuals.He gave us lovely food.
Day 7 - Feb 26
My god this is the day we went to Naroda.
The highest point in the trip ?So much was said about Naroda , that it overwhwelmed us , the moment we were nearing it. The Noorani masjid , which children had sketched , their drawings showed a burning Noorani masjid…well , first we met these guys from the legal cell of the Behavioural Science Centre. Monica was with us initially. And much to our dismay , left us , we were quite apprehensive if we could deal this sensitive area with our amateur journalistic sensitivities/ sensibilities.
Well the docu has enough and more of Naroda , the old man saying ‘Maro , Kato , Jalao…’ whose son had been killed right where we stood. I remember the next day was the first anniversary of the riots. The tension was already building up. And our driver actually , was sceptical about making the trip to naroda that day. Anyway , as the old man narrated the riots , I shuddered to visualise thousands of rioters had come hollering ‘Jai Shri Ram’ into these narrow dingy bylanes , with no escape route. The adjoining plot had an overimposing wall of the State Transport Corporation from where , petrol bombs were flung at people.The crowds did not spare anyone.
I’m surprised , 150 people were burnt , killed raped or electrocuted in Naroda , I’m sure in reality there were much more.It was particularly distressing to imagine a police guy telling people a safer route which led right in to the mouth of rioting , death and fear.
Little children in Naroda , hate the media or are media savvy . their responses unfortunately are quite orchestrated.They witnessed their relatives being murdered , raped in front of their eyes.
Savli ,the unfortunate star of our documentary, said the maximum with the fewest possible words. Her lack of concern of a camera shooting her , of our incessant ceaseless questions , repeatedly…the gloom which hung around her , her defeatist attitude…her life in Naroda Patiya , in those very lanes where so much had happened exactly one year ago. She like many others could not afford to resettle at new places after their stint at the camps. “Apne Jaat waalon ko rakh liya…”
She kept spinning the sutar , a bright yellow one.It kept getting entangled every few minutes,.She kept untangling it. she did it over and over again. A ceaseless process. Then for a while she would spin the wheel , then again it would get entangled. Her work , her sutar , her makeshift workspace , the wheel , etc was a brilliant metaphor for her life.She would be paid 10 rs or lesser for 3 days of work , and she had 4 children.
Cut to Iram , rolling agarbatis , as if she had done it all her life , of 7 years that is. She hated the camera , you could tell it,actually she was not bothered. She didn’t respond to our efforts at conversation. But finally , later when all the kids began to sing “Mein nikala gaddi leke..” from Gadar , she began to smile for the first time in half an hour.I kept singing that song till the end of the trip , and deepa was quite amused.
There was this marathi couple one of the very few hindu families in Naroda , believe it or not her Big bindi with red sindoor was making a loud statement , if you go by the standards of Roland Barthes , but actually , he wouldn’t bother about something as easily discernible as a red bindi in a muslim riot affected area. It was apparent that she was not as secular as she claimed to be.
The sound byte which shook us all , was when we walked to see the ‘Teesra kuan’(the third well) , were people and dead bodies were flung into this well , a year ago , and the stench of death literally refused to go away after an year.I forgot to go and have a peep INTO the well , or maybe I was really not wanting to have a peep.
Well , this Hindu from across the field , came and rubbished the entire episode as being a huge farce and that nothing actually ever happened in Naroda, 100 metres from where we stood. The stench he claimed was of rotting animal flesh. And he walked away. We ran behind him, and asked to speak to us on camera.A couple of kids standing there , still in their high school , warned us that we better not speak to them , else we would be shocked at their pro-hindutva stand. These kids are I think one of the many futures of this country.
Life defining momentI stood at the divider waiting to cross the road. He was standing next to me.as I crossed the road , he asked me which channel I was from.I was tired and drained and was in no mood for a conversation , and I didn’t even look at him. He said ‘mera naam Javed hai’ .I froze.
Monica had warned me that Javed was this 14 year old kid who lost 14 members of his family , including his parents and was witness to the bonechilling oft-repeated episode of his pregnant sister’s murder whose womb was slit , and the foetus burned. All of this came to me in an instant , and I definitely didn’t want to be so close to such an episode.We had no conversation. His eyes, as I’ve remarked each time that I think about them , broke all my defences, eyes without meaning , without hope , cold , expressionless , dead, eyes which had lost track of time….he said “mere maa , baap dhammal mein guzzar gaye”.
Monica had told me how he had begun selling his story to the media , by repeating all the gory details , living through those agonising moments again and again.his eyes kept pleading , speak to me and give me money for my sensational story.I didn’t want to be a part of yet another round of self inflicted agony. So basically like a coward , I got into the car and looked at him blankly and left. All of us broke down in the car.
Naroda was like a graveyard, you could easily sense the vibes of the place.The images of sad children , insecure women , defeatist men , spaces which were shown to us and were told ...this is were all the bodies were stacked ...this is the house of a rapist who is gone without being implicated ...this is the lane where police stood and said ‘upar se order nahin aaya hai , tum ko bachane ke liye’.....it keeps coming back to us even now.
We kept discussing Naroda till wee hours in the morning , crying , speaking , rationalizing….cursing , questioning…
Day 8
The next day , while Aarts and deeps went to Juhapura , an up market muslim establishment…and we went to meet Achyut Yagnik (veteran journalist) , in his very small , very ordinary looking office. Speaking mainly about the origins of ghettoisation in Ahemdabad , alongside repeated riots that scarred the city , he also spoke about the limited resources and abilities of NGOs to cope with this magnanimous problem of resettlement , re-employment of the riot affected.He said that to tide over such a huge rightist majority in the state , very incisive and strategic moves should be put into force by the microscopic secular minority.
We finished speaking to him and reached the VHP office a little early. We sat there cursing the VHP guys in our heads. A deceptively calm place (!) , and to think that , this VHP Karyalaya , the centre from which these guys controlled the gory episodes of violence in conjunction with the state govt. when they categorically targeted minority areas in Feb. 2002.
It was the 27th of feb’03 exactly a year after Sabarmati express was burnt near Godhra station. Now , a poster of the burning train welcomed us.Dr. Kaushik Desai , the general secy. VHP , in Gujarat , came in. He looked so VHPesque. After the usual crap about communalism and how VHP does not interfere with BJP etc…he was loosing patience and said 'the muslims must behave themselves , and if they don't we'll screw their ears and teach them'. We were sick of formulating questions in Hindi trying to arrive at the crux of the issue in many different ways.
Then he showed us real gory snaps of victims of the Godhra trajedy , badly burnt bodies, little babies etc. The guy, was sensationalising it , and even offered that we could have those gory snaps.
We left hoping we would never ever visit a VHP energy field ever.That night we went to bhupa uncle’s place for dinner. Had lovely Gujju dinner.Apparently he was majorly into the Nav nirman movement in his hey days.He offered to fix us up with Praveen Togadia ,he knew him well and stuff. Everyone knows everyone in a’bad. On our way back we took some awesome night shots of the kankaria lake.
Day 9
Next morning we met up with Mehrunissa , an action aid volunteer in Shah Alam , who refused to come to a Udipi restaurant across the road , and I couldn’t understand why , until one of the gals said that a udipi place is essentially Hindu. We had some lousy breakfast at a shop which had been totally destroyed , and had not received any compensation. The shopkeeper suffered from immense media fatigue , categorically refused to speak to us. That was the day - Feb 28th , when riots broke out , police were scattered in the area. We took some happening hidden camera shots. Police in Gujarat aren’t the best people to rub shouders with.
On our way to azad nagar , we bumped into Imtiaz-e-khureishi , the paan waala , who vehemently dismissed the idea of ever returning back to Naroda. The crux of Azad Nagar was a lot of happy women from Naroda , in a dumpyard area , with deserted textile mills , and self-help groups extending loans to these women. I loved shooting here , deepa climbed atop a tank and said she had a vertigo problem.ha ha.
A lot of general shots of
a textile mill in action where the employees were dalits, an empty textile mill , with an old couple who looked older than a relic...that deserted factory retold the story of the retrenchment of thousands of textile mills workers in Ahemdabad during the 80s , I think.
We shot a lovely sequence of a man making jalebis outside a darga which i personally feel is the highest point of the voice over. That was dran at her best. We took a hidden camera shot (am getting tired of the expression now) of the Ishanpuri Masjid which was demolished by a crane for 6 hours during the riots. An ASI property , we were chased off by the police while we tried filming it.
Vanderwat was our next stop that day.Muslims were not allowed to come back to their homes.we went to Aayeesha Bibi’s house which her hindu neighbours use for storing thier livestock. Dran didn’t use my happening shots that I took here. We saw ‘jai shri ram’ fading on a wall.
We took some interesting shots at an ice factory.and frankly I hadn’t seen one till then . It reminded me , of ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ , Garcia Marquez , when ice is brought to the name of a place I forget now , its looked at with wonder.We still had another stopover for the day. The sun was setting. We had no choice but to meet the deadline , we were leaving the day after.
We had a flat tyre. Vibha was capturing the sunset in a shaky shot , and aarti was informing monica that we had a flat tyre. and I was cribbing about how I’d no idea about where we were going. We have all of it on record , and it makes for amazing reconstruction of the moment in our film.
Chunarawaas - a dalit colony caught in the crossfire between upper caste hindus and muslims had a different story to tell. Asgar Bhai and Lakha Fakir ,a muslim and a dalit , respectively became a part of our lives , forever etched in our memories , sat there under one roof , recounting riots after exactly one year , settling scores , having a mature confrontation.
What Asgar Bhai said , has seeped into my being. Rather dramatic , but…he said , its as if he had not eaten in a year…about how clearly he discerns all the manoeuvres made by a rightist government to isolate his community.He was being practical about not being ever be able to live besides Hindus…he had no pretensions about the safety in secularism….he kept explaining about his savings or the lack of it….the absence of any kind of regular livelihood facilities… about being deserted by his kith and kin….about how he had been offered a job abroad , and how he had never taken it up , because he was so comfortable and safe in this country of his….he said , ‘hum dekhna chahte hain , hamara padosi hum ko kab tak marega…hum ko marna to hai hi..…is jeevan ka jaise udhar reh gaya , kabhi pura ni karpayenge….i can never fulfil the obligation in this life.
Lakha fakir , was manipulating the situation , changing sides at will. He was very very politically correct , was giving measured replies…
We used the lights for the first and the only time. it had a good effect.The lights switched off , and Asgar Bhai left , without telling us….he really has had a lasting impression on my life.
Day 10
Our last day in ahemdabad , little did we realise , it would be so long. We began with climbing atop a 10 storey building discreetly , duping the guard…we needed some top angle shots of Ahemdabad ..we could see factories at distance , a mosque tucked away , and ofcourse IIM (A) , I nearly died trying to get in there.Once before.
We then headed to the most interesting part of our trip. Meeting the kids at Gomtipur….a playschool for the riot affected kids.Little children reading off urdu texts….little boys wearing traditional topis…girls with duppattas covering their heads whether they were 4 or 14.Most spoke in a disconnected manner about riots , about the loss of their belongings , their toys , their play areas, interspersed by fear , a sudden recollection of the murder of a relative….their drawings showcased , the extent of violence they had been exposed to. While some used dark colours , most used fire , or weapons or , bandit-like men…in their drawings…
These were normal children who liked to sleep open to the sky because they enjoyed the morning sun …but who feared the outcome of the India Vs Pakistan match that day….
They sang , and danced for us. Asked us , when we would visit them again. Those visuals will stay with us….Javed from Naroda , stood out all alone….hoping to be forgotten….
We went to IIM (A) , walked through those lovely lanes lined with huge , graceful trees. The silence was distrupted once in a while , when those guys at the hostel yelled , as India had started batting that day.it was quiet and beautiful. I secretly wanted to study there , and thought was a total looser for not being able to be one of those 180 guys….well.
Anticipating tension at Lal Darwaza , we shifted to a supposedly more secular locality into the IDBI Visiting Officers’ Flat.We finished dinner , as promised treated ourselves to a nice Gujju thali. Came back watched the match. Exhausted , half sleepy , half happy , knowing India will win. We were to leave next morning at 5.30 for Chennai. Around 10.30 that night the streets of Ahemdabad broke out into violent celebrations. Our so called safe , secular locality , was witness to the ultimate jingoistic behaviour . men and women on bikes carrying huge national flags distributed by bajrang dal guys…traffic was stopped , every vehicle was stopped , handed over flags ,the occupants were forced to cheer loudly.We shuddered to think of those kids and their predictions in Gomtipur , who had said , whether India wins or looses , they would be in danger…
We set out to cover the celebrations with half charged batteries. For 2 hours we were on the roads , astonished at what we were watching… thugs blasting crackers , under cars..throwing stones…men were busy planning , issuing instructions on their cell phones about the areas where the celebrations should be intensified. A traffic van went about the slowly through the blocked traffic , with police men inside , who did not make the slightest effort to get the situation under control. Women and children an equal party to celebration probably even more enthusiastic….
We forced ourselves to sleep at 1.00 in morning , considering we had to leave at 5.30. ‘Har Har Mahadev’ was what we could hear till the wee hours in the morning.
Exhausted we pushed ourselves out of our beds, unable to believe that our trip was over. with a lot of difficulty we found 2 auto rickshaws , after walking through the street , with dogs chasing us… en route to the station we saw several destroyed vehicles , roads strewn after what had seemed too much celebration.
We boarded the train.
Aarts had the camera rolling , a vendor was selling coffee , aarts was humming slowly…we were relieved , tired , emotionally drained out. Squirmed at the idea of studying journalism at ACJ for the next 4 months….
April 2003
On the first of may ,we discussed our script… aarts and me had an argument lasting for hours. We thought , we debated , but we couldn’t agree really…while she said , we must introduce disruptions in the documentary to shirk of the mental inertia of the audience who tend to believe everything they see.
I was against any kind of experimentation in a serious investigative journalistic film. While she believed that film making and journalism , together brought out the documentary making, I disagreed totally. I believe that journalism is the larger picture , and the medium is incidental…the debate goes on…
And 4 months flew..we completed editing , the greatest miracle…working for 4 days non stop with little sleep , and lesser patience.I remember on the last night , deepa and me were in the studio at 11.30 in the night , I could feel the time racing , trying to out do us…I remember waiting in the studio while vibs was doing the voice over at 2.00 in the night…and aarts making corrections… I remember Kamaal refusing to let us use the editing machines on several weekends…I remember cursing him till death…I remember how I had fallen asleep at the VTR , while deepa stayed up all night with her lenses on editing ….we finished the title cards by 8 in the morning. Went back to the hostel , me and aarts went for tea.there began our last day in college as we prepared for the BBC exam in the afternoon…..Abhi decided to gift us his cassettes….
And by the way , we never had time to think of a title. Aarts thinks it doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe.
Two truths were revealed in the process. One is if you feel strongly about stuff , and believe in it passionately it comes true. I mean Gujarat riots were probably very important for my decision to do journalism , and couldn’t imagine 1 year later I would be making a film about riot victims.Also , I couldn’t imagine I found such a wonderful , committed group.even if Aarts insists that she won’t even need me as a spot boy in our next venture……..who cares.. Second, no one cares about films, lesser still about communal harmony....
ends
Ever since, four of us in that group have never made a film again - have ended up as journalists in a pink paper, leading predictable lives. Only occasionally thinking, that too when we go to a neighbourhood multiplex.
