Celluloid creativity: no pain, no gain

Taking the traumatic making of Deepa Mehta’s Water and of Kalpana Lajmi’s Chingari as examples, Subhash K Jha makes the point that it is impossible for creativity to come without pain, and that filmmakers are playing it safe

It's a pleasure beyond measure to watch substantial talent emerge from Hindi cinema. Last month I applauded hard for Sanjay Leela Bhansali's Black as it swept away the Filmfare awards. I could sense the pride and prejudice that prevailed over that evening as rivals tried to be polite and giggly about the nearly unqualified triumph of Black.

I've watched Sanjay's struggle to make Devdas and Black. Somehow, I feel that pain adds considerably to an artiste's creation. What would Pyasa be if Guru Dutt hadn't suffered the indescribable angst of isolation and alienation? I've always felt Sanjay Bhansali to be the new-(r)age Guru Dutt. I hope some day he'll re-make Kagaz Ke Phool with the mighty Bachchan playing the isolated director.

Of course, Sanjay and AB will come together again. It's as palpable a reality as the book on the making of Black, which I hope to write.

I'm not surprised that Deepa Mehta's daughter, Devyani, has put together a book on the making of her mother's wondrous Water. Sometimes, the story behind the creation of a work of art turns out to be equally riveting.

I've been a part of Deepa's deep and anguished struggle to make this difficult film.
That it finally turned out to be so stunningly lyrical(and if it doesn't get the Oscar for the best foreign film, we'll never crack it) is more a matter of Deepa's beliefs and talent than the circumstances under which she made the film.

Five years ago, she had arrived in Varanasi laden with hope and enthusiasm, dying to put her haunting script about the derelict widows of Varanasi on screen.

It was a different cast then. Shabana and Nandita Das had shaved off their heads. Akshay Kumar was frantically mugging up his shuddh lines. Then, suddenly some people in power decided that Water was anti-Hindu. I had read the script and I defended the film and its maker's 'Hindu' credentials tooth and nail. A gentleman claiming to be from a radical Hindu organisation called me to threaten me in chaste Hindi. "Why are you getting into this when Deepa Mehta refuses to even talk with us? Tell her to sit across the table and work something out with us."

That “something”, I realised, was all about money, honey! Deepa refused to pay up. She folded up her shooting gear and went to make the film in Sri Lanka. It wasn't an easy decision. She was close to a breakdown during this hour of crisis.

"How can they stop me from making a film? I am an Indian, and a Hindu. What gives them the right to question my credentials?" she cried. A political innocent like me had no answer to give Deepa. Nowadays, I find the level of inolerance has gone up manifold. You can be pulled up and made answerable for anything from a dog's name to a god's fame. Filmmakers are increasingly shying away from sociopolitical subjects.

Raj Kumar Santoshi shelved Saamna, which apparently was based on the life of the seer Shankaracharya in Chennai. Even a whiff of real-life politics spells trouble for a filmmaker. That Deepa held her ground is commendable. In the five years that I watched her struggle to put her dream on screen, not once did she dither in her determination. The cast underwent several changes. Shabana was replaced by Seema Biswas.

Kareena was supposed to hop on board. She said yes. Then she said no. Disappointed and despair-driven, Deepa signed on her old favourite, Lisa Ray. "You can't be serious!" This was my first reaction when Deepa announced John and Lisa in the roles of the Gandhian reformist and the Varanasi widow.

"Just trust me. See what I do," she had promised. I can't say I don't miss Shabanaand Kareena in Water. But Seema and Lisa don't make the absence seem insurmountable. Kallpana Lajmi got the same sceptical looks when she decided to cast Sushmita Sen in Chingari.

Flashes of reformist zeal from Water run through Kalpana's film. While Water is about a widow's rehabilitation, Chingari is about a prostitute's redemption. Between the life of the widow in Water and the prostitute in Chingari, there is a vast gulf . While one is created by a female director in Mumbai, the other is the work of an auteur director in Toronto.

Both have suffered immense hardships to make their own social statements.
You can't take the pain away from the creator. To create a work of art, you need to suffer.
Otherwise, there's always No Entry.