The Last Sunset

Film makers who are engaged in practising the language of cinema in their own personal syntax have been for long debating the concept of  'realism' in cinema. To begin with, cinema captured a certain physical reality but then as the language of cinema evolved through fictional narrative and then its abstraction  it went on to find its own form of art which is not necessarily employed to tell a story or depict a certain physical reality.This contemplative form of cinema is often used by film makers who are engaged in their own interpretation of the so called "realism' or how they perceive life as such. In that context a question is often raised about what is real and what is perceived as reality. In this context I thought  of an interesting visual exercise which can be used as an example to illustrate how a  visual symbolism depicting a certain "reality" can be demystified,

Take for example a  sunset, The shot of a setting sun ,one of the most commonly used visual metaphor in  the history of world cinema. It is used in many ways in different contexts including the most famous "walking into the sunset".  At a very basic level a shot of a sunset gives the meaning of an end of an episode or just depicting an end of the day. What happens if the camera which is capturing a sunset from a certain given location is placed on a helicopter and as soon as the sun sets behind the horizon or the sea the camera lifts up in the sky to a higher altitude?The sun would appear into the frame again in its full form And if the moving platform on which camera is placed, maybe a helicopter or a flying machine follows the 'setting sun' along the globe for twenty four hours, and comes back to the exact location where it had started we would visually see the analogy of the 'sunset' demystified. That would be the end of the 'sunset'. The sun never sets, in a sense. 

It is just an example of how  certain visual representation of the so called 'reality' in cinema can be reinterpreted to understand "realism" in cinema.  Cinema  can  depict a certain 'reality' which is ever changing and at the same time its visuals contained within the frame can indicate towards a larger 'realty' which is outside the frame. 

Vishnu Mathur.

July 30.2013.

Life Is A Miracle.

  Akbar Padamsee

Akbar Padamsee, the celebrated Indian painter, once told us an interesting story.

Many years  ago when he was travelling in south of France for a lecture tour and during one of his lectures in a university there a professor who had travelled to India earlier asked him a question. The professor said that during his visit to India he had observed that generally people in India looked happy in spite of so many problems India was facing. He wanted to know why it was so while people in France looked sullen and unhappy in spite of the fact that France was a prosperous state.

To that Akbar gave an interesting answer. He said that what people in France take for granted as a routine is a miracle in India. For example Akbar explained if one gets up in the morning and finds the water running in the tap one says, “Ah, the water is running!”  If someone presses the button of the lift in a building and the lift comes up that person would be delighted. And if you are waiting on a platform for a train and if the train arrives on time then you would say “Oh thank God the train has come on time!” So Akbar explained that what seems to be routine and boring event in France seems like a miracle in India That is why people seem happier India as compared to people in France. “In India we feel  life itself  is a miracle” said Akbar Padamsee to an audience enthralled by his explanation.  

Vishnu Mathur.

July 27^th, 2013.

Hand to mouth

This morning my eyes saw my hand feeding my mouth.I felt my teeth chewing the food and my gullet putting the food in my stomach and my ears heard my voice say,"That was nice."

Vishnu Mathur.
July 22,2013.

"I Quote"

                                        

"I don't know if I am unhappy because I am not free or I am  not free because I am unhappy."

From the French film "Breathless"(1960)

Directed by Jean Luc Godard.

Vishnu Mathur

July 15th 2013

Where I Live

Arundhathi Subramaniam is one of the finest poets we have in India.She writes in English and has published several collections of poetry and a book on spiritualism. I mentioned that she writes in English later and that she is a fine poet first because very often we use language as a way of creating hierarchy in India. For example regional writing is considered secondary to writing in English or Hindi thereby creating compartmentalized judgment when it comes to assessing a work of art. So when I say that Arundhathi is one of the finest poets we have in India I meant inclusive of all Indian  languages.

Her major works of poetry are published in three volumes, 'On Cleaning Bookshelves'  and two volumes of 'Where I live'. I have yet not read her books on spiritualism particularly what she has written on Swami Sadguru of Coimbatore but I am a great admirer of her poetry. While she has a very structured style and very objective choice of words which creates a distance from her subject she lets you peep into her heart slowly but surely. And at the end of a poem a bell  rings and everything falls into place. No tears flowing down the cheeks and shouting from the roof tops for her. A very common symptom of emotional poetic expression.

My  wife C.S.Lakshmi (Ambai) who also writes fiction in Tamil and I have been friends with Arundhathi Subramaniam for many years now and for many years we lived in adjoining buildings from where we could look at each other's windows from a distance both  our flats being on the third floor. She later moved  to another building in the same locality but not at a visible distance  I remember that there use to be a yellow curtain on her window then which was always drawn and once I wrote a small haiku like poem about it and sent it to her in jest. I seem to have lost that poem somewhere but I do have another poem which I wrote after I read her poetry collection 'Where I live'. As I wrote earlier in my blog  I am not a poet but poems just come to me and I just note them down. In this case this poem-like review just happened when I finished reading her book and when I wanted to send her my reaction to her book. This poem-like review made my job of describing her book easier and I promptly sent it to her. Arundhathi was fascinated  with this form of expressing my reaction to her poetry and felt that my use of the phrase 'And  silence far away' summarized the underlying  essence of poems in that book.

I am reproducing that piece of "poetry' I sent  her at that time.

Your  Poems Arun

 I can smell

From Where I Live

Shifting meanings

From a word

To image another

Like the breaking of a wave

From this end

To that

Into a crash of crescendo

And

Silence far away.

Vishnu Mathur.

16th May 2005.

AN IDEA FOR BLOG.

The idea of having my own blog has been in my mind for may be over a year. A little late in life perhaps at the age of sixty eight!Or maybe not,everything happens at the right time I would like to believe.

For so many years the long gaps between films,which have been many,have been frustrating.But not always,sometimes they have been productive.I took up brush and paint and spent a lot of time painting which resulted in some creative satisfaction.On other occasions some poems came by. I say poems came by because one does not sit down and say OK I am going to write a poem. Poems just visit you like a fleeting thought or maybe like a butterfly flying past you leaving you pleasantly amused.While on other occasions when one was sitting idle not inspired to do anything and one was brooding, a thought would come to you in a flash like a minor revelation either giving you a fresh insight into something one has been thinking about or something entirely new which one had not thought about before. And many a time lot of these minor revelations remain unexpressed or forgotten over a period of time.Only a few of these random thoughts remained in record and one feels a certain loss when one is not able to remember many such moments which have not found expression one way or another.

So the blog.Why not I thought, put these moments in time on record for anyone who may be interested in reading what all one has thought about life, art and cinema. I hope to put in this blog whatever I have in my record -- poems, paintings,photographs and random notes.Occasionally I hope to put up  clippings  from my films as  illustrations of my ideas on cinema. I hope all this will find some receptive readers and I will have the satisfaction of expressing my thoughts and ideas for them.

To know more about me and my work please visit  < http://www.graftii.com/profiles/638-vishnu_mathur >

Parrot Green

This Morning

Was 

A parrot green

And red leaf

Falling

On the ground

All brown.

Vishnu Mathur.

July 11th, 2013.

Mountainscapes

                         

                         



   

   

     

         

                        Photographs by: Vishnu Mathur. © 2013              

Mani Kaul.

Mani Kaul.

Today the is the second death anniversary of the eminent Indian filmmaker Mani Kaul. He was my friend for more than forty years through many ups and downs. As a film maker from the Film & TV Institute of India,Pune, he was my senior by four years. He passed out from the institute in 1966 while I  finished my course in 1970. But after a few years of hierarchical relationship during which time he was my 'senior' I  worked as an assistant director to him in his film "Aashad Ka Ek Din" we more or less settled down on an an equation where we could be termed as "friends".

Today in Mumbai a book is being released which is an English translation of a long interview of Mani Kaul conducted by Udayan Bajpayei many years ago in Bhopal.Why I am not present at that function is a mystery to me. No one has formally approached me to speak in a public function about Mani Kaul so far and I think it is a very difficult task for a friend to speak about a friend after his death, specially in a public forum. As a friend there is so much to say  that one may not be able to do justice in a small speech which one is expected

to make on such occasions. So in way I am happy that I am spared of such a difficult task at the same time I feel one way or the other I should be present when it has to do with Mani Kaul. But maybe that is not the way others may be  looking at it.

After Mani Kaul expired for many months  I closely interacted with his entire family. His children Ribhu and Shambhavi, his first wife Lalitha in Mumbai and his sisters Gattu and Chunni  as they are popularly known. On 25th December, 2011 many of his friends and relatives organized a big party in Gurgaon in Delhi  where 

Mani Kaul spent his last days. I was also invited but I was not able to attend it and as a gesture on my part I sat down to write a brief letter for that occasion to his sisters who had organized that lunch. As I sat down to write a simple letter words flowed through my computer and it became a long letter.To my surprise it became a letter which inadvertently expressed many things about my relationship with Mani and many glimpses of his journey with cinema. Today on his second death anniversary I am reproducing that letter here which I sent to his sisters Gattu and Chunni. Perhaps my first attempt to describe a man called Mani Kaul. 

Vishnu Mathur

July 6th 2013

                                                                

                                                                  Mani Kaul

Dear Gattu, Chunni and all the dear ones,

First Birthday of Mani. Without him being present physically! Certainly he had a great presence and there is nobody who ever came in contact with him who ever left without carrying a bit of him. That is the way he was. Fierce anger and deep emotions--two extremes were in him at the same time. It all depended on your horoscope which part of him was reserved for you!  I am still unable to decide why we were friends for so long through all the ups and downs both in our personal lives as well as our coexistence as film makers. Must be something to that. Of course,  both coming from Rajasthan and sharing a similar background must be one strong reason for our bonding. However much different were our films and personal nature, we were both non-compromising in our films and shared common cinematic sensibilities and understanding. Our methods were different in making our films and so was our way of interacting with the world. He was strong and pragmatic while I was soft and simple. He came to Bombay four years before me from the Film Institute of India in Pune and actively started contributing  to  the New Cinema Movement in the late sixties and we who came later joined that movement, not for any other reason but for the fact that we had already found our own path in the medium which was similar to his and many more who were already there in Mumbai at that time struggling to make their own films. We all made our first films during that phase of the New Cinema Movement in India, from the late sixties to say mid-eighties. Mani went on to make many more films and was far ahead in the race of numbers but in terms of spirit of cinema we were co-runners and continued to strive for making more and better films. At least we never gave up  hope. 

I have no hesitation in putting this on record here at this point that Mani Kaul, Kumar(Shahani) and I were  the only true non-compromising film-makers in the Indian New Wave cinema, however much different we may have been as persons is a different matter. Adoor Gopalakrishnan, in my opinion is the only other film-maker who has stood his ground as a genuine film-maker, though his films are rooted in a different cinematic syntax. Many other film-makers who were part of the Indian New Wave were either not very sure of what they were doing there or were just fence-sitters. But many of them found their own way of practicing their craft and language gradually and became successful film-makers in their own right. Saeed Mirza, Vinod(Vidhu) Chopra and Kundan Shah come immediately to my mind in that context. Many other film-makers continued to make films and many quite successfully, but failed to attain an individualistic style of their own in their films, in their attempt to win both the critics and market at the same time. Of course, they earned their own share of fame and money. And  nothing wrong in that moralistically speaking. 

And when on that morning of the month of July 6th,2011 I stood watching the frozen face of Mani in Gurgaon Delhi I was transfixed. So was the fixed expression on Mani's face. Slightly pursed lips as if they were going to open any moment and talk about the next film he was hoping to make in Italy and was actively planning it from his death bed so to say. But that was not to be. It was the death of cinema for him like the death of the Indian New Wave cinema twenty-five years ago. We all died an early death in that sense in terms of film making at that time. Indian New Cinema was declared dead by its detractors who were of the opinion that pure cinematic expressions were not valid in the Indian context and what was not commercially viable was not to be encouraged especially at the cost of the exchequer. Such a view was spearheaded by none other than Satyajit Ray himself who was critical of our kind of cinema and was  seconded by film-makers  who were the epitomes of “middle-cinema". Paradoxically even the middle- cinema could not sustain itself for long after that because in a sense it was parasitical on both the pure genre of film-making and the popular genre. We all lost our race even before we completed it as the race itself was termed meaningless and unnecessary.

After that it was a lost battle for many a film-maker and a lone struggle for many more. Some reached the shore and others drowned. Govt. organisations like FFC/NFDC shifted their stand in the name of public accountability and have remained a sheer facade as organisations in terms of development of cinema. But Mani Kaul survived against all odds both in his personal as well as professional life till he died on that night of July 6th in 2011. And as I stood watching the animated face of Mani's frozen body my immediate emotion was anger and not sadness. And I haven't cried since. Anger because of the betrayal of the state in first encouraging and then withdrawing the support to the good cinema movement and its continued apathy towards film- makers who kept making their individualistic  efforts to better their own expressions. Who knew what Mani Kaul and likes were doing all these years? Leave aside active encouragement of the state and  semi-official organisations of such films and film-makers, they did not even make cursory gestures of giving honorary awards, which are routinely doled out every year to so many for some facile reason or the other. The state did not even think of awarding any of the 'Shri' awards to him, not to talk of the  prestigious 'Dada Sahib Phalke Award.'

Post his demise there were encouraging signs. Mani’s passing away was noticed. It was to my surprise that the media, at least the print media, reported it prominently. Many write-ups appeared and Individuals who knew him personally and who had come in contact with him through his film-making or his engagement with Drupad music, expressed their feelings one way or the other. Many in praise and some in a negative vein. Never mind whether it was right or wrong it was clear that Mani's life did not go in vain. He continued to tell his tales in his own way, whether everybody  agreed with him or not and at the same time left an impression on many young aspiring film-makers who continue to hope to make their own films. Mani would have liked to narrate a few more of his tales to achieve a sense of fulfillment but that was not to be. A touch of sadness perhaps for him and ourselves who are still waiting to  listen to a few more of his tales.

"Bade shaukh se sun raha tha ye zamana,Ham hi soe gaye dastan kahte kahte."

Tears can wait for a little  longer. It is time to wish him a Happy Birthday if not to the person himself but to the his spirit which continued to strive for something better in his expression in cinema. And while I will keep wondering why we were friends for so long through so many ups and downs -- after all we were such divergently different people and film-makers the answer does not come easily.Maybe we were together so that we could be a witness to each other’s struggles both in our personal lives as well as our endeavour to make our own films in our own way. Well, it is not necessary to have all answers to all the questions in life. After all great cinema does not necessarily need a story to tell.

Go ahead and celebrate his Birthday, the way you would like to and enjoy it the way Mani would have liked too in his own style, with full gusto, unmindful of his critics and detractors.

With Love,
Vishnu
25th December 2011

Weekend Drink

Weekend Drink.

The thought of having a drink on the weekend is like a carrot dangling in front of a donkey.It makes you work like one through the week!

Vishnu Mathur.
July 4th, 2013.

Crows On My Terrace

The terrace of my building is my instant getaway. One flight of stairs up and I am out in an open space so rare in the city of Mumbai. A breath of fresh air, a wider view of the space around and a partial view of the sea across between the buildings, can be considered a luxury in the city. Although this terrace is not my private space, it is not frequently used by the other occupants of the building and I have made it my own.

 I climb up the stairs at least twice a day, morning and evening. An early morning cup of tea on the terrace when I feed the pigeons is my private time when most members of my family are still in bed and I enjoy my personal blend of tea which only I like in my family. So while I enjoy the tea and observe the pigeons having their first meal of the day, the sun rises slowly from behind the distant buildings and the noise of the traffic below in the street slowly becomes louder. It is during this time that I collect my thoughts and ponder over my dreams of the previous night while I prepare myself for the impending day ahead.

In the evening after officially the day is over I go up to the terrace once again this time to cool off so to say, depending on how the world has treated me through the day. I usually water the plants I have kept on the terrace at that time, my personal patch of garden so to say. I also fill water in a pot which I have kept on the parapet wall for the birds to drink water from. The birds mostly comprise of noisy crows and my group of pigeons. I have some proud moments sometimes when I am rewarded with a flower or two from my Hibiscus or Jasmine plant. A consolation prize for someone like me who would have liked to have a farm of my own and I have in the past tended small private gardens while living in small towns where my father often got posted often while serving with the Central Govt. Sometimes I also use that time to take a brisk walk if I have not had my normal share of the day’s exercise régime. As I walk I watch the sun going down the sea behind the buildings and observe the changing hues in the evening sky. This part of the evening often ends when I sit on the parapet wall and hum some of my old favourite Hindi film songs. Slowly the darkness descends in the sky and the shimmering lights of the city come on.

There are many kinds of birds which frequent the trees around my building including sparrows, mynahs, bulbuls, koyals and on some rare occasions woodpeckers. Pigeons and crows are the permanent inhabitants of the area and they are in abundance. These pigeons and crows have their own territories which are normally a building or a set of buildings, its terraces and the surrounding trees. My own building has its own set of crows and pigeons; pigeons whom I feed in the morning and the crows that cackle through the day and drink water from the pot I keep for them. For their food they are on their own, scavenging in the surrounding area but for water they come to their own watering hole on my terrace.

Pigeons live peacefully in the surrounding areas while the crows as always are flying around and making noise all the time with or without a valid reason. When I appear on the terrace in the morning or in the evening they would greet me with some noise and some unnecessary flights but then would settle down once they realise that they are not under any imminent danger from me and no one was transgressing their territory. But after my recent fortnight holiday with my family when I landed on my terrace I faced a hostile bunch of crows. While the pigeons took just a couple of days to settle down to an old routine the crows made it a long story. Not only did they start flying around me in a noisy way but some of them also attacked me physically pecking at me on my head. One particular crow became my personal enemy while others settled down in a supporting role.

                                                                                             

This particular crow looked old and cranky and I think very cynical (my perception!). Every time I appeared on the terrace it came swooping down from nowhere and tried to poke my head. Fortunately the damage was minimal due to the thick hair on my head.  But I had to seriously take evasive measures. First I thought that like the pigeons the crows too would settle down to the old ways and recognise their benefactor who religiously kept water for them to drink, no matter what season of the year it was. But no way; they had decided that some imposter had come into their territory instead of me and then it became a long fought battle particularly with that old cynical senior citizen (or so I thought!).

 So I had to pick up a few pebbles as a defense and throw at them every now and then to let them know that they cannot just attack me whenever they felt like. But my reflexes could not match up with theirs and this old gentleman or woman of a crow kept on swooping down on my head. Now that I was aware of their presence they could not bodily harm me. But what was hurting my ego was the fact that they did not give up their intention to hurt me and also the fact that it was my territory they were transgressing and the fact that I was really getting angry with them and I seriously wanted to retaliate and had intentions to kill them -- at least that particular angry crow.  That I did not like; anger towards a bird and an intention to kill. That hurt my self esteem. I was losing my equanimity. I thought of the Buddhist monk I once saw on a mountaintop in the Himalayas.

So I picked up a stick and kept it with me as I took my walk on the terrace and kept on waving it every time I thought that this crow was approaching me from behind. That certainly kept the crows away and barring this particular crow all others started keeping a distance although they did not stop their cacophony. But that became a bit of an unnecessary exercise, swinging my stick which was not very light. So I changed my stick and took up a lighter one and instead of swinging it every time I thought I am being approached by a hostile crow I just held it up above my head so that the crow cannot hit my scalp with its beak. That worked and once or twice the crow got hit by my static stick on its beak. That made me feel a little better as I had got over my aggression and I was only taking an evasive action and not resorting to active aggression with an intention to kill. That made me feel better and restored my self esteem.

As days went by and I continued my walk on the terrace with my light stick in my hand the crows learnt to respect my presence and started keeping their distance although they continue to sing their songs when I appeared but they moved away to nearby trees or distant parapet walls and watched me take my walk no more holding the stick above my head. The old disgruntled crow continued to make his presence felt by flying past every now then but now kept a safe distance knowing full well that it might be hurt if it made an attempt to hurt me. But it continued to be around when I took a walk and made me aware of its presence in a noisy way. In the end the battle of space gradually got over and I got to walk freely on my terrace with one change, a light stick in my hand. The stick actually was from a rose bush branch which I had cut many, many years ago on a hill station but had never used it since. I had kept it safely in my cupboard for a time when I would be old and will carry it in my hand like many old people do. But this was different. May be its time had come. 

Vishnu Mathur.

11th, June, 2013.

PS.

Some more time has passed since then and after a spell of heavy rain the old crow is not to be seen anymore, may be it died and I do not use the stick any more when I take my walk on the terrace and the crows mind their own business and I mind my own. Peace seems to have been restored and we all have our spaces to ourselves.

1st July 2013