Urban Naxals: The Making of Buddha in a Traffic Jam

by Vivek Agnihotri

I realized that most of them wanted to take a job outside India with top MNCs. Nobody was interested in India unless out of family compulsions. It wasn’t like they were pissed off with India; they were just not interested. These students played poker, drank beer, smoked pot, attended standup comedy shows and dreamt of having an IT professional for a wife and driving a BMW in an American suburb. In their minds, they were not part of a suffering, conflicted, mediocre India. They wanted to be rich and successful. It’s sad that we teach enterprise, but not vision. This was a new, shining India. An India, outside of Bharat.

By the time the government recovers from one strike, another springs up.

We now know that the recent Jat reservation agitation costs the states Rs. 34,000 crores, as confirmed by the president of the PHD Chamber of Commerce. It would be interesting to see a comparative study between the State’s investment in infrastructure and the loss to the State exchequer on account of agitations and protests. It’s quantifiable. If we add loss of productive time, inconvenience to citizens, loss of education time and other intangible factors, the losses will out-value investments.

We recover it from the tourist.’ ‘How?’ I am alarmed. ‘Don’t worry, not your type of customers. We cover it up from pilgrimage tourists. People who visit dhams before dying, those people are generally easy with money.’ ‘Why not my kind of tourists?’ ‘Because you will go from Agra to Jaipur and go to your hotel. The pilgrim tourists travel with us for 10-15 days. In every dham, there are many agents for everything. We have a setting with them. Hotels, restaurants, chaiwala, sadhus, pundits, everyone is a part of it. That’s where we really earn money as commission.’ ‘Really?’ I had an idea about how pandas and pundits fleece poor people who come to these dhams but I didn’t know that they pay commission to taxi drivers.

One of the superstars whom I worked with told me ‘If it’s an original script, I won’t do it. Bring me a Hollywood DVD’, and before I could react, he justified it by saying ‘They have already done their R&D. It’s tried and tested. Why do we have to think again?’ I am sure today he will refuse to do a film if it even smells of a Hollywood film. Those were the times of underworld, extortions, and murders.

Reliance has a huge office in Andheri but the meeting was fixed in a very expensive business centre of Taj Lands End in Bandra. Along with my co-writer Rohit, I arrived on time only to be told that Prasoon would be delayed by half an hour. We kept ordering tea. ‘Dekh lena, paanch hazaar se kam nahin aayega chai ka bill,’ Rohit repeated, worried about the bill. Prasoon eventually arrived after three hours and asked that we read the script. Mahesh was always in a 'yes sir' mode. He ran and got four scripts printed. At that time laser printing was very expensive and if I remember correctly he paid around twenty thousand for four scripts. In Bollywood, people shamelessly waste money on stuff that will never get shown on the screen but they don’t invest in writing.

Most of the movies are made this way. They start with an honest, sincere and powerful idea, but on its way to the screen get screwed by so many middlemen that by the time they reach the audience they have no soul left.

Star-struckness is one of three major reasons for people to invest money in films. Launching their child and proximity to heroines being the other two.

I don't know how I will make the film in a budget of one and a half crores. The overtime payments of Goal were more than four crores. The special effects bill must have been around two crores and here I have to make an entire film in less than the VFX budgets of my last film. It is possible only if everyone works for free, and locations and camera equipment are free.

“Marxists say God is a fraud. But God has lasted thousands of years, Marx could barely last a hundred years.”

This is not the Naxal movement I knew of. In a story of oppressor versus oppressed, we tend to look for a Robin Hood, the hero. In independent India’s story, media has tried to make Naxals look like Robin Hood. Which is why incidents like the Niyamat and Valsa murders are rarely reported in detail and if reported, they always put the blame on the State.

‘Everyone has gone bust, there is no security… no safety… when I walk on the streets of New York, I feel like I am walking in a jungle with beasts all around… everyone is exploiting everyone… the powerful and mighty are exploiting us, the simple people… It’s a big hell….’ ‘You haven’t seen India or some African countries yet to know what it feels to be in real hell…’ I interrupted, to give her some reality check. ‘I have read on India and I know it’s a beautiful place. People love each other, you have families, parents look after children and when they are old the children look after them, they have values, culture… unlike us… America is hell… it’s a hell of some other planet.’ She meant every word of it. I could feel it. Artists can lie but can’t hide. She lit another slim Dunhill, blew out the smoke and continued in an introspective, husky and broken voice. ‘What is hell after all? When we think of hell we think of suffering… everyone is suffering…. nobody cares… nobody respects…. nobody loves… nobody helps…. You can’t trust anyone… If that’s not hell, then what is it? There are beasts all around to devour you… America is a land of suffering. People may look beautiful outside but inside, they are suffering. The more they smile, the more they suffer inside. People don’t know that they live in a hell because nobody has told them so. Welcome to the world’s most successfully hidden hell, the United States of America.’ She stubbed out her cigarette. I wasn’t prepared for such...

What appeared heaven to me was hell to the rich maestro’s wife. What appeared heaven to her is hell to me. Hell is not a place. It’s a state of mind. A fakir walks barefoot in scorching heat, sleeps on a pavement and yet sings a song admiring the beauty of the world. Whereas a film heroine, living in a castle of fame, opulence and glory, drinks herself to death, escaping from her hell.

I see myself in the shackles of many borrowed ideas. Ironically there is no ‘me’ in these ideas. No pain, no suffering which is mine. I want to write a play on price rise because it’s in the news. I make a satire on it because it’s a smart way of presentation. I have a few smart scenes because I want to look like Sharad Joshi. I have not suffered because of price rise. I have not suffered discrimination. I haven’t experienced inequality or injustice. I haven’t been oppressed or molested. I know the stuff only intellectually. Not actually.

The theme, how men in power use people to give rise to ideologies to serve their purposes and later destroy the same men when they become useless, stays with me.

For the last few weeks, my blood has boiled. I am angry and guilty. My anger is about the haplessness of a common citizen who is oppressed by the privileged section of society. I am guilty of belonging to that privileged section. I decide to drop my surname. From Vivek Ranjan Agnihotri, I become Vivek Ranjan. My friends from college still call me Ranjan, assuming it was my last name. This is my penance for being a Brahmin. For being a privileged one.

The tactics employed are extremely effective and media attention grabbing. These range from using aggressive agitations and propaganda provoking Dalits to take up arms to programmes on anti-capitalist policies to target controversies in history (e.g. Is this what Dr. Ambedkar wanted in the Constitution?). They work with feminist groups, atheist groups, anti-superstition movements, intellectuals, students, labourers, slum groups, farmers, journalists, competitive exam centres etc.

They take up genuine issues with the aim not to solve it but to create unrest and anger against the system and make people believe in armed struggle. This is how the 'vulnerable group' unknowingly becomes their vanguard. Like I became, under the mentorship of my professors.

Jawaharlal Nehru University, Hyderabad Central University, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Allahabad University, IIT Madras, Jadavpur University are the citadels of urban Naxalism.

It has emerged that the Naxals have openly supported the activities of Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI) and both have been lately collaborating with each other.

I have to show this ghost called the Urban Naxal to my audience. Someone you work with, someone you live with, someone you sleep with, someone you love, someone you respect, someone you trust turns out to be a Naxal, facilitating a war on your country.

Also, 'but nobody does it' becomes my motivation to 'do it this way'.

He discovers two different Indias within one. One drinking Coca-Cola and the other dying of thirst. One India is covered with gold jewellery and the other stripped off clothes and dignity. One is an India that's the beneficiary of reforms and the other India is full of socio-economic orphans, rejected by all the mainstream political parties.

‘Revolution is not a dinner party,’ Mao had said. Yes, it indeed is not. What matters is how one looks at the revolution. To Naxals, revolution is about hoisting their red flag atop Red Fort. Mao had believed that if in the process innocents have to bleed it's justified for a larger purpose of revolution.

The climax is the most challenging part of any film. After two hours of viewing, all that the audience takes back is the climax of a film. This is where a lot of films fail. I am nervous like hell.

Beer is hot. Kebabs are cold and chewy. I still relish them. I had heard that a content man can sleep anywhere. Yes, and a content filmmaker can eat anything. Before closing the laptop, I delete 'The End' and write: ‘Revolution is not a dinner party’ - Mao

science. Actors don't sign a film only on the merit of the film or their character. Films are signed for a variety of reasons. Someone needs money to buy a car, someone wants to send his child abroad for education. Some need to buy a bungalow. Some want to earn credibility and awards. Some want to prove themselves. Some want to do it because a competing actor is doing something similar. Some just want to have fun. As a director, one has to know the actor's current needs.

In those days, film celebrities weren't keen on doing TV and Karan was going out of his way to persuade Kher saab. These were my first learnings in the film industry. I learnt that the content is secondary and personal benefits are supreme. I also learnt that the celeb media men actually are the middlemen who can go to any extent to get their work done. Once he got Kher saab committed to a chat show, Karan's behaviour changed. For one of the meetings, which could have been done on phone, he insisted that I meet him in his Delhi office. I had read Eric Berne's Games People Play several times and I knew that he was trying to change the equation by changing the territory. He made us wait for hours – the first sign of territorial assertion. Finally, we met him. He was dressed like a typical bada saheb from the colonial era

‘Yeah, change Pallavi.’ ‘Why? She is a TV star and national award winner. She is one of the best we have got.’ ‘But she is dark. I want someone fair,’ Karan said without hesitation. I couldn't believe that this discriminatory statement came from a leading journalist.

Narration is a very tricky task. In Bollywood, stars don't read scripts. They mostly listen to narrations. Narrating a film to a star is something almost every director hates. Stars are so bored, so uninvolved that every moment feels like death. I have never understood why stars are so uninterested in their core job. But actors like Kher saab are a delight to narrate the script to.

I have learnt that once someone buys your sales pitch, you should leave immediately. My problem is I want to request him to give me a discount on his price and I don't know how to approach the subject. Finally, I give in. As I am about to leave, he stops me. ‘Vivek, don't worry about money. I'll talk to Bhaskar. You must know why I want to do this film. I want to do this film because I can see the hunger in you. In every director's life comes a point when he finds his sur, his song. This film is your song. I can feel it.’

I notice there are three folders on the desktop: 1. Shortlisted, 2. Rejected, and 3. De-stress. ‘What is in 'de-stress'? I ask Satya. ‘Means when you are totally fucked up in mind and depressed, just open this folder, play any audition, fall down on the floor laughing and that's how you get de-stressed.’ Assistants work very hard and under tremendous stress. That's why they invent their own clever ways to unwind.

My next meeting is with Swara. When I meet Swara I remember that I know her. Sometime back when I had gone to Film & Television Institute of India's (FTII) Golden Jubilee function as a panellist speaker, Swara was assisting the organizers. She came across as a strong, energetic, and hard-working person. I remember, on the closing night, she sang revolutionary songs, which at that time I didn't know were propaganda songs of Naxals. In a night of unlimited drinks and music, everyone joined in chorus when Swara sang Faiz Ahmad Faiz's revolutionary song on freedom, now the anthem of Naxals,

Though Shanoo has recommended her very strongly, I am not sure how she will portray the meek character of Pooja. Swara is very excited about the theme of Naxalism and believes that more films must be made on this subject. I ask her to listen to the script and send her to Rohit's cabin for a complete narration. Rohit comes to my room after a while. Looking at his face I know something is bothering him. ‘Sir, she has too many questions.’ ‘So, answer them.’ ‘Sir, more than the script she is questioning the system, the State, the society…how can I answer them?'

I am keen to cast her as she is a good performer and is willing to work for the budgeted fees. I know it's impossible to get someone like her for that money. But Rohit is dead against her. I ignore Rohit's doubts as a writer's ego. Yes, writers don't like actors who ask too many questions. Swara tells me that though she loved the subject, a few things are fundamentally wrong. ‘For example?’ I ask her. ‘It's the State, the government which is responsible for the Naxal movement… that's what I feel.’

All the research, hard work, creativity, scripting and money go waste if the cast is not right. Good casting can sometimes save even a bad film but not the other way around.

This is how we legalize hypocrisy. We write against the exploitation of women and at the same time we accept it in our workplace. The irony of Leftist intellectuals lies in its supporters like Ravinder. Here I am making a film to expose and crush Ravinder’s personal beliefs with a powerful medium like a film and he is willing to contribute to my cause on the pretext of professional ethics. Most of our Leftist leaders and intellectuals do the same. They fight for the weak and the poor and use this for their personal materialistic growth. It is this hypocrisy, disguised as professionalism, that makes them so rich.

Gangsters use guns for extortion, Naxals use ‘anti-development’ protests. Ravinder is reinforcing my findings with his ideas. He is making it sound as if the entire world is suffering. Yes, everyone is suffering, if you look at it from a pessimistic point of view. But if you look at the statistics of last fifty years, you will find clear indicators showing that poverty, hunger, famines, violence, discrimination have all gone down dramatically. Average lifespan has increased, man is more productive, people spend more on humanity.

We get the license from Faiz House for fifty thousand rupees. Instinctively, I want to go ahead even if there is no budget. In the worst-case scenario, I’ll pay out of my pocket and use it in some other film. ‘Make it fifty-one thousand,’ I tell Rohit when he comes to sign the contract. I don’t know whether to feel happy for getting such great literary work for so little or to feel sad that such heritage work of masters sells for such a tiny amount whereas trash sells for lacs.

When I get down at ISB, I want to tip the driver but he refuses. ‘Against the rules, saar.’ ‘I insist… for your kids,’ I try to persuade him, lure him. He takes out a small piggy bank of CRY, an NGO working for homeless children, and asks me to put the tip in it. I put the money in his piggy bank and leave thinking that this world has been running because of some very good people.

‘How much does it cost you per meal?’ I enquire. ‘Dirt cheap…peanuts.’ I make a quick mental calculation and figure out that if we can get the food for the unit at the same rate we will end up saving about two hundred rupees per person per day for hundred and fifty people for thirty-five days which equals a little more than ten lacs. Ravi calls the contractor and we decide to meet after meeting the Dean and in the meantime, he will also work out his logistics. ‘Is it possible that we ask the Dean to not charge us for the location and the stay?’ I ask Ravi. ‘Impossible. Aamir Khan wanted to shoot 3 Idiots here but they refused. That they are letting us shoot itself is a big exception. Let’s not disturb that.’ Ravi tells me.

We are staying on the campus. Everyone is staying in dorms with four independent rooms and a common hall and a kitchen. Saini, the actors and I are living in independent one-room apartments. We are following the lifestyle of the students and most of their timings. Breakfast. Work. Lunch. Work. Chill on the lawns. Beer. Poker. Midnight parties. Sleep for a few hours.

For the first time in my career, I am not thinking of shot division and camera angles or lensing. All I am doing is creating a real situation and asking the actors to behave like the character. It is creating an organic beauty and innocence. Nothing is manipulated. Nothing is forced. The simplicity of the shots is bringing me closer to the truth. The absence of cinematic tricks is making it become more cinematically real.

This is when Dattu, Kher saab’s personal assistant, informs me that he wants to meet me. ‘Vivek, there are two things I want to discuss with you.’ When an actor says ‘I need to talk’, the director feels exactly like when his wife tells him ‘We need to talk’. I am sure some complication is waiting for me. ‘One is a good news for you and another bad. Which one you want to hear first?’ ‘Kher saab, in the destiny of this film, I can’t remain happy for a long time, for in the end, I know I have to struggle.’ ‘If you are feeling like this, it means you are becoming a true filmmaker.’ Only Kher saab can find positivity in the most hopeless situations. ‘Well, first the good news, that I have decided to stay here,’ Kher saab says with a very serious face, and then smiles. I feel so relieved that I don’t wait for a moment before relaying the news to my production manager who sounds so happy that instead of saying ‘wonderful’ or ‘congrats’, he ends up saying ‘have a nice day, sir’. ‘I think there was something not quite right about yesterday’s scene. What do you think?’ ‘Yeah, I think the chemistry could have been better.’ ‘The chemistry was bad because of me. I think I was acting like Anupam Kher and not the professor, which I understood later, because all the co-actors were reacting to the character of the professor the way they have interpreted it in relation to their characters. If I play it like the way I did yesterday, either I am going to look bad or they are going to look ver...

The only irritation has been that Mr. Kher keeps getting calls from his father almost every hour. A couple of times he called between the takes. There is some understanding between him and his father that whenever he calls, Mr. Kher has to pick up the phone. I have noticed this since my early days at Kher saab’s production company. Their discussion lasts for less than few seconds. I have an idea. What if I use this trait as part of his characterization? The professor has no one to talk to. What if his father calls him exactly like his father and keeps giving him sundry news that he heard on BBC? ‘Kher saab, if next time you get a call, I won’t say cut. You continue shooting and instead of telling your dad you are in the shoot, you tell him that you are in the class.’ Everyone thinks I am kidding but I am serious. Kher saab instantly understands the dimension this can add to his character. ‘You behave exactly like you behave with your dad,’ I tell him. ‘But I never lie to my dad,’ Kher saab replies. ‘I am sure this much sacrifice we can make for the character.’

A phone rings somewhere. Kher saab has left his phone on the table. It’s his dad. I run to give him his phone. When I give the phone to Kher saab, I think why not close the film on a shot where his father calls and the professor confesses his guilt to his father which he can’t do with anyone in the world. His dad is the only factor which hasn’t been resolved. When everything is over for the professor and there is frightening silence in the empty hall, his phone rings. Professor tells his father ‘Sorry, dad.’ The End.

The Times of India group has a division called MediaNet. Under this, they sell editorial space in their newspapers. Yes, they sell the editorial space. One can pay and get whatever one likes printed. If you really want to know what is wrong with India, I'd advise you study the MediaNet model of the Times of India Group.

The first cut is ready. When I see the first cut, I feel satisfied. Because I have been able to live up to our mantra and the film has genuinely turned out to be: REAL. HONEST. FEARLESS. EYE-OPENER. UNIQUE.

Unlike with my previous films, I am neither nervous nor tense. In fact, I am patient. A salesman with a good product is eager to sell it. The film is over.

The Indian audience is very patient with film lengths but international audiences don't appreciate films that are longer than a hundred and twenty minutes. There is a legend that this length was invented by Alfred Hitchcock as he believed that the length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder. Ninety to hundred and twenty minutes was assumed to be the endurance time.