Sonil Dedhia (HINDUSTAN TIMES; March 18, 2020)

If you compare those graphic images to the outpouring of love and concern that came my way from my audience, it overwhelmed me so completely that nothing else mattered,” says Shabana Azmi from Budapest, Hungary, where she’s currently shooting for Steven Spielberg’s Halo. The veteran actor met with an accident on the Mumbai-Pune-Expressway a couple of months back. As her upcoming short film, Sheer Qorma, on same sex relationship is about to release, she opens up on the changing portrayal of homosexuality in Hindi cinema across decades. Excerpts:

You met with a road accident in January. How is your health now?
I am completely fine and have fully recovered. Currently, I am in Budapest shooting for Halo (produced by Steven Spielberg) and I am happy to be back on the sets.

Pictures of the unfortunate incident were circulated on social media. Many felt that it was insensitive and intrusive. Did that bother you?
My family was upset. It was kept away from me for the longest time as I didn’t have my cellphone. When I saw it, I was on my way to recovery. At that moment, I was just really grateful to those who helped me and the hospital staff.

Right from Fire (1996), the release of which was opposed and banned, to Sheer Qorma now, how do you think the portrayal of the LGBTQ community in Hindi cinema has changed?
I have to say that this genre has opened up, really. The frequency of films that deal with a sensitive subject like homosexuality are being made, have increased in the last few years which is a great sign. The audience, too, is accepting this kind of cinema. Earlier, homosexuality was ridiculed in mainstream cinema but now, we see this subject being tackled sensitively. But at the same time, I feel it is only a section of audience especially in the metros who has have accepted this change.

What would you attribute this change to?
The notion of a family is changing. It is no longer just a heterogeneous family that we accept as a norm. We have seen two partners of the same sex having a baby and I think it is a healthy sign. The notion of family is being redefined as it is no longer restricted to having a baby biologically.

What do you think about mainstream actors working in films dealing with sensitive subjects?
I always believe that films are a reflection of our society and good films can influence society. There is a relation but there is an acceptance, too, and that has to be applauded. Actors today, aren’t shying away from experimenting. The credit should also go to the producer who is ready to back a film on a sensitive subject and the writer who writes the script. The Supreme Court’s decision of scrapping Section 377 was a big propeller towards positively changing the perspective that people had towards the LGBTQ community. It is a great time to be an actor. Gender and age are no longer considered while casting someone.

In a career spanning over 45 years, have you ever faced sexism and ageism?
I have been extremely lucky and my career has always been about being at the right place at the right time. It was my good fortune that Shyam Benegal’s Ankur (1974) became the film that propelled parallel cinema forward. Consequently, I got many different roles from what I would have got had I worked only in mainstream cinema. I never faced lack of acceptance.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 21, 2019)

In early 1973, Shyam Benegal, an ad filmmaker, decided it was time to make a movie. He already had a story in mind, and also an actress—Waheeda Rehman, who had worked with his cousin Guru Dutt and whose work he admired to play the central character.

Laxmi, a maid from a lower caste, is married to a deaf-mute drunk. She’s seduced by circumstances and false promises into having an affair with the young landlord, Surya, only to be left high and dry after she discovers she’s pregnant with his child. What made Guide’s Rosie the ideal choice for Ankur’s Laxmi was that being from Telangana where the story was set, Waheeda ji could speak the local dialect Dakhini fluently. “But she was a big star at the time while I was a debutant director. She was not confident I could pull it off, having never made a film before,” Shyam babu reminisces with a laugh.

After Waheeda ji turned him down, he thought of approaching National Award winning actress Sharada who had worked in Telugu films. But he changed his mind when he learnt that not being from Telangana, she couldn’t speak the lingo, a mix of Hindi-Urdu, which was essential to fleshing out the character.

That’s when one of his assistants told him about this girl who, while studying at St. Xavier’s college, had impressed in a couple of stage productions. “Does she have a background in performing arts?” he wondered, and was told that her father, Kaifi Azmi, was a famous poet, while her mother, Shaukat Kaifi, had done a lot of theatre. She, too, was a graduate from the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII). Instantly interested, he asked for her to come and meet him.

“One look at Shabana (Azmi) and I knew she was perfect for Laxmi. Yes, she was young and looked young too, but I was willing to tweak the role for her. Going with my instincts, I immediately signed her on, after learning that since her mother was from Telangana, she spoke Dakhini. I didn’t even audition her like I had Anant (Nag) who played Surya, surprising even her,” he flashbacks.

Anant Nag had accompanied an actor whose name Shyam babu has since forgotten, for an audition. “He came to offer moral support to his friend and caught my eye. I auditioned Anant as well and finding him perfect, introduced him in Hindi films. He became a big star in Kannada cinema but always made time for a role in my films,” Shyam babu smiles.

And so, Ankur rolled, with a team of newcomers, with the exception of cinematographer, Govind Nihalani, who had some cinematic experience having assisted V K Murthy. Straightaway, Shyam babu, with his two first-time actors, along with Sadhu Meher (he played the deaf-mute husband), dived into a dramatic scene wherein Laxmi rushes to rescue Kishtaya who, accused of stealing toddy, is being mercilessly whipped by Surya.

Shabana Azmi turned out to be a real find. Her performance bagged her many awards, including the National Award for Best Actress. “She’s an incredible actress with a huge range. Give her a role and Shabana owns the part,” raves her mentor, pointing out that the actress who brought in her 69th birthday on Wednesday, has also earned a reputation internationally, on screen and on stage.

Ankur also bagged the Best Actor award for Sadhu Meher and was adjudged Second Best Feature Film at the National Awards. “It made me a filmmaker and I never went back to advertising,” points out Shyam babu, who’s seen as the pioneer of parallel cinema in India.

After Ankur, he signed Shabana ji for Nishant, Junoon, followed by Mandi in which she played the madam of a brothel. “She was a really slim girl then, I pushed her to put on weight because I wanted Rukmini Bai to be a well-endowed woman, who chewed paan, cracked betel nuts and kept the girls in place,” Shyam babu recalls.

The duo went on to do more films but haven’t worked together of late. Has his protégée changed as an actress or a person in the decades since, you wonder, and he quips, “No, except for the weight she’s put on, which, as I have told her innumerable times, I don’t like. I guess Mandi is partly to blame for it and I will always feel guilty for that.”

Genteel doyen Shyam Benegal and Bollywood's enfant terrible Anurag Kashyap on how India's movie capital shaped them, and they shaped it too
Mayank Shekhar (MID-DAY; June 28, 2019)

It's pre-noon. We are at Shyam Benegal's office in South Mumbai. Anurag Kashyap has travelled all the way from Oshiwara in North Mumbai, where Bollywood currently resides. Between two of India's most iconoclast filmmakers rest stories that equally span the journey of Mumbai as a movie capital, since they also personify the change that they wished to see.

What we didn't know is Kashyap's own struggles in this city, when he moved from Delhi in 1993, began from the same Everest building, Tardeo office we are at. It was the first door he'd knocked, looking for a job. This is his first visit since. Understandably, we start the conversation with:

Mid-Day: What Happened When You First Came To Mr Benegal's Office [In 1993]?
Anurag: It was my second day in Bombay, rainy June 4. I found his address, and came right here. Shyam ji wasn't in. I met a sweet man, Mr Ravi Khemu [actor Kunal Kemmu's father; Benegal's associate]. He realised I'd only watched movies at film festivals, and recommended that I go to FTII. The exams of which were over. Then he gave me other addresses — of Govind ji [Nihalani], and Prahlad Kakkar, who was also in the same building. Eventually, I realised, I needed to do something [for a résumé], before looking for a job.

Mid-Day: Mr Benegal, You've Been In This Office For Years. Even Up Until The '90s, South Bombay Was Actually The Hub Of The City's Film Industry, Wasn't It?
Benegal: I've been here since the '70s. Before this, I used to be at Jyoti Studios [in Nana Chowk]. It was the first sound studio in the country — Alam Ara [1931] was shot there. I used to love that place. Just about anybody/everybody in the history of Indian/Hindi cinema had worked at Jyoti Studios. For years, before things became expensive in this part of the world, and offices moved to Dadar and thereafter, Andheri, this street in Tardeo was the capital of the entire film industry.
Anurag: When I came to Bombay, Lokhandwala was a small hub, with Four Bungalows, and a road between them. Nothing else. Zee and STAR had started setting up offices, and we used to come to Worli all the time. The student-lot, like Imtiaz Ali, stayed at Lalbaug.
Benegal: The film industry had been gradually moving northwards given land value. B R Chopra used to be in Parel, and then his brother [Yash Chopra] moved further up [to Juhu]. Now, many have moved beyond Andheri because it's not affordable.

Mid-Day: Has The Demographic Of People Looking For Jobs In Films In Bombay Changed Over The Decades?
Benegal: Not at all. Most of them come from smaller towns with stars in their eyes, given the larger-than-life image of cinema itself.
Anurag: Most of them come here to be actors. But now with so many job opportunities in various media, what's come down is passion for making a movie — and living and dying for it.

Mid-Day: When You Hang In Versova/Andheri, The Sense You Get Is That Actually Everyone Is From Delhi. Did That Begin In The '90s?
Anurag: A lot of people moved from Delhi, after Shah Rukh Khan. Delhi had a strong theatre scene, where Shah Rukh used to do smaller roles. But when he broke out [in the mainstream] in such a big way, everybody came to Bombay thinking, if Shah Rukh can, so can we. The exodus that was otherwise taking place anyway didn't comprise people who wanted to be part of mainstream. We liked a certain kind of cinema and theatre, and wished to be part of it. The entire cast of Bandit Queen moved to Bombay from Delhi after the film. Piyush Mishra even wrote a play about it called Jinhe Jaldi Thi Woh Chale Gaye!



Mid-Day: By The '80s, Mr Benegal, While You Were An Established Filmmaker, Your Cinema Must've Been Still Hard For The City's Showbiz To Define Within Its Constructs. True?
Anurag: They used to call it "parallel" cinema [laughs].
Benegal: I hated those terms! Somebody once called me a middle-of-the-road filmmaker. I said if I stand in the middle of the road, I'd get run over! Calling something alternate/parallel denoted a caste system. The terminology automatically indicated that nobody can see your films. Even with press reviews, while they wrote good things, there would always be a line, "This is not for general public!" That's it. Killed your film! [laughs].
Anurag: And we were categorised the "Shyam Benegal" type! Which means I need another job to sustain myself.

Mid-Day: Say A Karan Johar Collaborates With Anurag. Curious To Know How Mainstream Showbiz Comprising Manmohan Desais Of The World With Amitabh Bachchan At The Centre Interacted With You Personally, Mr Benegal.
Benegal: I had a similar kind of [joint] conversation [for the press] as we're doing now, with Manmohan Desai, and it went off quite well actually! And there was no feeling [of discord with people from "commercial cinema"] of any kind, seriously. Because you were not seen as a threat. They could be very patronising.
Anurag: There must also have been resentment that if people like Shyam ji didn't exist, then all other awards could've also been ours — outside of box-office! [laughs].

Mid-Day: Anurag, You On The Other Hand, Were The Wild-Child Seeking Validation From The [Mainstream] Film Industry. Threat In That Sense?
Anurag: I made myself into one! My career started precisely because I wasn't a threat — available to do any job for free, because I was learning, and figuring out if I can do it, or not. That's how I broke in. In the early 2000s, I started fighting aggressively for sustenance of a certain kind of cinema. Because I realised the '70s/'80s were not going to come back. Back then, to watch a film that I wanted to, I'd have to travel all the way to Town, that too to one cinema, which was playing one show, over 20 weeks! And even that began to be taken away from us. It was a massive fight.
Benegal: Multiplexes [that came in after] made a huge difference. It gave an incredible boost to filmmakers who were not part of the mainstream, as it were. Because, you had to fill a theatre of 60 or 100 seats, which was not so difficult.
Anurag: Single screens were very different for us. How do you fill up that many seats? And they wouldn't give us more than a morning or a late-night slot.
Benegal: And if you couldn't get 80 per cent audience on the first weekend, you were out on Monday. Even if you filled up 75 per cent of a 1,000-seat cinema, you'd still be out.

Mid-Day: When Television Entered The Scene In The '80s, Did That Change Things For You As A Filmmaker, Mr Benegal?
Benegal: Of course. For one, people who had never seen my films started watching them, because they were coming to your home. That's really where I developed an audience.
Anurag: That's when our fathers said, his film is coming, watch it on TV. Our introduction to his works was the TV series, Bharat Ek Khoj.

Mid-Day: While We Categorise Films As Mainstream/Parallel, The Fact Is Both Of You Have Been Commercial Filmmakers, Backed By Private Funding With Expectation Of Returns, Isn't It?
Benegal: Except for Suraj Ka Satvan Ghoda [1992] and Mammo [1994], which were NFDC [state-funded] films, all my features were made through regular, private finance. Naturally, they had to cover their cost. There's no way I could've remained a filmmaker, if they didn't. Any filmmaker would feel commercial pressure. But you really have to work on strategies, and be clever to get your way.
Anurag: You have to say things that people believe in, to protect your vision.



Mid-Day: Both Of You Worked With New Actors, Who Could Build A Fresh Audience-Base. Say Nawaz, Vicky, Etc. In One Case; And Naseer, Shabana, Smita And Others In The Other. This Created A Parallel Star-System Of Its Own, Didn't It?
Benegal: It did, to the extent that some of them [actors] started to resent it! [laughs]. They weren't getting an 'in' into the mainstream. Because they were considered to be a certain 'type' of actors. Well, you can't beat the system in matters like these. I wanted to make films that I wanted to make, and in my own way. I don't think there was any intention beyond that.
Anurag: All my actors at least get strong-character, or even lead, roles in the mainstream. That transition has happened. Because the old star-system doesn't work anymore. There's greater democracy over how the medium has changed, especially with the advent of the Internet. A person who pulls in the biggest crowds these days is Bhuvan Bam, who's a YouTube sensation.

Mid-Day: The Way Mr Benegal Did With Actors Fresh From FTII In The '70s, You Also Created A Similar Ecosystem, Decades Later, In Mumbai, Though.
Anurag: I didn't do it thinking I was creating a new ecosystem. I didn't have money, so I developed a new way of making movies. It started with Black Friday [2007] — shooting on the street, in full public view. I had no option but to hide cameras, and shoot everywhere. I had no money to create Zaveri Bazaar, so I'd shoot there.

Mid-Day: Black Friday Was Produced By Mid-Day.
Anurag: Which helped, because mid-day gave us these badges, that we flaunted around saying we're shooting a documentary. In the process, I learnt how to shoot on streets without people ever finding out. Primary requirement of that language is to work with people who won't be recognised. I went looking for good actors, with screen presence, and who aren't known. So I created casting systems, with [people like] Gautam [Kishanchandani], Mukesh Chhabra..

Mid-Day: For The Longest, Since Local Distribution Was A Bottleneck, Did You Both Consciously Look At International Markets To Expand Audience-Base?
Benegal: I never did. But because my first film Ankur [1974] went to a few international film festivals, garnering excellent audiences, I found a distributor with presence in all of western Europe. And another distributor in Britain, with a string of art-house cinemas in London. Automatically, my films after that got distribution.
Anurag: I was only trying to survive, having grown tired of people telling me that nobody would want to see my films. I spent considerable time trying to understand that market. I had to make a film that I owned — That Girl In Yellow Boots — so I could experiment in that direction.
Benegal: Now you have OTT platforms. You find your films in their bank. They're available to people all over the world.

Mid-Day: Given Where We Are Now, With The Internet, Where Practically Everyone Is A Filmmaker, Do We Even See Mumbai As A Centre Of Filmmaking In The Future?
Anurag: The world's completely changed. I just saw a whole shoot, where the producer is Bengali, the film is in Hindi, the filmmaker is from the South, the cinematographer is from Poland, sound-designer is from elsewhere. Everybody had only met on the Internet. And they're now making a film together.

Mid-Day: Looking Back At 40 Years Of Films, If You Were To Place A Turning Point, Where Would That Be?
Benegal: It was television, which went national. That made the huge difference.
Anurag: I think it was television, when it came in the '80s. And then Internet, which went global. If there was no TV, people wouldn't have seen Shyam ji's films. Likewise, if there weren't pirated downloads on the Internet, they wouldn't have seen my films either.

Mid-Day: Disappointed That Two Filmmakers Are Calling TV And Internet As Turning Points. There's Still Cinema, Right; Or Is That Charm Over?
Anurag: It's my personal choice to watch films in cinemas. But I can't deny that I found my audience online.
Benegal: The classic distance that you must keep from any screen is two and half times its diagonal length. That gives you the kind of image that you'd get in a cinema hall. I can get that in my home — on a large screen, with surround sound, the works. What I miss is the audience!

Avinash Lohana (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 27, 2017)

As told to Mithila Phadke (THE TIMES OF INDIA; November 9, 2014)

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 24, 2014)

Shabana Azmi's journey in films began when Deepak Parasher, filmmaker Pankaj Parashar's elder brother, came knocking on the door of her Janki Kutir home, looking for Zarina Wahab, who after passing out from the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) had moved in with Shabana. Deepak wanted Zarina to play Ananth Nag's child bride, Saru, in the Shyam Benegal directed Ankur. Though that role eventually went to Priya Tendulkar, Deepak advised Shabana, a college mate, to meet Benegal too.

"I had no idea who Shyam was. But Hrishida (Hrishikesh Mukherjee) who'd presented me with the gold medal at the FTII, told me he was a good technician and I should meet him. Within 30 minutes, he'd offered me Ankur and Nishant," says Shabana.

Shyam had approached Waheeda Rehman earlier for the role of Lakshmi, the fiesty Dalit woman who is impregnated by the much-married landlord's son (Ananth Nag) while being married to a deaf-mute alcoholic potter, played by Sadhu Meher. Waheeda had turned him down, and so did Lakshmi (of Julie fame) and Anju Mahendroo.

Shabana was a bit young for the part, but she could even speak in the Hyderabadi dialect Dakkhani and despite being a city girl, was quite comfortable roaming around the village in Lakshmi's clothes. The only problem was that she couldn't sit on her haunches.

"Shyam would insist that during lunch, I should have my food sitting on my haunches on the floor," says Shabana.

One day during the shoot, a couple of students came down to the village and asked about the heroine. Shabana blithely told them that she wasn't well so hadn't reported for work. "And who are you?" they asked. "I'm the maid," she replied.

They believed her, and this convinced Shyam that she was indeed ready for the film. "Only after this incident was I allowed to join the rest of the crew at the dining table but the village women still taunted me for not knowing how to pound mirchi despite all my education," she laughs.

For Shabana, the bigger fear was trying to appear matter-of-fact when confronted with a snake, even though she was even more terrified by the creature than Nag's character Surya.

"Later Shyam told me that I was a really good actress because no traces of my terror were evident on my face on camera," she smiles.

A bigger compliment came from Satyajit Ray, who in his book, Our Films, Their Films, wrote that she was one of the finest dramatic actresses in the country after seeing her performance in Ankur.

According to Shabana, he was particularly impressed with the scene where she breaks down on seeing Sadhu return home. She admits that even though crying had never been a problem for her, when she faced the camera for this last scene of the film, she simply froze. Realising what had happened, Shyam switched the lights off and whisked her off for a chat.

"Without alluding to what had happened or telling me to relax, he started narrating a story about a family during the Bangladesh famine. When he saw that I was moved, he took me in front of the camera and I did the shot in one take," says Shabana giving Shyam credit for sensitively handling an actor's block.

Through a process of trial-and-error, Shabana completed Ankur and was caught completely unawares when she bagged the National Award for Best Actress for her debut performance.

"I have no memories of the award except that Shyam (he bagged the award for Second Best Feature Film), Sadhu (Best Actor) and I went to Delhi together to receive the award," she admits.

What she does remember is that Ankur was nominated for the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival. It didn't win the coveted prize, and since there was no category for Best Actress, Shabana and the film got a Special Mention from the Jury. Ankur, made on a shoestring budget of Rs 5 lakh, out of which Shabana was paid Rs 15,000, became a cult film that pioneered the Hindi parallel cinema movement.