Shabana Azmi is cut from a different cloth. At 75, while much of the film industry remained silent or issued carefully worded, "neutral" statements, she chose to travel to Jantar Mantar in solidarity with the student movement led by the CJP, demanding accountability from the education minister and those in power. The students remain resolute, vowing to continue their nationwide agitation until their demands are met. Back from Delhi, Azmi spoke to Bombay Times while recovering from an asthma attack triggered by tear gas during the protest. In a candid conversation, she reflects on why she felt compelled to stand with the students, what she witnessed on the ground, and why she believes silence is no longer an option. Excerpts…

The sheer injustice of it. Students of our country are peacefully demanding a dialogue for educational reforms. They seek an overhauling of the educational system and accountability for the several lapses in key entrance exams over the years leading to despair to the point of suicide. Why can’t you listen to them? We need to build their hope, not crush their spirit. The prolonged hunger strike by the students and Sonam Wangchuk whose deteriorating health we were all witness to deeply concerned me. Can you imagine the pain of their parents who made huge personal sacrifices to assure a better future for their children?

The complete indifference of the ruling party to initiate a dialogue. Sonam Wangchuk is a respected scientist and environmentalist whose work on climate change is applauded across the world. Yet, attempts were made to discredit him through canards and insinuations. The students, too, were branded anti-national and accused of being stooges of "foreign powers." That was the tipping point for me.

These are attempts to obfuscate the real issue and replace dialogue. And we take pride in being the world’s largest democracy?

Because we all know that the youth are the future of our country. Increasingly, young couples are choosing not to have children because they cannot guarantee them a secure or hopeful future. That should worry all of us. I remember a university student saying during a debate many years ago, "Humko azaadi aadhi raat ko mili thi, aur savera aaj tak nahin hua." ("We got Independence at midnight, but dawn has still not arrived.") Those words stayed with me. In fact, I used that line to open my maiden speech in the Rajya Sabha. Atal Bihari Vajpayee ji appreciated it, you can verify it in the records. He did not treat it as a personal insult or an attack on his government. It resonated with him because he understood the larger sentiment behind it and responded like a true statesman. They were leaders of a different mettle. It saddens me to see how far we've drifted from that spirit today, where every criticism is viewed through the lens of hostility instead of being seen as an opportunity for dialogue and introspection.

I don't think it can be generalized like that. I would leave that to experts in the field. Speaking for myself, I was raised until the age of nine in Red Flag Hall, the commune of the Communist Party of India (CPI) in Mumbai. It was a remarkable space where discussions on social justice, women's empowerment and India's composite culture were part of everyday life. Progressive writers, poets, artists and political thinkers came together there, and our parents believed that art should be an instrument of social change. My brother Baba and I absorbed these values almost by osmosis. We were encouraged to ask questions, voice our opinions and speak up whenever we felt strongly about something, even if it meant disagreeing with others. That environment taught us that dissent and dialogue are not acts of disrespect; they are essential to a healthy society.

Prakash Raj and I had been helped into a police truck by the protesters. I had to lie down for a while to catch my breath after one of the activists rushed to pull me up because the police had entered the area, triggering a stampede. Looking through the truck's grills, I narrowly escaped being hit by a large stone that was hurled towards it. Soon after, the tear gas and lathi charge began. The police were furious because they claimed that a shoe had been thrown at one of their colleagues. Now, who can verify that? It is their word against the students. What is beyond dispute, however, is that there is a clear protocol the police are mandated to follow while dispersing a gathering they deem "unlawful." It is fair to assume that those protocols were not strictly followed. I personally witnessed young boys and girls, many of them barely out of their teens, badly injured and bleeding because of the lathi charge. When I sat down in the mud with the protesters, I saw students who had themselves been injured rushing to shield and protect me instead of tending to their own wounds. One young man told me, "Ek lathi khaane ke baad lathi ka darr nikal jaata hai." ("Once you've been hit by a baton, the fear of it disappears.") A 15-year-old boy said, "Had I not joined this protest, I would never have been able to look myself in the mirror." My respect and salaam to these young people. Their courage, compassion and conviction showed us the way.

Every artist has to make that decision for themselves. I don’t think it’s fair to judge people for speaking out, and I don’t think it’s fair to judge those who choose not to. Everyone weighs the consequences differently. What is important is that we don’t lose sight of the real issue. The conversation should remain focused on the concerns raised by the students and on how those concerns are addressed, rather than on whether individual celebrities have commented. Artists can amplify conversations, but they are not a substitute for institutions or democratic processes. Lasting educational reform and the protection of democratic rights come through public engagement, civic participation and accountable governance. It is encouraging that many members of the film industry have chosen to speak this time. The issues affecting young people because they are our future and we are all stake holders.

Cinematographer Hemant Chaturvedi’s “peculiar relationship” with his profession began somewhere post 2000, when he made his transition from television to the movies. This was the time when Chaturvedi had, unbeknownst to himself, become a tour de force, spearheading projects, which would set the tone for new age storytelling in Bollywood. There was Ram Gopal Varma’s Company (2002), followed that same year by Vishal Bhardwaj’s children’s horror comedy Makdee and Maqbool (2004). Aparna Sen’s critically-acclaimed National Award-winning 15 Park Avenue (2006), which explored the relationship between a young woman suffering from schizophrenia and her divorced sister, came soon after.

Despite such an enviable oeuvre that only grew with time, Chaturvedi’s relationship with cinematography became more and more complicated. “That eventually culminated in me taking a decision to move on,” he shares. “I realised that the nature of the beast was such that it went against my fundamental [values], and that I was not going to change. I, for some reason, came to be known as the enfant terrible of cinematography.”

Looking back, he thinks such a narrative suited many in an industry that was becoming cut-throat. “And so, for someone like me, who was not a competitive person, work became scarce,” he adds. “I remember having to wait for two or three years for my next offer. This was absurd. It’s a horrible feeling to wait for your next job—never knowing when it’s going to come to you. You end up not doing so many other good things, because you do not want to start that in case something else turns up.”

After a lot deliberation, Chaturvedi decided to call it quits in 2015—the poor box-office run of the Akshay Kumar and Sidharth Malhotra-starrer Brothers, produced by Dharma Productions, cemented this decision.

The disillusionment notwithstanding, Chaturvedi, who by then had begun experimenting with still photography, continued to have several unanswered questions about his profession, which he had dedicated nearly three decades of his life to. “I couldn’t understand how [when] someone worked with so much commitment, passion and honesty, what is that one thing that takes away the joy of being successful and engaging in better work.”  

It’s around this time that he embarked on a documentary project, which would take him more than six years to realise. “In the late 1980s, when I was working as an apprentice, I had reached out to many senior cinematographers for work,” says Chaturvedi.

Jehangir Choudhury, whom he had met in 1985, while assisting on a Merchant Ivory production, was the first real inspiration. “I was still studying at St Xavier’s College [Mumbai] then… Seeing him create all this magic from behind the lens, got me really excited,” he recalls.

After returning from Jamia Millia Islamia with a mass communications degree, he tried meeting many of these cinematographers again. “But none of them had the space to hire me as an assistant. Govind Nihalani had accepted my request [in 1991], but just two weeks before the start of the film, I got a call saying that he was giving the opportunity to [playwright] Vijay Tendulkar’s son. I missed out on that, too.”

But, this was also the era of the television boom, and Chaturvedi eased into it seamlessly. “I ended up being a 100 per cent self-taught cinematographer. I had no choice, but to teach myself.”

His only regret was that he couldn’t work with any of them. The opportunity to understand their body of work only came only after he made the switch in his career. “I thought why not reconnect with these people whom I had come to admire, speak to them about their journeys, compare it with my own, and see what emerges from these conversations, which would answer every query that I ever had. I was hoping that it would help me understand the purpose of my own life.”

Between December 2015 and January 2016, Chaturvedi met with 14 elderly veteran cinematographers, including S M Anwar, Dilip Dutta, Pravin Bhatt, Kamalakar Rao, Baba Azmi, R M Rao, Ishwar Bidri, A K Bir, Nadeem Khan, Sunil Sharma, Barun Mukherjee, Peter Pereira, as well as Nihalani and Choudhury, doing extensive video interviews on his DSLR, and gathering nearly 40 hours’ worth of footage. 

The videos, which sat in his hard-drive for the longest time, are now part of a soon-to-release documentary titled Chhayaankan: The Management Of Shadows.

“All of them had a very interesting trajectory. Some of them had cautiously withdrawn and given up, some had moved on to do other things, some were still doing the odd shoots here and there, while a few were in a state of denial that their career was over. This acceptance or change in their fate had an effect on their personalities, of course,” he says.

Chaturvedi doesn’t have a real excuse for delaying the documentary, except that he got busy with his other projects. “But in December 2020, when I heard that Ishwar Bidri passed away [at 88], and that Nadeem Khan was in coma for the longest time, I felt this huge sense of guilt. I realised that if this film wasn’t seen by the people [who were cast] in it, it would be a matter of tremendous shame,” adds Chaturvedi, who had spent a significant part of 2019 and 2020, including the lockdown, travelling the length and breadth of the country, documenting single-screen theatres. 

 

Though he had a “gigantic inventory of unfinished work, this one took priority” and in June 2021, Chaturvedi began work on editing the film, shuttling between Mumbai and Pune, where his editor Suchitra Sathe, an alumnus and faculty member of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) was based.

While revisiting the original videos, he realised that the film, which has been pared down to 138 minutes, is not just about the journey of these cinematographers in the movies, but also their personal stories, pet peeves and relationship with the crew they worked with. “Now, I feel I know them more intimately, and I am losing them one after the other… just knowing that has been emotionally draining. I also often wonder had I ever got to work with any of these people, would my work have been different in any way?”

Between the 14 of them, they’ve shot nearly 750 films and 10,000 commercials. “That is the kind of span one had in that era. It’s just astounding to see how much work they did then. Pravin Bhatt alone has shot 120 feature films. He started in the black and white era, and ended with his son Vikram Bhatt’s film around eight years ago. Then there is R M Rao who has shot 4,000 commercials; there was a period between the 1960s and ’70s, when if you went to the theatre, you’d only see commercials shot by Rao on screen,” says Chaturvedi. 

    

He says that the reason why many of them managed to hold on to their careers was because it was “an era of very long relationships”. “People would work together for much longer, and there was a certain loyalty and camaraderie then, which kind of eroded in the mid-1990s, when there were just too many people and too much work.”

One of the issues that he has dealt with in the film is the period when the film industry’s visual standards, he feels, had “dropped to zero”. “Most of the scenes would be shot in these bungalows with the curtains drawn. The only difference between a day and night scene, would be if the decorative lamps on the set were switched on or off… it was as bizarre as that,” he shares, explaining that this trend was observed after the studio system fell apart. “When that happened, actors started signing on multiple films, and because they didn’t have the time to come for shoots, a movie would take years to complete. A producer, who couldn’t keep a set standing for that long, would then move the shoot to a bungalow. That’s how these started becoming popular.” Some cinematographers submitted to the circumstances.

Among the more interesting journeys was that of Anwar, who is now in his 80s. “Anwar saab had a diploma in radio from an institute in Pune, and had been working for a Parsi company, where his job was to clean sockets and cables. Later, he was shunted to the camera department of the same company. His work got him to Bombay where he joined as a camera attendant at Eagle Films for a salary of Rs. 25 per month,” says Chaturvedi.  Anwar was spotted accidentally by renowned cinematographer Dwarka Divecha, who asked him to do close-ups of a fight sequence they were shooting. On seeing the rushes, an impressed Divecha called on Anwar, only to learn that he had perfected his camera skills shooting birds on the terrace. Anwar went on to work as camera operator for Sholay, before helming Ramesh Sippy’s Shaan (1980).

Chaturvedi is planning to showcase his film in the festival circuit soon. He is also hoping to hold a private screening for cinematographers, especially those who have made it to the film.  Each of the interviews is being edited as a standalone interview, which he intends to upload on YouTube.  “I wanted to say how tortured I feel, sometimes, because I missed so many people who passed away in the last seven to 10 years prior to 2015, when I filmed these interviews… I wish someone before me had thought of this and documented so many people, who are gone forever. [Having said that] I want this to be a joyous celebration of people from an era where they were overachievers and under publicised, unlike our era of underachievers, over publicised.”

He sings “Main hoon super man...“ with pure filmi flamboyance. Yet, he knows that even with ripped muscles and a body suit, he can't take you on a flight of fantasy . But he possesses other ammo, or let's just say superpowers of a different kind. More human, maybe. He is a realist, a man with a terrific sense of humour who can laugh at himself. That's what makes Arjun Kapoor immensely likeable. He's unconventionally good looking. Tucked behind his machismo and the shadow of his stubble is a cute boyishness that makes him truly attractive. There is never a blah moment while talking to him, and like a “thorough-bred filmi“ he can woo the media and tackle the trolls with equal candour and ease. Bravo. And oh, he's deceptive, too. His droopy eyes make you think that he's distracted, but no, he's all there. Relaxed, but smooth and spontaneous, his mind is racing as he talks about...

Four years of success, stardom and some heartbreak too...
It feels like 20 years, though it's only been four. My first film, Ishaqzaade, did well and I got four damn good films because of it. With Aurangzeb, I just knew that the film wasn't going to work; though I think it was one of my most underrated performances. I did the film too early in my career, but I stand by it. Back then, its failure didn't shake my confidence, as I was sure about Gunday, Finding Fanny and 2 States. In the last three years, there has been a sudden burst of accepting new concepts, so if the film was made today, its fate would have been different. I trusted my instinct about Ki & Ka, so I decided to turn co-producer for the first time. Without boasting I can say that I feel validated. I give my dad (Boney Kapoor) utmost credit for my business acumen. It is in my blood. I am a thoroughbred filmi ghoda. Today, actors have to be as much a producer's actor as a director's actor. Given the amount of money we charge, we dare not be unprofessional. It is our face and we stand to gain the most.

A film that shook his ground....
The flop that hit me was Tevar. It felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. When you do a home production, it always hurts more. I wasn't ready to accept that Tevar didn't do well. During Aurangzeb I was prepared for it. It took me three months after release to come to terms with it. Tevar was emotionally more overwhelming as I got written off after it. A lot of people very silently put their hands up and said... we can't back him anymore. Suddenly, I had no film and the last one was a flop. The perception is ...achcha yeh supporting ban sakta hai, it didn't happen but it could go to that extreme. Then I signed a film with R Balki who is known for his unique films and I told myself that I don't care what the world thinks but I will do this. When nobody backed me, then I backed myself and I don't blame them for it. That is how the industry works. After Tevar, I am better prepared to deal with failure.

Shifting gears and revving up his career to turn director...
I was always preparing to be a director; I am still doing that vehemently. This is all a means to an end. I didn't even know I would be an actor; I always wanted to be a cameraman. I was obsessed with Baba Azmi, and I would sit in the camera trolley all day while he shot for Prem and Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja. I struggled to start writing a script, but I can't put a page down without hating it. Direction is my calling. At 21, I was thinking of directing my first film, though I think I would have made a rubbish film then. I think you need to experience life a little more to make a movie. At 30, I am sensitised to what is happening around me and I am a lot less gimmicky. I'm glad it didn't work out then, otherwise Hindustan ko bahut badi flop milti.

His more love, less hate relationship with the media...
The media has been very pro me, that's also the reason I feel the audience has been pro me. I meet the media mostly during movie promotions, and the problem is that we never have enough time. Like today, the way I am talking to you, it is more like a genuine conversation than an interview. I understand that the relationship between the media and an actor is give and take. I cannot pretend that mujhe inki zaroorat nahi hai and vice-versa. There will be ups and downs like in any relationship, but the fact remains that as long as we are going to be in this profession we have to work around it, so we might as well enjoy it.

Deceptive looks...
Well, I have a face that is very deceptive, and sometimes, I look disinterested, angry and arrogant. I don't know why. I am guessing because I have a deadpan look and droopy eyes. Also because my face is like that, I've played intense characters, but it doesn't mean I am really the person that you see in my movies. If you hang around with me you will realise that I am closer to my character in Ki & Ka and 2 States. I am genuinely not the angry young man that people think I am. I am actually damn funny but nobody gets to see that.

Man enough to mangle the mean tweets...
How can these faceless people typing nonsense on social media anger me? What have they done in their life? I laugh at it. They are probably frustrated and it gives them a kick. I have dealt with so much worse in my life, nobody can fathom that. I know we all have a story and I'm not the only one, but I have seen enough in life to ignore some childish tweets. I have been called fat and ugly for so long, even when I was not on social media. You need to have a sense of humour to be in this industry, as everybody will have an opinion about you and we can't react to everything.

Social media is addictive, but it makes stars non-exclusive...
I agree that we have sold our soul to social media. I resisted it for long as I knew I have an addictive personality. Now, I am really active. Yes, I wouldn't want to put my life on a platter and serve it to the audience, but I also don't have these notions about being an elusive star. Anyway, we will never have that exclusivity that the previous generation of actors had. Earlier, to catch a glimpse of a star was such a big deal. That is why actors are called stars, as they don't come down to the earth. Now, we actors are coming to you (the media). We are on reality shows, and every party we go to gets covered. That sheen of stardom is gone now. It would be foolish to blame the media. It is a result of progression. Whether it is for better or worse is a different debate, so we rather accept it than fight it.

Never taking stardom for granted and resting on the armchair of a filmi legacy...
I have never taken my stardom for granted. Or the fact that my father is a producer. He has provided me with what a father is supposed to and has given me his name. I am proud of that name. I have got a lot of love and respect from the industry because of him, and it has opened doors for me. But now, I have to follow my own path, create my own life and make him proud. My father says that he loves being told that he's my father. If he feels that way, I am happy. I think people will not judge me for whose son I am, but for the person I am.

A long line of link-ups. Being single ain't easy...
I think being single is a crime. I have committed a sin by being single (laughs). I can't be written about for saying hello to people and having casual conversations with them. How much will I justify? I am going to go out as a young guy and live my life; people should be allowed to do that. The conclusion of every conversation with the opposite sex can't always lead to a relationship. At times, there is a lot implied by the media in jest, and you think it is harmless. You can discuss someone's work, but it is not harmless to discuss someone's personal life as frivolously as it has happened in my case in the last six-eight months. Also, because I have not reacted to it and laughed it off, it doesn't mean that I'm not irritated about it. I didn't think the repercussions of being silent would be so much. Also, I think I am the only single one left, so I am linked with anyone (grins). The insinuations are upsetting, the generic conversations are not. As long as you don't hit below the belt, it is okay, but the insinuations are bulls**t.

Bonhomie with the boys...
Whether it is Ranveer (Singh), Varun (Dhawan) or Ranbir (Kapoor), I really get along with these boys. Our bonhomie is rare. I look out for Varun like he is my younger brother, and I am close to his elder brother Rohit, too. And we all know that Ranbir is the torchbearer of change when it comes to young actors. I also have amazing friends around me like Kunal Rawal, Aarti Shetty and Abhishek Varman who are honest and realistic. In fact, I have chosen friends who only put me down. They make me believe that my career is going to get over tomorrow (laughs). But really, I'm glad to have honest people around me as it's easy to get carried away with success. I would love to do an Ocean's Eleven kind of film with all of us - Ranbir, Ranveer, Varun and me. It might not get made but just one day of shooting will be a blast.

Shabana Azmi, her lyricist-writer husband Javed Akhtar and brother cinematographer Baba Azmi are working together for the first time on an upcoming film Chalk n Duster based on teachers, starring the actress herself. Incidentally, Shabana and Baba worked on called Anokha Bandhan way back in 1982, it's for the first time that these three are teaming up together for a movie. Shabana is acting in the film, Javed has penned some songs and Baba is the DOP (director of photography).