The director tells us how a chilli chicken lunch set him for a career in advertising, and how an entire village contributed to his multiple National Award-winning Marathi film, Ventilator
Kunal Guha (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 16, 2017)

When we meet filmmaker Rajesh Mapuskar at Shivaji Park, his wide smile mirrors his mood. That his debut Marathi black comedy Ventilator has just won three National Awards, including a Best Director for him, isn’t the only reason for his cheerful demeanour.

“I would hang out here to check out girls when I was at Kirti College,” says Mapuskar, who was first introduced to cinema while at school. He’d spend his afternoons at his family-owned theatre in Shrivardhan, a beach town in Raigad. “I was the usher, sweeper, projection operator and would sometimes also man the ticket counter,” says Mapuskar, adding, “I remember when certain films were overbooked, I’d sprint back home to collect chairs to accommodate everyone.”

Ventilator is about a large joint family that collects at a hospital when a senior member is put on life support. The film leans on eccentric characters and slippery situations and has 116 speaking characters. “I grew up in a joint family comprising 68 members and I’m used to parallel sub-plots. Since I also shot in Shrivardhan, my neighbours, uncles, aunts and the entire village was part of the film in some way.”

The movie also delves into the unspoken resentment that can fragment the relationship shared by fathers and sons, something Mapuskar borrowed from his relationship with his own father. “He is my khazana of inspiration and he loved the film too.”

Mapuskar had little interest in academics in school, he moved to Mumbai after his 10th standard exams, in 1983, ostensibly to pursue a commercial arts course at Sir JJ School of Art. “But my dad didn’t approve, he thought I’d end up painting shop boards.” He then took up Commerce on his father’s insistence. “But then he saw my B.Com. marks and told me to return to the village and join the family business.” But Mapuskar had other plans. After a string of odd jobs, including that of a sales representative, the 44-year-old signed up for a six-month diploma in business management. A friend got him space to study at a doctor’s clinic in Mahim, which remained vacant through the day. This turned out to be his first break.

“This doctor also happened to produce TV serials and his clinic doubled up as a space for story sessions,” remembers Mapuskar, whose occasional plot contributions landed him a job as an assistant director for princely salary of Rs 700. Then, someone suggested he get into modeling. “I had more hair on my head then so I was convinced,” laughs Mapuskar.

Four years later, he bagged a TVC in which he played a shopkeeper interacting with a salesman played by Rajkumar Hirani, who was a freelance editor at the time. The two bonded instantly. Apart from getting paid Rs 2,500 for a day’s shoot, Mapuskar was fascinated by the fact that he was served chilli chicken for lunch. “Raju told me this was a regular affair at ad shoots and even introduced me to the director Dilip Ghosh, who hired me as a production assistant.”

Five years on, he was on the verge of moving to Bangkok to work with a boutique production outfit, when Hirani called to ask him to join his debut feature that was being produced by Vinod Chopra Films. “He [Hirani] said after the film, I could move to Bangkok.”

Mapuskar ended up as chief assistant to Hirani on Munnabhai MBBS, Lage Rago Munnabhai and 3 Idiots, and also made his directorial debut with Ferrari Ki Sawaari. “The film didn’t do Rs 100 crore, but it did decent business. Till date, when people meet me, they speak fondly of it,” he says of the comedy starring Boman Irani and Sharman Joshi.

The idea for Ventilator, a black comedy, struck him when he was halfway through writing his second Hindi film — a musical. “Many of my friends discouraged me and asked me to not venture into Marathi films as there’s no money in it.” But Mapuskar was determined to make it “whether it was a success or a failure”.

It was at this stage that his accountant told him about Priyanka Chopra’s interest in producing regional films. “I reached out to Priyanka and her mother, Dr Madhu Chopra, and within five minutes they were sure about backing it. We never thought of monetary gains from the film.”

Mapuskar’s next step is to complete writing his Hindi musical that he abandoned to make Ventilator. While he feels winning a national honour for his work is “humbling”, he doesn’t feel any additional pressure to follow it up. “My approach to cinema will remain the same. It’s just difficult to imagine that my name has been included among the greats like Satyajit Ray and Mrinal Sen who have won this award in the past.”

Priya Gupta (BOMBAY TIMES; November 25, 2013)

Sanjay Leela Bhansali did his editing course at the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune (1985-88). While Sanjay completed his course and was sent his diploma certificate, he was kicked out of the institute and could not complete his diploma film that haunts him till date. He believes that a part of his soul is at the Film Institute and despite having directed seven acclaimed films, he still feels a lack of completeness that he believes he may be able to achieve if he were to someday edit another student’s film or teach there. He goes back to the institute every time before starting a film. This time he went with the Bombay Times post Ram Leela. He spent a day with us taking us around the campus like a little boy reliving all his memories of the realising and breaking of his biggest dream — the dream of being in the institute that taught Ketan Mehta filmmaking.
 
What did getting into the Film Institute mean to you? The first day I came to the institute was with my sister Bela di in 1982 when she wanted me to fill up the form. That time, we were not allowed in through the gate. Bela di got through in 1982. For me, coming through this gate was a big thing as there were stories of Jaya Bachchan and Kundan Shah and Ketan Mehta and Vinod Chopra coming out of here, so there was always a dream to come out of this campus. That orange gate still haunts me. I first tried in 1984 but could not get in. I tried a second time in 1985 and got through and I can never forget that August rain in Pune when my dream came true. I kept going to the loo till Bela came and told me I had got in. There is a lane just outside where Nana Patekar lives and I kept walking there. Getting in the institute was the turning point in my life.
 
Have you changed as a person from the time you were a student? I was my best and only friend and was extremely quiet. Sriram Raghavan stayed right next to my room and Raju Hirani on the same floor but I would, at best, say only a hello to them. I am better now and I can at least say hello to people. I had decided I won’t allow myself to be ragged even though I knew it was a way to break barriers with other students and overcome your inhibitions. But I found it humiliating and did not allow it as a result and did not form a part of the gang. I was very insignificant, unobtrusive, unnoticeable and made no mark at all. But people would feel that I was arrogant and rude and therefore when my moment of trouble came and I was to be chucked out of the institute, I did not find the support coming my way which should have as I had no connect with people and no one fought for me.  

Why were you chucked out? Even though I was a very good student, it came from the director who wanted to revamp the institute and picked up the quietest student of the lot, the person who slept at 9 pm and woke up at 6 am and chucked him out. I was thrown out of the institute. I was an editing student. We did not have a direction batch so they decided to call a director from outside, one director for each student who would give his film to us to edit. This was to be our diploma film. Dilip Ghosh was the director whose film I had to edit. But we just did not get along and I had issues working with him. So I requested my institute director KG Verma that I wanted another director whose film I could edit. But Mr Verma had decided to clamp down on student anarchy that he felt existed at that time and refused my request. He said, ‘We have given you the option, if you can’t work with him then too bad.’ There were many students who offered to direct a film for me but Mr Verma did not agree. 

My diploma film meant everything to me and I had no choice so I filed a court case. The court in Mumbai went against me as they felt that I had been given a chance and so there was no unfairness meted out to me by the institute. I remember going to the director’s room and crying and saying, ‘You can’t do this to me. I come from a very poor family and this is my dream.’ I had dry cleaned all my clothes and kept for the two months that I would sit and edit my diploma film. This is what I had worked for and dreamt for and then my dream was broken. I was very angry and I remember I came in a rickshaw through the gate and went straight up to my room, packed my bag and went straight out of the gate. There were some students who just showed their superficial sympathy but honestly no one was bothered. That is the day I decided that I would make a film before any of them would and I did. There was an anger that stimulates you and I howled all the way to Mumbai in the taxi. I saw my dream shattered. I needed to be a part of this place more than or equal to any other person there. After so many years of struggling for it, I had been chucked out. I was finally given my diploma but they did not give me the diploma film.
 
What happened when you reached back home? I cannot forget that day when I walked up with my saaman in my hand. I had gone to get a diploma that would have insured me of a job but I had come back empty-handed. My mother knew it from the time I had gone to court and did not say anything. Bela was heartbroken but she said, ‘You do what you have to do.’ That day was very difficult. To start all over again from scratch but to realise that I had left something incomplete here. I have made seven films now but my diploma film is not there. Every year I come here, I go to the canteen, go to the terrace, go to the boys mess and hostel and keep walking like a ghost and then I go back. I feel my soul belongs here as a filmmaker. I hope I can come and teach here someday or may be just complete the diploma film of another student.