As Sacred Games battles it out at International Emmy Awards this weekend, screenwriter pens its journey from book to screen to global acclaim
Varun Grover (MID-DAY; November 23, 2019)

The Beginning
Every time I sit down to write something, my first feeling is that it won't happen. It will never be complete and nobody will get to see it. The 1000-page novel by Vikram Chandra, Sacred Games, was even scarier. And there were two of us sharing that feeling — me and Smita Singh (my co-writer in Season 1). Our second co-writer, Vasant Nath, was more hopeful and pushed us to get down to work.

Our process began by discussing the broad themes and character arcs, which took six to eight weeks. Then, for the next few weeks, we started chipping away at the individual arcs for every character and the clouds started to part, but only a bit.

At this point, showrunner Vikramaditya Motwane (below) joined us and started giving our wild horses some fodder and some reins. We spent another few weeks refining those arcs and divided the eight episodes among the three of us.


The Netflix Process
Their process is distinctive. It operates within a well-set framework, and is different from filmmaking. Netflix first asks for a "Bible" from the writers, which is a set document that includes the individual character arcs in the context of the larger story as well as episode summaries. When you are writing, you can get carried away. In this context, the Bible becomes useful, by providing a general roadmap.

The Research
A lot of research came from Smita Nair — our research head for both seasons. She had been on the city/crime beat for Indian Express for almost 15 years in Mumbai, and she knows the city like nobody else I know. Her keen eye, rigour, and obsession with details (including the kind of clothes an intelligence officer may or may not wear) made our job a little tougher, but also a lot easier.

Our ground research involved meeting cops, lawyers, police historians (Deepak Rao especially), scientists, intelligence officers, and journalists over a period of two months to get a sense of Mumbai and the world between 1992 and 2018 — our focus years for Gaitonde in Season 2. We got some fascinating stories about India's covert operations in international seas. She gave us some beautiful nuggets including why all Mumbai cop stations have an aquarium, and why the big police operation in Season 2 was called Operation Maqdoom. (Hint: It was named after Maqdoom Ali Mahimi of the Mahim Dargah fame.)

Season 2
In Season 2, there were four of us in the writers' room: Pooja Tolani, Nihit Bhave, Dhruv Narang, and I. Since we didn't have as much time as Season 1 to finish the scripts, we had to hit the ground running. Since Season 1 had blown up way beyond our expectations, the pressure on the entire team was a bit unreal. But for better or worse, we were already done with most of the writing by the time Season 1 dropped (July 2018).

Since the book is darker and more complex in the second half (the all-powerful Gaitonde has to reach a point where he kills himself), our aim for Season 2 was to make things more dense, and the characters more disillusioned. Seeing the kind of world we are living in right now, we arrived at the central theme of 'Is the world even worth saving?' We were lucky to have new character additions played by brilliant actors like Amruta Subhash (K D Yadav), Pankaj Tripathi (Guruji), and Kalki Koechlin (Batya).

The Reception
While Season 1 got a unanimously positive response, the verdict for Season 2 was split. Many critics seemed to love it, but some audiences were vocally disappointed. Both Motwane and I were expecting this split opinion because of a drastic shift in tone from Season 1 as well as our choice to go with an open-ending (no, that's not a cliff-hanger!) as opposed to a clean, happy one. The risk may have backfired a bit, but given the chance, I would do it exactly the same way again.

The Learnings
That is not to say there are no learnings. The biggest one, at the end of two seasons, is that people prioritise character depth over plot twists. A lot of plot twists we were worried about (in both the seasons) didn't get any criticism but characters behaving inconsistently or boringly becomes a huge let-down for viewers.

And there's one more learning on a philosophical level. Writers collaborating is not always a smooth process because writing primarily is a solitary journey, writers have egos, and the writers' room is a product of capitalism more than natural selection. And still, when it works (like it did for the six of us), it's a beautiful experience that makes the world of a writer a little less lonely.

Dhaval Roy (DNA; August 25, 2019)

Life seems to have come full circle for Kalki Koechlin with her latest web series. The actress debuted with Anurag Kashyap’s Dev.D in 2009 and a decade later, she has a major role in the show, which the filmmaker has co-directed with Neeraj Ghaywan. “The years have gone by so fast! But I still have lots to do,” she enthuses. At the moment, the actress is in news for her turn of Batya Abelman, a Palestinian-Jewish follower of Guruji essayed by Pankaj Tripathi, in the sophomore season of the Saif Ali Khan and Nawazuddin Siddiqui starrer. She is filming for her upcoming web series, Bhram, in Himachal Pradesh, and hasn’t watched the series seamlessly or followed the feedback to her portrayal. “I’ve been a little out of it because of the network situation here. I watched the episodes while the scenes were still loading. It was frustrating but worth it,” she laughs. A chat with Kalki...

What made you take up the web series?
I’d seen the first part when I was called for an audition. It’s a well-made show that has a rawness and realness. Even the smaller characters stood out even if they weren’t the leads. I found that really cool. The second season is different from the first. It’s a progression that goes into a more intellectual and deeper space, which I liked.

Batya does not figure in Vikram Chandra’s book. How did you prep for it?
Thank God, it’s not in the book otherwise I would have had to read 1,000 pages (laughs)! Varun (Grover) is a fantastic writer and he was hands-on, explaining things to me all the time. He gave me a backstory just so that I could prepare. But I also stalked Pankaj ji. I would follow him – listen to his lectures, watch all his shots.

What was it like working with Saif Ali Khan after Happy Ending (2014)?
It was really fun. We had a great time trying to figure out this creepy yet slightly vulnerable relationship that we have, sharing our insecurities with each other. Neeraj was lovely in terms of directing us.

You’re doing a lot of web series — Shockers, Smoke, Made in Heaven in the past and now Bhram...
It’s just that mediums are changing. I’m trying to keep up with it (laughs). I don’t really plan it like that. I still get 10 film scripts and out of those, nine are bad! It’s just that content is coming from different directions.

Why do you end up rejecting the offers?
Actors get put into a box after a role. There are certain limitations because I look like a foreigner. I won’t be able to take up some kinds of roles.

Do you regret that?
No, it’s my job to consciously find projects that challenge me and make me do something I haven’t done before. Everyone needs to push the boundaries. And I get to act in a project like Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani (2013) and then I’m also offered Margarita With A Straw (2015), which is completely different. I try to keep that variety in mind.

What about security as an actor?
I’m lucky that there’s enough coming from other fronts. I do theatre, I have my podcast Kalki Presents: My Indian Life and endorsements. There are times when you choose something purely for the platform. I’d always say yes to Farhan and Zoya Akhtar’s production because they’re organised and they usually have a guaranteed good release. There are some practical choices you make but I wouldn’t say that’s my main priority; it’s always interesting work.

In retrospect, how have the 10 years in the industry been?
They have been eclectic. I feel lucky to have worked with such different kinds of directors — really mainstream ones like Ayan Mukerji (Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani) and Zoya (Gully Boy) and then you have Anurag and Dibakar Banerjee (Shanghai, 2012) apart from completely new directors Konkona Sen Sharma (A Death in the Gunj, 2017) or Rakhee Sandilya (Ribbon, 2017).

Are there films you wish you hadn’t done?
Yeah, but I don’t like to mention them like that. Though, after each movie, I feel I could have done it better and there’s always room for improvement. Then again, that’s the point. If you think you’ve done a role perfectly, you’d retire.

And a movie you are proud of?
Margarita With A Straw. It was not an easy film to shoot but when I look back, it taught me so much. It has made me sensitive to the plight of disability. It made me alert to the amount of rehearsal you can do. I practised for six months and the character became a part of me. So much so that after the film, when I’d go out for a drink, I’d find myself grabbing a straw.

Gully Boy was a smash hit this year. Has it led to more projects in mainstream cinema?
No, nothing that I have signed on yet. I loved that film. Zoya makes really interesting movies and the script was so strong.

What else do you have in the pipeline?
I’m mainly focussing on my podcast — doing research for season two for the next two months. Then, there’s a play coming up end of this year, which is the modernised version of Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekhov.

Travelling across multiple Mumbai sets of the sequel to world’s most watched Indian web- series, Sacred Games
Mayank Shekhar (MID-DAY; August 11, 2019)

"I can give you the script [to read]," says director Anurag Kashyap, lounging after the day's gruelling shoot. He's of course not referring to the script of Sacred Games (SG) season two, the tightly guarded sets of which we are at, in Mumbai Film City's Reliance studio.

"We're bound by such contracts that there'll come a time when I may have to look into it, even before saying hi," says Kashyap, revealing precious little about a dark 'warehouse sequence' he's just shot. But the script he's willing to privately share is still SG, although a different version that was offered to him to direct in 2013, by the American Scott Reid Productions.

Kashyap had flatly said no to it then, primarily because that script, sticking completely to Vikram Chandra's novel of the same name (unlike the Netflix version), was to be shot entirely in English. And he could never do that. The authenticity would've been completely lost.

The fact that the 'universal is specific first' is a model that Netflix has followed to global success with subtitled super-hits like Narcos (Spanish), Fauda (Hebrew), and so many others. There is in fact an English-dub of SG available on the web-platform as well. Those who have seen it say it completely destroys the experience. Deeply rooted in the Mumbai milieu, characters in SG speak the city's language that, as writer Salman Rushdie once described it, is HUGME—Hindi, Urdu, Gujarati, Marathi, English.

Add to that Punjabi, since the lead, Cop Sartaj Singh, is Sikh, played by Bollywood star Saif Ali Khan, in blue turban, who we met earlier in the day in Malad—shooting an 'interior sequence' of an ashram, that he says "explores the 'sacred' part of Sacred Games, which wasn't so much there in the first season; but it comes in now."

Khan appears a much leaner Sartaj Singh (SS, on the set), from before. "The worn-out look, for someone less sedentary, mostly running around, is closer to how the character is described in the book. Also, with a clock ticking and all that, we're getting into more of an 'action series'," he says.

Khan's portions in the second season are being directed by Neeraj Ghaywan (Masaan), who took over from Vikramaditya Motwane from the first part, since Motwane was finding it hard to balance directorial duties with the job of the showrunner—who looks at the "macro-picture"; supervising for months, before and after production, with writers (led by Varun Grover), and editor (Aarti Bajaj); putting together 15-hour shoots, between multiple locations, time-lines, over 200 days, into seamless, eight episodes of a series. Phew!

Motwane doesn't normally visit the sets, he says. He doesn't need to since he implicitly trusts the two directors, Kashyap and Ghaywan, respectively filming parallel stories of Don Ganesh Gaitonde (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), and Sartaj, alongside. Both tracks, not just visually, even pace and performance-wise, play out, if you carefully observe SG season one, like two totally separate films.

Motwane agrees. And this isn't simply because the directors are different. So is the setting. "Gaitonde's world [a series of flashbacks], is a personality-led fable. Sartaj's is a more private space, of tension, and [building] mystery," he explains. From a technical/visual point of view, this is achieved through the use of different kinds of lenses—"anamorphic, with more saturation for Sartaj's [world]; and spherical, with less saturation, for Gaitonde's." While there is no "show-bible" as such, the template is more or less set.

Lay viewers are hardly going to notice these technicalities. What they will/have is, according to Khan, the reason he was instantly drawn to SG as the first Indian Netflix series going out to the world: "Besides an international sensibility in filmmaking, it [the subject] is very Indian. And by that I mean it's got mafia and cops, whose equations are unique. Then you've got religion, politics, God-men, and Bollywood, all thrown into the mix of what's a very psychological mind-game."

True. Can't wait! New season drops on August 15. Two-thirds of SG season one audience, Netflix reveals, has come in from outside India, making it truly a global show. Khan has been around as a Hindi film-star for over two and half decades, with 60-plus movies, and a strong audience-base among South Asians and other Bollywood fans abroad. One wonders if the demography eyeing/approaching him at international airports has broadened/changed a bit since SG. He gently shrugs, making little of that remark, "No... I don't know...Maybe they expect a Sardar with a beard!"

Couple of days after SG dropped, Siddiqui, on the other hand, felt a bunch of locals weirdly staring at him on the streets of Rome while he was there for a film with actor Tanishtha Chatterjee: "Saamne gora dekh raha hai. Matlab, Sacred Games dekha hai," he whispered. The filmmakers shooting the second season seem to have equally benefitted from the prequel's success.

Kashyap recalls, "We've shot the sequel all over—Croatia, South Africa, Kenya… We shot on the same boat from Free Willy. There was an incredible riverside bungalow in Kenya. The moment the owner got to know Gaitonde was going to be there, he just let us do whatever we wanted."

Which brings us to, well: Where is Ganesh Gaitonde? In his village, as we speak. Or a village, aptly created as a set, in Goregaon! Stepping into the refreshment-tent outside the makeshift mud-hut, after a late-night shift, you can tell, Siddiqui has clearly shed Gaitonde behind, to reveal his usual, painfully shy self. Chameleon-like transformations have pretty much defined Siddiqui's career.

But the longest he's ever been with a character is obviously the Marathi gangster's: "It's become too internalised, I can't switch on-off like a computer." And he's evidently developed some empathy for him as well: "For one, he [Gaitonde] loves Mumbai. Two, he's very trusting. And, he doesn't ever discriminate over religion."

For character-study, interestingly enough, Siddiqui points to his own brother as personal inspiration: "I have several [brothers], but only [a younger] one remained uneducated and stayed back in the village. People talk shit about him. I used to as well. It's only when I began to look deeper, I realised, he's essentially over-sensitive and over-reacts. If there's a galat baat (a wrong utterance), people might calm down. He can't. He became bad, because of the bad happening around him."

Extending that example, Siddiqui adds, "Take Dawood [Ibrahim]. People say he has a sharp mind. But it's twisted. If he'd applied his acumen in the right direction, he could've been a great businessman." Hmmm… Got it, Gaitonde.

(From left) Vikramaditya Motwane with his Sacred Games team - writers Smita Singh and Vasant Nath, Neha Sinha Roy, former head of development at Phantom Films, writer's room assistant Mantra Watsa and Varun Grover. Pic/Ishika Motwane

The team that adapted Vikram Chandra's Sacred Games for Netflix, reveals how it broke down the complex prose and plot to recreate a slow-burning Mumbai noir
Jane Borges (MID-DAY; July 15, 2018)

Binge watching Sacred Games — Netflix's first original Indian series that released last week — doesn't feel as euphoric, once you start engaging with its heroes. After the thrill of experiencing this on-the-edge-of-your-seat drama subsides, what remain are several unresolved questions and markers of Mumbai at its grittiest worst. For those who haven't read the novel, uncompromising superlatives are the only way to make sense of what you witness on screen — the fearless, hard-boiled characters, and their romance with bloodshed, gore and even, sex.

This could easily have been an ordinary tale of a delinquent's — Ganesh Gaitonde (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) — monstrous rise as a cold-blooded gangster in the country's mafia heartland, and his own end in the face of a looming apocalypse, which sets an anguished police officer Sartaj Singh (Saif Ali Khan) on a wild goose chase. But, writer Vikram Chandra, whose 2006 magnum opus novel was adapted for this series, was unapologetic in his brilliant prose and narrative. So, one would have expected little consolation when writers Varun Grover, Vasant Nath and Smita Singh took on the arduous task of recreating Chandra's vision on screen, in episodic format. They did, if anything, make this larger-than-life gangster-cop saga very real, disappointing only, by having us anxiously wait for the next season.

It's been a week since the release of the show, and already Grover, Nath and Singh are being eyed as fresh agents of change, having set a tireless benchmark for future writers of online television content. Now, chatting with us over a conference call, the writers reveal the trials and triumphs involved in penning this success story. "We were told that it had to be a gripping, slow-burner," Singh recalls of the brief that was given to them two years ago.

It's true that only copious amounts of reading would have enabled them to get a grip of Chandra's masterpiece. And while they went back to the book on several occasions, Grover admits, help came in handy in the form of research head Smita Nair and writers' room assistant Mantra Watsa, who was tasked with summarising every chapter, and making the complex plot easily accessible to them. "I think our biggest challenge was whether to set it in the period that the novel was written — when mobile phones were still a novelty, or to contemporise it," says Nath. The trio opted for the latter. This also meant re-imagining Chandra's story — 12 years ahead. "When we started out, we were scared about what Chandra would think of our work. We were chucking away some important characters from the original, and bringing in new ones. In the beginning, we were guarded about the script and did not reveal it to Chandra until we had completed the pilot run of the first episode. To his credit and to our amazement, he was very open to the changes," says Grover.

But with three creative heads along with directors Anurag Kashyap and Vikramaditya Motwane on board this project, one would wonder how they unanimously managed to agree or disagree on the same things. The very question makes the team break into a laugh. "Smita and I disagreed a lot. But, I think that is very normal in a room with different creative people. When our differences became evident, Vikram [Motwane] would finally step in to resolve the conflict," says Grover, who has previously worked on the screenplay and lyrics of the 2015 award-winning film Masaan. "But, arguing is healthy. It rarely ever happens that you don't come out with something great from it. It's not a writer's room if you don't argue. Ours was a vibrant one," Singh clarifies. "All three of us had very individual journeys over here, but towards the end I really began enjoying the process. We were firing on all cylinders, still arguing and bickering, but a lot of trust grew over the period that we worked together," says Nath.

If there has been some critiquing, it's for employing the formulaic idea of "operatic violence and stylised dialogues" used in hit crime dramas like Narcos and Fargo. While taking it as a compliment, Singh says any comparison takes away from the local flavour of Sacred Games, which thematically is different. Nath says like Narcos, they were trying to tell the history of a place through the underbelly. "In doing so, you get a much more honest cross-section understanding of a place. It's a great format to get to understand a culture," he says.

Then, there is also the unbridled cussing and sex scenes. "If you read the book, it is flowing in blood, and full of sex. So, one could not tell the story of this milieu, by getting rid of these elements, and not losing authenticity. We instead thought it in terms of the characters. For instance, with Gaitonde, who was indulging in rampant sex, I tried to understand what aspect of this was feeding into the understanding that he ends his story with. That brought me into the realm of his visceral engagement with other people. The last thing we wanted to do was load the script with gratuitous sex or violence," says Nath.

It took the writers a year to complete the project, and like Grover recently mentioned on his Facebook page, "the shoot looked too far away, when we had started writing, and then it was right there, knocking on our doors like those rude board exam invigilators while we wanted to write just one page, one sentence, one word more before the sheet is snatched away." One can only imagine what this trio would have done, if they had held on to that page longer.

All that transpired one evening on the sets of Sacred Games, India’s first original Netflix series tale in the making
Mohar Basu (MID-DAY; April 1, 2018)

In 2006, while reading the synopsis of Vikram Chandra’s Sacred Games at a book store in Delhi, I was bemused to note that the author had borrowed a near forgettable character from his last book, Love and Longing in Bombay, to create this narrative. Khakhiclad Sartaj Singh becomes more than a seemingly lonesome, pitiable divorcee from the first book, when he dons his Sherlock Holmes-cape to investigate why Mafioso Ganesh Gaitonde would remain holed up in the heart of Mumbai instead of enjoying the luxury that his sinister activities has earned him. When Netflix announced its first desi series based on the book, I, like many fans of Chandra, was instantly intrigued.

The announcement of the unit — direction by Anurag Kashyap and Vikramaditya Motwane, and a cast including Saif Ali Khan as Sartaj Singh, and Nawazuddin Siddiqui as Ganesh Gaitonde — gave me more reason to celebrate. This one could be intoxicating; rooted in its earthen story, exploring the dirt of the city’s underbelly and the goings-on that lead the men to crossroad. One evening, I landed up on the set of the film, a run-down mill in Byculla.

I was immediately transported back to the ’90s, when the crime rate in Mumbai was on the rise, and black money found its way into Bollywood’s glittery world. Quite early on in the filming process, work was strictly demarcated between Kashyap and Motwane. The latter would adapt the venture along with Varun Grover, and helm Sartaj’s narrative. Kashyap, on the other hand, would step in once shooting commenced, and would direct Gaitonde’s plot. Motwane says that, as is common while filming such series, they too could have appointed a different director for each episode. “But the series, in a nutshell, follows two parallel stories. Every episode takes on from the last, so we couldn’t involve different directors.”

Motwane reveals that he found himself divided while deciding the backdrop of his adaptation. “I didn’t know if we should set the story in its time [‘90s] or make it contemporary. Gaitonde is unfailingly a character belonging to the ‘90s, so we decided to follow that. Vikram has been helpful. He read our script, and gave us important feedback. It can be hard for a writer to part with his material. That he allowed us to envision it as we like was a blessing.”

Sacred Games drives its inspiration from a tense narrative, yet the set of Kashyap’s venture was an antithesis. Trays full of cutting chai poured in from a nearby tapri, happy helpers smiled when offered hot vada pavs. The set of every Phantom Film production, I have come to notice, is a potboiler of mixed cultures. Friends who have frequently worked with them call it a day-long party. I could see why. A bunch of geeky ADs would discuss a Spielberg film. Elsewhere, women staffers would debate Nicole Kidman’s character in Big Little Lies, analysing the psyche of a woman using sex as a tool to fix relationships.

Amidst these enticing conversations, the DoP calls for a shot. Sporting an outlandish shirt and flashy glasses, Nawaz, a spitting image of the Gaitonde I had painted in my mind, walks in. The shoot goes on smoothly. Nawaz, with his bright smile, is in the mood to talk. “It feels good to play God na?” he asks. That’s how he describes his character. “Iss aadmi ko darr nahi lagta hai, kyunki woh bachta hi chala jata hai. He is perceived as someone who is morally incorrect. But that’s just a term that society creates. Gaitonde is a hardworking opportunist, a dreamer. He treats his women well. Even a gay man finds social acceptance around him. How do we decide if he’s right or wrong?”

Siddiqui’s partner-in-crime, Kashyap, lurks around with a grin. He’s happy on his set, like a child lost in a candy store. “Vikram and I were researching [on the subject] simultaneously. When he was writing this book, I was prepping for Black Friday (2007). Our sources were same — Rakesh Maria [former commissioner of police] and Hussain Zaidi [journalist, author]. The book is a compilation of facts that were later fictionalized.”

A victim of censorship, Kashyap finds the lack of it on the digital space liberating. “There’s no censorship here. Gujarati actors are allowed to speak their language because this isn’t a Hindi series. So, this is an Indian series in the true sense. There is diversity in this country, something that we haven’t been able to depict in our films. But you’ll see it here.”

Another gory scene is being canned at another part of the set. It involves a bunch of speeding cars, a deadly action sequence, and an injured Khan with a gash on his lip. Khan is almost poetic when talking about the experience. “The novel has romance for the city. There is a method to this chaos; it carries an inherent cinematic feel. Reading the novel gave me a better insight into the role. Sartaj is rich — there is angst, anger and personal pathos. He’s vulnerable.”

It’s refreshing to watch this bunch of artistes creating something with such fervour. Chandra has a high standard set for the venture — “Narcos is our competition; that’s the best and worst thing about this series.”


Nawazuddin Siddiqui in a still from Sacred Games

Sonil Dedhia (MID-DAY; August 23, 2017)

Last month, video-streaming platform Netflix announced its first Indian original series, Sacred Games, which is the official adaptation of Vikram Chandra's eponymous 2006 novel. Based in Mumbai, it explores the underbelly of crime, terrorism and underworld. Saif Ali Khan, who plays the lead, is excited about the project. "We have a stellar cast and crew. I hope we do justice to the book," he says.

Khan plays police officer Sartaj Singh in the web series and starts shooting next week. "I've been reading the book; it's quite long, but interesting. I often meet Vikram to discuss my character. I am working on this platform for the first time. It's challenging, as we are competing with international shows. We want to make the most of the opportunity," says the actor, adding that since the medium is free from censorship, the makers will be able to tell the story well.

"I don't like too many constraints. The book is so layered and to be able to tell the story without approaching various institutions and seeking their permission feels great."

Vidhu Vinod Chopra (63), Anupama Chopra (48), Vikram Chandra (54)

An abiding interest in Mumbai brings together an acclaimed author, his journalist sister and filmmaker brother-in-law
Shreevatsa Nevatia (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 6, 2015)

Flanked by writer Vikram Chandra and filmmaker Vidhu Vinod Chopra, journalist Anupama Chopra is arguably more than just a familial bridge. Obvious affection for her brother Vikram helps make somewhat earthly his literary celebrity, while her few amused interjections render mellow her husband Vinod's many boisterous assertions. As director of this year's MAMI Festival, film critic Anupama's confessed obsession with cinema tangibly transformed into a contribution Mumbaikars could identify. Chandra speaks of their itinerant childhood — they moved from Delhi to Kolkata to Baroda — and Anupama instinctively completes his thought. "Bombay was home," they say together.

Unlike Chandra who moved here when he was in Class X, the Srinagar-born Vidhu Vinod Chopra came to the metropolis only after graduating from Pune's FTII. "I was more of a villager," the director-producer confesses. "When I first got here, I went to the sea and wondered how salty could the water possibly be. I took a big gulp. I instantly threw up." Unmistakably shaped by their experience of the city, the collective work of all three does seem to owe a certain debt to their arrival here. Chandra's gritty and masterful Sacred Games (2006), in particular, has been hailed by many as the quintessential Mumbai novel. His story of the Hindu mobster Ganesh Gaitonde and insomniac inspector Sartaj Singh appeared to make conspicuous this town's much-famed underbelly. Crime, even hardened city reporters agree, had finally, and rather definitively, been elevated to high literature.

Chandra says that in 1991, he was with his father in a car when they heard guns being fired. The Lokhandwala Complex shootout, it turned out, was unfolding nearby. "During that time, you opened the papers to read that two or three people had been shot. There were encounters. Every day, the death count resembled a cricket scorecard." A decade later, the threat from the underworld became even less abstract when Chopra received threatening calls from extortionists. After initially being "freaked out", Chandra took to discussing cricket with his brother-in-law's armed bodyguards. "It gets ordinary very quickly," admits Anupama.

For all its palpable menace, however, gang-related crime has given many a Bollywood filmmaker adequate narrative nourishment. Parinda (1989) had virtually pioneered the modern mafia movie. Chopra, though, claims his acclaimed film wasn't a by-product of lawlessness' lure. "I came from Kashmir and I had seen enough violence while growing up. Jean-Luc Godard had once said, 'You can make the film you want to make, but to make it interesting, make your lead either a cop or a gangster'. My intention was never to make something as real as Vikram's fiction." Careful research, it is evident, inspires Chandra's realism. In his essay, 'The Cult of Authenticity', the author writes about interviewing the Dagdi Chawl don Arun Gawli on the terrace of his house.

Anupama remembers she had accompanied Chandra for that meeting. "I thought I could protect him from Arun Gawli." Chandra explains his sister's courage — "She believed the power of a journalist would help."

Anupama goes on to say that much like her, Chandra, the author of Geek Sublime, was quite the nerd when growing up. "My abiding memory is Vikram with his collar in his mouth, and a book in front of him all day." Chandra remembers having signed up for science at St Xavier's College. "I lasted three weeks." Anupama breaks into a chuckle and says, "He quit, saying the chicks were damn ugly." Chandra corrects her, "It was the other way around. The art chicks were damn hot."

Credited for having worked on the story of Chopra's Mission Kashmir (2000), Chandra was also instrumental in putting together the script of the forthcoming Wazir, which the Broken Horses director and screenwriter Abhijat Joshi had imagined would be an English-language film. "We would send him these pages. He'd FedEx them back to us, saying, 'Rubbish. Bulls**t'. He once sent us our pages all torn up, with the remark, 'That explains it'. It took us four years to please him. The day he sent us one uncorrected page, Abhijat and I celebrated with wine."

Chandra, who teaches creative writing at Berkeley, blames his usual adherence to the workshop format of creation. "I must say, I am not meant to be in cinema. I am used to working on my own, and maybe then showing some pages to my wife Melanie [writer Melanie Abrams] who never pulls her punches." Anupama and her filmmaker sister Tanuja Chandra had read the early drafts of Chandra's first novel Red Earth and Pouring Rain, but the National Award-winning film writer confesses she suspends some of her critical faculties when responding to the work of both Chandra and Chopra. "I haven't read enough to be able to criticise Vikram's work, and think I am too close to the making of Vindod's films to ever be entirely objective."

Chandra's 'The Cult of Authenticity' was a response to the charge that the compulsions of a Western audience had somehow diluted his Indianness. His deconstruction of a mythical 'Real India' seems pertinent in a climate where several actors of Chopra's films are being forced to decry intolerance. "The essential question always is — what does it mean to be Indian? That just keeps reincarnating itself." Making the case for a conciliatory compromise, he adds, "If you look at Indian history, debate has always outlined public thought. But there's a difference between vivaad and samvaad. The former lays stress on winning an argument, while samvaad, by insisting on respect of one's opponent, is a more holistic search for truth." Chopra seems delighted.

"Bahut accha hai yaar. Learning hai isme. I really understood it." Anupama reaches for his hand. "Very good. Will you be calmer now?" She smiles, looks away, and adds, "Now, only if we were that lucky."