MS Sathyu turns 90: If you keep yourself mentally alive, you can live longer
Radhika Bhirani
rbhirani@gmail.com
"Badi garm hava hai... jo ukhda nahin toh sookh jayega.”
The winds of change and time have neither withered MS Sathyu's spirit, nor the relevance, alas, of his iconic 1973 film Garm Hava.
"I'm fine despite the deadly virus in the air," Sathyu, who turns 90 on July 6, tells me from his Bengaluru home, quipping that lockdown, has for one, "disciplined" him.
Celebrations? "No, not this year, because of the virus. Usually friends just drop in, and we have a little dinner and drinks... If things are better, I may celebrate next year," says the theatre and filmmaking veteran.
An early riser, Sathyu keeps himself occupied by watching some old classics and catching up on some new global cinema on a computer. One Tunisian film, A Son, has especially caught his fancy.
"I'm not going out because I don't want to mix with the crowd around. It's not very safe," adds the Padma Shri honoree, worried about how India will tackle and control the virus with its burgeoning population.
Health, he believes, as cliched as it may be, is wealth. And not thinking about age and ageing has been one way for him to, well, age gracefully.
"I never think about age... Some people just resist a long retirement, and I don't know what it has to do with," Sathyu says, and asserts, "It all depends on how strong you are, both physically and mentally. If you keep yourself mentally alive, you can live longer. As you grow older, all your faculties become less and less. That shouldn't bother you. But people get worried about it," says Sathyu.
What about him? He wants to make a film!
"But nobody is there to finance it (laughs)... What to do?" he asks, noting that while the market has become more conducive to small budget films today, and digital technology has made filmmaking easier, it has also become an affair more expensive than the days of the analog system.
"I made Garm Hava, with release prints and everything, within Rs 12-15 lakh that time. Today, to bring out a film, is not possible to do it with that kind of money. You will have to work in crores. Marketing is so difficult. Multiplexes have taken over the entire system," adds Sathyu, then sinking into nostalgia.
Recounting how 50 paise or 1 rupee is all it took to enter a theatre, he breaks into a hearty laughter thinking about the 4 anna that a cup of coffee used to cost in his times. "Now who wants to pay a hundred rupees," he asks.
"That age is finished, gone. It will never return. In some ways, we were lucky at that time. We could see good films for very little money," he sighs.
Keeping the economics aside, he is happy that even some of the "mainstream cinema" has "something to say".
"It's not all that inane... Some young directors have come up with interesting, experimental films and they are doing films with non-actors," comments Sathyu, who used to frequent film festivals until before the lockdown.
As a filmmaker, Sathyu had weathered financial constraints and political resistance in the journey to make Garm Hava, a poignant telling about the post-Partition plight of Muslims in India, few of the rare Muslim socials of the time.
Its title has a significant metaphorical reference.
In one scene, when Salim Mirza, an effortless portrayal by the late Balraj Sahni, tells a tonga driver, “Kaise hare bhare drakht kat rahe hain iss hawa mein", the tonga driver responds bluntly, "Badi garm hava hai...jo ukhda nahin toh sookh jayega (In these scorching winds, those who won’t fall, will wither)."
It was interesting how when discussions and protests from minorities over the Citizen Amendment Act and National Registrar of Citizens were at their peak, cinema enthusiasts joined the jots about the continued topicality of the Agra-set Garm Hava four decades on since its release.
Sathyu doesn't deny it.
"Some films, whether you intend or don't intend, become relevant for ages. There are very few films in the world which have this kind of impact. When one makes a film, one doesn't intend to make such a thing which becomes a classic, but one has to be honest in making whatever you are making, that's all," he says.
The issue that the film tackled -- about the disintegration of an Indian Muslim family, and the spirit of a man unwilling to let go of his 'home' in the midst of a Partition -- has not changed.
"In fact, it has become worse. I don't think any improvement has taken place. I am not being cynical, but I don't see any optimism at all. In the beginning, one feared the Muslim fundamentalism. Today there is so much Hindu fundamentalism," says Sathyu.
"Any Tom, Dick and Harry on the street can object to anything he or she wants to, and that is being encouraged," he adds.
The world of cinema also, he feels, is somewhere complying with the narrative, through propaganda films.
"It is because they get encouragement and finance to make such films. It's a deliberate act," says the filmmaker, whose works, including Kannada titles such as Kanneshwara Rama and Bara, have reflected how socio-political events impact ordinary lives.
Today, in a way, the pandemic has been the 'garm hava' in the lives of the underprivileged. They have had to leave their lives in cities and return to the villages.
But that, Sathyu says, is an economic issue.
"It has nothing to do with 'It is my homeland' and things like that. They may feel they may be safer in their homeland, but after a few days when they see that there are no jobs in their homelands, they will return to different states because that's where the jobs will be available. This migration, this going back to homeland, is only due to fear, due to starvation. That cannot last for long. It's only a passing phase."
From this point, how does the future look to him?
"We have to change our attitude to an extent. The demands are different today, so we have to change. We have to accept the present system. There is no marching backwards. We have to march forward only, with a different thought process," says the patron of Indian People's Theatre Association.
And while he leads a satisfied life himself, a part of his heart desires that a restored version of Garm Hava gets the traction it deserves.
The restored version, which released briefly in 2014, was funded by Pune-based property developer RD Deshpanday, and reportedly cost over Rs 1 crore.
"The person who got it restored, is not a film person. He's a builder. So he has not been interested in showing it really. The restored version is much better technically, and the sound is much better. But unfortunately it is not in the circuit. Only a pirated version is online," rues the filmmaker who has the rights to the original film, which continues to be shown across film festivals around the world.
My own maiden tryst with Sathyu happened at the now defunct Abu Dhabi Film Festival in 2013, where the film was shown to a packed audience. I remember Sathyu sharing exciting nuggets like how Garm Hava was shot with one lens, in one go and on a "beggar's budget". In another chat, following the death of Farooq Sheikh -- the endearing and enigmatic actor whom Sathyu gave his first break with the film -- the director shared that it was after 15 years that he had paid Sheikh an amount of Rs 750 for his role as Sahni's youngest son.
Sathyu is not interested in fighting a legal battle for the restored version. For one, it is very expensive, and he also doesn't find it "worth it".
"He spent money on the restoration. I would like him to get his money back. But he is not in favour, and feels it is just by the way. And he doesn't even give me the restored film on a hard drive. If I get the hard drive, at least I can give it to a proper channel. But that's not happening. You see... the film was made over 40 years ago. People remember it today and they get an opportunity to see it, that's good enough. It has done much more than what one intended. So one should be just satisfied."
The winds of change and time have neither withered MS Sathyu's spirit, nor the relevance, alas, of his iconic 1973 film Garm Hava.
"I'm fine despite the deadly virus in the air," Sathyu, who turns 90 on July 6, tells me from his Bengaluru home, quipping that lockdown, has for one, "disciplined" him.
Celebrations? "No, not this year, because of the virus. Usually friends just drop in, and we have a little dinner and drinks... If things are better, I may celebrate next year," says the theatre and filmmaking veteran.
An early riser, Sathyu keeps himself occupied by watching some old classics and catching up on some new global cinema on a computer. One Tunisian film, A Son, has especially caught his fancy.
"I'm not going out because I don't want to mix with the crowd around. It's not very safe," adds the Padma Shri honoree, worried about how India will tackle and control the virus with its burgeoning population.
Health, he believes, as cliched as it may be, is wealth. And not thinking about age and ageing has been one way for him to, well, age gracefully.
"I never think about age... Some people just resist a long retirement, and I don't know what it has to do with," Sathyu says, and asserts, "It all depends on how strong you are, both physically and mentally. If you keep yourself mentally alive, you can live longer. As you grow older, all your faculties become less and less. That shouldn't bother you. But people get worried about it," says Sathyu.
What about him? He wants to make a film!
"But nobody is there to finance it (laughs)... What to do?" he asks, noting that while the market has become more conducive to small budget films today, and digital technology has made filmmaking easier, it has also become an affair more expensive than the days of the analog system.
"I made Garm Hava, with release prints and everything, within Rs 12-15 lakh that time. Today, to bring out a film, is not possible to do it with that kind of money. You will have to work in crores. Marketing is so difficult. Multiplexes have taken over the entire system," adds Sathyu, then sinking into nostalgia.
Recounting how 50 paise or 1 rupee is all it took to enter a theatre, he breaks into a hearty laughter thinking about the 4 anna that a cup of coffee used to cost in his times. "Now who wants to pay a hundred rupees," he asks.
"That age is finished, gone. It will never return. In some ways, we were lucky at that time. We could see good films for very little money," he sighs.
Keeping the economics aside, he is happy that even some of the "mainstream cinema" has "something to say".
"It's not all that inane... Some young directors have come up with interesting, experimental films and they are doing films with non-actors," comments Sathyu, who used to frequent film festivals until before the lockdown.
As a filmmaker, Sathyu had weathered financial constraints and political resistance in the journey to make Garm Hava, a poignant telling about the post-Partition plight of Muslims in India, few of the rare Muslim socials of the time.
Its title has a significant metaphorical reference.
In one scene, when Salim Mirza, an effortless portrayal by the late Balraj Sahni, tells a tonga driver, “Kaise hare bhare drakht kat rahe hain iss hawa mein", the tonga driver responds bluntly, "Badi garm hava hai...jo ukhda nahin toh sookh jayega (In these scorching winds, those who won’t fall, will wither)."
It was interesting how when discussions and protests from minorities over the Citizen Amendment Act and National Registrar of Citizens were at their peak, cinema enthusiasts joined the jots about the continued topicality of the Agra-set Garm Hava four decades on since its release.
Sathyu doesn't deny it.
"Some films, whether you intend or don't intend, become relevant for ages. There are very few films in the world which have this kind of impact. When one makes a film, one doesn't intend to make such a thing which becomes a classic, but one has to be honest in making whatever you are making, that's all," he says.
The issue that the film tackled -- about the disintegration of an Indian Muslim family, and the spirit of a man unwilling to let go of his 'home' in the midst of a Partition -- has not changed.
"In fact, it has become worse. I don't think any improvement has taken place. I am not being cynical, but I don't see any optimism at all. In the beginning, one feared the Muslim fundamentalism. Today there is so much Hindu fundamentalism," says Sathyu.
The filmmaker comes from Mysore. To him, the Partition was not of the country.
"The country was not partitioned. In the beginning, Bengal was partitioned, and later Punjab was partitioned. It was not the entire country. I don't see why Partition has to be considered as India's Partition. I don't see it as India's Partition," stresses the director, who feels Hindu fundamentalism has become "more pronounced" with time.
"Any Tom, Dick and Harry on the street can object to anything he or she wants to, and that is being encouraged," he adds.
The world of cinema also, he feels, is somewhere complying with the narrative, through propaganda films.
"It is because they get encouragement and finance to make such films. It's a deliberate act," says the filmmaker, whose works, including Kannada titles such as Kanneshwara Rama and Bara, have reflected how socio-political events impact ordinary lives.
Today, in a way, the pandemic has been the 'garm hava' in the lives of the underprivileged. They have had to leave their lives in cities and return to the villages.
But that, Sathyu says, is an economic issue.
"It has nothing to do with 'It is my homeland' and things like that. They may feel they may be safer in their homeland, but after a few days when they see that there are no jobs in their homelands, they will return to different states because that's where the jobs will be available. This migration, this going back to homeland, is only due to fear, due to starvation. That cannot last for long. It's only a passing phase."
From this point, how does the future look to him?
"We have to change our attitude to an extent. The demands are different today, so we have to change. We have to accept the present system. There is no marching backwards. We have to march forward only, with a different thought process," says the patron of Indian People's Theatre Association.
And while he leads a satisfied life himself, a part of his heart desires that a restored version of Garm Hava gets the traction it deserves.
The restored version, which released briefly in 2014, was funded by Pune-based property developer RD Deshpanday, and reportedly cost over Rs 1 crore.
"The person who got it restored, is not a film person. He's a builder. So he has not been interested in showing it really. The restored version is much better technically, and the sound is much better. But unfortunately it is not in the circuit. Only a pirated version is online," rues the filmmaker who has the rights to the original film, which continues to be shown across film festivals around the world.
My own maiden tryst with Sathyu happened at the now defunct Abu Dhabi Film Festival in 2013, where the film was shown to a packed audience. I remember Sathyu sharing exciting nuggets like how Garm Hava was shot with one lens, in one go and on a "beggar's budget". In another chat, following the death of Farooq Sheikh -- the endearing and enigmatic actor whom Sathyu gave his first break with the film -- the director shared that it was after 15 years that he had paid Sheikh an amount of Rs 750 for his role as Sahni's youngest son.
Sathyu is not interested in fighting a legal battle for the restored version. For one, it is very expensive, and he also doesn't find it "worth it".
"He spent money on the restoration. I would like him to get his money back. But he is not in favour, and feels it is just by the way. And he doesn't even give me the restored film on a hard drive. If I get the hard drive, at least I can give it to a proper channel. But that's not happening. You see... the film was made over 40 years ago. People remember it today and they get an opportunity to see it, that's good enough. It has done much more than what one intended. So one should be just satisfied."
Comments
Post a Comment