MY film certainly rubs many people the wrong way,’’ says Sudhir Mishra, between sips of tea at his tiny flat in suburban Mumbai. ‘‘You can’t make a political film without annoying a few people.’’
Jayaprakash Narayan can finally rest in peace.
While the children of JP’s ‘Total Revolution’ (Laloo Prasad Yadav, Nitish Kumar & Co.) have messed up Bihar, the leader’s dreams live on in another world.
Forty-seven-year-old Mishra’s latest venture, Hazaaron Khwaishen Aisi, is a love triangle set against the turbulent 1970s (The movie has already won acclaim at several festivals, including the 2004 Berlin International Film Festival).
The violent saga of Naxal clashes and Emergency excesses are interspersed with some robust hormonal activity. Passion plays out against Shubha Mudgal’s feisty rendition of Mirza Ghalib’s enduring line Khwaishen aisi ke har khwaish pe dam nikle. And in almost the same breath, the movie lends itself to a discourse on rape, corruption and extramarital affairs.
Through a character’s uncanny resemblance to Sanjay Gandhi, references to the notorious nasbandi (sterilisation) programme, and the role of rajnitik dalal (political pimps), Mishra’s film recalls the tumultous times that endangered Indian democracy.
An accomplished script-writer, Mishra has used a narrative style to spin a romantic tale between committed comrade Siddharth (Kay Kay Menon) and Geeta (Chitrangada Singh), an idealistic bourgeois daughter. ‘Fixer’ Vikram (Sins lead Shiney Ahuja) rounds off the storyline.
‘‘Sudhir has a rare sensibility towards socio-political issues and writes powerful scripts,’’ says Saeed Mirza, for whom Mishra co-scripted the critically acclaimed political satire, Mohan Joshi Haazir Ho, in the 1980s.
Despite his fairly long sojourn in Bollywood, Mishra’s filmography pales in comparison to his contemporaries. ‘‘In 18 years of my career (1987-2005), I’ve made just seven films,’’ he smiles. ‘‘Even a snail would have moved faster.’’
The reasons for the slow pace are not hard to find. By sticking to his ideals of making meaningful cinema, Mishra has made more enemies than friends. ‘‘The utterly illiterate children of the once powerful producers have taken over the industry,’’ he protests. ‘‘Yes, there are exceptions like Amitabh Bachchan and Shah Rukh Khan who made it without godfathers, but an outsider has a disadvantage here.’’
How did Mishra, with pure art house credentials (Dharavi (1992), Is Raat Ki Subah Nahin—a 1996 dark comedy set in Mumbai), take to directing Kareena Kapoor in Chameli, opposite Rahul Bose.
‘‘Rahul and Kareena came from different genres, and I was initially apprehensive about Kareena’s performance,’’ he admits. ‘‘We would shoot for hours in the rain and the sun. But Kareena surprised me with her dedication.’’
Growing up on a staple diet of cinema and literature (his father headed a film society, while an uncle had the biggest library in Lucknow), Mishra cherishes his memories of that literary childhood.
‘‘If Urdu poet Majaz (Javed Akhtar’s uncle) visited my house, Hindi giant Nirala also came. I imbibed different influences. A reason why I went to Ghalib while choosing my film’s title.’’
As we leave the auteur, one wonders if that iconic Cuban revolutionary, Che Guevara, who’s staring out from a banner in Mishra’s drawing room, still inspires him. ‘‘He had a dream, and every dream which talks of a better future inspires me,’’ he says.JP would have approved.