E-Paper
Demystifying Vidhu Vinod Chopra
He is touted as ‘temperamental’, ‘brash’ and ‘autocratic’, ‘arrogant'. But few dispute the fact that he is talented and dares to go beyond the boundaries of conventional Bollywood. Roshmila Bhattacharya tells more.
His Khamosh still sends shivers down my spine. When I saw it, I had no idea that one day, as a journalist, I would get to meet the filmmaker, who ever since he bounded out of the FTII, had been picking up tags in plenty, not all of them complimentary. ‘Temperamental’, ‘brash’, ‘autocratic’, ‘arrogant’… These are just some of them. But few dispute the fact that he is talented and dares to go beyond the boundaries of conventional Bollywood.
Khamosh (1985) came and went in silence. Few saw this murder mystery, even fewer saw Murder At Mockey Hill (1977), his student film that won the National Award for Best Short Experimental Film, or Sazaa-e-Maut (1981), his first feasture shot in black-and-white. But Parinda (1989) won him plenty of accolades and awards. And four years later, when 1942-A Love Story entered the theatres, Vidhu Vinod Chopra was a household name.
I arrived in Film City’s Dalhouse with a carload of journos to cover the shoot of this period prem kahani. I was instantly transported to the pre-independence era. Thank God, I told myself, the goras in uniform weren’t for real and one of the slogan-shouting revolutionaries around me wouldn’t be dangling from the end of the rope by sundown.
Continental not canteen
I strolled around in flashback mode. Suddenly, I was shaken out of my reverie by a production hand inviting me for a bite. The set menu of too-hard jeera rice, watery daal, oily curries and doughty dessert held little appeal. Till I discovered that lunch on VC’s set was continental fare and didn’t arrive from the studio canteen.
Even his leading lady, Manisha Koirala, ethereally beautiful in a khadi sari, who had reportedly been put on a strict diet, spooned up the clear soup and bit into the succulent roast chicken.
A month ago, I was at his Santa Cruz office that is more home than workplace. And a little past 1 pm, everyone gathered downstairs for a meal that came complete with bottled mineral water on ice. I was told that it wasn’t just lunch, VC served breakfast, tea and dinner too when regular office hours stretched into the night during the making of a film. And the khana is healthy and home-jaisa. No wonder, even Aamir Khan was suddenly in a hurry to cut short our interview. He’s different, that’s for sure! I remember just before the release of Kareeb (1998), I arrived at his office that was in Bandra those days, for a tête-à-tête. After about 15 minutes, VC who lived a floor above, called to tell me that he wasn’t feeling well and wondered if we could chat the following day at Empire studio .
‘Yes, I lied’
The thought of returning to my Navi Mumbai home empty-handed, then, trudging to Andheri 24 hours later, was depressing. And the feeling must have laced the answer I gave him. There was a moment’s pause, then, VC asked me to hang on for a while. “I’ll take a quick shower, may be it’ll make me feel better,” I was told, before he rang off. I didn’t hold out much hope but 15 minutes later, I was being ushered into his living room upstairs.
His hair was tousled, but from oil, not water. His smile was too sunny for someone who was feeling under the weather. I didn’t have to confront him, he confessed straightaway that he had been fibbing earlier.
“It’s my child’s birthday and I have a screening of my film in a couple of hours. I wanted to spend some time with the family alone. That was why I was trying to fob you off. But my baby overheard and asked me why I was lying. I promised that I’d call you upstairs and tell you the truth to prevent being branded a liar for life,” he explained with a sheepish smile. My photographer didn’t get his pictures because VC, dishevelled and still shower-less, was not looking his best. But I got a no-holds-barred interview, one of my best. In between, we were joined by wife Anupama, who arrived with a huge birthday cake. He hadn’t been lying about that!
Game, set, match
A few weeks ago, I was at Hotel Grand Maratha, at the launch of 3 Idiots’ Alternate Game Reality. The ballroom was crowded with irate reporters who had come expecting bites from Aamir Khan only to find him missing and VC trying to send them off to Sumeet Studio and Sachin Tendulkar on what seemed like a wild goose chase.
The producer of the film
insisted that he himself had had no idea that his star was going to pull the disappearing act. “I was as mad to learn that Aamir wasn’t coming,” asserted VC, trying hard to convince the sceptical bunch to play his game. “I guess he didn’t let me into his secret because I’m too straightforward and honest. Mere pet mein kuch baat rehti nahin, I would have given the game away.”
Not many believed him, even I didn’t. But his words reminded me of the Kareeb incident. I have to admit that VC is honest even about a lie. Jhoot bole, bachcha daante!
