Since coming to Delhi I have realised the virtues of becoming a hermit. It is a question of survival. In a city where craters on the roads appear and disappear with alarming alacrity and little children and cows are routinely electrocuted thanks to the live electric wires which lie hidden beneath the swelling, accumulating rain water, it is safer to find home pursuits. And I have found the perfect one. As a member of the preview committee of the International Film Festival of India (IFFI) — it is my happy duty to watch five films a day and I cannot think of a better way to escape the dangers lurking on Delhi roads. Almost everyone I know has a well-defined strategy to combat their personal Commonwealth Games (CWG) moment and becoming a member of the preview committee may have just saved my life!
I admit I am going slightly cross-eyed in the process of staring at the screen and reading subtitles from a distance of eight feet — but there is a superlative passion behind the entire effort. I always used to wonder what kind of insane determination it took to become a Booker prize judge, reading perhaps 40 books in a few months. Don’t you often wonder whether the judges actually read — or just skip through the pages hoping no one will catch them out? Now that I am actually involved, along with other committee members, in grading various films for IFFI, I must admit that nothing is further from the truth. After a while, in fact, the challenge is to actually stop watching films, because I want to just go on and on on… And that is the only tough bit. Most of the films, in fact, have been quite interesting, and like a junkie out to get a fix, I have pursued them to the end.
Everyday we receive a fresh bunch of at least five films, which I now watch at home. But other, more courageous, members of the preview committee brave the CWG crisis, plod through rubble, ankle-deep slush and the eager jaws of bulldozers to reach the Siri Fort auditorium where the screening takes place every day. (By the way, does anyone know why exactly the Siri Fort auditorium is being given a so-called “face lift” for the Commonwealth Games? As far as I know the place can only accommodate cinema, opera and perhaps the occasional ballet. I am also reliably told it is too small for the marathon and too large for wrestling. But perhaps if the Jawaharlal Nehru stadium starts leaking again, Suresh Kalmadi’s secret plan may be to shift everyone to the Siri Fort auditorium. He could then screen films of the Chinese Olympics, interspersed with Indian commentators and thus convince the worldwide audience that the CWG have been a grand success! Mr Kalmadi is a very capable man — i.e., he is capable of anything! Can there be any other reason why the Siri Fort auditorium, a perfectly harmless structure, is being pulled apart and dug up, less than one month before the CWG? If anyone has any answers please send them to Mr Kalmadi, who may need them, quite urgently.)
Anyway, more seriously, my enforced ho­me-stay has been a genuinely marvellous way of catching up with the trends in world cinema. Particularly enjoyable have been the films from the East European countries, especially from Hu­ngary, Poland and Ro­­mania, all of which had strong story lines, great acting and, in a few cases, amazing cinematography. I would particularly recommend Vortex (a Lithuanian fi­lm!), and Seven Days in Heaven (a quirky film laced with dark humour from Taiwan). Unsurprisingly, perhaps, many of the films spoke about conflict in different ways — sometimes as grim tragedy, and sometimes with gentle irony, but, overall, the films from these smaller nations are much more interesting than the bland brush of both Hollywood and Bollywood blockbusters. It is also intriguing that many of them — such as the Hungarian Poligamy — combine mass appeal with clever scripting, and yet have not been able to get a universal release or acclaim. Therefore start booking your tickets for IFFI 2010 — I can guarantee you will get a fresh and interesting crop of cinema.
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Meanwhile, instead of ranting against the government over the gross mishandling of the Kashmir situation, I decided to go for an art exhibition by Nilima Sheikh — Each Night put Kashmir in Your Dreams. Her nine delicately painted scrolls encompass Kashmir’s “contradictory and multicultural histories”. But by combining art and text (incorporating the poetry and prose of those who have written about Kashmir), Sheikh has created paintings which directly speak to you. The title itself is taken from the poetry of Agha Shahid Ali, the talented and well-known Kashmiri writer who was also our family friend. The magical, luminous landscapes of Sheikh, hanging majestically from the ceiling, flowed almost like the river Jhelum, reminding me strongly of the secure, beautiful Kashmir of my teenage years. I remembered staying in a log hut in mountainous Gulmarg and walking with other friends at night, singing songs under a sky ablaze with stars so close you could touch them. I remembered Pahalgam and skidding down the hillside to sit peacefully by the riverside watching the water swirl by. I remembered picking the fresh flowers and juicy strawberries which sprang up overnight in our back garden in Srinagar. I remembered the Dal Lake and the fresh pine smell of the houseboats mingling with the wood-fire smoke… Sheikh’s paintings were a poignant reminder of the once-upon-a-time Kashmir that was so calm and mystical. I could not bear to think what Agha Shahid Ali would have said of Kashmir today, were he still alive to see it.
Or, as Sheikh quotes from him, would he have said:
“Not all, only a few return from dust, disguised as roses.
What hopes the earth forever covers, what faces?”
(After Ghalib, Agha Shahid Ali)

n The writer can be contacted at kishwardesai@yahoo.com