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Friday, July 13, 2001

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As dainty as the butterfly

TIME: LATE June noon; the sun plays hide-n-seek with a teasing drizzle.

Place: Technician 2, an old, tree-shaded studio complex in Prince Anwar Shah Road, Kolkata.

Action: The last day's shooting for ``Titli'', directed by Rituparno Ghosh, starring Aparna Sen and Konkana Sen, paired for the first time as mother and daughter (which they are in life).

Theatre director Sohag Sen and I walk into the scene to find the crew busy with lunch cartons. Declining hospitable offers of biriyani we settle down in the verandah with cokes. Soon Rituparno Ghosh joins us for a chat.

``No, the name ``Titli'' (butterfly) has no symbolic significance, though it is the name of both the film and main character,'' he says. ``The story is about a mother and daughter driving from Darjeeling to Bagdogra, who happen to give a lift to a film star (Mithun Chakraborty) whom they find stranded along the way. This event completely changes their lives. No, no, don't ask me anymore, I don't want to say too much at this point.'' The film is scheduled for a puja release.

So we talk about one of his earlier films, ``Dahan'' which I had seen only recently. I noted his unsentimental tenderness with his women protagonists, and a pragmatic approach to their disillusionments.

Our discussion is interrupted by a TV crew which wants to shoot the ``shoot'' for a cable channel, hungry for soundbytes. A car rumbles in and we see Aparna Sen parking it in the shade. Mother and daughter are ready for action, needing only last minute touching up for the camera. (Disappointingly, Aparna is wearing a kaftan, not one of the exquisite handloom cottons we look for in a Rituparno film).

``How does it feel to work with Mom? Does she boss you as all mothers do?'' I ask Konkana. Before she can reply a friend quips, ``It's the other way around. Today's kids boss their Moms.'' Konkana grins goodnaturedly.

Konkana has acted with her mother once long ago - but as a little boy. ``It just happened,'' Aparna explains. ``Two boys were chosen, but one turned baulky and the other was found unsuitable. Someone suggested why not try Konkana? And that's how I brought my four-year old child to the sets. Camera shy? Not at all. Konkana took to acting as if it was the most natural thing to do. In fact she added her own variations to the words and expression!'' With all the fondness of the real mother, Aparna proceeds to show us just how the child did it. The stills of ``Titli'' prove that Sohag was not exaggerating when she said that the camera loved Konkana. There is something vivid here, besides the effervescence of youth.

Lingering outside the studio entrance, watching the skies swing from smiles to tears, I find Aparna's husband Kalyan Ray on a garden seat. He teaches English in a New Jersey college, enjoys looking at its ``interpenetrative'' manifestations (translations to you and me).

He talks about the colonial mindset in unexpected sources past and present, quoting from Dickens to Eliot and Pound. ``Do you know how many well known British writers raised money to support General O'Dwyer (of Jallianwalabagh infamy) after his return to England?'' he asks.

We switch to cricket, Ray telling me that the present captain of Eton is an Indian boy (``Sanjay something...Things have changed on the playing fields of Eton''); as had been the former Test skipper Nasser Hussain. (``Ah, Madras boy,'' I tell him happily).

Suddenly waking up to why I am there, I hurry in to see that shooting has commenced in the girl's ``bedroom''. It is the all too familiar scene of the mother walking in with daughter on the phone. The set reveals the eye for detail we expect in a Rituparno Ghosh film, from pictures of butterflies on the wall, beautifully etched leather file on desk, handloom cushions on bed to ethnic modas...The greeting cards are from the film-maker's personal mail...I note the subdued lighting, intimate, warm...

Indian cinema gloats on multi-stars and mega-sets, but there is still some space for the quieter creativity of the determined auteur.

As I exit with silent step and discreet wave from the last day's shooting of ``Titli'', thinking of the odds against such ventures, I ask myself - for how long?

GOWRI RAMNARAYAN

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