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Magazine
State of the arts
ANIL DHARKER
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How much better it would be if the Government followed the western model of funding an institution which is entirely autonomous, has its own artistic and management teams, works out its own budget and owes nothing to the Government, except gratitude, of course.
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THE last month of the year is upon us, there's a nip in the air and a spring in our step and here in Mumbai there are two — yes, two — festivals around us.
The first is the Prithvi Theatre festival, called "Postcards from Prithvi" this year ("Cell-call from Prithvi" would have been more appropriate, since Orange, the mobile service provider, is sponsoring it). The second is the International Film Festival, run by Mumbai Academy of Moving Images (MAMI). To go to Prithvi theatre or to the Chavan Auditorium, the two hubs of the two festivals, is an exhilarating experience: there are crowds of young people everywhere, dotted with a few wise (or at least white) beards, everyone seemingly in a state of animated excitement, discussing the day's schedule and what's good tomorrow. You notice the feeling of bonhomie and the spirit of camaraderie when people with the same interests suddenly get an opportunity to share a joyous occasion with each other. Am I overstating the case? I don't think so: if you'd been there you too would have felt the same.
Apart from the fact that they take place at all, the amazing thing is that both festivals are private enterprises, with little or no help from the Government. In a country where running to our mai-baap is such an ingrained habit, what is astonishing is that private enterprise is running two events which are guaranteed to lose money. Sanjna Kapoor who is the moving spirit behind Prithvi has said, "You have to be crazy to run a theatre festival" and it takes the same madness to run a film festival.
So why do they do it? It may be because it's in your blood. In the case of Sanjna it certainly is. Jennifer Kendal came from a theatre family (the Kendals of Shakespereana) and Shashi Kapoor's father was Prithviraj Kapoor, the founder of the original Prithvi Theatre, a full-time company which operated from Mumbai. When Shashi became a successful film star, he could have put his money into flashy cars, large apartments or racehorses. Instead, he chose to build a theatre called Prithvi, which is the real centre of the theatre movement in the city.
Heredity, of course, is only one reason. The other, more general reason, is simply passion. How do you explain passion? You don't. It drives people to take up any hack work they can get: actors to television or bit parts in films, directors to TV soaps, writers to jingles. This helps them earn the wherewithal to keep body and soul together so they can, the rest of the time, do what they really want to do.
Nothing wrong with that you will say. Artists, writers, musicians, actors, playwrights the world over have always led this dual life, and it is the struggle for survival which results in the greatest art.
But take a look at the three most popular facets of media and see what's happening to them in our country and the picture no longer looks rosy.
Cinema here is an entirely commercial exercise: you make something that sells, you get to make your next movie. In television, except in news and current affairs, there is not one, not one, worthwhile Indian-made programme. On the newly-liberated FM radio, all you get is Indipop and remixes. In theatre, the only professional theatre (i.e. which can pay its actors, director and the rest of the company), put out sexual comedies. As a country, is that what we want our popular culture to be? All over the world, enlightened countries give financial support not only to the "esoteric" arts like dance, music and literature, but also to the popular art forms. To take just one example, Britain's most famous artistic institutions like the National Theatre, the British Film Institute and the National Film Theatre, the Royal Opera, the National Gallery, the Tate and British Museum all flourish because of very generous grants from the government. The film industry gets large tax-breaks to make British films and television and radio have the BBC which gets a large part of its income from the licence fee collected from radio and television sets.
We do have our museums and national art galleries. But even here, Mumbai got its National Gallery of Modern Art only a couple of years ago, and it still doesn't have its own permanent collection. We also have the FTII and the National School of Drama which do sterling work (the former when it's not on strike). The NFDC played a small, but significant role, in cinema, but that now seems in the past.
None of this is enough. Not remotely enough. The Government will trot out the usual excuse of shortage of funds, but oddly enough, this shortage only seems to hit health, education and culture. In short, every field which is an investment in the future.
Apart from the quantity of funds allocated to culture, there is a problem in the way these funds are disbursed and the way arts institutions are run: the Government doesn't want to just give money; it wants to own the institution. Prasar Bharati is the prime example of this.
How much better it would be if the Government followed the British model of funding an institution which is entirely autonomous, has its own artistic and management teams, works out its own budget and owes nothing to the Government (except gratitude, of course).
In such a scenario, Prithvi and MAMI would be funded by the Government, not just for annual festivals, but for all-year round activity. And the Prithvi-MAMI model would then be replicated all over the country.
It's possible, eminently possible. It's desirable, even more eminently desirable.
Anil Dharker is a noted journalist, media critic and writer.
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