(Something I wrote last week. Thought I'd post it on the ACJ blog because I know we have some filmmakers here -- Ram)
If you have two weekends free, you can sign up for a filmmaking course. I did, and our batch of 22 students passed out on Sunday.
Of course no art can be learnt in two weekends. But what courses such as this one do is give you an introduction that you can build on. They also put you in touch with people with similar interests.
This particular course, which costs Rs 3,500, is favoured by software engineers, but our batch had a diverse mix of college students, animators, graphic designers, techies, sales and real estate executives, a human resource consultant, and a couple of NGO activists.
The course is conducted by ACTor Productions every couple of months. Siddharth, who has studied at Rajeev Menon's cinematography institute in Chennai, and Rabi Kisku, who has produced and directed a digital feature film, gave lectures. Both have an IIT background. They have now moved to full time filmmaking.
The boyish faculty was enthusiastic, and so were the students. Siddharth spoke about lighting and camera angles, and quoted movie actress Suhasini who said cinematographers are often the smartest people on the sets. Rabi taught a couple of modules on direction and editing.
After two days of lectures, they divided our class into four groups. Each of us had to produce a three-minute film. After discussing a couple of other story ideas, our team decided to go with a song I had attempted to write and record. Our choice was a music video.
Baare sakhi, hoova kadiyuva (Come beloved, let's steal flowers!) had romantic nature images, and I suggested we should shoot it on a couple working in a city office. It would be ironic, I thought, to have them dream of stealing flowers, when in reality they would have to pay through their nose at a florist to get any. Similarly, they could sing grandly about crossing the seas when they couldn't even cross a puddle or a busy road.
We went and shot our film at a village called Raogodlu on Kanakapura Road. Inside Bangalore, we got some crowd scenes at Basavangudi and Jayanagar.
We learnt several things in the course of the shoot. The first was that an incompetent technician could undo everyone else's good work.
When our team played back the footage, it looked bleached and jerky. It turned out the camera guy assigned to us only knew how to shoot wedding videos.
That problem was solved when the organisers offered us a camera and a different cameraman for a reshoot. We drove up to the picturesque village a second time, and shot the film with a slightly different crew.
The lesson we learnt here was that we had to employ the same cast and get them to wear the same costumes if we wanted to mix and match footage from two shoots.
And we had to be wary of pretty frames. We tend to be impressed with almost everything we see through the lens, and end up capturing scenes that do little to tell our story. In the process, we lose precious time (and raw stock, if working with celluloid).
The most important lesson was that we had to do rigorous paperwork before we set out. On both days that we went to an outdoor location, we gave in to the temptation of composing and shooting scenes on the spot, forgetting altogether that we needed specific images to make our story go forward. Spontaneity helps, but if it isn't accompanied by planning, it can ruin a film.
And when we tell a story, we need our actors to do scenes that don't always show them in a flattering light. If everything turns out cheerful and pleasant, we end up creating something that either looks like an ad, or is too trite to hold anyone’s interest.
We also have to train ourselves to think in images and avoid the obvious. Matching our shots with the words makes the film hopelessly literal. (If the song talks of a horse, we don’t really need to show a horse on screen).
The student films were shown and critiqued on the last day. I liked the one about a day in the life of a telemarketer. Our music video wasn't disliked, but the irony hadn't come across sharply enough.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
JYOTIRMOY SANYAL - A FLASH BACK
By D P SATISH
It may sound strange. I am writing something (obituary?) about Jyoti Sanyal, four months after his death. I didn't know that his full name was Jyotirmoy Sanyal till recently. Dada (Diptosh Majumdar), the most affectionate person in my channel CNN IBN told me that his name was Jyotirmoy Sanyal. Me and dada were discussing something else and I asked him about ' Statesman '. Dada started his career with ' Statesman ' during its glory days. I mentioned Sanyal's name and dada's eyes lit up. He said ' Jyotirmoy Sanyal was already a news editor, when i joined as a cub reporter in early 80 s. We used to fight a lot. For him, journalism was all about desk. He always used to wear dhoti and kurta. He was a very difficult man. But, good at heart '.
****************************************************************************************** Sometime in mid 2001, I got a call from Prof. Sanyal. I had finished my ACJ course two years before that. But, i was still in touch with him. He wanted me to join him for dinner. He used to live alone in a rented house on Coles road in Contonment area of Bangalore. I reached his house exactly at 7-30 PM. He was waiting for me. I was under the impression that he would take me out for dinner as there was nobody at his house to prepare food. Sanyal himself had prepared a pure vegetarian dinner for me. It was a great surprise and a touching moment. We had a long talk after dinner. He was very happy that i was doing well in journalism. He came down with me to the main road to get me an auto to return home in the night. He even paid my auto fare in advance! It was Sanyal. He was a very warm person with a kind heart. He truly loved his students. He was very fond of me from the very beginning. Sanyal was new to Bangalore, when he landed there in 1997. He knew no Kannada. He used to take me everywhere to help him.
**********************************************************************************************
Once, he took me to Max Muller Bhawan (it was on Lavelle road) to meet somebody. I was very young and shy. I waited near the reception, when he was busy talking inside.
He came out after 30 minutes. He came to know that somebody in the Max Muller Bhawan had stopped me there. He flew into a rage and started to shout at the people for not treating one of his favourite students properly. He even refused to have Tea with them and profusely apologised with me, even though it was not his mistake. He took me to the nearest Airlines Hotel for a sumptuous lunch. He even shot off a strongly worded letter to Max Muller Bhawan head in Germany. Sanyal never tolerated any kind of injustice and hierarchy. He was always informal and approachable.
***********************************************************************************************
One day we went to a Carnatic and Hindustani jugalbandi at Ravindra Kalakshetra in Bangalore. We were seated in the front row. Carnatic musician Rajkumar Bharti and Hindustani vocalist Parameshwara Hegde started aalaap. It continued for nearly 30 minutes. Somehow Sanyal didn't like that concert and ordered me to leave. We stopped an auto near Canara Bank head office. He demanded Rs. 30 to drop us back at the Indian Express. Sanyal protested like a true comrade. We tried at least 10-15 autos. All demanded the same fare. I told him that it was okay. But he was not ready to pay even a single paisa extra. He asked me to follow him and we walked back to Indian Express! He was not at all stingy. He was very generous and extremely helpful. But he never tolerated cheating, over charging etc........ He always used to protest in the true Gandhian ways.
***************************************************************************************************
I came to Delhi in late 2001. Sanyal was happy that I was moving to New Delhi in search of better prospects. He had given me a dozen contact numbers in New Delhi. He used to call me almost every week know about my progress in an alien city. He once sent me a cap asking me wear it in the hot summer of Delhi. It was really a touching gesture.
****************************************************************************************************
When his finest book on English writing ' Indlish ' was released, he gave me a call from Calcutta. He wanted me to translate some Kannada reviews for him. He wanted CNN IBN to do a story on his ' Clear English movement '. My boss Rajdeep Sardesai readily agreed and asked me to assign it to one of our Calcutta correspondents. The correspondent who was supposed to do that story was a very very lazy person like most Calcuttans. She took nearly 3 months to do that! Sadly, that story never went on air.
*******************************************************************************************************
I was in Calcutta in February 2006. I couldn't meet Sanyal as his wife was admitted to a hospital and he was busy taking care of her. I didn't call him because i didn't want to disturb him. Who knew that lean, mercurial and healthy Sanyal would die of cardiac arrest in his early 60s? I never got a chance to meet him after that. I missed my last chance in 2006. Before I came to Delhi in the end of 2001, I had gone to see him. It was our last meeting. I still remember his smiling face and warm hug he gave me on that day. He is no longer with us physically. But, he is always there for the people like me. He shaped the career of many young confused journalists like me.
I always remember you and love you sir.
It may sound strange. I am writing something (obituary?) about Jyoti Sanyal, four months after his death. I didn't know that his full name was Jyotirmoy Sanyal till recently. Dada (Diptosh Majumdar), the most affectionate person in my channel CNN IBN told me that his name was Jyotirmoy Sanyal. Me and dada were discussing something else and I asked him about ' Statesman '. Dada started his career with ' Statesman ' during its glory days. I mentioned Sanyal's name and dada's eyes lit up. He said ' Jyotirmoy Sanyal was already a news editor, when i joined as a cub reporter in early 80 s. We used to fight a lot. For him, journalism was all about desk. He always used to wear dhoti and kurta. He was a very difficult man. But, good at heart '.
****************************************************************************************** Sometime in mid 2001, I got a call from Prof. Sanyal. I had finished my ACJ course two years before that. But, i was still in touch with him. He wanted me to join him for dinner. He used to live alone in a rented house on Coles road in Contonment area of Bangalore. I reached his house exactly at 7-30 PM. He was waiting for me. I was under the impression that he would take me out for dinner as there was nobody at his house to prepare food. Sanyal himself had prepared a pure vegetarian dinner for me. It was a great surprise and a touching moment. We had a long talk after dinner. He was very happy that i was doing well in journalism. He came down with me to the main road to get me an auto to return home in the night. He even paid my auto fare in advance! It was Sanyal. He was a very warm person with a kind heart. He truly loved his students. He was very fond of me from the very beginning. Sanyal was new to Bangalore, when he landed there in 1997. He knew no Kannada. He used to take me everywhere to help him.
**********************************************************************************************
Once, he took me to Max Muller Bhawan (it was on Lavelle road) to meet somebody. I was very young and shy. I waited near the reception, when he was busy talking inside.
He came out after 30 minutes. He came to know that somebody in the Max Muller Bhawan had stopped me there. He flew into a rage and started to shout at the people for not treating one of his favourite students properly. He even refused to have Tea with them and profusely apologised with me, even though it was not his mistake. He took me to the nearest Airlines Hotel for a sumptuous lunch. He even shot off a strongly worded letter to Max Muller Bhawan head in Germany. Sanyal never tolerated any kind of injustice and hierarchy. He was always informal and approachable.
***********************************************************************************************
One day we went to a Carnatic and Hindustani jugalbandi at Ravindra Kalakshetra in Bangalore. We were seated in the front row. Carnatic musician Rajkumar Bharti and Hindustani vocalist Parameshwara Hegde started aalaap. It continued for nearly 30 minutes. Somehow Sanyal didn't like that concert and ordered me to leave. We stopped an auto near Canara Bank head office. He demanded Rs. 30 to drop us back at the Indian Express. Sanyal protested like a true comrade. We tried at least 10-15 autos. All demanded the same fare. I told him that it was okay. But he was not ready to pay even a single paisa extra. He asked me to follow him and we walked back to Indian Express! He was not at all stingy. He was very generous and extremely helpful. But he never tolerated cheating, over charging etc........ He always used to protest in the true Gandhian ways.
***************************************************************************************************
I came to Delhi in late 2001. Sanyal was happy that I was moving to New Delhi in search of better prospects. He had given me a dozen contact numbers in New Delhi. He used to call me almost every week know about my progress in an alien city. He once sent me a cap asking me wear it in the hot summer of Delhi. It was really a touching gesture.
****************************************************************************************************
When his finest book on English writing ' Indlish ' was released, he gave me a call from Calcutta. He wanted me to translate some Kannada reviews for him. He wanted CNN IBN to do a story on his ' Clear English movement '. My boss Rajdeep Sardesai readily agreed and asked me to assign it to one of our Calcutta correspondents. The correspondent who was supposed to do that story was a very very lazy person like most Calcuttans. She took nearly 3 months to do that! Sadly, that story never went on air.
*******************************************************************************************************
I was in Calcutta in February 2006. I couldn't meet Sanyal as his wife was admitted to a hospital and he was busy taking care of her. I didn't call him because i didn't want to disturb him. Who knew that lean, mercurial and healthy Sanyal would die of cardiac arrest in his early 60s? I never got a chance to meet him after that. I missed my last chance in 2006. Before I came to Delhi in the end of 2001, I had gone to see him. It was our last meeting. I still remember his smiling face and warm hug he gave me on that day. He is no longer with us physically. But, he is always there for the people like me. He shaped the career of many young confused journalists like me.
I always remember you and love you sir.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Dhiraj's first show!
Dhiraj's (second batch) exhibition of paintings is on from May 12. Please visit if you are in Delhi.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Bittersweet memories
Rina Datta, (acj 1999-2000)
I heard of Jyoti Sanyal back in Kolkata 1997, much before I heard of ACJ. His daughter Reshma was my classmate in Jadavpur University, Dept. of English Literature. I was proud of my writing skills then. At ACJ, Sanyal wiped it out on day one.
All I knew about him was that he ran some journalism course in Bangalore. I read his columns but not often while I immersed myself in exactly the kind of English he later taught me to despise. At our introductory lecture, he told us we were lousy. We didn't believe it then, but today, I think we all agree he made us better.
It was never an easy relationship with Mr Sanyal. We were a little taken aback by his love for the four-letter word on day one. He continued to shock us by shouting and swearing his way through session after session. Frankly, he enjoyed the effect he had on us! Many of us couldn't stand his straight talk and temper, but Mr Sanyal grew on us. His lifelong passion for diction was addictive. We could not deter him from getting a little bit of himself into each one of us. I thought him invincible, until last week.
But beyond all that he was a father at heart. He took care of us girls, especially those of us staying at the hostel. I remember once the bathroom drain was clogged and Sir came home after the day’s work. He put his hand down the drain and took out all the hair and the dirt and the grime with his bare hands. We girls stood shocked and shamed that we put him through that much trouble. Shamed that we couldn't get ourselves to do it.
I had a terrible sinus infection once. Every day, as soon as I reached ACJ, Sir would call me in. He marched me to the rest room with a cup of hot salt water in his hand and made me draw it up my nose... and oh! though I still can't forget the pain, it was something that even my father failed to get me to do.
We heard many stories about him, that once he thought students had poisoned his coffee and once they’d locked him up in the bathroom. Or that someone let a monkey inside his office! I have no idea if any are true but he gave us many a good laugh. Once Mr. Sanyal, Meena, Ram and others took some people out for dinner. Next day we heard that he had thrown a fit over no bamboo shoots in his bamboo shoot soup and garam masala in Chinese food.
Sanyal Sir is a part of such bittersweet memories, I wonder what I could pick out about him that could sum him up. No way! What and who he really was inside is a riddle. His daughter Reshma said to me on his death: I know a part of him lives in me, but then a part of him has died too. That echoes with us, his students.
Good bye Sir, and though he would have greatly scorned at it, God Bless!!
I heard of Jyoti Sanyal back in Kolkata 1997, much before I heard of ACJ. His daughter Reshma was my classmate in Jadavpur University, Dept. of English Literature. I was proud of my writing skills then. At ACJ, Sanyal wiped it out on day one.
All I knew about him was that he ran some journalism course in Bangalore. I read his columns but not often while I immersed myself in exactly the kind of English he later taught me to despise. At our introductory lecture, he told us we were lousy. We didn't believe it then, but today, I think we all agree he made us better.
It was never an easy relationship with Mr Sanyal. We were a little taken aback by his love for the four-letter word on day one. He continued to shock us by shouting and swearing his way through session after session. Frankly, he enjoyed the effect he had on us! Many of us couldn't stand his straight talk and temper, but Mr Sanyal grew on us. His lifelong passion for diction was addictive. We could not deter him from getting a little bit of himself into each one of us. I thought him invincible, until last week.
But beyond all that he was a father at heart. He took care of us girls, especially those of us staying at the hostel. I remember once the bathroom drain was clogged and Sir came home after the day’s work. He put his hand down the drain and took out all the hair and the dirt and the grime with his bare hands. We girls stood shocked and shamed that we put him through that much trouble. Shamed that we couldn't get ourselves to do it.
I had a terrible sinus infection once. Every day, as soon as I reached ACJ, Sir would call me in. He marched me to the rest room with a cup of hot salt water in his hand and made me draw it up my nose... and oh! though I still can't forget the pain, it was something that even my father failed to get me to do.
We heard many stories about him, that once he thought students had poisoned his coffee and once they’d locked him up in the bathroom. Or that someone let a monkey inside his office! I have no idea if any are true but he gave us many a good laugh. Once Mr. Sanyal, Meena, Ram and others took some people out for dinner. Next day we heard that he had thrown a fit over no bamboo shoots in his bamboo shoot soup and garam masala in Chinese food.
Sanyal Sir is a part of such bittersweet memories, I wonder what I could pick out about him that could sum him up. No way! What and who he really was inside is a riddle. His daughter Reshma said to me on his death: I know a part of him lives in me, but then a part of him has died too. That echoes with us, his students.
Good bye Sir, and though he would have greatly scorned at it, God Bless!!
Friday, April 18, 2008
Another tragedy in the family
Rajesh Kumar Nair's (acj, 98) father passed away a few days ago. He'd been ill for a while, but the end was sudden.
Rajesh is with Sify.com and based in Chennai.
He can be contacted at 09443389024 or acjrajesh@gmail.com.
Rajesh is with Sify.com and based in Chennai.
He can be contacted at 09443389024 or acjrajesh@gmail.com.
When I put the arse before the face...
By Shaila Preeti Mathew (acj 1998-99)
*When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I put the arse before the face. The tragedy of Jyoti Sanyal is not the man he was and not his untimely death, but that we, especially his students, waited until now to recognise his better side.
Sir, as I called him, rubbed people the wrong way. He was abrasive, prone to rage, and tore our pretty little egos to pieces. I remember my last meeting with him. I had stopped by to show off my wedding pictures. He looked at them, shocked at what he saw, and said, "Preeti, is that really you? You actually look so pretty!"
I honestly don't know (to this day) if that was a jibe or a compliment. I managed a weak smile and left, bruised.
That was his style. He showed no desire to be ornate, stating facts as they were… Pure, simple and brutal. He chose his words well and worked them effortlessly, slicing you when you least expected. He had his task set before him to weed us of wordiness. It worked.
Week after week, as we trudged uphill, we did get better and even understood what he was trying to tell us.
He could talk about anything. From the patterns on a Hyderabadi sari to authentic Chinese food to the crocodiles in the Nile. My only regret is that I never stopped to tell him, however grudgingly it might have been, the impact he had on me.
There is no stupid sentimentality in telling people how much you appreciate them while they are alive, only good old common sense. After life, dead people don't read tributes written to them.
Thank you, Sir.
*I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
(*When I am Dead, My Dearest by Christina Georgina Rossetti)
*When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I put the arse before the face. The tragedy of Jyoti Sanyal is not the man he was and not his untimely death, but that we, especially his students, waited until now to recognise his better side.
Sir, as I called him, rubbed people the wrong way. He was abrasive, prone to rage, and tore our pretty little egos to pieces. I remember my last meeting with him. I had stopped by to show off my wedding pictures. He looked at them, shocked at what he saw, and said, "Preeti, is that really you? You actually look so pretty!"
I honestly don't know (to this day) if that was a jibe or a compliment. I managed a weak smile and left, bruised.
That was his style. He showed no desire to be ornate, stating facts as they were… Pure, simple and brutal. He chose his words well and worked them effortlessly, slicing you when you least expected. He had his task set before him to weed us of wordiness. It worked.
Week after week, as we trudged uphill, we did get better and even understood what he was trying to tell us.
He could talk about anything. From the patterns on a Hyderabadi sari to authentic Chinese food to the crocodiles in the Nile. My only regret is that I never stopped to tell him, however grudgingly it might have been, the impact he had on me.
There is no stupid sentimentality in telling people how much you appreciate them while they are alive, only good old common sense. After life, dead people don't read tributes written to them.
Thank you, Sir.
*I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
(*When I am Dead, My Dearest by Christina Georgina Rossetti)
Different strokes
Rahul Saigal (acj, 98)
Some holidays change the course of our lives forever. Of course, we do not know this beforehand.
When I traveled from Bombay to Bangalore with my entire wardrobe packed in two suitcases, I hadn't a clue if I'd be back home in a couple of days, or nine months later with a diploma in print journalism from the Asian College of Journalism. Rather absurd, that twice as many students, who would finally be admitted, should be asked to attend an interview on the pre-condition that selected candidates would start school immediately.
At 20, we ask fewer questions of situations we do not understand. Or even of instances that threaten to change the trajectory of our lives. It is only obvious then that every person who constitutes a space in this time of our lives will live with us forever. Even Peter, the accountant, who'd almost convinced me to pursue a career in whores racing so that I could tip him off beforehand on the best whores. Only a couple of days earlier, Sanyal had asked me to work on a series of investigative stories on a politician-in-power's many relationships with promiscuous women.
I didn't take up Peter's advice after I figured he was talking about horses. Sanyal, I still suspect, was only thinking of innovative ways of having me bumped off.
One of the very few things that Shinibali* and I had in common, then, was that we could never have been among Sanyal's favourite students. It's funny how one man's dogged obsession to gun for you can change your life forever. Most admit to have become "new and improved" writers and editors. Shinibali and I got married. I sometimes wonder if we hooked up initially only in spite of Sanyal.
I did not pursue writing or journalism as a career.
My days at ACJ hold some of my fondest memories. All made up of Kerala parathas, lousy movies, Shinibali's cool chauffeured bike, great friends, the girls' hostel, Meena, Ramki, Clara and Peter. And punctuated by one remarkable man. Remarkable – someone you cannot help but make a remark about.
Ten years ago, we were all perhaps the most integral part of each other's lives. Let's meet again. This time, for a shorter holiday. August in Bangalore?
(* Shinibali, or Saki as we used to call her, was Rahul's classmate at acj. They married soon after the course.)
Some holidays change the course of our lives forever. Of course, we do not know this beforehand.
When I traveled from Bombay to Bangalore with my entire wardrobe packed in two suitcases, I hadn't a clue if I'd be back home in a couple of days, or nine months later with a diploma in print journalism from the Asian College of Journalism. Rather absurd, that twice as many students, who would finally be admitted, should be asked to attend an interview on the pre-condition that selected candidates would start school immediately.
At 20, we ask fewer questions of situations we do not understand. Or even of instances that threaten to change the trajectory of our lives. It is only obvious then that every person who constitutes a space in this time of our lives will live with us forever. Even Peter, the accountant, who'd almost convinced me to pursue a career in whores racing so that I could tip him off beforehand on the best whores. Only a couple of days earlier, Sanyal had asked me to work on a series of investigative stories on a politician-in-power's many relationships with promiscuous women.
I didn't take up Peter's advice after I figured he was talking about horses. Sanyal, I still suspect, was only thinking of innovative ways of having me bumped off.
One of the very few things that Shinibali* and I had in common, then, was that we could never have been among Sanyal's favourite students. It's funny how one man's dogged obsession to gun for you can change your life forever. Most admit to have become "new and improved" writers and editors. Shinibali and I got married. I sometimes wonder if we hooked up initially only in spite of Sanyal.
I did not pursue writing or journalism as a career.
My days at ACJ hold some of my fondest memories. All made up of Kerala parathas, lousy movies, Shinibali's cool chauffeured bike, great friends, the girls' hostel, Meena, Ramki, Clara and Peter. And punctuated by one remarkable man. Remarkable – someone you cannot help but make a remark about.
Ten years ago, we were all perhaps the most integral part of each other's lives. Let's meet again. This time, for a shorter holiday. August in Bangalore?
(* Shinibali, or Saki as we used to call her, was Rahul's classmate at acj. They married soon after the course.)
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