Students are often seen as impulsive, immature, and sometimes irreverent to tradition. However, their impulsiveness leads to originality, their immaturity reflects brutal honesty, and their irreverence can uninhibitedly reveal the status quo frigidity of our society. The same holds true in the practice of art.
While we celebrate Indian filmmakers making their mark at prestigious film festivals in Berlin, Cannes, Rotterdam, or Locarno, it is worth highlighting two student films showcased at the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR) and the Cannes Film Festival last year. In January 2023, the esteemed IFFR presented SRFTI student Gaurav Puri’s diploma film Dhundgiri ke Phul (A Flower in a Fog Light) in the short and mid-length section. Later, in May, the La Cinef section of the Cannes Film Festival presented FTII student Yudhajit Basu’s diploma film Nehemich.
There are other instances of diploma films from these prestigious South Asian film schools being featured at major festivals. For example, another FTII graduate’s diploma project, Sunflowers Were the First Ones to Know won the Best Short Film award at Cannes this year. Similarly, in 2020, Asmita Guha Niyogi’s Catdog was screened at La Cinef. Despite these achievements, films by these students often lack the discussion and recognition they deserve.
Let me start with Gaurav Puri’s Dhundgiri ke Phul (A Flower in a Fog Light), as, festival calendar-wise, IFFR comes first. Puri’s film depicts how the construction of a state-of-the-art airport forces the residents of a centuries-old village to relocate. What remains is a ghost village, filled with the remnants of people and stories that once brought it to life. The village's folklore endures through five distinct stories, each shot in a unique cinematic style.
The first tale centers on the abandoned village, which is waiting to be demolished for the airport. It features several shots of the empty village, allowing viewers to sense the emptiness and the ghostly presence of the departed residents. It begins with a couplet that appears on a pale sienna slate: ‘Vo had left a long time ago, / Yet Ye searched Vo every day.’ For those familiar with Hindi, 'Vo' refers to the one who is distant, while 'Ye' refers to the one who is here.
This sets the tone for the journey of Dhundgiri ke Phul. I realized that this journey would be challenging as it would pull me out of my comfortable, prosaic world and into the abandoned village where I would wander alone. My next encounter in Puri’s village revealed another couplet, where a stagnant pond filled with hyacinths is accompanied by the evocative line, ‘The butterflies bloomed into such a species, is a well-guarded secret in histories.’ After wandering through mundane alleys, ancient tube wells, and dusty backyards, I understood, as the narrator states, ‘Whatever happened as a result now, we butterflies are born to love.’ The first tale about the ghosted village concludes with the notion that if we meditate on a lazy afternoon, we might hear the footsteps of the one who left. A mirage will appear to elude as if that one had returned.
The next tale features an eccentric projectionist who played the same film—not just twice or thrice, but a thousand times—because he was infatuated with the glamorous air hostess who appeared in the ad before the film. The film in question was Chandal, starring Mithun Chakraborty. The narrator explains that one night, the projectionist fell asleep after starting the film, and it continued to run. However, since the projector could not function during the day, that night seemed to stretch endlessly. While the projectionist slept, the 2-hour film ran on, and Mithun Chakraborty aged, died, and was reborn.
By the time I reached the second tale, I felt myself becoming part of the narrative. I envisioned the man who visited an ancient pond every evening after work, met Lata, whose sleep was plagued by nightmares since her house was marked, and encountered Radhakrishnan, who was tasked with documenting the village's history during his overtime. These five stories about the village are interwoven with Air India video footage, hinting at the village’s impending future. The film starkly portrays the darker side of technological advancement while also serving as a beautifully crafted farewell and tribute to a place that will soon cease to exist.
I won’t delve into the other three stories, as, while exploring Puri’s village in the fog light, I realized that you, the readers of this article, and I are all born to love, much like the butterflies mentioned by the narrator of Dhundgiri ke Phul. My philosophy of love has taught me that true love lies in the yearning for the beloved, rather than in attaining them. So, I encourage you to yearn for the film A Flower in a Fog Light.
My second pick, Nehemich—which means ‘forever’ or ‘for the remaining time’—was made by Yudhajit Basu and co-written by Prithvijoy Ganguly. It is the only Indian film featured in the competitive La Cinef category at the 76th Cannes Film Festival in 2023. This deeply layered 23-minute short film explores the ‘gaonkar pratha,’ a practice observed in rural Maharashtra where menstruating women are isolated in a hut during their monthly cycle. In these areas, the term ‘period’ is taboo; instead, it is referred to as ‘touched by a crow.’ During the pandemic, while everyone was maintaining social distance and isolation, menstruating women in this Marathi village faced a double quarantine—first due to age-old superstition, and second due to the new corona virus.
The film begins with the voice of one woman speaking to her friend, saying, “Once he told me he works in a place where the wind howls all day.” Then, three men, fully covered in plastic, appear to set a dead body on fire. Later, we learn that the woman is speaking to her friend, who is also residing in the hut during their menstrual period. She describes a man with whom she hopes to escape. He doesn’t belong here and doesn’t even speak the native language. He works as a guard in the windmill zone and is awaiting his transfer, having promised to take her with him. He communicates with his colleague via walkie-talkie, though the signal is occasionally disrupted by the presence of crows. Interestingly, both technology and taboo are affected by these crows in a place where, according to his colleague, there are no birds.
Suddenly, a question arises in her mind: Why is menstruation referred to as ‘touched by a crow’? No woman confined in the room has an answer. I recalled how, during our adolescence, grandmothers forbade us from touching pickle jars or trees, claiming that the touch of a menstruating woman would spoil the pickle or kill the tree. Basu’s close and mid-close shots of the women’s faces in the hut evoke the discomfort of those four days each month. When one woman mentions that the virus is spreading rapidly and people are dying, another responds that they are dying here every day—not just during these four days, but in general, women’s lives in this backward Indian village lack vitality. Thus, while the COVID-19 pandemic created a unique form of entrapment for men, for the women of this village, isolation was a monthly ordeal. This distinction is reflected in the film through different portrayals: women are shown in a dark room illuminated only by fire, while the man is depicted in his guard’s room in bright daylight.
While speaking with these two recently graduated film students, I realized they have developed a unique perspective on filmmaking that is deeply intertwined with their life philosophies. Gaurav Puri mentioned that he didn’t make Dhundgiri ke Phul; rather, the film made him. Yudhajit Basu, echoing his collaborator Prithvijoy Ganguly’s sentiment, said, “I do feel Nehemich has somewhat changed me as a human being. This film has made me more interested in exploring human relationships on a deeper level. Previously, it was primarily the audio-visual experience of a film that captivated me, but now I am drawn to films that tackle the complexities of life and the intricate web of human relationships that give life meaning or perhaps purpose.”
I strongly believe that this new generation of filmmakers is attempting to introduce a fresh film language that resonates with the contradictory emotions of intimate detachment in our time. Unless our cinephile readers start acknowledging this new language, India risks losing the opportunity to showcase films that have the potential to interact with the international film world. Unfortunately, neither government funds nor many independent producers are keen to back these films. They can only thrive through the audience’s awareness and support.
(Debarati Gupta is a Filmmaker, Columnist & Guest Lecturer at University of Calcutta)
