Small fry, big fry
Say ‘channel’ and they look for the OB van; ‘film’ they scan for recognisable faces. ‘Documentary’ and they ask you the subject. They will then go on to tell you what to shoot. How to, even. Reply with the historically unpalatable ‘corporate film’ which I make there is still advice flowing in. For free.
“You can show us all sitting together, reading newspapers,” said an auto rickshaw driver. “A bus comes, we all look up and you can begin the interview.” And this was only the friend of the guy whom we were here to speak to. The subject himself enriched us with lots more possibilities.
“Before we draw up the net let’s empty out one box of fishes into it,” said a shirtless guy manning a Chinese net in Fort Kochi. “But you will have to buy all of it first.” Maybe – just maybe – a nice try. Limited budgets can be great safety nets that way.
Narikuravar Kannan
It is not always how-to but there is an occasional what-to as well. One chap who sang a ditty from his own collection of peppy, modern poetry on camera wanted the shot to end with his narrative of how desperately he wanted to get into popular cinema. I assured him it was what most of us wanted but rarely that easy.
“End the film with me getting into the van and driving away towards the sunset,” said the guy who had been taking us around for the schedule. It didn’t really matter the film was about the need to develop a backward region.
From experience the crew does not encourage interaction with bystanders. Reciprocity of any kind including eye contact breeds lingering and invites unwanted attention. This habit of sending everyone around to Coventry by the filming crew is invariably interpreted as arrogant and callous. But sometimes this is unavoidable to get things wrapped up on time.
I have over the years developed my own curt and comical ways of turning down unsolicited advice. My long term associates tell me they are pathetically humourless. Whatever, it works. But Rajesh Kannan put me in a bind – his demands were genuine and rending. I didn’t have the heart to turn down this one. But there was little point indulging him either – he wanted to alter tourist mindsets.
No eye contact: Sudheer, Robin, Ajith, Jinu – my crew
Kannan hailed from Trichy and was a Narikuravar. This tribe of Tamil gypsies originally lived in the forests and were hunters till they were driven out in the name of conservation. Today they earn their living by making and selling beaded ornaments. Kannan walked around Fort Kochi weighed down by layers of malas made from various woods and beads, stone and seeds around his neck and arms. A shopping paradise for the anchoret. He has been coming to Kerala for the tourist season for over a decade now with other Narikuravar men. They sold necklaces over three or four months while their wives and children remained home making more for the next season.
“Sir, most tourists think we filch and fleece,” he said. “They have no idea of the kind of trouble we with our women go through to procure the raw materials and the labour that goes into making these.” Most of the Narikuravar kids do not go to school, they are forced to stay at home and help their folks – the only way to ensure a meal or two a day.
“Every tourist bargains relentlessly and brings down the price to what barely covers our cost of producing these.”
Cooling off
As the final month of the ‘Visit Kerala Year’ launched in April last year petered out only a handful of tourists could be spotted around. A little earlier I had watched one walking away shaking her head while Kannan pursued her for some distance before giving up.
“If I tell our troubles on camera will you show it on national television?” He asked. “That way at least the tourists will understand.” I told him only good-looking people could work for television.
The hard yackers at the Chinese nets slowly returned to the shade of their tarpaulin-covered lean-tos as the sun rose higher. The pungi seller bought an ice cream and settled down by a stage where a band mela contest was held recently. Weary eyes followed visitors. There were some feeble, nacreous exhortations to inspect the Chinese nets from close quarters.
We announced pack up and milled around a tender coconut stall.
“What are you shooting?” The stall owner asked.
“Oh it’s only a corporate film.”
“What is a corporate film?”
“It’s a very boring kind of film.”
“No songs and dance?”
“No, nothing.”
The silence was pregnant as he cut open the first coconut. With the second, it was about to burst. All of us saw it coming.
“I will tell you of a way to make it interesting.”
***
Taking it out
“Sir, since we are identifying the person as a doctor, the coat and all will be a cliché,” I said making no effort to hide my exasperation. I was talking to a big guy from the client side.
“Make sure you show him with the stethoscope then.”
“I will do that, sir.”
