International Film Festival of India 54, 01: Glitches galore

It was inevitable. Since I had to leave for Mumbai on the 27^th of November, to catch my flight to Jeddah, to attend the Red Sea International Film Festival, I had to miss the last two days of IFFI. As if this was not enough, I was unfortunate to catch only the bad to mediocre films shown at the festival. Add to that the pain in the neck arrangements for the press, under the leadership of Ms. Monideepa Mukerjee, the Director General of the Press Information Bureau (PIB), who had the most spacious cabin around.

First, it was the issue of badges that arrive in batches. Even if you applied a week in advance, and arrived a day before the festival began, you could have to wait for two whole days before you got the prized possession. Along with the badge, you were given the obligatory official festival bag. In the eons gone by, this bag used to contain things like a writing pad, pencils, pens, discount coupons and chocolates. This one had threads coming out of it a few minutes after you got it. So much for the image of the festival. Catalogues, the vital guide to your pickings, were not available for some time.

There is, always, arrangement for tea/coffee and biscuits, for the press. It was there this year too. But the supplies ran out often, and took an hour to be replenished. Very surprising, because, this year, unlike previous years, there was a sign pasted outside, that the tea and biscuits were for accredited journalists ONLY. Surely, with gate-crashers blocked, the stock would last longer. At the same time, you could see tray-full of the stuff being carried to Ms. Mukerjee’s cabin, more than once. When this was brought to her notice, she replied saying that the tea and snacks arrangement was not made by the PIB. When confronted with personnel who contradicted her, she owned up, and agreed to provide tea at least twice a day to all journalists, including me. Needless to say, this was a stalling technique, and the shortage continued.

Any suggestion you made for the improvement of facilities was met with a reprimand by the venerable Ms. Mukerjee, and her colleagues. Two of them loomed threateningly on me and one actually grabbed my shoulder. One suggestion was to try and exempt journalists/critics from the punishment imposed on everybody who booked tickets, and did not turn-up at the show, because journalists were often dragged to Press Conferences during show times, or had to file stories at times that clashed with shows. She yelled at me that she had many other more important things to attend to. Perhaps she forgot that she had a retinue of 8-10 personnel from the PIB, who she could delegate the work to. No transport had been arranged to PIB’s own party, to and fro the venue, till I reminded her and her team. The transport to the venues of the two parties I attended, including the PIB party, consisted of rickety, jerky, jumpy old mini-buses, that badly needed over-hauling. This was in sharp contrast with the vehicles that were provided during previous years.

Ms. Mukerjee declared before an audience that I was a not a genuine journalist because I had not yet given her a copy of any article I had written on IFFI 54, yet. She was right about the latter, but on the former? There must be a handful of journalists who have attended IFFI since 1976, and have notched-up 44 IFFIs in the 47 years since. During IFFI 50, I wrote 50 articles, which must be a record for any journalist, writing for the same publication. Over 47 years, I must have written 470 articles, at least, on IFFI. Now that I am 72, I might have slowed down a bit, but that does not mean I do not write about IFFI.

For once, we thought that the press would be welcome to all the proceedings at the Film Bazaar, with Mumbai-based PRO Hema Upadhyaya in charge. Earlier, you had to curry favour with the then PRO, Mauli Singh, to get your goodies and admittances, which I never stooped to. Hema asked her team to call us journalists and get photographs and Aadhaar Card copies, if we wanted accreditation to the Film Bazaar, but within five minutes of the call, else they would not be accredited. Miraculously, I managed to send the needful by WhatsApp in 10 minutes, and they were accepted. When I went to the venue, the Marriott Hotel, which is the regular venue for these bazaars, the cards were not yet ready, and Hema made a make-shift card, on a plastic cut-out, with my name written on it with a marker pen. Whatever happened to the photographs and the Aadhaar Cards? The earlier PRO used to deny the press any facilities. Armed with this card, we believed things would be different this time, and began to tour the Bazaar.

Nothing had changed. It was still the same as during the Mauli Singh reign. We could gain access only to the common areas, open to all. Nobody ever checked our badges. The two things that make a journalist’s visit to the Bazaar worth his while are the good quality bags distributed, and the lunch/cocktails networking. All of this was denied to the Press. In fact, when I inquired at the networking cocktails entrance, I was told in clear cut terms that the PRESS was BARRED from entering the networking area. We were often approached by hopeful project-makers whether we would be interested in seeing their films, financing them or distributing them. Obviously, these areas are outside a journalists’ brief, so they felt disappointed. I was really disappointed at having to miss the screening of my friend Rajni Acharya’s film, on the Indonesian Ramayana, because it’s screening time clashed with the Annual General Meeting of FIPRESCI, the International Federation of Film Critics, which always has as its AGM during IFFI, as most of its members attend the event. I have visited Indonesia many times, and speak some Bahasa Indonesia.

What hurt me many times more than the outrageous behavior of Ms. Mukerjee was the news that veteran journalist Brij Bhushan Chaturvedi, better known by the acronym, BBC, a name that the late Ramanand Sagar gave him. had passed away, a few months ago. He had attended the first IFFI ever, as a 16 year-old, and had missed, probably, only 2 or 3 of them in his 86 odd years. Of late, he used walk with the help of a walking stick and, sometimes, aided by a friend. He was cordial, genial and always had a positive attitude, and, unlike me, for example, took what came his way, never complaining, never protesting. In a sense, he was Mr. IFFI. He also published a periodical called Suchitra, which was a pot-pourri of films and film-related material. Two years ago, I launched a campaign to honour him, and such other veteran journalists, by any, or all, of these ways: 1. Call him on stage and give him a plaque and a shawl, and ask him to say a few words about IFFI, down the years, 1952-2021, a staggering 70 years. 2. Allow him free travel, to and fro Panaji, by air or rail to attend IFFI. 3. Appoint him on juries or selection committees or steering committees. 4. Treat him like any other festival guest or jury member.  5. Give him free stay at a 3-star hotel 6. Honour other such veterans similarly, 1-2 of them every year. With a budget of many, many crores, surely this was a drop in the ocean.

At a top level Press Conference, two years ago, all my suggestions were heartily welcomed. I was asked to draw up a list of such veterans and give it to the relevant authorities. It was a herculean task, because all of them are never at one place, I do not know them all, some counterfeit veterans would try to wriggle their way in, despite not falling in the veteran’s category, and some might not have come that year to IFFI. Yet I did my best, and forwarded the list to the PIB. I pursued my goal with fervour that lasted a full two years. But due to the total lack of response from the top brass, gave up last year.

And now BBC was no more. I approached Ms. Mukerjee, who had not been on festival duty for the last few years, and might not have been aware of the suggestions, with a proposal to honour him posthumously. She shook her head, and said, “Now that he is no more, what’s the point?”

That, exactly, is the point, Mrs. Mukerjee.

Sitting in her spacious cabin, with me across the table, she proudly proclaimed that she attends to at least 10 tasks during a film festival, while we journalists do nothing. Bravo, Mrs. Mukerjee, but why not attend to 9 tasks, or 7, or 1, or none, for example?