The real Shantaram takes a bow

V Shantaram, or Shantaram Babu, as he was affectionately called, was a pioneer. Each of his works is like a textbook for filmmakers, both in form and in content.

I was in school when I first watched Pinjara on Doordarshan, back when they screened Marathi films every Saturday. Maybe it was the music, the sheer beauty of each shot, or the painstakingly choreographed dance sequences, or maybe it was the way the elders’ eyes lit up as they discussed every detail of the film. That Saturday, when the movie credits began rolling with the song ‘Ga Saajane’, I was sold on the movie. The idea of how little it takes for a righteous man to slip into the wrong side, told against the backdrop of a tamasha, gripped me from the first frame. I watched the movie over and over again till I lost count of the number of times I’ve seen it. There is just so much to learn from Bapu’s work in every frame in terms of lighting, camera-angles and composition. Entirely self taught, his genius comes across even in his early works like Ayodhyecha Raja (1932), just a year after India’s first talkie, Alam Ara. To attempt an epic mythological film on that scale without access to technology or funds was very, very brave. Moreover, he was reprising the tale with which Dadasaheb Phalke, the father of Indian cinema, started his career in 1913. In the film, there’s a shot that seems to have been taken on a trolley, but there were no trolleys back then. Instead, he attached the camera to the yolk of a bullock cart. The cart was then raised by people pulling it at the other end. Bapu was deeply affected by social evils and tried to make thought-provoking films with bold subjects. Take, for instance, Kunkoo (1937) and Manoos (1939), which was re-made in Hindi as Aadmi. Kunkoo tells the tale of a young woman married to a man old enough to be her father, and so she hesitates each time she has to wear kunkoo (vermillion). “Did Sita and Draupadi also hesitate everytime they wore kunkoo?” the neighbour’s daughter innocently asks the woman to devastating effect. The narrative is stark and realistic. Even background music is avoided. Only natural sounds — like jangling of utensils or bangles, sounds of footsteps or horses hooves — are used. Even in the songs, the source for music — the instruments — are visible on screen.

Manoos was simply outstanding. Imagine thinking about something so out-of-the-box as a love affair between a prostitute and a police constable in that era. But that was the beauty of the film. He knew how to handle such a topic in a way that it immediately struck a chord with audiences. The song ‘Ata kahsyala udyachi baat’ will always remain a favourite of mine.

The way he treated the subject of a film was different. Take Shejari (1941), for example. Anyone who wants to make film on communal harmony will resort to pontificating, melodrama, or worse, both. Yet Bapu chooses subtlety and substance. The kind of work he extracted from actors like Keshavrao Date, Gajanan Jagirdar, Jayshree, Chandrakant and Master Chhotu has made this a must-watch. The film resonates with ground realities in contemporary times too. I feel it should be compulsorily screened in areas hit by sectarian strife. Even his Hindi films Navrang and Do Aankein Baraah Haath show his conviction and clarity of thought. It’s obvious they were driven by passion. Truly, the likes of him, will never be.

Sanjay Jadhav is the director of Jogwa, Dombivili Fast and Pak Pak Pakaak. Here, he talks about the influence of filmmaker V Shantaram on his work.

Sanjay Jadhav spoke to Yogesh Pawar