Even before she had written a word of her first book, filmmaker and actor Nandita Das knew what she wanted to call it: Manto & I. In the recently published coffee table book, Das takes readers behind the scenes of her second film Manto (2018), documenting a six-year journey that she spent crafting a portrait of writer and playwright Saadat Hasan Manto and his times.
Manto’s relevance has only increased since Das began working on the film, she writes in the introduction to the book, and the kind of censorship he faced is uncannily similar to curbs in the present sociopolitical climate. In Manto & I, interspersed with lush photographs are Das’s memories of and reflections on the long years of research, the writing process, the challenging search for locations, the casting, shooting and the business of “selling” the film, while taking what she calls “Mantoiyat” – the spirit of Manto – beyond the big screen. This interview was taken at the Kerala Literature Festival in Kozhikode. Excerpts from the interview:
Why did you want to write Manto & I?
When I made Firaaq in 2008, there were so many stories (from the making of the film). Though I have acted in many films, it’s a whole different journey when you are directing. The journey begins from the inception of the idea of why you choose to tell that story to the very end, like the challenges of releasing the film and the response to it. And that journey continues. Firaaq was a pre-social media film. There are more platforms now, in the sense that the shelf life of a film is slightly longer.
There were basically a lot of unsaid things that were raring to come out, more so with Manto because it was a six year long journey. I started it in 2012, Manto’s centenary year, and it was released in September 2018 and then it continued because I took it to various universities and festivals. So I felt that not only was it cathartic, but I also wanted to document my creative, emotional, sociopolitical journey, the things that I have learnt.
I have always enjoyed seeing the journeys of artists. Like when a musician is rehearsing, I find it very fascinating how they rehearse. It’s not just the outcome, but the process in which an artist is engaged. So I thought maybe it will be of interest to others as well. Art and artists are quite inseparable, as we know, so what is that connection, why do they make the choices that they make?
Were you thinking about documenting your experience while shooting the film? Did you take notes or keep a journal? What kind of a book did you want to write?
I didn’t really plan it. Nothing in my life is planned, one thing leads to another. By the end of it, I thought it would be interesting to document the process. I wasn’t journalling while shooting, there was not a moment to breathe. It’s like you are reliving the film in a way when you start writing.
I had initially thought, I had given so many interviews, I would compile them…and I have a kind of a FAQ, I would just put it together with the many lovely photographs that hadn’t been used. I thought it would be much easier. But when I actually started writing (I realised) you are also writing for an audience which hasn’t seen the film, those who don’t know who Manto was, and those who have watched the film.
So I was also thinking, who am I sharing this journey with? How can I be true to the journey I want to share, and to readers who are so diverse. When I was making the film, there was a small percentage who knew a lot more about Manto than I do, there were a whole lot who know nothing about him, and then those in the middle, who had half-baked knowledge, who are the most dangerous because they think they know more than they do. Then I had to select the photos, write captions, and include some quotes of Manto’s. All in all, it became a bigger project than what I had imagined it to be.
You have written in the book about the many people who worked with you on the film, your relationship with Manto’s family in Lahore, and why you chose to make a film on Manto. What are some of the other things a reader might find in Manto & I?
I wrote it almost like a diary, a stream of consciousness where you just literally relive the film. Why I thought of the film, how I put it together, how I generated the funds for a film like this, about someone whose name people hadn’t even heard – they said, “Manto, Minto, who is that, what does it even mean?”
Starting there, how do you go to actors? I had collected a whole lot of known actors in the hope that I wouldn’t compromise on the way I want to tell the story, so if I could get actors who were credible and right for the part, maybe that would help. The book also discusses the struggles of independent films, how you market and distribute it, the nexus between producers, distributers and exhibitors, etcetera.
I also write about what it is to be a mother and make a film. Why are there so few women? It’s also because we having to juggle between a lot of things. What is it to have a female gaze? How has my own relationship with owning the label of “woman director” changed? After Firaaq, I used to hate the label, but today, I feel you have to assume that title if you want more women directors to come in.
You can’t say I don’t want to be labelled that way, but that I want more women directors. These labels are probably important because there are so few of us. But things are changing. So every little thing that found its way into my journey has also found its way into the book.
(Abridged. This interview was first published on Scroll.in)
