Actress and film director Nandita Das will be the first one to tell you that she chooses to be a part of stories that are not commonly told, but need to be heard. Whether on screen in such movies as Before The Rains, or behind the scenes, there is a theme of social injustice that beckons to be acknowledged.
Such is the case in the movie Firaaq ( an Urdu work that means both separation and quest), which premiers in New York City, Wednesday, October 22th. In her directorial debut, Nandita Das tackles the Gujurat riots of 2002 in India. The ensemble film traces the emotional journeys of ordinary people; the victims, perpetrators and those who silently watched the sectarian violence unfold.
Das believes that the role of the cinema is a powerful instrument for social change and therefore is the vehicle of choice to express her definition of “right livelihood.” Her working and living experiences have admittedly merged, and manifested to the extent that her career inevitably reflects her core values at all times. Here’s an excerpt from some questions I posed to her on this topic, and on her new film Firaaq.
Much of your work has been themed “socially conscious” to some degree. What in your personal life experience has fed your passion?
I am thankful for an upbringing where I grew up with sensitive parents who always cared about what happened around them. That kind of foundation and many other experiences, like teaching and doing my masters degree in Social Work have influenced my choices. I don’t see my work as a separate entity. It is a reflection of what I believe – and want to do. My experience interacting with people who have suffered violence in some form or the other, has definitely had an emotional impact on me. I feel passionate about it, not as a philanthropic gesture to anyone – but to give my own life a sense of purpose.
What is the criteria you use to choose your projects?
I have instinctively anchored towards projects that I can relate to, that resonated with my interests, concerns and dilemma. There have been some films that didn’t turn out the way I had imagined them to. But I am happy that at least I made those choices for honest reasons. What I look for is a good script, a director who can translate that into an interesting cinematic experience and a role that is layered and believable. Often, all these things don’t come together as there are many factors involved in film making. But when they do, it is a very fulfilling experience.
What do you do to balance your career and personal life? Considering the violent nature of the topics you cover, I suspect you need downtime to meditate or otherwise.
While the subjects I work on are often depressing and difficult, they also have great moments of joy and hope. I’ve met incredible people who work with great conviction, have triumphed through their struggles, or are hugely creative or compassionate. My work, both in films and human rights, exposes me to a lot of interesting people. I have wanted to meditate or do Yoga, for a long while now, but just haven’t had the time. Hopefully after this all consuming experience of Firaaq, I will actually take a good chunk of down time!
Why did you make Firaaq?
Firaaq in a way was the reaction to the collective experience of waking up to newspapers filled with stories of violence; of conversations about identity and the notion of the ‘other’ that would soon turn into arguments, polarizing people instantly. Growing up in a liberal secular environment and gradually finding oneself in the midst of prejudices, thrusted identities and the many ‘isms’ that makeone feel alone and alienated, only added to this. The sadness, the anger, the helplessness kept growing and a compelling desire to share all those stories with a larger group of people started taking roots. I think I needed this catharsis. One reacts to what is happening around oneself.
What would you like your audience to feel and/or understand after seeing this film?
The complex world we live in cannot have easy simplistic solutions. Through Firaaq, I have just tried to ask questions that we often hesitate to ask. I have deliberately avoided extreme stories and characters, and instead chosen small incidents, ordinary people and universal emotions of trust and betrayal, hope and despair, fear and anger, guilt and atonement. I wanted minimum violence to be seen but the below the surface violence to be felt. I want to convey that violence spares nobody, so let’s never find a justification for it and thoughtfully choose our responses to it.
