BY SAIKAT DATTA

Just like Goa, Mumbai, has distinguished itself by its tolerant nature. The city has assimilated all that those coming from elsewhere have had to offer. This unique trait is under threat thanks to the fundamentalism of the Shiv Sena and the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena.

ABOUT A decade ago, when Akashdeep Pandey came to Mumbai armed with a fresh degree in cinematography from Rajasthan University, he was one of thousands dreaming of making it in Bollywood. Today, the crawls of a few Hindi films made under the bigger banners-such as Yuvvraaj, starring Salman Khan-mention his name as assistant cinematographer. However, it’s his work in Marathi cinema that he remembers with satisfaction.

As the Shiv Sena and the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) tom-tom Maratha pride, there are few who are aware of the vital role of “outsiders” like Pandey in the success of recent Marathi cinema. Compared to Bollywood, Marathi films are a low-return proposition, but they have always found backing from, and provided employment to, people with non-Marathi surnames. In fact, the producer of last year’s acclaimed Harishchandrachi Factory, India’s official entry for the Oscars, is Ronnie Screwvala, a Mumbai-born Parsi whom the strange conveniences of regional fanaticism have so far spared from the “outsider” label.

‘OUTSIDER’

IT’S a dreaded and hated label in a city which thrives in spite of its many linguistic, religious and regional divides, like India itself. The Hindu from another state is afraid in Mumbai because tomorrow, the MNS and the Shiv Sena could call him a non-Marathi outsider. The Konkani Muslim may speak fluent Marathi and vote for Raj Thackeray’s MNS, but the Shiv Sena could still go after him because he’s not a Hindu.

But Pandey, and many thousands like him, have learnt to work and make a meaningful contribution to the city and its cosmopolitan ethos despite the hateful rhetoric. In 2005, Pandey was approached by Marathi filmmaker Gautam Joglekar to shoot Aai No. 1. He immediately agreed. Since then, he has always looked out for work in Marathi cinema. “The money may be in Bollywood,” he says, “but the substance has always been in regional cinema. It’s much more satisfying to work in Marathi films. The budgets are tight, but the creative challenge and the opportunity for experimentation is satisfying.”

Pandey’s current project is a Marathi film scripted by Harish Nair, a Malayali from Delhi, and being directed by Sangram Sinh Gaikwad, who happens to be from Goa. “Some scripts work only in a particular language, and this script is one of them,” says Nair. “We can’t think of making this film in any language other than Marathi.” Brought together by their zeal for creative expression, Pandey, Nair and Gaikwad believe that in Mumbai, culture-whether popular or elevated-always finds ways of bringing together people of disparate backgrounds. After all, this is a feature of Mumbai that even meretricious Bollywood has celebrated over the years.

The other big Marathi film of last year, Rita, was also produced by a non-Marathi-Pooja Shetty Deora, wife of Milind Deora, the Congress MP from South Mumbai. She says she fell in love with the script created by Renuka Shahane, a noted TV personality. Shahane, who also directed the film eventually, had adapted her mother Shanta Gokhale’s novel Rita Welingkar for the screen and was looking for someone to finance and produce it. “Mine is a young and talented team, and when we heard the script together, we loved it immensely,” says Pooja. “I wanted to do a Hindi film as my company’s first venture, but after the script-reading session, there was no doubt in my mind we had a great film on our hands.”

LINGUISTICS

HER husband says it’s really sad that Marathi cinema, which, like Marathi literature, is known for high artistic standards, cannot be taken to every hall across the country for others to appreciate. “With this kind of linguistic violence, will someone, say in Uttar Pradesh or Bihar, get to watch and appreciate our films?” he asks. “This is the politics of disengagement at a time we should be looking at a politics of engagement.”

It’s not just Marathi cinema that is fuelled by “outsider” energy, finances and enterprise. Mumbai’s 5,000-odd dabbawalas-who long ago became one of the megapolis’s icons, like the Victoria Terminus, the local trains and the Premier Padmini taxis-count on people from all parts of India as their own. Every day, through rain or shine, this army ferries two lakh tiffin-boxes of homemade food to offices across the city. They have done it for decades.

“We have no religion, no preference, no language,” says Raghunath Megde, president of the dabbawalas association. “We have members from every political party, including Laloo Prasad Yadav’s RJD. How can we think in terms of affiliations? Our customer is our god; serving him or her is our religion.”

Across the political divide, MNS spokesman Shirish Parkar presents a completely different view, that of the reactionary. “People love Mumbai because we have always been tolerant. We, as Maharashtrians, held the peace,” he says. “But when our livelihood and our culture is under threat, we had to react. Now that we have awakened, they call us violent.”

But in this city, which has been battered by terror attacks, floods and political violence, there are genuine heroes-among them many “outsiders”-who have loved the city and served its teeming millions. It was Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan, an NSG commando and a Malayali from Bangalore, who laid down his life on 26/11, fighting terrorists at the Taj Hotel. Then there’s Sadanand Date, whose heroism also saved the city during the attacks. This police officer, a Maharashtrian and a non-Mumbaikar, took on terrorists Ajmal Kasab and Abu Ismail. With his six colleagues, he fought them till he fell unconscious. His take on Mumbai says it all: “Mumbai is a beautiful city and grows on you only because it is multicultural. As I see it, it must always remain the same.”

Perhaps it’s people like him who really speak for Mumbai-believing that the city is a part of India and does not belong to any particular group. That, in a way, Mumbai is India.

Courtesy: Outlook