HIGH DEMANDS

The junior Bedis — Ajay and Vijay— were pleased to make a point with their Cherub of the Mist — a film on the red pandas in the Singalila National Park. After the ceremony and a token pub session, we walked under Bristol’s drizzling night sky to our hotels. Supposed to be a 10-minute walk, it took a good half hour as the young brothers chose to open their hearts.

Planet Earth — a BBC production — bagged the Kodak cinematography award that night. We were fascinated by its spectacular footage, using high definition HD cameras, helicopters and a battery of seasoned cameramen so many that they didn’t fit on stage. But underlying it all was the anguish of an Indian film-maker who operated on shoestring budgets. With most channels insisting on HD, Indians may soon find it hard to compete.

“One HD cam with lenses cost over a crore of rupees. Bedi brothers may still manage to buy one but what about the others? Besides, what happens to our archive of non-HD footage?” Ajay was not sure. His brother tells us that Indian film-makers were usually offered half the amount for similar projects by top channels. Besides, “recently in Ladakh, people told me a foreign unit had gifted video cams to the local helps besides cash awards for each wild sighting. Now these locals expect similar incentives from us which we just can’t afford,” said Ajay.

Vijay claimed there existed a not-so-invisible glass ceiling: “Ajay’s film The Policing Langur got a Panda last time in the promising film-maker category. But no one here come forward to commission him any film.” The drizzle turned into rain and the brothers braced themselves up: “They have the money. We have the skills. It’s a big challenge. We will fight it out.”

PACKING A HEADY PUNCH

After the nostalgic Albert they display the Queen’s napkin and the mini-Arab fare on Edgware Street in London, I didn’t expect much from the pubs at Bristol. But even the festival crowd that had some official dinner or the other lined up every evening, ended up at prescheduled revelries at different pubs every night. There were those typical British fish-n-chips joints. El Puerto, run by a Spanish family, offered decent Mediterranean fare. Not to mention the Iberian seaside tapateria look the former grain store had acquired. Then there was the Chicago Rock cafeacute;, quintessentially yankee. And Scotchman 038; His Pack, which packed in a country flavour.

While most pubs close shop by 11 pm, the night continues to rock at select joints. I visited one at V shed on the harbourside. The TVs at Lloyds No 1 were showing recordings of a football match between Birmingham and Norwich and the place was buzzing with students at 1 in the morning who insisted on mixing their own drinks. I sampled one concoction from a young man who was struggling to keep his shirt on. I couldn’t get his name in the drawl but the recipe of rum, beer and cranberry juice was revolting.

SMOKERS’ CORNER

Smoking kills and it’s definitely not green. At the special India lunch the “no smoking” signs were everywhere, even on the open terrace. We had just driven down from London and in the absence of formal introductions, getting to know people in the know of things was not easy.

So when I found festival manager Sarah Mitchell unoccupied for a moment, I should have taken my notepad out. But as the only smoker in the team, I was missing my smoke for the last few hours. Something told me Sarah smoked too. So I asked her where one could light up without being offensive. And she was quick to respond: “Come with me downstairs. We will go out on the road and smoke.” Minutes later, we were out in the mild drizzle and she was rolling her own tobacco.

The morale of this nugget is simple. Smoking kills but sometimes it can make you lucky. Down there, I had a good 10 minutes of uninterrupted Q038;A and by the time Sarah and I were through, I was all ready to launch my festival campaign.

THE NEIGHBOURS

Pakistan had no film entry this year but two delegates represented the neighbour at the fest. I heard Walkabout Films CEO Nisar Malik busy discussing his ambitious project Himalayan Extreme but it was Obaidullah Baig — ex-journalist and film-maker — who carried the vintage Karachi charm at the Watershed.

Between sessions, he spent hours at different tables with Indian delegates and journalists. “I was born in Moradabad. But I have never been to India since I had to cross over at a very young age. Let me hug you. I am sure it will feel like home,” Baig saab would set the tone for describing how he would have loved to visit India.

Within minutes, however, one could sense a hint of self-doubt: “Were you discussing something important? I hope I am not intruding?” Then again, he would reassure himself: “After all, we are the same people. I am sure the borders will be open some day?”

Husband of TV host Salma Baig, Obaid knew how to hold an audience and he didn’t overstretch. Before taking his leave, he would go back to his Moradabad nostalgia. “I will come before I die. Thank you for offering to be my host in India. But you know,” he would add with a mischievous smile, “Priyanka Gandhi’s husband’s family comes from my Moradabad and that makes me her in-law, no?”

On the gala award night, however, Baig saab refused to sit at the India table designated for us. “How can I sit there? You must understand and excuse me,” he briskly walked away.