Santiniketan, located only 170 kilometres away from Kolkata, seems to have become over the last decade a preferred choice for directors of Bengali movies, serials and reality shows. So what brings the stars and starlets in their SUVs to this place? Probably the ease of getting here, the little green that is still left and the faith in Tagore’s blessings for all things “cultural”.
In the last seven years of its existence, the small café that my partner and I run in Santiniketan has become a hang-out for students, teachers and tourists. Probably impressed by the cafe’s laid-back vibe, many travel magazines and producers of travel and reality shows approach us to write about it or shoot. Convinced that any publicity will draw crowds, which could adversely affect our service, we always declined.
Recently, however, a gentleman said he was directing a movie and needed to shoot a sequence at the café. He was so persistent that we succumbed, though conditionally: he could shoot only between 12 p m and 4 p m, the four hours when the café was shut. We also clarified that in his movie he should make no reference to the café, nor should he give us any acknowledgement. He agreed and left.
We did not hear from him for weeks. Thinking that our conditions must have put him off, we were pleased with ourselves for having pulled it off — agreeing but not really. But our satisfaction was short-lived. One day the producer called to remind us of the conversation we had had with the director and gave us a date for the shoot.
The director had said a scene involving the hero and the heroine would be shot in the café. We were naïve to believe that this implied not too much of a crowd or ruckus. On the appointed day, when we went to the café in the morning to ensure that all was well, half-a-dozen trucks greeted us. Lined up in the narrow lane in front of the café, they were carrying equipment, generator sets, food supplies and so on.
Once we found the director, we tried to impress upon him the fact that our café was in a quiet residential area and, therefore, such noise was absolutely unacceptable. He promised to streamline the chaos soon. Just then my partner got a call. One of our neighbours, who prides himself on his ability to befriend the local youth (many of whom are unemployed), called to say how the commotion was affecting the youngsters’ ability to focus on their studies. He added that we were making money and and gaining fame by renting out the cafe, but the neighbourhood was suffering.
This could be an opportunity to put an end to the commotion, we thought. So we told our neighbour that since there was no financial consideration for the use of the place, we could ask the crew to leave. We then asked him to come over so that together we could give the director the bad news.
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He did come, accompanied by some of the “youngsters”. But we soon realised he had a different agenda. This was a good opportunity for the neighbourhood club to make some money for the approaching Durga Puja. By threatening to stop the shooting, he got the director to talk. The director was unfazed. A deal was struck. Our neighbour was now trying to convince us to let the show go on because “they were only going to shoot one scene”.
We returned home for lunch and an afternoon nap, amazed at the mysterious way education works. We had “learnt” a new thing.