Personnage Croquis- "Chotta"

Chotta is a difficult man to miss, he is spectacularly bald, stone faced and is almost always attired in indigo coloured jeans, monochromatic custom sneakers, a shirt with pinkish hues and, the soon to be iconic, Nehru jacket. As we greet each other and sit down for our meeting it is difficult to ignore the feeling that Chotta is seated in the eye of a storm of nervous energy. While his aura exudes an eerie calm that seems almost entirely contained within him, the energy around our table is positively frenetic.

The lone waiter at the café, we were meeting at, seemed twitchy and anxious to serve our table much to the chagrin of other patrons at the establishment, the child at the table next to ours tries hard to stifle a wail that’s building up inside of him and an attractive woman in a red shirt is trying hard to stay focused on the book she is reading while stealing glances at our table. The whole setup made me feel like I was sitting in the epicentre of something marvellously bizarre. We place our orders with the eager to serve waiter- I order a cup of earl grey tea and Chotta, his usual- diet coke in a chilled glass topped to the brim with ice, he emphasises the need for ice as he orders.

The order is the same wherever he goes, his clothes are similar and so is his need to have his back to the wall wherever he sits- the need for consistency, I realise, is the unifying theme in the Chotta paradigm. We begin to speak, catching up on the factual aspects of our life, it had been a year since our last meeting and much had changed. We quickly cut through the details and start swapping notes on mutual acquaintances and friends, our drinks arrive and Chotta smiles approvingly at the waiter as he leaves behind a tall glass and a full ice bucket, “Thoughtful chap, we must tip him well before we leave” he says as he gleefully tops his glass with ice.

The clinking of ice and glass, the hiss of opening a chilled can of diet coke and the bubbling hiss of the liquid hitting the ice in the glass seemed to change Chotta and he drinks the first sip with great relish and wave of relief sweeps over him. As I watch this almost ritualistic act, I cant help but notice that the energy around us changes, it loses its anxiety inducing edge, and a wave of calm sweeps over me- I let my guard down and we start talking again.

Chotta describes his aesthetic sensibilities and the influences that helped them evolve -“I seek minimalism and consistency in a visual frame, it doesn’t need to tell a linear story, although I am partial to that; I need to be able to frame that particular moment in reality as simply and efficiently as possible while retaining an other worldliness about it. I sense my style has been influenced by the kind of film, literature and philosophy I was exposed to in my late teens and early twenties- I found myself drawn to pan-asian cinema, deconstructionist, subversive and efficient writing and was pulled to study Zen, Taoism and the monastic practices of various faith systems. The one common thread through all of these was the insatiable need to strip away the inessential- to exist without anything more than what was needed”. The conversation pauses as a noisy gay couple walk into the café, everyone instinctively looks up to see the new entrants, and they go back to what they were doing.

Chotta and I make some small talk about his recent move to Bombay and his efforts at educating himself about Bollywood and its evolving sensibilities, his humility and relentless drive to learn made me feel pompous for feeling so secure in the little I know, he describes his first Bollywood experience-“ I was at a party, a friend invited me to, …surrounded by extremely attractive people and everyone seemed to be there for something more than just the party- I remember being asked what I did for a living and when I said I was a film-maker, ears perked and all attention was on me for the next thirty seconds till I told them I hadn’t yet finished my first project, I was grilled about my industry pedigree and on realising I had no ties, eyes glazed over and I was back where I began a keen observer of happenings around. It was stunning to see how different the backdoor conversations were and how keenly aware of world cinema people seemed to be- it made me feel like I had to get my game up”. Chotta signs to the waiter to get another coke and the bill, he looks at his, authentic looking, knock-off Breitling and apologises that we cant talk any longer than the next twenty minutes. He has an appointment with a screenwriter who may be able to translate his creative vision and he does not want to be late.

We start talking about the future and what his plans are “ I had, when I was younger, a vision for where I would be in ten years but that timeline was entirely unrealistic and impossible to accomplish. I gave myself a hard time for not meeting those objectives as quickly… but over the last year I have realised that sometimes it takes an entire lifetime to accomplish anything that is meaningful or truly reflective of your creative vision in this space and I am giving myself that time to build the right networks, and be influential enough to assert my vision”. When I ask him about commercial cinema and the compromises one needs to make to the creative vision to complete a project, he grows silent and seems lost in thought “I have learnt, painfully, that you don’t get in the real world the reality you see in your head when it comes to making cinema, and good cinema that appeals to a larger audience… it may not necessarily reflect what I think is “awesome” or “good”- The few projects I have been involved in made me realise that compromises become necessary, especially when patience and resources are scarce- the important thing, sometimes, is getting the message across”.

The bill arrives, Chotta pulls out a customised silver money clip which hold a stack of thousand rupee notes- he notices me gawk and smiles at me and only says these words as he pays the bill with exact change “…my life savings”, we hug and he leaves. As I sit down and complete the last few sips of tea in my cup, impressions of the meeting swim around in my head and I am left feeling like someone put out a warm fire and the cold made itself known, there was no yearning for the warmth again just a comfort that I knew what that warmth felt like. I throw in some extra cash for the tip and leave.