Devdas is scheduled for screening at the Cannes Film Festival next week, and post-production of the film is progressing at break-neck speed. For a director whose film is simultaneously being mixed, its background music being scored, dubbing and shooting happening in different locations, Sanjay Leela Bhansali on the surface appears remarkably calm. On stage 16 at Film City, Mumbai, Bhansali is referred to as “Boss” by the unit. I’m led through a dark passage to arrive on a waterfall surrounded by trees and sprawling branches. It’s the final day of shooting and the director is in a vulnerable mood. Without any formality, he draws his chair closer to mine and begins talking. “It’s as if my third eye has opened and I can see through the darkest cloud. I’m in a state of heightened sensitivity and the adrenaline is flowing. Otherwise the turmoils we’ve been weathering for months should have broken me down long ago. But I’m also so exhausted that every fibre in my body is aching. Even my fingernails hurt. I have been working for 20 hours at a stretch and have not slept for nights on end. Perhaps this is the only way to make a Rs 50 crore project. It’s like walking on a tightrope. Storms are blowing from all sides and you trying hard to retain your balance....,” he confesses in a torrent of words. Then, taking a deep breath, Bhansali orders tea, locks eyes with you and smiling wickedly, waits for your first question:

Did you ever dream that you would one day make a film that would be invited to Cannes?
Never! Films going to Cannes were news items one read in the papers and associated with doyens like Satyajit Ray and Mrinal Sen. The dream was too far-fetched for a boy growing up in in a chawl in Bhuleshwar. Still, cinema was part of my growing-up. My father was a filmmaker who made B- grade films like Lootera. So fantasy was a way of life. At a sub-conscious level, there was something burning within me, something pursuing me. But the sad thing about big moments is that you don’t recognise them when they come. It’s the same with misfortunes. They don’t cast any shadows, just engulf you in a tragedy one fine day.

Did you have a traumatic childhood?
Not traumatic, but there were disturbing phases when one wanted answers and there were none. I wasn’t unhappy, but my life wasn’t peaceful like that of my friends. There were some splendid moments, unforgettable memories. My father would take my sister and me to Opera House to see Mughal-e-Azam again and again. And every time he’d point out different nuances. “Watch the scale, the grandeur,” he would urge, “Listen to Bade Ghulam Ali carefully.” It was like savouring every moment of the experience. Today, the creativity is coming in useful. Looking back, I realise that those experiences were like a preparation process. It is strange that a man who made run-of-the-mill films had such appreciation for magnificence. My father was a different person in the theatre, and a different person at home.

Back in our one-room tenement he was always so anxious. We were told we needed education to survive. That showbiz was a temptation we had to be beware of. The world of films was a jungle where dreams died. We listened in rapt attention, trying desperately to find some order in his words. There was none. But that’s where the strength stemmed from. The unfulfilled dream blossomed. Deep down I relised that something out-of-the-ordinary was happening. Something dramatically different was going to shape my life...

Devdas expresses without manipulation. Paro is strength and pride. At the same time volatile and vulnerable. She’s desire and determination. Chandramukhi signifies patience and sacrifice. Even after she gives up the kotha she returns to it because she hopes that Devdas will return some day. Chunnilal stands for the pleasures of life. He is cheerful despite cynicism

You shared a complicated relationship with your father. That’s evident even in the opening line in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam.
I never got along with my father as long as he lived. He was an awesome personality, but circumstances didn’t allow him the expansion his personality demanded. My recurring image of him is in his last day at the hospital. He was in a coma. Unconscious, I saw him reaching out for my mother’s hand. That one moment when their fingers touched and held compensated for all her sufferings and sacrifices. I didn’t realise it then, but that immortal moment was the beginning of Devdas.

And you’ve been obsessed with making Devdas all these years?
In a surrealistic way. No other literature has given so much dignity to a woman, to love as Devdas did. My father died from excessive consumption of alcohol. To this day my mother has kept that last unconsumed bottle in her cupboard. It’s her way of preserving him, his memories. It’s this incompleteness in all our love stories that makes Devdas so fascinating. I can feel Devdas’s restlessness, his inner pain that remains unsubsided. That’s the magic of the love story. Devdas is so remote that Chandramukhi, despite her sensuality, cannot seduce him, cannot take away the memory of Paro. Yet, Devdas isn’t a loser. Assuming that he died at 10.30, he was immortalised at 10.31, and after all these years, remains a muse for creative artistes.

Everyone says Hindi cinema is changing. How liberating is it to be a filmmaker in current times?
I’d say that Hindi cinema is returning to its roots. There are bigger opportunities today because screenplay writing is evolving. Producers, after a long betrayal, have once again put their faith in their directors and trust their minds. What’s more encouraging is that the audience is in a receptive mood too. Hindi cinema is changing because the audience is changing. The public is rejecting mundane stuff and asking for adventure.

Your first film Khamoshi—The Musical raised a social concern. Your second film, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam was a love story and the third one, Devdas is a tragedy. How do you go about selecting your subjects?
I’d say that all my films are about human anguish, about passion, whether the characters fight it or succumb to it. As the hearing impaired couple, Nana Patekar and Seema Biswas could have succumbed to the tragedy, but they survived it. Similarly, Ajay Devgan’s character Vanraj in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam didn’t want to turn bitter, despite destiny’s making a mockery of him, so he fell back on his inherent goodness and went about finding his wife’s beloved. Salman also found in himself the same goodness when he let Aishwarya go. If I ever made a sequel to the film, I would concentrate on Salman’s story. Would he have found another love? Maybe not. Probably he’d have turned into another Devdas.

Is it true that you have taken a lot of liberties with the original version?
See, as a reader of the classic I have my own fantasies, and I should be allowed to interpret the story as I see it. In my vision, I want to retain the intensity and the layers of Bimal Roy’s projection. But I also want to add the drama and energy of Raj Kapoor. I don’t see these changes as taking liberties, but extending my sensibilities to the subject. It’s about introspection, not imitation, in which case I could have merely distributed 100 copies of the old Devdas to everyone and forgotten about making it myself.

Are there any nagging doubts about a subject you have confirmed or a shot you have okayed?
I don’t know about other filmmakers but I take a very long time to decide on a subject and once I do, I stay committed. After Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, I met several writers and heard several subjects but my heart wasn’t in them. Then one day, I was all alone at home, and for no particular reason picked up Saratchandra’s Devdas from my book shelf. I was reading the book for the second time but it consumed me completely. I made up my mind that I was going to make it into a film. Everyone advised me against it but I was adamant. By the grace of God, I’ve never re-shot scenes and never needed to do patchwork. Yes, I’ve gone home feeling I could have done better but that has instilled strength in me to perform better the next morning. I know that I’m insecure, unsure of my capabilities but I like it that way. I don’t want to be smug. You are alive only when you are alert.

But you must be feeling relatively calmer now that the film is almost complete.
I’m never at peace. I disguise my restlessness, I let it simmer, it’s all a part of projection. When I go home I crack up. But my mother has the most unusual way of restoring sanity. She has a special equation with the Almighty, and recurringly absolves me from crises. When you return home night after night to such innocence, you cannot get corrupted. The film has taken two-and-a-half years, 275 days to be precise. In all these months, I’ve met no friends, attended no parties, seen no films and read no books. I only read my script, watch the rushes and listen to my music. My friends say I’ll go mad, but I feel it’s a kind of self-preservation. Interacting hampers my creativity and I’m possessive of my isolation.

Which of the three (Devdas, Paro, Chandramukhi) characters do you identify with?
I’d say there’s a lot of Devdas in me. He lets opportunities go by, he is weak inside. He thinks he can rectify his lapses but he cannot. There is an inherent sadness in him. And there is also hope.

The description sounds more like your father than you.
You’re right. I see my father in Devdas and I want his soul to rest in peace. Whenever I think of him I feel his pain. I want both of us to be free of the suffering, and that can be possible only if I re-live his anguish. I chose Shah Rukh for the role because he has sad eyes and a mad man’s energy. The character calls for languid movements and it also calls for a special ability to shirk off 12 years of rhythm, and adopt a new body language, but he has done it. I just love the way Shah Rukh has played Devdas.

What have you learnt from these characters?
All of them loved with complete honesty. I disagree that Devdas is a coward. He is like a child. He hits when he is denied a candy and runs away when the family reprimands him. He expresses without manipulation. Paro symbolises strength, and Chandramukhi patience. Even after she gives up the kotha she returns to it, because she hopes that Devdas will return to it some day. The sad thing is that Devdas believes that he can resolve all anguish. He wants time, and time runs out on him.

DIFFERENT STROKES

His first film, Khamoshi - The Musical was set in Goa, his second, Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam set in Gujarat. And his third film, Devdas is set in Bengal. “If in Khamoshi the women wore lacy frocks and in HDDCS, ghagras, this time, they are wearing frilly blouses and antique jewellery. The body language and the expressions of love are different too,” emphasised Bhansali, “With the ghagras, the women moved slower and the hand movements blended with their chunris. This time, the movements are faster because their sarees are tied comparatively higher. Also the dialect is completely different. In Gujarat, we’d say ‘Hai la...’ while in Bengal the common expression is ‘Ish...’.

Are you going to let time run out on you too or are you going to settle down some day?
Celluloid is my beloved and I cannot have two wives. My films are my grandchildren. I don’t want to settle down. I want to grope, have this continuous love affair with the camera.

What does a filmmaker feel at the end of the day?
When I was waiting at the laboratory for the print of Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam, it was like going through labour pangs. And when they took the cans away, it was like giving away my daughter in marriage. It was heart-wrenching! For this film we’ve been through difficult times. There were days when we thought we would not be able to can a single shot. There were scenes that required 40 generators, 500 lightmen and 2500 lenses, and not even Rs. 10 was in the production kitty. The assistants and technicians hadn’t been paid for weeks, while I was clamouring for a special fabric and intricate embroidery on the costumes. My unit has stood by me through all this. I don’t know whether they begged, borrowed or stole, but they reproduced whatever I asked for, uncomplainingly indulging my obsession. They have seen me break down and rise again to inspire them.

Bharat Shah has been in and out of hospital and jail, but he kept up our spirits by asking us to not stop shooting. When I’ve been particularly low and felt that all doors were closing on me, my father has appeared in my dreams, holding my finger and telling me everything will be okay. I strongly believe that you don’t need money to make a film. You need passion. We’ve been able to pull through this Rs. 50 crore extravaganza because it was Bharatbhai and his family’s passion. It was Saratchandra’s passion.

There is a superstition that gloom stalks everyone who attempts Devdas, the clouds disappearing when the project is complete.
I believe that now. It’s proved true in our case at least. I have died a 100 deaths during these two-and-a-half years. Bharat Shah went through hell and humiliation. It has been a traumatic time for Shah Rukh with his house and health problems, and Aishwarya went through a tormenting relationship. Saratchandra wrote the novel when he was only 19, but the anguish hasn’t faded in decades, nor the passion. There were times when I felt like a lone ranger galloping on a horse, unaware of my destination. I was lonely despite being amongst crowds, but I endured it. I guess if you want to make Devdas you have to be ready for suffering.

—Bhawana Somaaya
bhawanasomaaya@expressindia.com