Being an incorrigible and incorruptible Indian, I live in a sprawling country which, till this moment, has eighteen official languages and many dialects, and scripts not just a few. Since I was born and schooled in Bengal and still living here, quite understandably, the best-loved language of mine own is Bengali. But, having had an idiosyncratic taste for the music and magic of other languages, I have travelled all over the country and have so far made films in three more Indian languages other than Bengali - Hindi, Oriya and a southern language, Telugu. And, true, when making films in those languages other than mine, my team and I had plenty of alien features to familiarise with - outfits, food habits, local customs, and, of course, modes of expressions - not so simple to fall in love with unless and until a kind of respect can be developed for the circumstances in which the characters live, grow, and, in case of adverse situations, also perish. But what is found strikingly similar anywhere, everywhere in the world, and also in contrasting social surroundings in India, is the quality of ordinary life, linked by certain cultural commonality.

I wonder if, in bilingual Canada, there is any trait, custom, tradition or speech especially characteristic of French or English. More often than not have I come across expressions like Canadianism, but I do not know if it refers to any distinction between English-speaking Canadians and their French varieties. Even if there is distinction of one kind or the other, in the ultimate analysis, filmmakers all over look for the same - humankind. And, of course, there is a certain commonality that runs through diverse cultures. Which is why, heterogeneous languages and traditions notwithstanding, I feel quite at home in every international event. The festival in Montreal is no exception.

The cultural commonality apart, I have a particular reason, very personal, which holds me close to Montreal. The man, and, indeed, the gem of a man, Gaston Roberge, a liberal catholic, who, for long years, has been doing the French translations of most of my dialogue texts, and every time doing the job extremely well, was born in his native town in Quebec , grew in Montreal, studied cinema in a film school in Montreal, and now, for quite long time, has remained attached to a catholic college in Calcutta. And whenever I had gone to Montreal I carried with me the good wishes of Fr. Roberge. But never did we visit the place together, because neither he nor I had been a frequenter there.

My last visit to Montreal was way back in 1984. I went alone with my latest film Khandhar (The Ruins), a film which, still now, is close to my heart. On the first day of my arrival, or, the day after, accidentally did I bump into an old friend of mine, Guy Glover. He told me, and he showed it, that he was not keeping well. Even then I asked him if it would be too much of trouble for him to organise a meeting with Norman McLaren who, according to my understanding, would stand out as one of the greatest masters in his area of activity. GG told me that the master was in the hospital and was under strict observation there. I was shocked. I did not know that his addiction to drugs was getting worse. But GG told me that he would talk to the superintendent of the hospital and find a way out. A hard job, but no assurance, no way, he said.

Next day in the morning a call came from GG. He asked me how I was placed in the afternoon. He said he would require me to come to the National Film Board of Canada, and he would bring McLaren there. I felt terribly excited. So, GG had done the impossible!

Just on time I had the meeting with the master. He was mostly quiet, and I did the most of the talking. When the time was over, and GG said it, I looked at my watch. McLaren smiled a warm smile, indicating that now was the time for him to report back. My God, I took an hour and a half of his time in his indifferent health.

McLaren and GG left for the hospital, I went back to the festival theatre.

Next day I had breakfast with Bertrand Travernier. Bertrand told me about his Un Dimanche � la campagne, and I spoke about mine. I said I would not miss his film, and he promised he would not miss my film either. As we came out, Bertrand was looking for someone, and I looked for none. Someone from the festival secretariat came forward and asked me if I would care to visit the film school. He said that a transport was at my disposal. Bertrand went his way, and I lost no time to get into the car and go the way of the chauffeur. Big or small, it was a surprise. Without my asking, a car was ready to take me to the school where, years ago, Gaston Roberge. - the French Canadian and now a perfect Calcuttan - studied a full course!

I came to the school. I went to the classroom along with the students. I spent wonderful time with them. They were smiling, all of them. With fixed-deposit smile on my face I shook hands with everyone of them. They took their seats, and, facing them I pulled a chair and sat. I was happy to be there with the students, and they seemed to be happy to meet an Indian filmmaker. I knew we would then have a question-answer session. I gave a little cough and cleared my throat. The moment I told them about my meeting with Norman McLaren, to my surprise, all of them stood up, all at a time. They rushed to me and struggled to touch a man who met a living legend. Amazing!

We had a session, not too long, not too short either. At a point of time one of the students asked me if I could prepare a shortlist of the films worth watching at the festival. That was a common question in all festivals, and I questioned myself too. Even today when, with age and experience, I see fewer films, I put the same question to myself. I have no satisfying answer, neither for me nor for others. More so, because there are too many film festivals taking place in a year, but not too many good films are made in a year. So, I asked the students at Montreal to make their own choices, and chance upon some good films if they were lucky. Besides, I also asked them to know that in the history of cinema even the masters had not always made masterpieces. "Chance upon good films which, I am pretty sure, will come your way", I said, "or, in case of indifferent films, see and suffer And, true, as students you learn both ways - for good, bad and indifferent films."

I, for one, decided not to see too many films, and keep the eyes virgin as much as possible. But, having nothing much to do, I saw a large number of films, a combination of those in and out of competition. I liked quite a few films, I loved some, and some, to be honest, could be seen and forgotten. Bertrand's was a lovely film, unforgettable - A Sunday in the Country.

The last day of the festival. The glittering evening. Razzle dazzle of the concluding event when the chosen ones were awarded. On my way back to the hotel, many people, known and unknown, came forward and congratulated me. There was absolutely no reason why I should not have been happy that evening. The only regret was that I wished the film, the awarded one, were treated as just "a dress rehearsal" so that I could do the film over again. True, every time, I make a film, and every time I get an award, I grow a feeling with humility that the film could even be better. For me and, sure enough, for others too, nothing in quality is the last word, it can never be.

Next day in the morning, when all was over, I got a phone call, and it was Gilles Jacob who called me. Gilles was a juror and so he was in Montreal from the beginning. I had a film in competition and so I was also in Montreal from the very first day. But, during the festival, none of us ever met or spoke on phone.

This reminded me of a small incident that took place in Cannes in 1982. I was on the jury then, and my wife and I came to Cannes one day in advance. The first one to greet me at a coffee shop was Humberto Solas, my friend from Havana, then at Cannes with his film. He took the morning flight from Rome and arrived an hour earlier. He came to present his film in competition. Of course, it was a happy meeting, and I introduced my wife to him. In the crowded caf� we managed to occupy one table for three of us -- my wife, Humberto, and I. Suddenly, it seemed, he realised he would better avoid meeting me during the festival time. He excused himself and said he was in a bit of hurry, and rushed out. Until the end of the festival, I did not see his face. I was on the jury which, probably, was why he made himself scarce. His understanding touched me, but I felt sad that I missed him. Between Gilles and me in Montreal the situation was the same. Now that it was all over, Gilles felt free to call me.

The first thing Gilles did was to congratulate me for the award and then he said, "Mrinal, since I am leaving soon after and a friend of mine from India is also leaving, and since we have no time to lunch, can we meet over breakfast - you and I and my Indian friend?" I agreed, and I felt amused. I had no problem to place who the Indian friend of Gilles was - Smita Patil, one of the finest actors in Indian cinema and one who acted the lead in one of my films too. Obviously, she was also on the jury, and, as usual, she and I kept apart from each other during the time she sat in judgement beside her fellow jurors.

In ten minutes or so we three were together in the coffee shop.

To see humour in a situation, Gilles said, "Mrinal, you took her for one film and it won an award at Berlin. I want you to make another film with her and the film will come to me at Cannes. Agreed?"

"Of course, I will," I said, and nodded my head.
Smita quickly pulled out a paper napkin and wrote down the short lines Gilles and I spoke playfully. At the bottom I put my signature and also put down the place and the date. Gilles signed his name and did not miss to put down the place and date. Smita's signature came last as the witness. And I still remember how gently Smita folded the paper and with due care and respect put it away into her handbag. Thus a deed was signed, if not sealed, and each one of us - Gilles and Smita and I - smiled a benign smile. A lovely game to end the annual Montreal game!

A few months later Smita died a sudden death!

Mrinal Sen

Invit� du Festival / Festival guest: 1977, 1984

Films pr�sent�s / Films presented

1977

• MRIGAYAA / LA CHASSE ROYALE / THE ROYAL HUNT

1984

• KHANDAR / LES RUINES / THE RUINS
• Comp�tition officielle / Official Competition
• Prix sp�cial du JURY / Special jury award