Bombay Velvet Movie Review by Rajeev Masand

Rating: 2.5

Cast: Ranbir Kapoor, Anushka Sharma, Karan Johar, Satyadeep Misra, Kay Kay Menon, Manish Chaudhary, Siddhartha Basu, Vivaan Shah

Director: Anurag Kashyap

Against the flickering light of a black and white movie playing in a theatre, you see the rapt face of petty thief Balraj (Ranbir Kapoor) as he watches the climax of the 1939 gangster classic The Roaring Twenties. James Cagney, shot dead, lies in the arms of Priscilla Lane; she tells a cop, visibly heartbroken, “He used to be a big shot.” Balraj is moved, his eyes are moist, and you have a sinking suspicion that you know where director Anurag Kashyap’s Bombay Velvet is headed.

While the opening credits reveal that the script is inspired by historian Gyan Prakash’s book Mumbai Fables, the film itself is primarily about the fictional love story between Ranbir’s Johnny Balraj, now a bonafide gangster, and nightclub singer Rosie Noronha (Anushka Sharma). Their relationship plays out against the backdrop of 1960s Bombay, a city on the threshold of becoming a metropolis. All the action is centered in and around jazz-club Bombay Velvet, owned by conniving newspaper baron and bootlegger Kaizad Khambatta (Karan Johar), who makes Johnny his flunkey, but gradually becomes obsessed with him.

On the surface, Johnny is the manager of Bombay Velvet, but he actually makes Khambatta’s problems go away – by kidnapping, blackmailing or killing people who stand in the way of Khambatta’s ambition to transform Nariman Point into Bombay’s Manhattan. Other key players include Johnny’s childhood friend and sidekick Chiman (a nicely understated Satyadeep Misra), rival newspaper owner Jimmy Mistry (Manish Chaudhary), and an investigating officer who won’t give up (Kay Kay Menon in great form).

Subterfuge, blackmail, thwarted love, and at least two unconvincing plot twists – the first involving a coveted negative, the second being the sudden appearance of a twin sibling – all add to this dense script. Yet, despite its overcrowded plot, the film is let down because the love story at its centre feels hackneyed.

That’s a shame, because Bombay Velvet has all the trimmings – solid performances, a terrific jazz-soaked soundtrack by Amit Trivedi, and excellent production design that takes you by the hand into the city of the late sixties. But how you wish the script had lingered more on the greedy government-mill-owner-media nexus that took over mill lands to create the urban landscape of Nariman Point. Unfortunately, the film is too often waylaid by Johnny and Rosie’s predictable drama. It’s perplexing – more than once you catch yourself wondering, “What happened to the story of Bombay?”

It seems as if multiple threads in this narrative were left incomplete, possibly chopped away at the editing table. Coherence, or the lack of it, is a big issue in this film. Characters like Mistry and Mayor Romi Mehta (Siddhartha Basu) aren’t entirely convincing, and the Fight Club-inspired underground-boxing subplot is contrived. To be fair, however, the film has some enduring moments: a sweet exchange between Rosie and Johnny in a bathtub, a tense wordless phone call between Johnny and Khambatta, and that mad drum solo that matches the sheer intensity with which Johnny takes on Khambatta, all guns blazing Scarface-style. These are some of the bits that stay with you.

Of the cast, Karan Johar is surprisingly effective in his debut as the snarky, manipulative Khambatta. A scene in which he leaves a room to hide an uncontrollable laughing fit over Johnny’s naivete is one of the best in the film. Anushka Sharma as Rosie never feels like an adequately written character. Despite being one half of the film’s central love story, it’s a part that doesn’t come together and is seldom compelling. The actress does much better expressing Rosie’s pent-up pain in the marvelously realized Dhadam Dhadam number.

Ultimately, it’s Ranbir Kapoor, soldiering on as Johnny Balraj, who infects his part with considerable charm, capturing his hotheaded nature, his bottled fury remarkably. You’re riveted by his display of rage against a slimy photographer who threatens Rosie, and likely moved by his grief when he bids goodbye to a close friend. It’s Ranbir’s performance that glosses over many of the film’s problems.

Bombay Velvet doesn’t have the raw energy or the unforgettable characters of Kashyap’s Gangs of Wasseypur. It’s never as involving a story as Black Friday. And yet what you cannot deny is the sheer craft that Kashyap brings to the enterprise. This is an ambitious saga; skillfully mounted. You’re fascinated by the resemblance to real-life figures, the unwavering attention to detail, and little touches that are vintage Kashyap – like a stand-up comic making political barbs back in the day. The missing piece of the puzzle, sadly, is the inconsistent script…one that never lets us truly care for the characters, one that leaves too many questions unanswered.

I’m going with two-and-a-half out of five for Bombay Velvet. Much of the film dazzles, but I found myself longing for some soul.

  1. Author
    sputnik 8 years ago

    Bombay Velvet Movie Review by Anupama Chopra

  2. Author
    sputnik 8 years ago

    Bombay Velvet is an epic misfire

    Bombay Velvet is an obviously shallow film, an all-out retro masala-movie with homage on the rocks and cocktail-shakers brimming with cliche, says Raja Sen.

    There are some filmmakers who scoff at the very notion of historical accuracy — like Oliver Stone or Quentin Tarantino — and Anurag Kashyap is one of that bunch, a man who prefers to create his own sumptuous version of history.

    Bombay Velvet looks to be, then, his very own Bob Fosse-meets-Scarface take on what might have been, instead of bothering with what really was.

    An indicator of the same lies in the opening credits, as they claim to be ‘introducing Karan Johar’ whereas that particular director first acted in the most successful Hindi film of all time.

    Not on Kashyap’s watch, he didn’t.

    And that’s perfectly fair.

    We look to big, brassy cinema not to educate but to entertain, and let us not seek verisimilitude in this kind of cinematic explosion. And this Bombay Velvet is an obviously shallow film, an all-out retro masala-movie with homage on the rocks and cocktail-shakers brimming with cliche.

    It is a take on the nostalgia soaked groovy-gangster movie: Once Upon A Time In Kashyapistan.

    On paper, this sounds like dynamite. Kashyap, a gifted visual stylist and a distinctively bold storyteller, taking on the mainstream and riffing on it his way, subverting the system. Except, um, that’s not what happens here.

    There is surprisingly little subversion, but that’s fine too, provided the result is compelling on its own steam.

    Alas, Bombay Velvet runs out of breath less than halfway through, and huffs and puffs as it tries to breast the finish line.

    The new film clearly wants to be many things — noir, grand romance, a Broadwayesque musical, Prakash Mehra, Brian De Palma — but ends up indecisively skulking around the shadows of giant films, despite editing goddess Thelma Schoonmaker blessing it with her scissors.

    Several components work strongly, particularly a sensational soundtrack and a few excellent male actors. Yet, the film disappoints, and, due to the potential on display, severely so. The scale is amped up to grandness, certainly, but despite majestic intent, what we find here is a watered-down forgery, an imitation you can spot from a mile away: this Dahlia is barely Black-ish; the cloth muffling this revolver isn’t the real thing but merely, alas, velveteen.

    There is much promise of magic, especially as the film begins.

    A raffish crook watches The Roaring Twenties, and, too weak in English to recite James Cagney’s lopsidedly-delivered lines, settles instead for the film’s famous last words, pointing a kerchief-covered finger at the mirror and saying Gladys George’s line about how her dead flame “was a big shot”, thus recreating a voiceover instead of playing a role — ironically making a wish and jinxing himself all at once.

    Johnny Balraj is a character with character, a zoot-suit wearing tomcat with his eye on the prize, and Ranbir Kapoor plays him with slithery elegance. Spry as if eternally scalded, Kapoor glides restlessly through the film — hitching rides from people, situations and passing buses — without a second thought, forever sidling away from the real, the nitty-gritty.

    Balraj masochistically spends his nights TylerDurden-ing inside a steel cage (a la Amitabh Bachchan in Naseeb) and there are times the preternaturally talented Kapoor absolutely shines: a scene, for example, where he leers wickedly and stubbornly (but far from lasciviously) at his girl, while a tailor measures her bust, is priceless.

    Balraj rides the coattails of Kaizad Khambatta, a sinister media baron with his nimble fingers in many oily pies. Karan Johar is a revelation as this character so obsessed with his all-powerful, all-controlling image that — in the film’s brightest moment — he steps out of a room in order to have himself a good giggle.

    The film ostensibly mirrors some tabloid duel from back in the day (Khambatta is once referred to by the rival tabloid as “a fruitcake!”) but real-life parallels can’t save a boring plot.

    The striking production design and nudge-nudge-wink-wink Bombay allusions are merely window-dressing, though. This film suffers from fundamentally flimsy storytelling. Not just is it spelt out how some strips of negative hold the key to Bombay itself, but we’re shown how breezily (and even comically) said negatives were acquired, and they matter only because the film doggedly insists they do. It never feels vital enough.

    For some reason, Bombay Velvet seems firmly opposed to the idea of mystery, showing off a weak McGuffin right at the start and later, after an explosive twist (albeit an obvious one) we are flashed that card too, in the very next scene. Robbing the audience of surprise isn’t the smartest idea for what turns out to be a predictable film.

    Neither is it wise to entrust so much of Bombay Velvet to the earnest but woefully miscast Anushka Sharma, a fine actress entirely out of her depth as a stage-conquering crooner. She lacks the presence and vivacity, and it takes just two scenes featuring Raveena Tandon singing on stage — think Bianca Castafiore turned sexy — to show us the difference between prima donna and pretender.

    Satyadeep Misra is terrific as Balraj’s best friend, Chimman, a loyal pragmatist who, unlike Johnny, looks before he leaps. Misra delivers a consistently measured performance, and his body language is masterful.

    A scene where Johnny and Khambatta trade platitudes has Chimman casually but forcefully motioning that the money be fixed on first, and Misra manages to convey, through one flick of the fingers, both the fact that he knows his place and that price matters more than place.

    The infallible Kay Kay Menon plays a police detective, sharply turned-out in a hat and high-waisted trousers but is given silly clues to smile at and decipher, and a laughably bad final scene.

    Quizmaster Siddhartha Basu shows up looking suitably authoritative and officious in that way that often accompanies ruthlessness, while Vivaan Shah bumbles around with a moustache, looking for all the world like a young Kader Khan.

    There is a lot happening, all the time. Yet, after a while, as the corpses pile up — with increasing meaninglessness — and the Tommy guns appear, it all ceases to matter. Everything, it appears, can be solved by murder. This might sound like heresy, but even that awfully cheesy Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai movie had characters worth caring about despite the moronic dialogue they recited; Bombay Velvet has the skills but makes it awfully hard to feel anything for guy, girl or the world they’re in. With no true stakes, the film plods messily along to a climax that feels emotionally unearned and interminably stretched.

    One song, however, makes time stand still. Amit Trivedi’s superb soundtrack comes to us mostly in snippets mimed by stage crooners, but, for one devastating moment, Bombay Velvet gives way entirely to let a song called Dhadaam Dhadaam take the stage.

    An emotionally overwrought aria — complete with black tears brimming down kohl’d cold eyes — the song transcends the film and strikes operatically at the heart. Both movie and audience hold their collective breath, and despite the tedium that follows this track, this cinematic sucker-punch is enough to remind us of Kashyap’s potent flammability.

    Too bad the rest of the film doesn’t really sing — or singe.

    Rediff Rating: 2

  3. Author
    sputnik 8 years ago

    Review: Bombay Velvet is too bloodless to stun, too passionless to stir

    Ranbir Kapoor and Anushka Sharma in Bombay VelvetBombay Velvet paints a pretty postcard but not the soul of its decade, feels Sukanya Verma.

    Cluttered with reminders of the past, the Bombay in Anurag Kashyap’s brand new movie pretends to exist in the late 1960s.

    Posters of classic movies and advertisements, archived headlines, trams and vintage car models, a city and its neighbourhoods still known by their original names, old-fashioned clothes and hairstyles, emergence of young technology, appreciation for refined pursuits and Bombay’s eternal enchantment with the silver screen fill up its amber-lit frames.

    The atmospheric detailing in Bombay Velvet is dedicatedly glitzy if not wholly familiar.

    Though triumphant in technique and visual flourish, Kashyap’s unwieldy, unexciting throwback to the many myths and legends of the city of dreams, based on Gyan Prakash’s Mumbai Fables, never transports us back in time.

    One doesn’t need to know an era personally to believe it nor does it have to be historically accurate. But there’s something about its both — limitations and strengths — that renders nostalgia attractive. Bombay Velvet paints a pretty postcard but not the soul of its decade.

    It’s also painfully predictable — where even the sound of two bullet shots is enough to foresee the inevitable.

    We’ve repeatedly witnessed two kinds of leading men in mainstream cinema — one who wins against all odds and one who does not. Bombay Velvet chronicles one of this much-documented interpretations through an over plotted narrative, which lumbers between a shallow romance of wounded souls and an on-going conspiracy among industrialists, media sharks, politicians, bureaucrats and mill workers.

    Latter starts out as a fairly fascinating pitch to expose the irony and ugly origins of Bombay’s concrete jungle but shows disappointing foresight against its mad pursuit for stylised machismo.

    Speaking of which, women in Bombay Velvet are nothing more than objects of rough affection or possession.

    Yes, Anushka Sharma has a major role but her character never quite opens up to the audience. Madly oscillating between clammed up and coquettish, her Rosie Noronha is stiff not mysterious. Even when Noronha’s actions imply unconventionality and nerve, Sharma’s impassive performance doesn’t let us take notice. Her chemistry with Ranbir Kapoor’s Johnny Balraj is equally distant. They exhibit intimacy but no passion.

    It’s a cold film about cold people but too bloodless to stun, too passionless to stir and too derivative to enthuse.

    Where a guy who reacts to fights like sex and heavy-duty quarrel between lovers bizarrely transforms into a childish squabble reminiscent of a certain Raghu Jaitley and Pooja Dharamchand — Bombay Velvet is much warped for its own good.

    It starts with promise though.

    A young Balraj, played by Yash Sehgal bearing astonishing resemblance to Ranbir, rescues Chiman from a gang of badgering bullies. It’s the sort of friendship that’s inspired several scripts in Bollywood of 1970s as well as the singular emotional space in an otherwise unsentimental setting.

    Kapoor’s bromance with the excellent Satyadeep Mishra (as the adult Chiman) wears the sort of intensity and conviction that is found wanting in his ardour for Anushka.

    Balraj’s entrance and ascension into the world of crime courtesy the city’s influential Karan Johar’s Kaizad Khambatta even as Jimmi Mistry’s (a smooth Manish Chaudhari comes closest to representing the era) newspaper editor and Kay Kay Menon’s remarkable cop keep tabs on his moves is unbelievably easy. As is his feverish fervour for Rosie and her subsequent seduction.

    In trying to emulate the aesthetics of Scarface and Goodfellas sans the subtext, Bombay Velvet forgets to flesh out the motivations of Balraj’s one-dimensional darkness.

    And no amount of Amit Trivedi’s spunky jazz and Ranbir’s incredible range can make demented look edgy. Rather his energy leaps out distractingly in the presence of calmer actors. One wouldn’t go to the extent of calling Karan Johar one but at least the filmmaker doesn’t embarrass himself. As the shrewd Khambatta, he exudes sophistication but certainly not the menace.

    A dreary romance advancing against an ordinary crime drama controlled by a bad guy no one is scared of — quite early on in Bombay Velvet, a sense of exhaustion kicks in, which keeps on escalating into unbearable boredom.

    Often contrived elements are pulled off when injected with personality and crisp dialogues. Hard to believe there’s nothing exceptional to quote or remember from a product helmed by the eloquent Kashyap.

    There are exactly two whistle-worthy moments in the film. Both feature Raveena Tandon. The lady is all splendour and it’s a shame how little of it is makes it on screen.

    Wondering what else got left out?

    Rediff Rating: 2

  4. Author
    sputnik 8 years ago

    Power Lunch with GQ: Anurag Kashyap

    Anurag Kashyap hasn’t been with a woman in a while. This creeps into our conversation almost immediately, and then often enough to show me it’s ostensibly troubling the 42-year-old film-maker deeply. “My relationships are disastrous,” he announces as he scoops out some tobacco from a packet, deposits it into a Rizla paper and then rolls it clumsily. We’re sitting at Masala Library, Jiggs Kalra and his son Zoravar’s molecular fine-dining triumph in the Bandra-Kurla business district, waiting for our multicourse, theatrical tasting menu to begin.

    Two waiters glance nervously at our table, wondering which one of them will tell him he can’t smoke in here, but he quickly deposits it into his pocket, intending to light it later. (“The tobacco content in each of these is much less and it deters me from having too many. Plus all good things must be a labour of love.”) For a director who dwells almost exclusively on the anomalies of human nature, he isn’t afraid of clichés.

    I prod him about his dry spell and he drops his voice. “It’s very difficult for me to date. Mostly because I’m only attractive when I’m working or talking about work. Otherwise I’m awkward and boring.” He says this sheepishly, with a child-like forlornness. “I married the first woman I kissed. I was a real asshole to her. My movies weren’t working, I took drugs, I was depressed. It all came out on her,” he says. “I believe everyone carries a void. When I met Kalki, it was filled and suddenly I was sexy. I could talk to other women, flirt with ease, because I knew it couldn’t lead to anything. For the first time I was getting hit on. She changed me completely. She got me out of drugs without a day in rehab. She taught me about the etiquette around toilet seats… Seriously, I went to boarding school – nobody taught me!”

    Yet surely, after the success of Gangs of Wasseypur, which gave him commercial cred, as well as a short film in Bombay Talkies alongside directors like Karan Johar and Zoya Akhtar, it must have become simpler with women?

    “It’s the opposite, it’s tougher now. You know, when you meet a woman, you go out, you fool around and then you see where it goes. Because of my image, girls want to know where things stand before we even kiss. Is she going to be my girlfriend? Or is it going to be a onenight stand?”

    He pulls out his phone, “Like with this girl from the United States, I got very put off.” He shows me their messaging history. She seems to be complaining about why he won’t take her out on a date. “I’m craving human touch,” he texted back. “I don’t think I’ll take it ahead.”

    Our waiter arrives at the table with great pomp and deposits two little soup spoons in front of us. Inside each is thandai moulded into a Gaggan-esque sphere. As I bite into my wobbly sphere, which explodes in my mouth, Anurag collapses on the table, head in his hands. “Oh my god,” he moans from the table top. “It’s so surprising! Isn’t it surprising?”

    He keeps this up. When the waiter brings a mushroom soup served as tea, with dried shiitake as tea leaves and powdered truffle as sugar, he gets up to congratulate him for bringing out such a superb dish. And when the palate cleanser is served floating in a bath of dry ice, he seems mystified, staring at it in delight – finally snapping out of his trance to click pictures for his Instagram feed. It’s tough to believe this is the same man who made the disquieting noir thriller Ugly, which totters along grotesquely, twisting with the minds of some very un-hinged characters.

    In fact, most of his films capture the lives of characters pulled and pushed across boundaries of normalcy by the forces of exploitation, greed, hedonism and self-destruction. “My whole life I have struggled to appear normal. I always seem to surprise people. But I’m the opposite of the films I make. I believe all people are good. I’m not very cynical, probably less so than people who make happy movies.”

    How do these stories come into his mind, then? “When I was in the eighth grade, I wrote my first poem in Hindi. ‘Main marna chahta hoon’ was the first line. I wasn’t suicidal, far from it. I just wanted to write about the mind of someone who was. Every time I walked into a room and adults shushed each other, I immediately wanted to know what they were talking about. I still feel like that child. If people won’t talk about something, I dwell on it.” He shoves some pesto kebab into his mouth and chomps noisily. “It’s because of this personality that I’ve been forced to become a producer. I never intended to be one. I hate being one. I vaguely understand money and I have very little of it. I usually waive my directorial fee to get the film made my way. The first movie I made any money on was Ugly, last year.”

    He has a gentle demeanour and an almost cherubic expression behind a grisly beard and a leather jacket. He’s soft-spoken and nods encouragingly when he’s listening, but he answers with an intellectual rigour that sometimes makes you doubt the premise of your question. “When Vikram Motwane wrote Udaan, I was deeply jealous. I wish I had written it. I begged him to let me make it, but I had no money. Then Dev D released and I finally got some standing. So I could borrow money to make Udaan.

    That film went to Cannes, broke the curse of Indian films at festivals and soon anyone who couldn’t get a story made was coming to me. I became a sort of voice for the dissatisfied. “I was getting caught up in too many things and I didn’t have the time to do what I wanted. This upset Kalki a lot. But I couldn’t stop. If I put my hands up, this beautiful, organic movement which had started in our industry would have died.” He pauses to wipe his mouth, unconsciously touching the cigarette in his pocket.

    “Have you seen her now, incidentally? [Kalki’s] glowing,” he says ruefully, with a hint of pride. “She’s really come into her own. Leaving me was good for her,” he laughs. There’s also been a change in his cinema over the past few years. I ask him if that’s because of Kalki too. “No, that’s just me maturing in a way. A lot of people have told me my work is more accessible now. I never led people to a conclusion. I used to let them find their way. But now, I’ve begun leaving signs, to help them get there.”

    His next release, Bombay Velvet, although meant to mimic the noir psychological thrillers of the Forties, is a love story. And will feature his biggest star cast to date. “When I was in New York, I met this extraordinary jazz singer. I followed her around all night, until she gave in and showed me an underground jazz scene that blew my mind. And when we parted the next morning – it was the kind of thing which both of us knew was only for a night – I knew I had to make this film.

    “I began reading about jazz in Mumbai and discovered there was a legitimate scene in the Twenties. And I don’t just mean expats, there were Anglo-Indians, Goans, Parsis. It was incredible.” The film has cost 90 crores, one crore more than the combined budget of all the movies he has ever directed and produced. “This one is a sure hit. It will make money. And once I’m done with it, I can go back to my smaller indies.”

    And how was it working with big names for the first time? “The younger generation have a good head on their shoulders. The Varun Dhawans, the Ranbir Kapoors. They are willing to experiment. The older lot are too busy playing ‘who’s dick is bigger’. They’re at war with each other and will self-destruct.”

    With these ominous words he gets up to leave, a plate of ras malai and caviar jalebi slightly increasing the bulge of his stomach. “This is a good place to bring a date, right?” he checks with me. “Because I’m working on someone,” he winks. And steps out into the street to enjoy his smoke.

  5. Tall Pike 8 years ago

    BV has put Ranbir Kapoor into a penalty box from which he might never escape.

    But BV in my opinion has damaged Karan Johar also. After the debacle of the roast that he hosted., after BV, I don’t think the “family audience” will touch anything that Johar is associated with. Johar will be henceforward be restricted to edgy, offbeat cinema. The mainstream audience will now onwards look at him with guarded apprehension. This guy has self combusted himself.

  6. Author
    sputnik 8 years ago

    Anurag Kashyap’s facebook post on the debacle of Bombay Velvet

    Its time to close the book and move on. its been a journey, as if one life is over with Bombay Velvet. a lot of people do not connect with it and a small number of people did. Maybe when the shock of the narrative wears down , you will revisit it in the calm of your homes and will get into it. Maybe our experimenting with the narrative didn’t work for most but i firmly believe in the film. This is the film i wanted to make and i am glad i got to make it. I am very happy that all those who have been part of this journey firmly stand with it. No i am not depressed or hiding, this has taught us a lot and is my absolute personal favourite, there have been no regrets whatsoever. i want to thank Fox Star, Phantom, Vikas Bahl, Vikramaditya, Madhu Mantena, Vivek Agrawal, Sonal Sawant Rajeev Ravi Kunal SharmaGyan Prakash Vasan Bala, Thani Mudaliar Niharika Bhasin Khan and team Deepika Gandhi Kshipra Jain Prerna Saigal Thelma Schoonmaker , Bharati Bahrani Padmini Nandakumar, Karuna Dutt , Smrutika Panigrahi Saqib Pandor Kulish Kant Thakur Vicky Barmecha, Sabrina Khan, Utsav Singh Hada Vyshakh RV , Dhara Jain Chuck Picerni Shilpa Srivastava Vishal Tyagi
    , Naveen Reddy, Navit Dutt Prana Studios, Mehma Sachdeva Kunal Ahuja, Mukti Mohan Neeti Mohan Amit Trivedi, Krutee Desai-Trivedi Amitabh Bhattacharya, Shaira Kapoor Shikha Kapur and teamErrol Kelly and team, Vijay Singh, Pathak, Harsh Kapoor, Satyadeep Misra Kay Kay Menon RK, Anushka, Karan, Manish Prakash Chaudhari, Vivaan, Vicky Kaushal and all the actors, Shrikant Desai and team, everyone else who i can’t find on my Facebook, Every one who believed in the dream and lived it together, Ranjan Singh who stood behind us, Tanvi Gandhi, and the Film Team from Srilanka, Sarada Narayan Madhulika Jalali Gabriel Georgiou Puneet, Soumyajit Nandy , thank you all of you, and all the others who i can’t think of at the moment. Thank you for your pride and love in what we did together, the process was beautiful and we have all come back richer from it. i think i am very rich today for having so many friends and people in my life and their faith. now lets get on to the next and lets kick ass. Films is what i breathe, what i live for, does not matter where i go and where i stay , i will only make films , and no i am not done with making films in and about my country, rest is just a little detour. none of you need to worry about me, we have survived so much, have been standing 22 years in the face of adversity and rejection. and i am still free with my choices. Bombay Velvet has been worth all the heart ache and pain and a memory to cherish for life. i love you all so much and i also feel all your love. Let my silence not worry any of you. i am solid, we are solid. The Applause or Brickbats do not matter, what matters is who is standing in the arena. its us who go out there and risk it, its us who choose not to take the easy route, its us who stand tall when they let the lions loose on us, we are and will be the gladiators, lets just keep playing the sport.. lets continue reinventing, lets give everything our best. and like Schwarznegger said, I WILL BE BACK..

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