Thank you for all the love you have shown us for our previous films and for your lovely eagerness about KOODE. I usually write a note on the eve of the release so here goes:

So often we struggle among the past and the future, forgetting the value of the present. This movie is about living in the moment. In the HERE & NOW.

“Poyathu poyi,

veraanullathu verum –

pakshe sherikyum…

ithu randideyum idayil ullathil alle karyam?”

I have been waiting to share the story of the origin of this film with you.

When my stories Bangalore Days & Ustad Hotel were adapted by other filmmakers I was part of many discussions that made me curious about the process. I was keen to explore the process of adaptation which I think is a real challenge to do well.

During this time I was invited to watch a regional film and something in the film touched me. I found myself re-imagining the story in a different way and when I discussed it with its makers they graciously offered the adaptation rights to me. But he had some advice – to keep one peculiar element under the wraps as they had done. They explained that on release they had even requested their media and the audience to not reveal the story so that the movie is not spoilt for the rest of the audience. Their wonderful audience and local media were so supportive that none of them revealed that element in the reviews.

As per their advice we have remained totally quiet about its origin until today. But now time has come for us to offer this film to you so it is time to share. KOODE is an adaptation of the original story by Sachin Kundalkar. I am honoured that he trusted me with the story and it has been a rich learning experience for me. For those who have seen the original please be prepared to see a different interpretation. 😊

I humbly request our audience and media to not share that element in their reviews so that everyone may experience the movie first hand.

It is a peculiar journey of Joshua.

Do close your eyes, open your mind and join in on this ride.

Much Love.😍



As a new bride in a new city, I was quite lost.

Mumbai of the single days that were spent on street shopping and gol gappas and movies and partying was quite a far throw from Mumbai I discovered when I moved here after my wedding. In those days just as one is acclimatizing to a new home, new family, new room-mate (!), new dog – the city too looked new to me.

In the midst of all this newness I ached for something familiar. One day while passing in the car towards our office in Fort I caught a fleeting glimpse of a sign – STRAND book stall. I remembered my father telling me about this shop when he started his career in Mumbai, back in the late 1950s and how he kept visiting it through the years.

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Quietly I trudged out to find the shop among the maze like roads in Fort. It happened to be just a corner away from the office. I entered it and it instantly reminded me of all the old fashioned bookshops I have been to where there shelves may not be swanky but the books are – where the people of the shop knew about the books and don’t have to refer to some computerized catalogue for authors they had never heard of. I felt at home. It was just so comfortable and familiar though I was in there for the first time! Very quickly it became a favourite haunt and my go-to space for comfort and discovery of so many interesting books and authors. So many of my treasures are from there.

Until we moved office to Bandra Kurla Complex – very cool and hep alright but no bookshop around the corner! L I consoled myself that we cant have everything at the same time. Yet whenever I could not find a book, I was still calling up Strand and they would find it! The last one I bought there was a while ago – a beautiful biography of David Lean, put together by his wife Sandra Lean.

Now having returned to the city after six months away shooting my film, I just heard that the Strand Book Stall is closing down. https://scroll.in/video/869831/video-mumbai-s-strand-book-stall-is-closing-we-take-a-trip-down-memory-lane The video beautifully explains the blurred categories of the bookshop and its distinct charm. Somewhere within, this news moves me so much – it signals the closing down of an era.

I remembered how as a student in Pune, one of the iconic bookshops was shutting down and I made it there on the last evening just before its closing time. I was on another upper floor when closing time came and went. I heard some noises but was too busy on my knees looking for books marked 70% off! Finally when I made my way down the stairs, it was just the unsmiling owner and me. Everyone else had left and the shop had officially closed. When I took him my books he gestured to leave them on the counter as he was handling something else. I did so and quietly drifted towards the shelves greedy to find some more. We’d exchange glances at each other as I wondered if I had any more time before he closed down. And perhaps he wondered how long I would stay and therefore delay the final closing time. In that silence I continued to search and he continued to write his accounts. Finally when I had another armful I went to his counter. He patiently looked through each one, made me a bill, took my payment and packed the books. I watched for any sign of emotion and the man held on as stoic as ever. He looked through his glasses as he handed the books over.

“You come here often, don’t you?” I nodded as I gathered the books and smiled. No sign of a smile. As I struggled with the many books he got off his chair and walked to the door. He held the door open for me and I stepped out thanking him. He said “thank you”.

I crossed the road and flagged down an autorickshaw. As we moved I saw him watch me leaning in through the glass door. I’ll never forget that sight because I saw a glimpse of the many emotions he possibly felt.

This time during the film shoot in Nilgiris, during shot one of our senior actors closed a glass door and looked through the door exactly the same way. In an instant I was catapulted back to that autorickshaw and the bookshop man. That is how it works – memory is simply emotion imprinted on moments.

Tomorrow when Strand Book Stall closes down I am sure there will be far more people there. I shall go to pick up some books as tribute to that space and those people who made it feel like home. I will miss it.


Time for change. Time to change.


The Nirbhaya incident changed something inside many of us. I think it shook up our hopes and belief in an equal opportunity world. I remember feeling so angry yet so helpless as violations seemed to surface all around me.

Violation of one person by another. Of space, of body, of mind, of respect, of identity. On screen – off screen – everywhere.

Now as another woman braves her experience, I am a mute witness once again. For every such incident that is reported, thousands of violating moments remain unreported every day. How many girls have bitten back anger and tears even as they have been touched or commented upon in public spaces by strangers? Isn’t molestation, rape and sexual assault  an extension of such violating behavior? If one is condoned, the other is bound to follow.

After the heinous acts, further violation comes from individuals who shamelessly air on media their chauvinistic perspectives about the incidents. They puke all over on social media staining public thought with their yellowed insides. Equal rights, gender sensitivity and bias awareness seem beyond their grey cells but what about basic humaneness?

And finally when it comes to solutions – most advice is about how women should behave, dress, act, speak, react, or not react to such situations. Most families tell their girls not to react for fear of stigma – families who are supposed to nurture children and help them grow. So what are we really telling our future generations about courage & cowardice? Amongst all this am thankful for men & women who speak up against bias and call for corrective action.

But isn’t it time to look at WHO is committing the violations? Are these aliens who are violating our vulnerable ones? NO. They are persons who are born among us, live among us, look like us and are in many ways like us. We need to recognize the problem lies with us. We need to recognize that it is not about just targeting one gender as both genders have played roles in the creation of this monster. We may have inherited an unequal world but as long as we haven’t done anything to change it, we are part of the problem.

The latest report of such violation is yet another slap in our faces. She has faced it with real courage and done her part to report the perpetrators. But even with all this anger and desperation for change, what have we done?

Yet again,

Are we going to sit as spectators to the ensuing discussion circus?

Are we going to rant & rave on social media and then simply… sign out?

Or are we going to do something to make a difference?

Some of us are getting together to make a small start in Kerala. A start from the root of the problem. A start that involves bringing empowerment to girls and empathy to boys. School by school, family by family. If you would like to be part of the change, write to us on parasparamkerala@gmail.com.

If we don’t find the courage now, we will remain among those cowards.



Kavalam Narayana Panikkar Sir

I found myself bereft of words. Unable to even write a tribute but the truth is – he doesn’t need anyone else’s words. His own words will keep him alive forever.

Kavalam Narayana Panikkar.

I first met him as a newbie writer with her screenplay. A typical film-school-product I was probably too clear about the film in my head, but not entirely confident about the language and cultural ethos. I wanted his opinion on this aspect but what I got was so much more. Not for him were the needlessly intellectualized or the pretentious. His search was for simplicity and complexity in stories finding myths that swim through them in time and space. He said – “Myths are important because they remain relevant in any age. Exploring the myth in your story will reveal many layers. Let the audience have a chance to discover them.” He reminded me of stories I had heard as a  child, in  my mother’s voice and through classical dance and music. I had pushed them into the backroom of my sub-conscience in the rush to forge my identity as a filmmaker. He urged me to connect everything.

Our mediums were different – the stage and the frame, but the tools were not. I had the privilege to know him, to be guided by him and the special opportunity to witness his process as a director while we visually documented his theatre work. I remember my cameraman Tribhuvan Babu suddenly turning around before a shot to say- “so much in you has changed since we started shooting with Kavalam Sir.” Yes, it is true, and I shall always be thankful to Sir for it. That was ten years ago and I have many experiences of his personal warmth, guidance and creative inputs but most importantly, he was inspiration in the most concentrated form.  Even though I last saw Sir lying in state at the kalari, my memory of him is one of heightened energy with a twinkle in his eye.


He treated his work like poetry. Each thing mattered – every word, every prop, every movement. The significance of each component and the meaning it adds up to; Finding opportunity in every aspect of the stage to create the world and the communicate a thought; Being aware of subtext in words, visual and sound and the tales it tells to our subconscience; the childlike exploration of a concept, a theme and finding its nuances. Misc-en-scene lessons at film school didn’t hold a candle to how he went about his work in theatre. I was first surprised and then amazed by his attention to minutest detail.

He never believed in a monolithic audience. He would say “if there are hundred audience members, there will hundred receptive levels. Every one will never experience a performance at the same level. It varies… how does it vary? And on what basis it varies? It varies only on the basis of their own individual cultural quality.” He respected the audience as the one who participates in the creative artiste’s work. “Na hi rasadrite kaschidarthah pravartate” i.e., Without evoking rasa (the emotional engagement of the audience), no meaningful idea is transmitted. His interpretation of the Natyashastra and the Rasa theory were not limited to academics but were part of his practice for thirty-five years.

He had a gentle approach to nudge people and help them grow towards a certain direction; His family includes the theatre group Sopanam where artistes have played every role, done every job and remain ready to do his bidding. But never have I seen him command them. It has always been “angane cheythu nokaamo?” /“shall we try that?” The tone was always respectful, collaborative and blameless. The egoless nature of the process is truly remarkable. With some pushy artistes he let them make their own mistakes but was always around to help find a new solution.

He constantly explored new ideas, often throwing the question out into the open at his kalari – “how shall we do this?” He patiently heard suggestions from anyone and everyone, and evaluated the suggestion in absolute value not bothered about where it came from. His creativity was a journey of improvisation and interpretation and not some fixed destination. During performances I have seen him run from the backstage to the audience seats, back to the wings, to convey a last minute adjustment.This could happen even if this was a play that that his troupe had been staging for more than a decade!

He embraced Kerala by immersing the stories in her culture, language, music, movements, beliefs, colours, landscape and therefore her people. “Doesn’t this hold true for the land of every story that has to be told?” He made it sound so simple even when it wasn’t. Our film Manjadikuru begins with a song that Sir wrote and sang –

Manne nambi elelo, verirukku ailasa,

vere nambi elelo, maramirukku ailasa,

marathe nambi elelo, ilayirukku ailasa,

ilaye nambi elelo, pazham irukku ailasa,

pazhathe nambi elelo, vithu irukku ailasa,

vithe nambi elelo, mannu irukku ailasa.

The cyclical dynamics of both nature and families, couldn’t have been expressed better.

He was never one to stand opposite you to teach. He was one who stood by you, even behind you and urged you to keep looking, keep seeking your own way.

I am not sure I have even a photograph with him. But does it matter? For he had more to teach me than any teacher I have had. His imprint of grace, learning and energy, is not one that will fade. Deepest gratitude and respect.

Hats off to Nair Sir

“So when did you decide to become a filmmaker?” I do not have this one eureka moment where such a decision was made. While I was at Pune University doing my post-grad in Communication Studies, we used to go to the National Film Archive of India for screenings of splendid films – Indian and international. Here is where I first witnessed the works of Kieslowski, Kurosawa, Fellini, Bunuel, Tarkovsky and so many inspiring others.  We would reach early, remove our shoes at the entrance and then keep as silent as possible -almost like we were entering some sacrosanct place of worship. And it was worship of a different sort that started there. Something that continued into our post screening discussions for the next few days. But the most impactful movies would leave us speechless. Usually the screenings started at about 5:30 PM so when they ended it would be dark outside. I remember quietly carrying the film in my head as I walked back with my group into the street-lamp lit Law College Road and then turned into the darker longer Senapathy Bapat Road – at the far end of which I lived. That walk was filled with thoughts and emotions injected by the film and somewhere on those walks, the idea of becoming a filmmaker sedimented within me. As Wikipedia says, the NFAI “was developed from scratch by Mr.P.K.Nair”, so he has to receive some credit for the transformation of the many who found inspiration there.

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Nair Sir has done wonders for cinema in India. Please read here to know more : P.K.Nair – the Quint article But over and above that he was a truly warm and wonderful person.

I am fortunate to have been taught by Nair Sir both inside a classroom and outside. The classroom lectures were at the Pune University where he was among the guest faculty at our Department of Communication Studies. But I learned much more from him later. When I was trying to put together my first film Manjadikuru, I met Nair Sir at IFFI Goa. He read my script and gave me some precious feedback. But most importantly he said – “Anjali, you have to decide if you are making the film for a Malayalee audience or an international audience. It will affect every decision you make.” In two lines he had summed up the value of “sensibility” while making a film. I learned how right he was at every stage of making the film. It is a lesson I have held close to heart.

He was the first person to see Manjadikuru, in a dark edit room at Chitranjali. The audio work was not done and he minced no words about having to see it half-done. Yet when Manjadikuru had its premiere at IFFK Thiruvananthapuram, he was among the audience at Kalabhavan. I was thrilled to see him there and ran back inside to get his feedback. I still remember his wide smile and the warm clasp of his hands as he expressed his happiness – he didn’t mince words this time either. That was him. Only the film mattered.

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One of the special sights at IFFI & IFFK was to find Nair Sir seated somewhere on a chair, accompanied by his daughter, holding his audience of people who went to greet him. I was touched every time he recognized me and asked me about my work. His passion for cinema was truly phenomenal and am so glad that “Celluloid Man” was made. Yet he deserved so much more for all that he has done.

However this is not a condolence note, I believe we need to celebrate his life, his zeal. I quote Anil Zankar – “Nairsaab has not left a void… he laid a strong foundation for the preservation of Indian film that must be made more robust in the years ahead – award or no award.”

Hats off to Nair Sir. Respect.