Capítulo 93: Reflections of a Filmmaker
Reflections of a Filmmaker
The celebrations of Divided Threads' success slowly faded as the month of December progressed. By mid-December 2005, the movie's run at the box office came to a natural close. With a final total of 30 crores, it was a respectable performance, but not one that would be remembered as a blockbuster.
Arjun watched the numbers trickle in day after day, hoping for a final surge that would push the movie into greater profitability. But as the week ended, reality set in—Divided Threads was done. There would be no miraculous turnaround, no sudden wave of new viewers.
He sat alone in his small office in the corner of his home, the one place he could think and process everything. The dim light cast a soft glow over the desk, filled with stacks of papers, script notes, and a few framed photos of the young cast and crew. He traced his fingers over a promotional poster of the movie, his gaze lingering on the faces of Aditi and Nikhil.
He couldn't help but wonder what had gone wrong. The movie had been so well-received by critics and praised for its emotional depth, yet it hadn't managed to break through to a larger audience. Was it the timing? Releasing in December meant going up against established blockbusters and holiday-themed films that always drew in crowds. Or was it the subject matter? Perhaps partition, with all its pain and unresolved trauma, wasn't what people wanted to see in theatres.
Arjun leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply. "Every film can't be a success," he murmured to himself, repeating the advice he'd given to so many young filmmakers at his workshop. "Some stories don't find their audience immediately. They have their own journey."
But now, sitting on the other side of the desk, he understood how hollow those words could feel. He had invested so much of himself into this project—emotionally and professionally. His name carried weight in the industry now, yet it hadn't been enough to guarantee Divided Threads a triumphant run.
The sound of footsteps outside pulled him from his thoughts. Meera, his mother, walked in with a cup of chai. She set it down gently on the table and took a seat beside him, her eyes filled with concern. "What's troubling you, beta?"
Arjun forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just thinking, Ma. About the film. We did everything we could, but it didn't reach as many people as we hoped."
"Arjun, not every seed we plant grows into a giant tree immediately," she said softly, her voice carrying the wisdom of a lifetime of struggles. "Some seeds take longer to sprout. But that doesn't mean they won't become strong trees one day."
He nodded, understanding the metaphor. Yet, a lingering doubt gnawed at him. "I just—every project I work on, I want it to succeed, you know? To be something people remember."
Meera reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Your film made us proud. It made people think and feel. It showed them a part of our history we can't forget. Isn't that a success in itself?"
Arjun's gaze dropped to their joined hands. "Maybe. But it's hard to shake off the disappointment. I can't control everything, but I wish it had done better. It's like…" He paused, searching for the right words. "It's like I put a part of myself out there, and it didn't connect the way I thought it would."
She smiled softly. "You're right, beta. You can't control how people receive your work. Some films resonate because they're what people want to see at that moment. Others don't find their place right away. But that doesn't make them any less important."
Arjun thought about all the big movies that had overshadowed Divided Threads. Rang De Basanti, with its vibrant energy and contemporary message, and Salaam Namaste, with its urban romance, were crowd-pleasers that drew in huge audiences. People wanted to be entertained, and his film, rooted in the pain of partition and the hope for reconciliation, perhaps didn't provide the escape they sought.
"Every genre has its own fate," he muttered, almost to himself. "Some stories need time to sink in, while others grab you right away."
"Exactly," Meera said, her eyes brightening. "And you're not done yet, are you? There will be more stories, more chances. Your journey isn't over with just one film."
Arjun nodded slowly. "You're right, Ma. This is just one chapter. Maybe it wasn't the grand success we hoped for, but it's not the end." He glanced at the chai, steam curling up in delicate tendrils. "There's still so much more I want to do."
"Good," she said firmly. "Then don't let this weigh you down. Celebrate what you've achieved, and then look forward."
The next day, Arjun returned to his workshop, immersing himself in teaching. He found solace in guiding young filmmakers, sharing his experiences—the highs and the lows. Aditi and Nikhil, though slightly disappointed at the film's performance, were still buoyed by the recognition and exposure they had received. Their families, too, were overjoyed, taking pride in the fact that their children had acted in a movie that people were talking about, even if just in small circles.
They shared their experiences with the community, their excitement radiating through every word. "I met Saif Ali Khan on set!" Nikhil recounted to his younger cousins. "He was so down-to-earth. And the way he praised our scenes—it was like a dream."
"Yeah, and Aditi, you were there when Preity Zinta visited, right?" one of her friends asked.
Aditi nodded, her face flushing with happiness. "She said our chemistry was natural and real. That's something I'll never forget."
Their stories spread through the slum, inspiring even more young boys and girls to join Arjun's workshop. To them, Divided Threads was a beacon of hope—a sign that even if a film didn't become a blockbuster, it could still leave an indelible mark on people's hearts.
In the coming weeks, Arjun began to receive calls from various industry insiders, some of whom had noticed his approach and passion. Though Divided Threads hadn't been a massive financial success, it had caught the eye of producers and directors who respected Arjun's choice to tackle a difficult subject.
But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside. He needed to let go of Divided Threads and prepare himself for the next story, the next chapter in his life as a filmmaker.
"Some journeys don't have clear destinations," he murmured to himself one evening, watching the sun set over the slum's horizon. "But as long as we keep moving forward, that's what matters."
And with that resolve, Arjun began to pen down his next story, determined to give his best yet again—no matter how uncertain the road ahead seemed.
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