Spaces for Rent: Of lost hopes; regained- Part I

They said:

“We” were a depressed lot; Jobless! We were an overtly enthusiastic group of people living in a highly imaginative world of our own. Our potential was alien to the world.

Back story: How it all began

We - ‘GangwayZ Media Productions’ (not yet a registered company); defended our forte most of the times but, we lost often. What possibly could we say about our induced incompetence? We were all a qualified bunch without a valid source of income living a parasitic lifestyle depending upon parents, friends and well wishers. It is not a noble life. It hurts.

Wasted talent is a great sin. When the true potential is not realized it hurts “us” as much as it hurts “them”. They wanted us to get into ‘salaried mediocrity’ but we resisted hard. So hard; that we managed to piss the whole world off against us.

GangwayZ was becoming a shattered dream. The wounds of our failed Kannada feature film project (Nenapina Pockettu) were still pristine new. Every vision seemed to have vapourised because of one person’s helplessness. Our ‘producer to be’ ran into financial crunch (thanks to ‘Recession Maharaj’) leaving us and our hopes astray.

We had written on the first page of our Nenapina Pockettu’s screenplay - “This film is dedicated to the people who did not have faith in us. The others always believed in our dedication and commitment”. Slowly we were losing faith in ourselves.

After working day and night for the film for about four months, after re-writing the script again and again to gain perfection, after getting the music composed by a gracious band “Swarathma” (without paying them a single penny), after getting the costumes designed, after finalizing the cinematographer, after beginning to develop the storyboards, after innumerable discussions, after facing the music of frustrations of the personal lives turning sour, after zeroing on the locations, after meeting the producer time and again in ‘Coffee Day’ and after many such endeavors, all we managed and witnessed was a murdered dream.

How long could anybody encourage us and support us? It was our duty to not let them down. Lest, even the few people who trusted us, would deviate. Time was ticking by...

By N S Islahuddin