Hindi
Masterclass with Hugh Hudson
MUMBAI: A thin, 5 foot 2 inches security man tries to guard the auditorium screen door at MAMi film festival against a long queue of film and advertising enthusiasts awaiting a ‘Masterclass‘ with the award winning filmmaker of “Chariots of fire”. In his attempts at keeping the queue at bay, he almost stops the white haired distinguished guest, Hugh Hudson, from entering.
Soon, the Masterclass proceeds after the announcement that Prasoon Joshi, who was supposed to have a conversation on Hudson‘s body of work, is unable to make it. Nevertheless, an interesting chat follows as the charming and humourous filmmaker shares interesting anecdotes about his work and what the audience wants to know most – the experience with Al Pacino.
Talking about the powerful use of the famous Vangelis music in all his work, he also elaborates on the use of silence. “Silence is more important than sound,” he says. “Something Americans don‘t understand,” he adds jokingly.
When asked about his working style with actors, he reveals that he prefers unknown actors along with strong actors for supporting roles. “Stars can spoil a story,” says Hudson, in response to which the audience nods vigorously.
Talking about his style in advertising, he says that he works on going to the core of the simple idea, something not so easy and as simple as it sounds. “Just present the product at the very end.” he adds.
After showcasing the magnificent commercials on British Rail, British Airways, Fiat Strada, Benson & Hedges, he talks about the difference in the advertising scenario in the seventies, eighties and today. “That was the era of grand spending in the advertising world,” he says.
He parts with wise words to all filmmakers in the audience:”Don‘t make a film for the fame or the money. Do it because you believe in it.”
Hindi
Remembering Gyan Sahay, the lens behind film, television and advertising
From a puppet rabbit selling poppadums to Hindi cinema, he framed it all.
MUMBAI: There are careers, and then there are canvases. Gyan Sahay, the veteran cinematographer, director, and producer who passed away on 10 March 2026 in Mumbai, had one of the latter. Over several decades in the Indian film and television industry, he turned lenses, lights, and the occasional puppet rabbit into something approaching art.
A graduate of the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) in Pune, Sahay built his reputation as a director of photography across a career that stretched from the early 1970s all the way to the digital age. He was the kind of craftsman who understood that a well-composed shot is not merely a technical achievement but a quiet act of storytelling.
For most Indians of a certain age, however, Sahay will forever be the man behind the rabbit. His direction of the iconic long-running television commercial for Lijjat Papad, featuring its now-legendary puppet bunny, gave the country one of its most cheerfully persistent advertising images. It was the sort of work that sneaks into the national subconscious and takes up permanent residence.
His big-screen credits as cinematographer include Anokhi Pehchan (1972), Pagli (1974), Pas de Deux (1981), and Hum Farishte Nahin (1988). In 1999, he stepped behind a different kind of camera altogether, making his directorial debut with Sar Ankhon Par, a drama that featured Vikas Bhalla and Shruti Ulfat, with a cameo by Shah Rukh Khan for good measure.
On television, Sahay was particularly prized for his command of multi-camera production setups, a skill that made him a go-to technician for large-scale shows and reality programmes. In an industry that has never been especially patient with complexity, he was the calm hand on the rig.
In later life, Sahay turned teacher. He participated regularly in masterclasses and Digi-Talks, often hosted by organisations such as Bharatiya Chitra Sadhna, sharing hard-won wisdom on cinematography, the comedy of timing in a shot, and the sweeping changes brought by the shift from celluloid to digital. He was also said to have been involved in a project concerning a biographical film on Infosys co-founder N.R. Narayana Murthy.
Tributes from the film industry poured in following the news of his passing, with colleagues remembering him as a senior cameraman who served as a rare bridge between two entirely different eras of Indian cinema. That is, perhaps, the finest thing one can say of any craftsman: he kept up, and he brought others along with him.
