Hindi
Rush: No need to rush to the theatres for it
MUMBAI: Films on media are a genre that provides some scope since electronic media has mushroomed and the competition is killing. Rush is one such film. However, the story the makers of Rush have chosen is not new.
Emraan Hashmi is a TV news reporter who is ambitious and wants to make it big but with honesty. That is his self created hurdle and one that costs him his job. He plans to down a couple of drinks before he even starts contemplating his next move. His love life is always in trouble and now this. But, the word spreads fast and even before he can gulp his drink, his phone rings with an offer he can‘t decline.
Hashmi is not given much time to reflect and has to meet up Neha Dhupia immediately. Dhupia represents a TV channel owned by Aditya Pancholi; she is the facilitator and fixer for Pancholi and her offer includes all that Hashmi has dreamt of: a BMW, a multimillion pay packet and a luxurious apartment besides the attraction of heading the crime news channel Pancholi owns. Hashmi‘s job is to be the first to flash all crime news before other channels even reach the scene and for that he is assured the channel has a computer programme that can intercept phone calls of the police control rooms in 44 cities across India! Hashmi thinks this to be unethical but in addition to the lucrative offer, a little sweet talk from Pancholi convinces him to go ahead.
Hashmi has a lover but to create scope for a couple of songs, a little flirting, some real some imaginary, has been planted in the script without dwelling on who is seducing who! Guess what, a picture of Hashmi and Dhupia coo-chi cooing makes it to a newspaper front page too! Since when did newspapers start printing about romance of news reporters? Well, that was just to add some drama between Hashmi and his woman, Sagarika Ghatge.
It is now time to unfold the secret behind the channel‘s lead in reporting crimes before others and the reason behind Hashmi‘s big package. The reason is not simple as Pancholi had explained: a programme that intercepts police calls. It is something very sinister or so it was supposed to be, had the plot been developed properly and dramatically. Hashmi discovers that the channel and its mafia affiliates are the ones who ‘create‘ these news; they commit the crimes and the channels is already present to cover them.
The idea is rather farfetched in an era when all the channels don‘t really succeed or survive because of TRPs; sucking up to politicians or other such lot is enough. And, who cares for petty crime news anymore? To add to the woes, the narration is straight sans excitement and the climax is lame. The film has some good songs. Performances are generally lacklustre. Hashmi is okay. Pancholi does not bother with expressions. Dhupia has little of substance to do. Ghatge has nothing to do.
Rush is utterly forgettable.
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.
