With a big swoosh, it came and went. The 3rd i International South Asian Film Festival touched down for four wonderful days in San Francisco. And then it slipped back into its cocoon of email updates and smaller screenings.
For four days, we had our pick of amateur projects, Bollywood splash, and border-hopping Pakistani introspection. And as in years before, the Castro Theater took us up in its big arms and rushed us in the door.
Us brown folk wouldn’t like to admit it, but there are some cultural practices that survived the generations (and the oceans). Standing in line? Hah.
As I waited with friends to get into Slumdog Millionaire, I noted that the line had stopped getting longer. But it continued to get wider.
And on the way out? Step outside, stand outside, and catch up with all your friends. Yes, you already said goodbye. And yes, the party’s over. But come on now. Just as our parents dilly-dallied outside Uncle and Aunty’s door, so too must we.
Ivan Jaigirdar and his crew deserve our wonderful thanks for building this Bay Area annual institution. There have been great movies, good movies, and well, maybe the occasional dud. (A rockumentary that killed my interest in the subject band comes to mind.) Still, the International South Asian Film Festival is something I never miss.
Except for last year. (When I was in India.)
