Mohammed as “Golu, the spoilt brat” in my film.

When my brother Ali and nephew Mohammed descend on us, noise levels increase. Mummy and sis-in-law Farzana are quieter. We play “Life”. Aiman cries, jealous of Mohammed and his attention-grabbing ways. Mohammed whirls around oblivious of anyone’s likes or dislikes, waking us up rudely from bed, with huge hugs and incessant questions.

My family is completely non-intellectual. When I was growing up, their lack of Apparent Culture embarrassed me. But now, I find it immensely rejuvenating. We talk of films, ofcourse, and politics, and the world in general, but in delightfully naive terms. The absence of any jargon, political or aesthetic brings laughter back to the Pursuit of Art.