Aficionados Lament That Their Beloved Bollywood Works Get No Respect

The hall fills with women in chiffon saris and pearls, and men in cool, summer linen-look. Rajit Kapur, the auctioneer and an actor in art-house cinema, adjusts his tie and breathes deep. "I am nervous because it is a performance with no retakes," he says, laughing. "It is sad that our film industry is not involved in buying, preserving, collecting. I send catalogues and invite them. They say, 'Great,' and hang up."

At 7:45 p.m., the auction of paintings begins. The faceless phone bidders are the most aggressive. One by one, the masterpieces are brought out, triggering a collective gasp among the art enthusiasts.

Shivani Virani, a Mumbai art dealer in a bejeweled beige silk shirt, blue jeans and red toenail polish, writes down the prices. "Sisters" goes for a staggering $830,000. Everyone applauds. More women in dazzling diamonds and men reeking of cologne walk in. A surrealist painting by a reclusive Rekha Rodwittiya, "Interim of Time," goes for $52,000.

By 10 p.m., after 155 paintings have been auctioned, the movie images fill the room.

But the crowd thins out. The Viranis have left. The artsy chatterati of the capital has shuffled out. The bidding price drops to a few hundred dollars. The margin between bidders is much narrower than it was for the paintings, sometimes as little as $12.

"This is like bargaining at a vegetable bazaar," an onlooker says.

Some art-house cinema posters of the Oscar-winning Satyajit Ray are sold over the phone for a couple of thousand dollars. The popular cinema posters evoke nostalgia but do not move the money. "Baiju Bawra" goes for $950, and "Sangam" for $4,166, the highest amount.

Nalini Kumar, 51, a power company executive, looks shocked when she sees the large, gaudy, orange-and-yellow campy billboard of a 1960 movie, "Kohinoor," showing a woman nuzzled against the hero's chest. "What on earth is this?" Kumar exclaims, turning up her nose. "I watch Indian masala movies, but is this something I can hang in my house? Is this art? It has come off the streets."

Behind her, a restless man in tennis shoes, Ramlal Agarwal, 50, keeps changing his seat in excitement as more and more posters are brought out. He bids aggressively each time and bags "Kohinoor" for $1,095.

"Please stop now, I say," nudges his henna-haired companion in a green floral sari, speaking in Hindi. "It is so big -- where will you keep it?"

"Worry about that later," Agarwal said with a laugh. "It reminds me of my childhood. Imagine having my favorite film star in front of me, larger than life."

In the back row, a young man in a natty gray suit coolly acquires many of the movie artworks. "This is an investment," says Sethu Vaidyanathan, a hotelier. "Indian cinema is going to be the next big thing globally. These posters will be priceless in about a decade."