Effervescence

Dear शशि: For long have I wanted to write about you and your films but have not known how to approach the theme. Yours has been the most chequered of film careers right from its initial stages. Barring a movie here, a movie there, I stopped watching Hindi films around the mid-70s when I left home for foreign soil. However, I have held vivid memories of those that I had seen until then and the glorious music which was often their hallmark. Nostalgia, therefore, plays a big role in this tribute to you on your 75th.

Our earliest memories of you then, good sir, stem from Raj Kapoor's Aag (1949) and later on from his more ambitious and brilliant Aawara (1951). We remember that earnest, mobile face so beautifully photographed in both films, especially in the second, as you portrayed the young Raj Kapoor. You were in complete harmony with Raj the director's depiction of tortured childhood and lost innocence. We were moved by the plight of children cringing before an indifferent world, even as you held back your own tears in your portrayals. If I am being unfair to child performers who followed it will be out of sheer ignorance, but let me say I have never seen childhood portrayals such as yours, if only via those two films.  If Raj was able to carry character progression forward in them, it was because it was reflected from you. I know, I know people will jump down my throat for not mentioning Raj-saab's own Boot Polish (1954) based on De Sica's Shoeshine from 1946. But as good as that film was, it pulled more on the heart than it did on the mind: melodramatic in the extreme, indeed. Besides, the real scenestealer in it was the late David Abraham.

I know not what happened in the years between 1951 and 1960 but the next I heard of you was in 1960 in Krishnan Chopra's Char Diwari, in your first of several (8, perhaps?) ventures with the petite Nanda, who even then was herself emerging from childhood as a mature actress. I have yet to see that much-acclaimed film although I do remember Mukesh-ji's very gentle Kaise Manaun Piyava, Gun Mere Ek Hu Nahin under Salil Chaudhary's baton, penned by the ever wistful Shailendra. Not the kind of song that could have been picturized on you or on anyone else. In the background, perhaps?

And then you struck cinematic gold with B.R. Chopra's Dharmputra (1961) which was based on आचार्य चतुरसेन शास्त्री's novel of the same name. The film dealt with the horrors of the Partition and it was Chopra-ji's gift to his countrymen, a movie far ahead of its time that has remained, unfortunately, perennially immediate in India's context. It was rejected by his countrymen who probably saw the guilt in it, reflected on their own faces. There were stellar performers in the film including Ashok Kumar, Mala Sinha, Rehman and Nirupa Roy who gave of their best under Chopra-ji's direction.

I remember that film well, शशि, also for Sahir Ludhianvi's great lyrics set to melodious music by the incomparable N. Dutta and the fine singing of Mahendra Kapoor and Asha Bhonsle. Here you are, in one of the few light moments in this grim film, serenading the very emotive Indrani Mukherjee in her film debut. Always a pity that she did not go much further.

But you know शशि, I am to this day moved by your shattering, agonised shriek 'माँ ।।।।।।' towards the end of the film when you realize that the woman you are about to slay was your own mother, that you were born of Muslim parents. At that point your Muslim mother was a metaphor for the plight of Mother India at that juncture in Her history. Years later, as I sat watching Yash Chopra's Deewar, I was stricken by the inanity of "मेरे पास माँ है"  in that film, when compared to the mono-syllabic, gut wrenching horror of realisation in the earlier film!

"Limelight Film Deserves Twilight Burial" quipped The Times of India in its review of Limelight Films' Mehendi Lagi Mere Hath, the 1962 film in which you were paired with Nanda for the second time. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong with that film, under Suraj Prakash's direction. The saving grace was Kalyanji-Anandji's melodious music. I liked you best as you put over Anand Bakshi's fine "आपने यूँ ही दिल्लगी  की थी...." but what really bowls me over even today are the words "...हम तो दिल की लगी  समझ बैठे" which complete this couplet.
For once I liked the use of a pun in our lyrics. They normally sound very "hokey" as old Professor Majmudar would have said. This one, however, has had a lasting impact and coupled with the heartbreak in Mukesh-ji's rendering, has made this a song to cherish. I must say though that, as it happened often in those days, it sounds better as a 78 r.p.m. recording. Perhaps you would like to listen to it again......


And you did it so well, one saw traces of the old Raj Kapoor on your face.

Things began to improve though with Bimal Roy's fine, nay very fine love story 'Prem Patra' (1963) in which you starred with the very eloquent Sadhana. This fresh-as-the-morning-dew pairing gave impetus to an oft told tale depicting the trials and misunderstandings of young love. Both of you were a delight to watch as you unravelled your tangled conflicts under Bimal-da's fine direction.

Salil-da set to music the fine poems of Rajendra Krishan and Gulzar in that film and my favourite has always been Sawan Ki Raatonmein Aisa Bhi Hota Hai with your gentle soliloquy at the top. But I have already included it in one of my earlier blogs so for this one it was a toss-up between Do Ankhiyaan Jhuki-Jhuki Si and Yeh Mere Andhere Ujale Na Hote. Here is one of them for you. You do remember it, don't you?


In 1963 you found yourself treading international waters in cinema with the coming of James Ivory and Ismail Merchant and their first venture, the wonderful The Householder in which you teamed up with the beauteous Leela Naidu. The story could have been any Hindi film dealing with domestic crises but it was the treatment in a light, unassuming manner and the delightful wit that mattered. Your low-keyed role as the hapless Prem, at odds with both wife and mother, won you plaudits. You had 'arrived' as one of our earliest actors to star in an English language film (of course, The Householder was also made in Hindustani as 'Gharbaar'). It had music by the late Ustad Vilayat Khan and was lensed by Satyajit Ray's own cameraman,  Subrata Mitra. You acted in other films produced by this prolific duo among them, Shakespearewallah (1965). I remember Madhur Jaffrey and Felicity Kendal as your costars in the film which depicted life in an itinerant Shakespearen troupe. One reviewer in the US said of it: do not ask what it (the word) means, just enjoy the film. Charming.

There was another English-language film you starred in and that was Conrad Rooks' 'Siddhartha' (1972), which was based on the time honoured novella of the same name by Herman Hesse. I have a love-hate relationship with this film, in the main because of Mr. Rooks' superficial direction. The subject deserved depth and as director, Mr. Rooks was unable to impart any to it. In writing his book Hesse had recreated a page from religious and philosophical history and in transplanting it to the screen Mr. Rooks lost track of  it all. What did lend the film a modicum of dignity, though, was the mythical ambience of ancient India via Sven Nykvist's camerawork and Hemant Kumar Mukherjee's  great musical score. All the gravity that you and Simi Garewal and the boatman (the rarely seen Zul Vellani), the vital link between you and Eternity were able to generate, could not salvage the film. The loss was ours.

*******
शशि, the great thing about the passing of time is that it helps, encourages one to remember. Of course, one never knows what brings a lost memory to the surface! With 1965 you entered what I would like to call your 'age of effervescence' and honestly I liked you better during this period. Once again, it was Chopra-ji who gave you a break in his fatalistic 'Waqt' and the inevitabilities of Time, in which you held your own against Sunil Dutt's forced flamboyance and the great Raj Kumar's controlled drama. The humility in your role showed in your face, nay eyes, as you wooed and courted the girl who was socially beyond your reach. Your teaming with Sharmila Tagore, who was improving with every film she made, was youthful and mature. The two of you were a perfect foil for each other as you emoted Sahir's on-target, double-edged lyric set to music by maestro Ravi. (You would resurrect this rapport once again in Suraj Prakash's Aamne Samne, a few years later).


This was the jaunty, hail-fellow-well-met period of your career and you played it to the hilt in Jab Jab Phool Khile (also in 1965 and once again with Nanda), in which you were totally disarming as Raju who sets out to woo the 'sheheri mem' with his 'shikara' . The film plays itself out under Suraj Prakash's competent direction and was a colossal hit, thanks to Kalyanji-Anandji's  music and the Kashmir locales. Anand Bakshi wrote the a-notch-above-the-mediocre lyrics. Despite the hugely popular 'pardesiyonse na ankhiyan milana' track, my personal favourite is the 'gul-o-bulbul' ka afsana. I have loved it always for its folksy charm and the rural simplicity infused in the music by the K-A duo as also for the gentle shyness with which you and Nanda portrayed the confusion of emerging infatuation.


You probably are not aware that in the waning days of their career and by extension their relationship with Muhammad Rafi, Shankar-Jaikishan were still composing fine solos for that great singer and at least two of them were picturised on you.There was chale ja, chale ja, chale ja jahan pyar mile from Lekh Tandon's 'Jahan Pyar Mile' (1969) and this earlier composition from Mohan Segal's Kanyadaan (1968) that has retained both melody and image in the mind's eye. It was picturised on you and Asha Parekh in what I believe was the best film of Segal's career. The story line was interesting, you will remember, about made-in-heaven-lived-on-earth marriages and both of you turned in good performances.
The decade was coming to an end and composers were still creating an occasional classic.....

The two of you were also good together in Nasir Hussain's bubbly and lighweight Pyar Ka Mausam (1971) with its ebullient scoring by Rahul Dev Burman--which bore one of the absurd anomalies in our film music.  

And you had great fun with Hema Malini as the two of you romped over Laxmi-Pyare's fine tuning of  Anand Bakshi's Sa Re Ga Ma Pa from Abhinetri (1970). That fretful demeanor giving way to joyous cuddling as the raga finally sinks in.... ! I must say, Kishore Kumar suited you to a T in this endearing duet.....

I could go on and on शशि, but I have a deadline to meet. I must release this on your birthday and it is approaching that day. However, I must hark back and recapture two moments from the black and white era in which you were paired with Nanda. The one was the Rafi-Suman duet tuned by that composers' composer, Khayyam, for the film Muhabbat Isko Kehte Hain. Don't go by the title, said the TOI in its review (paraphrasing!), this is a very well acted and fine film. And a fine film indeed it was in which you played star-crossed lovers, with you finally laying down your life for the girl you loved, to prove her chastity. Ramesh Deo was the villainous husband. Majrooh Sultanpuri wrote this charmer of a lyric.

Finally, the warmest duet picturized on you and Nanda and one of the finest duets of the '60s via Kalyanji-Anandji, soulfully recorded by Mukesh and Lata for the film Juari (1968). Something very enchanting about the closeness the song makes you experience, and there is a tenderness that goes beyond the screenplay and into character. The gentleness in your faraway look says it all~two lonely people meeting upon the crossroads of life, each seeking solace from the other, each wondering if it would last.

 *****
I know you went on to greater glory in the decades after the 60s (there were awards and there was Mr. Benegal's much applauded 'Junoon' which I hope one day to view) but these were the films we identified you most by because they spoke to an era of simplicity now long gone...

To look back upon lost innocence is a bit like gazing upon a place of worship at dusk~trying to fathom its mysteries one more time. You do not, however, have to enter it to worship.

Here's to your 75th, शशिराज , I do hope you somehow stumble across this.
Salaams!