Friday, February 6, 2009

The Nargis Story






The Dream in White

Nirupama Dutt
A 10 or 11-year-old girl with a long unattractive face, spindly legs and dazed eyes clutching onto her mother’s hand. This is how the Urdu writer Sadat Hasan Manto recalled Nargis, who he saw at a couple of film premiers along with her mother Jaddanbal, a celebrated singer, looking at her, it seemed that either she had just got up from sleep of was falling asleep.
However, this thin, sleepy little girl was to become a legend. Everyone is familiar with this story of how the ungainly duckling turned into the beautiful swan, Starting as a child star in her mother’s film , ``Talash-e-Haq’’, Baby Rani who was later renamed Nargis after a rare and beautiful flower Narcissur, dominated the screen for a decade and half and was called ``The First Lady at the Indian Screen’’.
She rose to great heights and the cine-goers identified her as Mother India’’. She was the first Indian actress to receive the Urvashi award for acting. Her death, by cancer, many years after she quit acting was mourned all over the country and abroad. Rita, the ``Awara’’ girl had made her place in many a heart.
Nargis nostalgia is such that viewers kept awake till late in the night recently to watch a documentary on the life and films of this prima donna of the forties. The film was directed by Priya Dutt, the younger daughter of Nargis, and Sunil Dutt. The documentary was tribute to both Nargis the artiste and Nargis the woman – the ideal wife and mother.
Yet for Nargis and many other film heroines of her times, the artiste and the woman were at odds against each other. The norms of the society made the two roles distinct and heavy price had to be paid for reconciling artistic ambitions with personal satisfaction.
There was a touch of tragic to the heroines of those days. Be it the beautiful Meena kumari who was exploited alike by her husband and lovers and who took to the bottle. Or the sensuous Madhubala who, while being the dream of every man in the country, struggled to find a meaningful personal relationship with a man. She died young, a little after her marriage to Kishore Kumar. Or for that matter, the singing star Suraiya, who after her love for Dev Anand was thwarted by her family, chose a long secluded existence in which rich food became an obsession resulting in obesity while Dev Anand moved from film to film and woman to woman – younger and slimmer than before.
Finding the balance between professional and the personal life was not easy for Nargis too and the inevitable price had to be paid yet, she accomplished a better than other of her times and continued to play an active role on the social cultural and political platforms. She was awarded the Padma Shri and given a nomination to the Rajya Sabha.
But the politic of the personal were not without pain. It was significant to note that every time Sunil Dutt referred to her in the documentary, it was. ``Mrs. Dutt did this…’’ or ``Mrs Dutt did that…’’ it was as though to refer to her as Nargis was to somehow lessen her.
I remember having interviewed Sunil at the Pipli tourist bungalow a month after her death. He had come to perform the last rites at his village near yamunanagar. Every now and then he would say ``well, she was my wife. A wife is a very private person. We don’t talk about our wives.’’
He married her in those days when Mehboob’s ``Mother India’’ was being shot, after having saved her in a fire disaster. He was just a beginner then and Nargis at the peak of her career. Not only Not only was he marrying a more famous person but also a woman with a romantic past with another man. The Nargis-Raj Kapoor romance was all too well known.
The illustrated weekly, in its issue on the Indian cinema, in a feature on women of substance from Raj Kapoor’s dream factory, described her thus: ``With him she went singing in the rain, shot Dilip Kumar down in `Andaz’ when he became a fly in the ointment, bent backwards while he held her in his arms for the RK logo, in a dingy studio, she made love with her eyes at a time when a physical relationship had to be suggested through log distance cooing. In ``Jagte Raho’’ she even gave him water when he was thirsty though the rest of the world wanted to skin him alive. What Nargis did for Raj—Kapoor, a galley slave wouldn’t do for her master. Theirs was a mutual admiration society…’’
Yes, it was the naïve Nargis who took girl-friend and went to Mr. Morarji Desai, who was a Chief Minister then, seeking permission to somehow be allowed to marry the already married man. Of course, she was scolded and shooed away. Raj Kapoor, in the tele-film Simi Grewal made on him said without mincing any words that Nargis was his inspiration and Krishna, his wife and mother of his children. He went onto say that a wife could not be an inspiration and an inspiration could not be a wife.
Perhaps it was this hurt that led Nargis to give up films and all to settle down to a life of domestic ``bliss’’, with her strength, she chose the path of fidelity while Sunil had his share of pos-tmarriage romances from Waheeds Rehman to Reena Roy. He also reaffirmed what dream merchant Raj had felt that a wife cannot he an inspiration, at least not, just by herself.
In the long years after her marriage to Sunil, she never once referred to Raj in any interview and her radio programme of film music for fauji bhai did not have a single song from the RK years. Raj, of course, could talk of her and even indulge in re-living the romance in ``Bobby’’ by reproducing the first time they had met onto the screen. Nargis never objected. There was no need for her world was a full one with a home, a husband’, children, relatives and working with the sick and handicapped.
But sometimes it must have hurt. More so when the whispering publicity campaign during the ``Bobby’’ days was that Dimple Kapadia, who had a faint resemblance with Nargis, was the love-child of Nargis and Raj.
Giving his reason for marrying Nargis, Sunil said in the documentary that she looked after his sister who was ill with tuberculosis and he realized that here was a woman who would look after his relatives who had suffered much. And this dear man, who holds privacy so dear, broadcast the ill dying voice of Nargis sharing private moments with her children and giving them advice on what to do after she was gone.
Perhaps, she would have liked it, for this was the ``Mother India’’ role which she played from the heart. Her marriage was dear to her, and she wanted early marriages for her daughters. There was no question of her wishing Namrata or Priya a career in films.
She did not want her daughters to repeat her life. Though her talent blossomed in films and her creativity touched great heights, yet the women in her had suffered Manto had also written of Nargis ``whenever I see Nargis on screen, I find a strange sadness enveloping her. Earlier, her person had curiosity for life but that seems to be dulled and defeated. Why? Only Nargis can give the answer.’’
Perhaps, this strange sadness was born of being an exceptional woman in a man’s world.

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Love, Longing and Gulzar




By Nirupama Dutt

He sat between two great names of Indian films—filmmaker Bimal Roy and music director Sachin Dev Burman. He rubbed the stubble on his cheek and his eyes behind thick spectacles had a far-away dreamy look. ``Bimal Da'' and ``Sachin Da'' were both trying to explain the situation to which the song was to be written. They both argued about the picturisation of the song and the character who was to sing it. The character was Kalyani, made immortal by Nutan, in ``Bandini''. The daughter of a postmaster of the village, Kalyani finds herself in love with Vikas, a freedom fighter, played by Ashok Kumar. She yearns to see him but she also hesitates and these were the feelings that were to be put into the song. The writer with a stubble took home the tune, the story, the situation and the character wove it in the images of moon and night and the song was born:

``Mora gora ang lai le

Mohe shyam rang dayi de

Chhup jaoongi raat hi mein

Mohe pee ka sang dayi de.''

And when the song reached the people many wanted to know who was the lyricist and they were told he was a shy assistant to Bimal Roy. Yes, poet Gulzar had arrived with his first song. Later, Gulzar spread out in many directions -- scriptwriting, dialogue writing and direction. But it was the poet in him which gave a new metaphor to the tender moments on celluloid.

From the song in ``Bandini to the lyrics of one of his recent films ``Ijaazat'' is a long journey with setbacks aplenty but the poet in him survived them all and one of the most moving songs of passion and parting reached the people through ``ijaazat'' which like his two latter films ``Lekin'' and ``Libaas'' did not find many takers:

``Mera kuchh samaan tumhare

Paas padha hai…

Who sawan ke kuchh bheege-

Bheege din rakhe hain

Aur mere ek khat mein lipti raat

Padhi hai…

Yeh raat bujha do, mera who

Samaan lauta do…''

This poet of delicate nuances who changed to the moodof film songs also because the inheritor of Shaera Meena Kumari's poetry. Incidentally, ``Bandini'' had given debut to two young Punjabi men—Gulzar as a lyricist, and Dharmendra as an actor, who appeared in a small role as doctor who is abandoned by Nutan for the ailing Ashok Kumar to the intense strains of Sachin Da'shaunting song -- ``O're maajhi.''

The two provided a starling contrast, Dharmendra whom later film columnist Devi christened ``Dharm Garam''was the he-man who took what came his way and moved along, and Gulzar the soft dreamy-eyed poet very often at odds with the demands of the film world. Yet both shared a close association with Meena Kumari. While Dharmendra became the inflictor of more wound on Hindi cinema's tragedy, queen, it was Gulzar who put the balm by makinga film for her``Mere Apne'' when she was alive and after her death editing and publishing her poetry and giving her a celluloid tribute in the documentary ``Shaera''.

Gulzar was born on August 18, 1936, in the small town of Dina in Jhelum district of Pakistan in a Sikh family and his name was Sampooran Singh Kalra. He migrated with his family to Delhi in 1947 and his father started a small business in Sabzi Mandi. Gulzar did hismatriculation from Delhi United Christian School. His first attemptat poetry when he was in the school at Delhi where the Maulvi sahib would put them through the exercise of ``baitbazi'', an antakshri of sorts with borrowed couplets. Gulzar recalls, ``My memory was weak and I could never store enough couplets in my mind. My friend Akbar Rashid on the other hand knew so many couplets that I started making up my own. This was how I picked up the craft of poetry.'' The art, of course, followed through the smiles and sighs of a life lived with stubborn sincerity and understated passion. And these emotions were re-woven in a song for ``Khamoshi'' which had the listeners bewitched:

``Hamne dekhi hai in aankhon ki

Mehakti khushboo

Haath se chhoo ke isse rishton ka

Ilzaam na do

Sirf ehsaas hai yeh rooh se

Mehsoos karo

Pyar ko pyar his rehne do, koi

Naamna do.''

The song remains till date one of the magical numbers, which cannot be penned by just anyone. And these days when the songs of the times are ``Tirchhi topi wale'', papa kehate hain badha kaam karega'' or ``kabutar ja ja ja'', the lyrics of Gulzar which in a unique manner spoke of the silence of the intense emotions of the soul seem to be rare indeed.

Gulzar's songs are very close to life and yet in their aesthetic flight they acquire an athereal quality which is complex. And taking a couplet of Ghalib he went on to write a song for ``Mausam'' which was drenched in the passions of theboy and girl next door. In ``Dil dhoondta hai'', he brought to words the charmsofthe summer nights of the north Indian plains;

``Ya garmiyan ki raat jab

purvaian chalein

Thande safed bistar par jaagein

der tak

Taron ko dekhate rehein chat

Par parhe huye''

The night and the moon are the necessary images of our films but Gulzar in his songs did away with the clichés and found for them symbols afresh. In one song he would turn the night into a beggar woman walking out with the bowl of the moon in hand and in another he turned the moon into a ``bindiya'' shining from the forehead of the night. And in a duet in ``Aandhi'', where the mood is one of looking before and after, he willed the moon not to sink from the skies:

``Tum jo keh do to

Aaj ki raat chand doobega nahin

Raat ko rok lo

Raat ki baat hai

Aur zindagi baqi to nahin…''

And Gulzar's own life moved from the early days of struggle to a beautiful white house on Pali Hill named ``Boskiana'' after his daughter. His marriage to the femme fatate, Rakhi, was turbulent and ended in separation. He inspired Deepti Naval, an actress, to p;ublish her poems in a book -- ``Lamhe Lamhe.'' He turned to writing for children for the love of his daughter, whom he described as ``Bittu Rani Boski, Boond giri hai os ki''

The latest issue of a film glossy turns to Gulzar for a view from the ringside and the introduction has the ring of ``lost and gone'' and it is lamented: ``The world Gulzar loved so deeply, is at its self-destructive peak. Ugly, dehumanized. It's a world peopled with transients who travel light.'' In the interview Gulzar takes mirth in being ``Unemployed'' and adds ``There is something I'm looking forward to, I am going to release my book of poems. If you ask me what I'dreally like to do, it's write poems. That gives me the most pleasure. It's all mine.''

Well, this would please those who have loved him most for his poetry even if a laved says that there's no meter in it. And the poet's retort is fine enough for there is poetry in it. Gulzar once gifted a volume of his poetry to an admirer and spelt her name wrong while signing it and to make amends as a poet would be added on a line ``with the right spelling of LOVE!'' And so we wait for poems which will spell out as never before love, life and all that it brings.

POEMS

Last Night

Last night dew dropped softly

On the tender lips of buds

Rubbing cheeks with flowers

In the shadow of night's

Blue veil, the dew opened pages of fairy tales

Two souls were swimming in

The gentle stirrings of the heart

Holding out the sky

On their dainty wings.

Last night was very bright

Last night dreams were fair

last night – was spent with you!

**

Moon Madness

Come stand on my shoulders

Then raise your heels

And kiss the face of the moon

Haven't you seen tonight

Crawling on its elbows

The moon has come so close

**

Tread Softly

Look, tread softly

No, softer still.

The feet shouldn't

Ring out noise

For scattered in

Loneliness are dreams

made of glass.

No dream should break

No one should wake.

The dream will die first.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Mom Mania



Mum’s the word



The mom mania on the small screen can be traced to the surefire success of mother-fixated films like Mother India and Deewar, writes Nirupama Dutt



Nargis in Mother India upholds dharma by killing the son she loves the most (Sunil Dutt)Amitabh Bachchan is left speechless when Shashi Kapoor tells him “Mere paas ma hai”
The Mother India myth has been one of sure success in Hindi films. Popular Indian cinema is indeed mother-centric with a host of graceful matriarchs having done honours to the Indian screen from Durga Khote, Leela Chitnis, Nirupa Roy, Sulochana to Nutan, Waheeda Rehman and Rakhi. The famous dialogue from the Amitabh Bachchan blockbuster Deewar is still repeated. Amitabh, the baddie, tells Shashi Kapoor, the goodi-good younger brother, "Mere paas bangla hai, gadhi hai, paisa hai. Tere paas kya hai?" Pat comes the reply, "Mere paas maa hai."
Mama-mania is a way of life in the Indian cinema and it succeeds many a time. But the man who gave the archetypal Mother figure to the Indian screen was the great filmmaker Mehboob Khan in Mother India in 1957. Mother India was a remake in technicolour with a brand new star case of Mehboob’s earlier Aurat (1940). Iqbal Massod once writing on this archetypal mother said, "The mother upholds the dharma which the good son follows. When the bad son transgresses it, he is killed." The ever-lasting myth of the big screen has been providing a catharsis to audiences as they sit every night at half past ten to watch Kyunki Saas bhi Kabhie Bahu Thhi. Smriti Irani, playing Tulsi Virani in the serial has done the Mother India act with aplomb by killing Ansh and winning the approval of the viewers.
The mother figure in the Indian psyche is different from that in the West. Julia Glancy, a Britisher and wife of a pre-Partition Punjab Governor once during her stay in India remarked in surprise, "The strongest relationship in India is between mother and son and not husband and wife." To the Indian mind, deeply entrenched in the concepts of Mother Earth and Mother Goddess, there is nothing strange or surprising about this.
They do not have the Freudean theory of the Oedipal complex to bother about.This concept has been liberally splashed in popular art, including calendars, posters and advertisements.
When Mehboob made Aurat in 1940, it was the time of the national struggle against the colonial rule. Mehboob combined in his creation of the mother figure the two concepts of Mother Earth and Mother Goddess. The film thus gave a vigour to the national movement as this was the time when posters were being printed of Bharat Mata in chains and suffering. Or martyrs like Bhagat Singh offering their heads to Bharat Mata. Post-Independence India saw the image of Bharat Mata with her chains broken, the tricolour on the border of her sari and a smile on her face to encourage her favourite son Jawaharlal Nehru.
It was in the renewed scenario that Nargis was reborn as Mother India, striking a famous pose with the plough on her body. To save the honour of the village, she even kills her son, played by Sunil Dutt, who turns a dacoit and is making way with the wicked money-lender’s daughter. She kills the son she loves the most for she upholds dharma.
People just loved it and the film has the reputation of running till date in one cinema hall or the other in the country and still attracting audiences.
Every decade has seen one or more films which played with the myth in one way or other. It was Ganga Jamuna in the 60s, Deewar in the 70s, Ram Lakhan in the 80s, Vaastav in the 90s and Koi Mere Dil Se Poochhe in the new century.
And now the small screen has appropriated this myth giving Tulsi Virani the greatest status that the Indian imagination can envisage. Women in the neighbourhoods are talking of little else and when the story was leaked out a couple of weeks before the trigger was actually pulled, it made front page news in national dailies.
So the moral of the story is when all other formulae fail, it is best to have a good mother and an erring son. Mama mia! A killer mother never fails for the Mother India myth is forever.

Films on Prem Chand's fiction
















Munshi and the movies
Nirupama Dutt


THE buzz in movie circles is that Vidhu Vinod Chopra after caressing the hearts of moviegoers ever so tenderly with Parineeta, a love story penned by Bangla writer Sarat Chandra, in 1914 is now looking for a classic from Hindi. And his heart seems to be set on doing Munshi Prem Chand’s classical pastoral novel, Godan, all over again. Well, if Bimal Roy could retell Sarat Chandra’s Devdas after Barua and Sanjay Leela Bhansali could re-re-tell it, then why not a retake on Godan.
In fact, Premchand’s writings have inspired many memorable films, including two unforgettable ones by Satyajit Ray, Shatranj ke Khiladi (1977) and Sadgati (1981).
The first film inspired by a Premchand story was Mazdoor. It was made way back in 1945. The second film was Heera Moti (1959), based on a short story called Do Bailon ki Kahani. It had the famous pair of Bimal Roy’s pastoral classic Do Bigha Zameen(1953) in the lead, Balraj Sahni and Nirupa Roy. However, Chopra was no Roy and film is all but forgotten but for a pleasant duet so beautifully depicting the Ganga-Jamuni culture, Kauni rang mungva/ Kauni rang motia/ Kauni rang ri nanadi tore birana, that can sometimes be heard in a programme of Bhoole Bisre Geet.
Sanjeev Kumar and Saeed Jaffrey in Shatranj ke Khiladi
Trilok Jeltley directed Godan (1963) is still etched in the mind for its realistic narration on celluloid of the struggle of the Indian farmer with Raj Kumar and Kamini Kaushal in the lead. The musical score was by the sitar maestro Ravi Shankar and one of the best Purvia songs of Hindi cinema was from this film, Pipra ke patva sarikhe dole manva, Ke hiyara me uthat hilor.
Godan, the last complete novel by Premchand, is considered one of the greats and has been translated into many languages. Krishna Chopra along with Hrishikesh Mukherjee made yet another film on a Premchand story. This was Gaban (1966), the story of a clerk who embezzles funds to buy a coveted necklace for his wife. Sunil Dutt played the clerk and a deglamourised Sadhana danced to the music of Shankar Jaikishen singing, Maine dekha thha sapne mein ik Chandrahar. Mere balam ne pehana diya.
With the Chandrahaar saga not clicking too well with the masses, it seemed the days of social realism a la Premchand were over. But in 1977, Satyajit Ray made his first Hindi film on a story by Premchand set in the large backdrop of colonial India and the annexation of Oudh. In spite of criticism that by changing the end of the story in which the two nawabs kill each other for honour’s sake Ray had done injustice to the spirit of the conquered, Shatranj ke Khiladi is considered one of Ray’s most important films. Ray’s telefilm, Sadgati (1981), with Om Puri and Smita Patil in the lead, was soul-stirring as it raised the question of caste that is as alive in society today as it was when Premchand wrote the film.
Last year, Gulzar turned his attention on the Munshi with a 26-episode serial for Doordarshan called Tehreer as part of the 125 th centenary celebrations. For Gulzar it was a project after his heart as he wished to leave his stamp on the works of a genius as he had done with a difference by a serial on none other than the great Urdu poet, Mirza Ghalib. But the response of the audiences was not all that admirable.
If Bhansali can send Devdas to Oxford or make Paro and Chandramukhi shake a leg and much else, or if Vinod Chopra can reset the 1914 love stories in the Calcutta can of the Sixties, Godan’s Hori, the protagonist too, is bound to undergo change. Change is after all the spice of life and more so the movies. Putting Munshi’s heroes in movies of these times may well mean changing the landscape of Godan from Uttar Pradesh to the BT cotton fields around Bathinda.
The battle between lovers of literature and makers of movies will thus carry on. Story tellers in celluloid will continue to look the way of classics.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

The doomed hero never fails












The Devdas Syndrome

Nirupama Dutt

Few fictional heroes have dominated the India male psyche in the 20th century more than Devdas. Indeed, among the many sins’ novelist Sarat Chandra Chatterjee may have committed, the greatest is that of authoring Devdas. For, the eponymous hero of Chatterjee’novel has come to symbolize the weakling, indecisive male who can do little but drink himself to death. And this even when he had the choice of living in companionship with two women-- his childhood sweetheart Paro or the repentant prostitute Chandramukhi.

Considered the ultimate in romance of the unrequited, Devdas came alive on the silver screen as early as 1935, courtesy Paramtesh Chandra Barua. This prince from Assam identified so closely with Devdas that he made two versions of the film. In the Bengali version, he played the doomed hero. For the Hindi version, Saigal did the role with those haunting songs like Dukh ke din ab beetat naahi. As far as alcoholism went, saigal anyway embodied shades of Devdas -- and the portrayal was easy for the singing star.
Barua had staked his all in the production of these films. It is said that he went to the premiere with a loaded revolver, determined to kill himself were the people not to respond to the film. Devdas, however, was an all-time hit. New Theatres in Tamil remade the film next year, and it became a rage down south too.

Such was the power of this hero of fiction that he almost replaced Majnu of the Laila fame. The colloquial question to any unshaved man looking a bit lost would be: ``Kyon bhai, Devdas ban gaya kya?’’

Twenty years later when people had not quite forgotten Saigal’s portrayal, Bimal Roy who had worked as a cameraman for Barua remade Devdas with Dilip Kumar as hero, Suchitra Sen as paro and Vyjanthimala as Chandramukhi. The film, released in 1956, didn’t make just cinematic history but social too. One generation wept for Devdas played by Saigal; it was the second generation that was now deeping for Devdas again.
Recalls Hindi writer Shailendra Sail, who was a student in the days when Roy’s film was released, ``We lived and breathed like Devdas, growing our hair, sitting for long hours in the coffee house smoking and, those who had the dare, drank too. We all saw ourselves as clones of Devdas.’’ And now when we were moving through the very upbeat, upmarket, high-tech 21st century, the danger of Devdas returned courtesy Sanjay Leela bhainsali of Ham Dil De Chuke Sanam Devdas with Madhuri Dixit as Chandramukhi, Aishwarya Rai as Paro and Shahrukh Khan as Devdas. The choice of Shahrukh was interesting considering that he achieved stardom as psychopath lover.

What is the USP (unique selling point), as the modern marketing jargon goes, of this fiction-made monster? Fiml writer Firoze Rangoonwalla in A pictorial History of Indian Cinema writes, ``The essence of Devdas is love denied by class differences, so that the man drifts to ruin with wine and woman while the beloved becomes the housewife of a rich widower with children of the same age as their step-mother. In a much adored ending Devdas makes a long cart journey in the last stage of his life to die at Paro’s doorstep.’’ But this intention of focusing on social inequity was muffled by the sheer passion and intensity of the tragic romance.

Devdas and the eternal triangle became a recurring theme in Indian cinema. This was most evocative in Guru Dutt’s Pyaasa, in which social concerns were portrayed more potently. But it was in Kagaz ke Phool (1959) that Guru Dutt rehearsed his own death by suicide. Playing the role of producer-director who’s remarking Devdasa, and caught between two women, Guru Dutt’s own story became a doomed-hero saga with poet Kaifi Azmi crying out: `Ik baar to khud maut bhi ghabra gayi hogi; Yoon maut ho seene se lagaya nahi karte.’’

What irks one is that even in these days of instant love we have no yet finished with Devdas. The next generation too should take out the `kerchiefs and get ready to weep for him.















Friday, October 31, 2008

Train as a metaphor for life







Rail romance in reel life



Trains have served Indian filmmakers and lyricists well down the decades, returning to our screens and soundtracks every now and then as either a narrative leitmotif or a lyrical flight of fancy. Nirupama Dutt captures the high points of the abiding journey

Of all the things that fascinate India’s filmmakers, nothing can ever match the abiding appeal of trains. This is one mode of transport that has scored above the handier bus or the faster plane in its depiction in cinema the world over. Come to India and the story of rail on reel seems to have been tried out in every possible way and neither filmmakers nor cine-goers have tired of it.Way back in the 1930s, Fearless Nadia gave a hard fight to the villains atop the roof of a fast moving train in Miss Frontier Mail (1936). A few years later, Kanan Devi, with her mesmeric voice, had the whole nation swaying to the rhythms of the train as she sang: ‘Yeh duniya, yeh duniya Toofan Mail...’ for the film Jawab (1941).The wheels haven’t stopped rolling since then. Take the classic example of Devdas. The hero journeys aimlessly across the length and breadth of the country, dying of drinking until he comes somewhere close to the village of his lost love and gives up his life at her doorstep. The train continued to be the symbol for the drift of the lovelorn hero through Bimal Roy’s version in 1955 with a one-reel sequence that is still considered to be one of the greatest. It was also the starting point for the narration of the journey. Of course, Sanjay Leela Bhansali had the train all made over to resemble a Palace on Wheels in keeping with the opulent fantasia of his 2002 version.Guru Dutt, who was fascinated by the tragic tale of Devdas, gave it yet another extension in Pyaasa (1957), an epic replete with symbols in which a train accident with a beggar wearing the hero’s coat gives a twist to the poetic tale with the world happier with the poet dead rather than alive.Suspense, action and drama in trains has been a part of many Bollywood masala films but when Ravi Chopra tried out a Hollywood inspired, high-action thriller The Burning Train (1979), it was a disaster at the box office. However, a song picturised on Asha Sachdev in the coach is remembered till date: Pal do pal ka saath hamara, Pal do pal ke yaarane hain. This song, like the earlier Kanan number, equated the journey of the train with life’s journey. Talking of songs on wheels, there was a memorable number picturised on comedian Johnny Walker in a rather obscure film called Door ki Awaaz (1964): Ik musafir ko duniya mein kya chahiye, Sirf thodi si dil mein jagah chahiye… Surprisingly, the good little girl of the old days of Hindi cinema, Nanda, was chosen to play the con woman in The Train (1970). It is back to the same title with The Train (2007) which winds its way through a thriller of sorts laced with love, lust, murder and deceit.

The best action-packed train scene was to be seen in Sholay (1975) in which the Amitabh-Dharmendra duo fought the dacoits in true heroic way to save a train. However, Sunny Deol taking on the Pakistan Army single-handed in Gadar (2001) was a bit hard to take. Coming to the Partition of India in 1947, trains became the slaughter houses of humanity.Forgetting the grim and the gory, we come to the depiction of the train at its happiest when it is playing the benign cupid arranging the boy meets girl rendezvous. Chance meetings have led to many a romance blossoming in trains and there are many songs filmed in, around and even on top of trains. One of the early favourites was Hemant Kumar’s ‘Hai apna dil to awara…’ and it was picturised on debonair Dev Anand flirting with the runaway teenager Waheeda Rehman in Solvan Saal (1958). Later, of course we had Rishi Kapoor atop a train singing to Padmini Kohlapure in Zamane ko Dikhana Hai (1981): ‘Jag mein tumse pyara kaun…’ Shahrukh khan danced a whole ‘Chhaiya Chhaiya’ the same way in Dil Se. The recent Jab We Met was a train special with the Mumbai to Bathinda train becoming the meeting ground for Shahid Kapoor and Kareena. The train came to the rescue of the small town dreamers in Bunty aur Babli (2005). So tired of the long boring afternoons and slow life they pack their bags singing ‘Dhadak dhadak dhuyan udhaye re, Dhadak dhadak siti bajaye re…’ and catch the first train that can reach them to the big, bad world. Recall the dialogue of several decades ago when Raj Kumar wrote a note and tucked it in Meena Kumari’s toes in Pakeezah (1972) with the line 'Aapke paon dekhe, bahut haseen hai inhe zameen par mat utariyega – maile ho jayenge'. The compliment is remembered some 35 years later and so is the song that was picturised in the film in a glittering mujra on Meena Kumari.The Mumbai local train too has had its share of glory in Bollywood. This was where Tony Braganza and Nancy (Amol Palekar and Tina Munim) met in the ride from Bandra to Churchgate in a delightful light romance Basu Chatterji style in Baton Baton Mein (1979). Dev Anand playing a desi Henry Higgins discovers Tina Munim in a local and decides to make a star of her in Man Pasand (1980). The railway platform was the place for the Vijay Anand and Jaya Bhaduri coming together in Kora Kagaz (1974) and much later Naseeruddin Shah and Rekha meet at a platform only to part in Gulzar’s Ijaazat (1987). Sunil Dutt’s debut film was Railway Platform (1955) and Amitabh Bachchan played the porter in Manmohan Desai’s Coolie (1983). The moving train with one of a couple offering a hand to the other just like Shahrukh Khan and Kajol in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayeinge (1995) has been repeated on different actors down the decades and has clicked each time. Rail romance definitely seems to be evergreen.
TSI

Punjabi film fare






Balle Balle on celluloid !


The lucrative NRI market for Hindi cinema has led to an upsurge of the Punjabi family drama on screen, writes Nirupama Dutt


Punjabis have long dominated Bollywood what with scores of Kapoors, Chopras, Anands, Deols, Mehras, Sagars, Sahnis, Roshans and many more having a firm hold on Mumbaia films for long years. However, there were just a film or two in many decades that carried a flavour of Punjabi life and culture. Of course, some themes were perennial favourites like the love legends of Heer-Ranjha or Sohni-Mahiwal and the inspiring saga of patriot Bhagat Singh were made over and again.
Apart from these, there was very little else to give a feel of the land that these scores of filmwalas came from. Now, there is an upsurge of the Punjabi family drama and other themes close to the soil. Veer Zaara is the latest to capture the soul and spirit of Punjab on both sides of the border. Not just Mumbai cinema, the Punjabi family drama courtesy Gurinder Chadda has become a sought-after theme even in British cinema. And the lady has been honoured for setting this trend in the British House of Commons. Well she has made a heady cocktail of Austen and Amritsar and it is balle balle all the way.
If one delves into the past then very few films reflected the Punjabi way of life. One old black-and-white movie that did give a feel of life in the Punjabi-speaking hilly areas of Punjab, before the 1966 reorganisation of states when the Kangra valley went to Himachal, was Bambai ka Babu. It was a Dev Anand thriller that began in a smoky gambling den in Mumbai and moved to a hilly village in the north. The film had some memorable musical numbers like Chal ri sajani ab kya soche and Diwana mastana hua dil set to the magical music of S.D. Burman. Later, B.R. Chopra’s Waqt of the Sixties took up the story of a Punjabi trader, Lala Kedar Nath. But for the initial few scenes capturing the lost lifestyle of Quetta in the North West Frontier Province, the film soon moved to the very cosmopolitan Delhi and Mumbai, exploring the usual lost-and-found formula that Hindi cinema delights in.
One always wondered why no Punjabi had gone out to make a film reflecting the land and its people they way they were. I remember putting this question to many and always getting evasive replies. I recall Dev Anand telling me, "You see we belong not just to Punjab, we belong to the whole country." Gulzar, the Bimal Roy assistant so smitten by Bengali culture, said, "I can read Bangla and not Punjabi so my films are more often based on Bangla stories." Of course, he went on to make Maachis many years later but that even with Chappa chappa charkha chale was more a film on the theme of terrorism and Punjab was incidental. Good old Dara Singh gave an interesting reply to this query in the course of an interview many years ago. He said, "You see Hindi films are not based on reality. These are fantasies catering to many areas so they must have a bit of Rajasthan and a bit of Kashmir and so on." However, the reason for this is the inferiority complex that Punjabis suffer from when faced with lingual areas that have more developed traditions of art and literature. Probably, this kept them away kept them away from touching the homegrown.
The tide changed in the mid-1990s when Shah Rukh Khan and Kajol danced their way into the hearts of the audiences in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayeinge(DDLJ). This blockbuster released in 1995 has made history by showing for eight long years in the same cinema hall in Mumbai. With Kajol playing Simran, the story moves from London to a Punjabi village haveli with hordes of relatives. The success of this film inspired similar back home in the big house in the village experiments like Dhai Akshar Prem Ke but that film did not do well. However, the big house of the landlord, the nearly extinct tribe of salwar-kameez-clad Beejis (grannies) and turbaned kith and kin have come to stay in the films. The multi-starrer Kabhie Khushi Kabhi Gham (K3G) had both naani and daadi of the theth Punjabi variety portrayed by Achla Sachdev and Sushma Seth. In fact earlier, but for the historical and religious films, Sikhs were often crudely caricatured. The Shammi Kapoor and Sharmila Tagore starring film An Evening in Paris had a caricatured portrayal of a Sikh done by Rajendra Nath. Following protests, certain scenes had to be taken off the film.
After the grand success of DDLJ, it was British filmmaker of Indian origin who portrayed the Punjabi family drama with aplomb in Bend It Like Beckham. This NRI family story gave us a very endearing portrayal of the turbaned father by Anupam Kher. More recently, it was a re-mix of very Victorian Jane Austin with Amritsar in Bride and Prejudice. The essential ingredients for the Punjabi family drama are kinship, love, and hurdles. Of course, all this has to be punctuated liberally with the steps of the Bhangra with the forefingers raised up to a Balle Balle! Chadda also portrays the mood of the Indian origin girl who makes it in life. She does so by catching the White man for lover or groom. At one time that was the achievement factor for the men in life but on screen they would give up the bad Western woman for the good desi bride.
Could the phenomenon of Punjabi pop have contributed in re-shaping the destiny of the Punjabis on screen and having the whole film revolve around them? Perhaps not so. For Hindi films made liberal use of Bhangra and the tappa, but that would just begin and end with the picturisation of the song. In the 1950s, Vyjyanthimala and Dilip Kumar sang Udhein jab jab zulfein teri the Punjabi way clad in tehmats but switched to central Indian attire soon after. Similarly, Raj Kapoor had the famous song with Manohar Deepak doing bhangra in Jagate Raho but that was all that was of Punjab there. Subsequently, many films had songs inspired by Punjabi folk. The song over and Punjab is forgotten.
More recently, Punjab returned in full force in Partition films like Ghadar and Pinjar, the latter based on a novel by Amrita Pritam. Before Pinjar too a number of films were based on literature of the soil. These include Pavitar Paapi, based on Nanak Singh’s novel, Uski Roti, inspired by a short story of Mohan Rakesh and Ek Chaddar Maili Si, based on a classic novella by Rajinder Singh Bedi. In fact Bedi, a talented filmmaker had wanted to make this film himself, way back in the Sixties with Geeta Bali and Dharmendra in the lead. But the project was shelved with Geeta’s sudden death. Two decades later Sukhwant Dhada made the film with Hema Malini and Rishi Kapoor. The film fell short of promise. Interestingly, even when the scenario has been Punjabi very rarely has a Punjabi actress played the lead. The old film Bambai ka Babu had Bengal’s Suchitra Sen in the lead, Maharashtrian Tanuja in Pavitar Paapi, Tabu of Hyderabadi fame in Maachis, and Rano of Bedi’s classic was the dream girl from down South. Even Chadda picked the Manglorian Aishwareya for Bride and Prejudice and dulhaniya of DDLJ was Kajol. This even when there are more Punjabi lasses around than in the old times.
Not just the big screen, even the small screen is relishing in putting together the Punjabi act. While Des Mein Nikla Hoga Chand is a desi saga between London and Chandigarh, death and rebirth with the current heroine actually named Heer, even Saas bhi`85 sent Tulsi on an amnesia trip to be found in a silken salwar-kameez, jutti and parandas in Chandigarh.
Not just that, the Gujju ladies in this serial have even learnt to do Karva Chauth the Punjabi way. Our beebi rani Jassi has set unparalleled records and our lovely Juhi is so enchanting uttering the ever so familiar ‘Mummyji’ just as we do it back home in Sector 23, Chandigarh. The distinct flavour of the culture or as some would say agri(culture) is catching up. The trend is welcome even if the credit for it must go to the dollars and pounds earned in Toronto or Birmingham. Well no apologies please, we are as Punjabi as can be.



December 5, 2004, The Tribune