Balaraj Sahani was born on the first of May a
hundred years before. His birth falling on the World Labour Day though a
coincidence is yet befitting, for he was well known for his leftist leanings.
However, his birth centenary coinciding with the centenary of Indian cinema is of much
greater significance, is symbolic. Balaraj epitomized what was the best in
Hindi cinema. He was an actor par excellence, completely identified himself
with the character he played . He was perhaps at his best in the film Seema.
I, in particular, like
a prayer in this film – Tu pyar ka saagar hai. The prayer penned by peerless
Shailendra, given lilt by arguably the best composer duo of Shanker and
Jaikishen, conveys so enchantingly the metaphysics of life and death. And more
I tune to it, more I find it gaining in sublimity, especially in the backdrop
of the present day stupidity, vulgarity and obscenity summed up by Bubbly
badmash hai.
I urge, please get
tuned to Tu pyar ka saagar hai.
I have attempted a
loose rendering for those who do not understand Hindi.
O The Brimming Expanse
Of Compassion,
We crave of You
But just a drop,
We should fade into
obscurity
If unrequited !
The fledgling
manifestation
Of a caged spirit
Is restive to soar,
Though, alas,
The wings are tender
The eyes misty
And yet to soar
Beyond the sea
Of this existence !
O The Merciful
Tell him
Where did he
Come to this pass
from,
Where did he go astray
?!
O The Brimming Expanse
Of Compassion,
We crave of You
But just a drop,
We should fade into
obscurity
If unrequited !
Here, and now,
The life celebrates
itself
But the death beacons
A moment later, there,
What demarcates the
two
Is an existential
riddle,
O The Wise One
Whisper in my eager
ears
Which yonder did I
really
Come from !
O The Brimming Expanse
Of Compassion,
We crave of You
But just a drop,
We should fade into
obscurity
If unrequited !
Sunday, 21 July 2013
Dhyan
Chand : Getting His Due At Home
The news that the Union Ministry of Sports intends to recommend
conferment of Bharat Ratna on Dhyan Chand is finally recognizing a colossal,
giving him his due. However, Bharat
Ratna to Dhyan Chand acquired a context only after there were loud suggestions last
year that Sachin Tendulkar be decorated with this highest award. And much as we may be enamoured with cricket,
it is yet saddening that we are generally not as animated about achievements other
than those of cricketers. The excitement
of an occasional medal performance at the Olympics is just ephemeral.
Dhyan Chand’s contribution to hockey in the sub continent
was in no way less than Bradman’s to the Australian cricket. The latter, while watching a hockey match in
1935 at Adelaide, paid high tribute to Dhyan Chand as he remarked : He
scores goals like runs in Cricket. Europe,
however, paid him the highest tribute.
In Holland, the authorities broke his hockey stick to check if there was
a magnet inside. Adolf Hitler offered
him the German citizenship and the rank of a Colonel. Residents of Vienna honoured him by setting
up a statue of him with four hands and four sticks, symbolizing his control and
mastery over the ball. Dhyan Chand
symbolized a rare native assertion in colonial India, without being adversarial
to the English. A tube station was been
named after him in London, in the run up to the Summer Olympics.
After the gold at 1980 Olympics at Moscow, which was
boycotted by some of the major hockey playing nations, India has not made to
semis either at the Olympics or at the World Cup. In fact, we are consistently a
second rung team, thrashed by Australia, Germany and Holland routinely. Foreign
coaches have not been able to resurrect the team. Truth is that our hockey glory is a matter of
history with Dhyan Chand being the greatest exponent of that history. A Bharat Ratna will be honouring the both –
the history and its hero.
One often needs an
adversary, more than a friend, for a purpose, for a challenge in life. For the
mainstream Hindi cinema of the fifties and the large part of sixties, Pran
became an institutionalized adversary, a man for every ‘adversarial’ role,
unraveling in the process an uncanny ability and exceptional talent at adaption,
innovation and customization. Pran indeed was the other name for villainy in
Hindi cinema.
Pran is no more. But his
legend will ever inspire the budding villains.
To begin with, Pran was cast
in lead roles. His good looks, facial intensity and innate goodness
pre-eminently qualified him for that.
But why and how he drifted to become a baddie should be better
understood as his destiny in sync with the larger destiny of the Hindi cinema.
For over 15 years, he was the most formidable despised half of the good-versus-bad
cinema – the other half could be any one from Duleep Kumar to Raj Kapoor to Devanand
or the other lesser stars. Pran’s
presence heightened the bar for the man in the lead role. No wonder therefore that Pran found himself
opposite Duleep Kumar in a number of films - notably Azad, Madhumati, Dil Diya Dard Liya, Ram Aur Shyam. He was Raj Kapoor’s adversary in Chaliya, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai and Dil
Hi to Hai to mention some. He was Devanand’s
bête noire in blockbusters namely Jab
Pyar Kisi Se Hota Hai and Johnny
Mera Naam.
Raj Kapoor’s Jis Desh Mein
Ganga Behti Hai is, however, a different film, as it deals with the higher
question of morality - what is intrinsically good or bad - through the
unforgettable characters of Raju (Raj Kapoor) and Raka (Pran). In the film, the good-versus-bad is not a
matter of personal vendetta but a stand-off between a way of life that is
compassionate and inclusive and the other that is violent and repressive. Raka
epitomizes the latter. Pran gave the soul and substance to this character with
a performance that was arguably his best till Manoj Kumar’s Upkar discovered
the other dimension of his versatility.
Shot on a vast tract of
undulating sands, the climax of Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai builds a grand
convergence of several sub-streams within – a clutch of transformed dacoits
making way through a difficult terrain for its surrender to law, a police
oblivious to this intended surrender lays trap and zeroes on, and a distraught
love-stricken Kammo (Padmini) desperately looking for Raju. The climax will easily pass into the top ten
scenes of Hindi cinema for its impact. It is a fusion of brilliant photography,
a reverberating music, an inspiring song that beacons return to goodness, and a
human caravan on the move lock, stock and barrel with Raju at its van and Raka
at its rear. Even in this vast
action-scape, where the players often appear not more than dots, Pran (via Raka)
though seen distinctly only for moments leaves behind a permanent imprint on
the viewing public. Half-converted, he treks behind the party, almost alone and
in isolation, with hesitant steps and hugely suspicious. His dilemma, his uncertainty – the dichotomy
within – is brilliantly conveyed by the body language which is still rebellious
even if imperceptibly. This is Pran at his best. A must-see episode.
Pran’s transition to a good
Samaritan was sudden through Upkar, courtesy Manoj Kumar. Yet the transition was from baddie to toughie
in most of the films, though he no longer was a character stricken with a
congenital maliciousness. The other basic shift was that he complemented the
hero than being his adversary.
He thus forged a long
partnership with Amitabh - of helpful toughie. An interesting fact is that this
forging of friendship is quite dramatic in some of the films, almost as a final
outcome of duels which should have normally resulted in the killing of one – Zanjeer,
Don and Majboor. But my take is the
scene from Johnny Mera Naam, where
Johnny (Dev) and Moti(Pran) while trading punches discover that they are
brothers separated in childhood while running away from an assassin.
Sharabi however was an
exception. Pran, acting a father, had a
soft, sophisticated exterior but with an intransigent view of life. This intransigence is central to the film as
Amitabh, the son, behaves and conducts himself on rebound and thus builds the
story. In this, the film has something
in common with Parichay which also hinges on father’s inflexibility (acted by Pran). And incidentally, the two films have similar
ending. In the first, the father seeks a
bride for his son. In the other, he
seeks a groom for his grand-daughter.
The two films are important
for Pran in contra-distinction – as the sophisticated and suave character called
for a much greater visible subtlety and finesse than that expected of a
toughie. Pran came up with sterling and memorable performances in both,
confirming the sweep of his talent.
Perhaps, the only facet he
needed to prove was whether he could still act even though dead. The dead Pran entangled in the rear seat of a
taxi (Sadhu aur Shaitan) appears so alive and kicking !
Pran had hardly ever tried
his talent to sustain a comedy. Victoria No. 203 was an exception where he was
one of the hilarious duo, the other being Ashok Kumar.
Pran is no more but has left
a rich legacy behind which could be incorporated in the curricula for film
related degrees.
The following will aptly sum up Pran though in a lighter
vein. On reaching his abode after death,
Yamaraj enquired : आप की तारीफ़ ?लगता है इस इलाके में नये आये हो साहिब !
Nargis was born on the first of June in the first half of the previous century – year 1929 to be precise – a clear five decades ahead of me. Those were different times and my understanding of it is largely academic or what has been passed down to me by the connecting generation of my father. Normally, I should not have the temerity to comment on Nargis and her contribution. Yet my fascination for the black-and-white cinema has indeed given me some insight into the cine times of fifties and sixties.
While much of the cinema of those years was essentially a period portrayal with little or no relevance to our times, there still were masters who created cinema of eternal value, and there were players, though only a few, with timeless persona and impact.
Nargis was the first star of the celebrated quartet – the others being Meena Kumari, Vyajantimala and Nutan. Madhubala could lay claim to the same pedestal but, to my mind, she fell short of the quartet by a step or two despite her impish sensuousness and bewitching though askew half smile. Madhubala existed in a lighter vein. That was her forte. Her seriousness was contrived and her performance in Mughal-e-Azam was no exception.
Nargis was a heady cocktail of natural grace and histrionics. Her ‘un-Indian’ looks set her apart and held a stand-alone magnetism for those who craved for a change from over-covered, love-from-a-distance heroines of those times. I guess, her love scenes in Awara must have created a sensation, for those were so ahead of the times. In fact, they look so well connected to and so much in sync to our own times.
However, it was Mehboob Khan, and not Raj Kapoor, who discerned that Nargis was a much greater actress than her popular love-bird image suggested. I wonder, if it was in any one’s ken that a deglamorized Nargis could be the central character of a masterpiece namely Mother India – which perhaps was the strongest message through a popular medium – and it still is – that a woman’s dignity is to be protected irrespective of its consequences – no matter that a son is to be sacrificed. Its present contextuality and relevance should not be lost to us. However, what was amazing was that Mehboob Khan picked Nargis for a role which was so very antithesis of her popular image thitherto. And one will have to marvel at the courage of Nargis to accept this metamorphosis which could have disillusioned millions of her fans. But not only did Nargis came out stronger, she also created a benchmark for excellence which every budding actress swears by.
Earlier, in the year 1949, Mehboob Khan had created another classic – Andaz. It had a love-triangle for its theme – perhaps dealt with for the first time in Hindi cinema. The film was remarkable for its finesse. It was on a theme that is as relevant even now – that flippant ambiguity in man-woman relationship is fraught with dangers. Pitted against two giants of Hindi cinema – Duleep and Raj – Nargis yet held the centre-stage in a stand-out performance. A must-see movie alongwith Mother India for gauging the peerless range of Nargis in a larger backdrop.
Nargis died young – at the age of 52. But she survives in her work epitomized by a beautiful duet of Shri 420 :
Pyar hua ekraar hua Pyar se dil kyon darta hai dil ………………………………. ……………………………….. …………………………… Main Na Rahoongi Tum Na Rahoge Phir Bhi Rahengi Nishaaniyaan.
June
4th happened to be the birth anniversary of Nutan, and I remembered
her with some emotions for her beauty which was almost ethereal, for her
enriching contribution to Hindi cinema.
To
my mind, Mother India, Sujata, Sahib Bibi aur Gulam and Bandini
were four movies that gave stature to Hindi cinema. More importantly, they supplied the cinema
its missing facet – the movies with women at the centre stage. Nutan appeared in two of these – Sujata
and Bandini. Mother India centred around
Nargis and Meena Kumari was the essence of Sahib Bibi and Gulam.
But
Nutan is my favourite. Her persona had a
quiet dignity and a natural poise. Her face had a vulnerable innocence and
possessed speaking eyes that gave her an irresistible cine presence. Her dusky
aura seemed well merging with the black and white cinema.
What
set Nutan apart as an actress was her ability to convey the character with
minimal histrionics and bodily expressions.
She had an uncanny gift of speaking through her eyes and had a silence
that was eloquent.
No
wonder Bimal Roy, arguably the best Hindi film director ever and one who
understood the power of the unsaid better than anyone else ( a contrast to and in
bold relief from the incessant chatter of RK films ) , relied upon Nutan to
deliver two of his master-pieces – Sujata and Bandini.
In
Sujata, there is a love scene of about four minute’s duration, which has a Bhatiyali ( a boatman’s song ) for its
articulation - sun mere bandhu re……….The
night, the diffused glimmering lights, the rains, a river in flow, all swept by
a strong breeze – should have been enough to turn a passion of love into an
overwhelming embrace. But Sujata ( Nutan ) in her expression becomes one with
the elements in ecstasy. There was no
trace or suggestion of carnal in it. It was a sublime fusion of creative
geniuses of Nutan and Bimal Roy.
The
‘poison’ scene and the denouement of Bandini are permanent imprints in the
sands of Hindi cinema. The ‘poison’ scene : With no words uttered, Kalyani (
Nutan ) becomes the physical form of pain, poignance and wretchedness that must
characterize mutation of innocence into a consuming murderous intent. The
ascending sound and spark of a welding process in the background symbolized the
precipitating tumult within her. The scene is yet to find a parallel in its
genre. This scene culminating into a
murder immortalized Nutan.
The
final scene of Bandini is a class act.
The chance in life throws Kalyani in an existential predicament – to
chose between her first love and the one who has pledged a whole new world to
her. Her desperation, her restlessness,
her helplessness linked to her inability to decide grows by the moment, to reach
a crescendo with the final-call siren from the look-sick steamer, when it snaps
in an overcoming emotion to streak and to be at the feet of an ebbing, disease-stricken
old flame. For sheer visual impact and
intensity, Paro ( in Devdas of Bimal Roy ) will come the nearest, when she runs
for Devdas realizing that he is dead.
The scene in Bandini gets reinforced in its emotional contents with a
lilting musical narrative of the predicament in the peerless voice of
Burman. Without a doubt, Nutan’s
performance set a new and higher
threshold of acting standards.
Nutan
won awards for these two films, as also for Seema, Milan and Mein
Tulsi Tere Angan Ki. She was superb
in romantic pairing with Devanand in
Paying Guest, Tere Ghar Ke Samne and with Rajkapoor in Kanaihya and
Anari. Her singing talent, though evident in Chabili…….. O mere ham safar ……. remained largely unexplored.
She
died young at the age of 55, to be in the top league of Madhubala, Meena
Kumari, Nargis and Smita Patil, who all died young.
