A quintessential ladies man, Dev Anand romanced the most gorgeous screen goddesses of the black & white era before launching many a stunning face including Zeenat Aman, Tina Munim and Tabu. His magnetism and effervescence combined with the charm of talents like Vyjayantimala, Sadhana and Asha Parekh created several magical memories in films like Asli Naqli, Jab Pyaar Kisise Hota Hai and Jewel Thief. We walk down memory lane to list the women who did some of their best work in the company of the evergreen Dev Anand.
SURAIYA: Legend has it that Dev Anand was so enamoured by his Jeet co-star Suraiya, he proposed marriage on the film’s set and even gave her an expensive diamond ring. Suraiya’s grandmother tossed the ring into the Arabian Sea and a few years later, Anand tied the knot with co-star Kalpana Karthik while his erstwhile ladylove never married! The duo starred in a handful of films like Vidya, Shayar and their most famous screen collaboration, Afsar, before being forced to part ways. But Suraiya’s presence left a deep impact on Anand’s career as he modelled himself after her favourite Hollywood star, Gregory Peck—imitating his distinctive hairdo and his casually stylish loose-limbed mannerisms.
Our guest contributor, Canadian drag queen Muffy St Bernard writes about the Helen who’s her idol. The article originally appeared in Bombay Dost magazine.
I DON’T know who Helen is. I have only seen a few of her films. I've never read Helen: The Life and Times of an H-Bomb. I don't follow gossip columns here in Canada or abroad. I couldn't see her documentary before this article was due, and even if I could have, I don't think I would have wanted to because I hate doing research. But I don't need any of that information to explain why Helen is one of my idols.
Muffy St Bernard appears courtesy of DMent. Outfit is by Lydia Bellenie of Delirium Clothing, based on the one worn by Helen during the "Baithe hain kya" number in Navketan’s Jewel Thief (1967). Hair by Melissa Baumunk of Brown Salon (Waterloo, Ontario, Canada). Photography by Jenn Wilson
Doesn’t each of us have that one definitive influence—a figure that speaks after one’s heart, as though intuitively peeping inside and gently scooping out the truth? For many like myself, Gulzar has played that part with his lyrics, screenplays and films. His work has a philosophical dimension while being rooted in everyday life and filtered through an empathetic worldview. His characters are intimate friends rather than creatures of fiction, his songs reserves of wisdom and compassion.
When Rajesh Khanna in & as Anand (1971) talks of the transience of existence, he employs Gulzar’s words,“Zindagi aur maut uparwale ke haath hain jahanpanah. Use naa toh aap badal sakte hain, na main. Hum sab toh rangmanch ki katputhliyan hain, jinki dor uparwale ke haath mein bandhi hain. Kab kaun kaise uthega, yeh koi nahin bata sakta hai.”
As a journalist, you aren’t afforded the freedom to get over-awed by the people you write about. Being human, every once in a while, you slip and make a fool of yourself. Like the time I had to interview Naseeruddin Shah about a new play he was acting in. This was in the late-1990s and anticipating the possibility of a fiasco, I’d taken a friend along to boost my courage. As expected, I stood speechless before the man, while my friend poked me to get going with the interview. I recall asking a few routine questions self-consciously, both in awe and for fear of invoking his infamous temper, and ultimately doing a very ordinary piece about the play (which was, of course, thoroughly enjoyable).
While most people in the industry take advantage of their lineage, Tanuja’s problem was that her own identity was lost in the lustre of her very talented family. She was always known Shobhana Samarth’s daughter, Nutan’s sister, Shomu Mukherjee’s wife and later, Kajol’s mother. When, by herself, the gamine, husky voiced beauty and natural actress could have amounted to much more than she eventually did.
Had the stoical Kalyani from Bimal Roy’s Bandini (1963) become the prototype for the Hindi film heroine instead of the ever-suffering Radha of Mother India (1957), the depiction of women in our cinema wouldn’t have been as drab as it is. In my opinion, Kalyani, as portrayed by Nutan, is the embodiment of Indian womanhood. She has the ability to adapt to every situation in life, but not with the attitude of a sacrificial lamb. Instead, she takes responsibility for her actions -- which include murdering her lover’s wife in a fit of passionate rage -- repents her crime and is gracefully reconciled to a life in prison.
Sanjeev Kumar was one of the rare star-actors, who never let himself be chained by an image. While his contemporaries were busy playing games of one-upmanship, he went for the meaty parts, grabbed all the awards and left behind a legacy of unforgettable roles and films. Born Haribhai Jariwala, and starting his acting career on the stage, Sanjeev Kumar rose to become one of the best actors of Hindi cinema, tackling all kinds of roles with relish and constantly springing surprises on the audience.
Balraj Sahni was unarguably one of the best actors Indian cinema ever produced. If he hasn’t got his rightful place in the pantheon of stars, it was because he was always an actor and a gentleman, and, unfortunately passed away before the celebrity-worshipping culture came into being.
To say that I have been obsessed with Smita Patil for 25 years would be an understatement. But that’s the only way to describe my love affair with an actress whose shocking death in 1986 left an inexplicable void in my life. I’ve spent the next 23 years gathering any scrap of information I can get hold of about her and watching her films over and over again to rationalise my fixation. Yet, when it comes to Smita, reason fails.
“Someone once told me, you should spend half an hour every night sitting on the terrace, staring at the stars. That’s when you’ll see how small and insignificant you are. I used this line in Satyakam.”—Hrishikesh Mukherjee
Reminiscing about Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s cinema is like looking through a personal album of memories. For someone who has worshipped his films and held them close to heart at various moments of crisis, indecision, sorrow and joy, it is impossible to speak or write dispassionately about Hrishida and his work.
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