WHEN FAME GOT PRAN HIS REAL DATE OF BIRTH

In today’s world of Twitter, Facebook and instant connectivity, the six degrees of separation that supposedly exist between us must have definitely come down by a few degrees.  We now live in times where computers can tell two people in a second how many mutual friends they have, long lost school buddies can be tracked down with powerful search engines. And a person’s entire life history can be printed out with a few clicks of the mouse.

However, this charming story obviously is from those times when post, telegraph and the radio were the only means of communication. Since the digital age was still many decades away, people had to record information on paper, often committing random bits and pieces of information to their memory. Today we don't bother to, because all information is one computer boot-up away.

Pran Krishan Sikand, who was born in the Balli Maharan locality of Kishangarh in New Delhi, had come to Bombay after his acting stint in Lahore had got him a foothold in the film industry. When he came to Bombay, all he knew about his date of birth was the single shred of information his buaji had told him – a fact that he was born in the month of February in 1920. There was no need to get the exact date and that's why Pran decided that he had been born on February 22nd, 1920…and that was the date that was regarded as the gospel truth by all.

As his success as a villain grew, soon there came a time when he decided to learn driving, acquire a fancy car (the statement one had to make to show he had arrived) and of course, get a driving license. While the first two steps required learning a skill and then acquiring a vehicle to perform that skill, they were quickly completed. Now all Pran needed was a driving license.

When he saw the application form, the box inquiring his date of birth niggled him for a few seconds, but then without much thought, he filled in the date that he had assumed – February 22^nd, 1920. And consequently, that was the date recorded on his driving license.

Years passed and Pran’s position in the industry was so formidable that producers would willingly wait till his dates were available. He was probably among those rare actors who was considered for the film even before the rest of the cast was – a testimony to his bravura performance in every role.

As fame and success grew, so did the lines of journalists eager for sound bytes and if possible, an entire interview. Pran himself was surprised at the situation, he could understand a media frenzy for heroes who played the good guys. Eventually though he had to give in to the media pressure and articles about Pran appeared in a few film magazines. 

His life story, out before the eyes of the world, duly mentioned his date of birth as February, 22, 1920, the date of birth he had assumed. By a stroke of luck, one of the residents of the Balli Maharan locality was informed by a friend that their famous, one-time resident had featured in a magazine. The man, proud at the fact that one from their mohalla had made it big, picked up a copy of the magazine and took it home to read it.

He pored over ever word in the article – after all, this was a child who had been born before his own eyes. He remembered how the midwife had come to the door and announced the standard line that is immortalized in so many films, “Mubarak ho…beta hua hai!” But there was something about one line that Pran had answered that bothered him. 

He went over the line again and saw what the article said – Pran was born in Delhi on February 22^nd, 1920. But how could that be? The man remembered that February 22^nd was the date when he had gone for an interview for a job in the Delhi Municipality and he clearly remembered – he had waved out to baby Pran’s father even as he was cradling Pran in his arms trying to stop his bawling. That was not the day Pran was born – it was at least a week or ten days earlier.

The next day, he searched through the municipality records and there – his doubt about the date was proved right. There was no record of any boy who was born in the Balli Maharan locality on February 22^nd 1920. However there was such an entry for the date of February 12^th, 1920.

He immediately wrote to Pran, introducing himself as a gentleman old enough to be his father, a man who had witnessed Pran’s arrival into the world. He further wrote how he had verified his doubts using the municipal birth records and that Pran’s actual date of birth was February 12^th, 1920.

When Pran read the letter, he was startled at the amazing coincidences that had led to the correction. He wrote back to the man, thanking him profusely for taking the effort to verify the fact. As he signed off the letter before sending it, Pran marveled at power of the media and how it had put him in touch with a distant person from the past.

What is revealing about this tale is that while it needed fame to bring two people together correcting missing links from their past…today these discoveries of long-lost friends and acquaintances are happening in the thousands thanks to the Internet, everyday.

THE DAY A LONG BURIED SCRIPT AROSE FROM THE DEAD

Of the billions of film scripts that have been written and then executed, both in Hollywood and in the Hindi film industry, only a handful have been truly landmark, game changing films. Films that have stood apart from the rest of the crowd because they have been unlike anything seen till then.

A recent internet poll threw up Shawshank Redemption as the greatest film of all times – and while it certainly deserves that accolade, is it a game-changing script? Well, that depends on what defines a game-changing script?

There can be many parameters – great direction, good music score, gripping plotline among others that all contribute towards a great film. But these parameters are all subjective to differing preferences and tastes. The only standard to which a game-changing film script must conform to is simply this: Was the film unlike anything else seen before it was made?

When a question like this is posed to the body of film history that is acknowledged as great, then the number of films that can be called game changing immediately is reduced from hundreds of really good films to that mere handful of landmark films.

Movies like Psycho by Alfred Hitchcock, 2001: A Space Odyssey by Stanley Kubrick and Jaws by Steven Spielberg are among the few films that in their times had boldly gone where no film director had gone before…they had opened up genres of filmmaking that had simply not existed in their times. The cinematic merits of each of these films may be debated on, but there is no denying the impact these films had on society, besides of course the business of film making.

In India too, there have been a handful of game-changing films that left the audience completely gob smacked with their cinematic panache. One might be tempted to put Sholay on the list, and it certainly breathed a new life and direction into our movies. But movies based on dacoits or male bonding had been done many times before…and Sholay did it many times better. But that does not confer on it the status of being a game-changing film.

In recent times there have been only two films that confirm to my benchmark set deliberately high for qualifying to this club. The first is the Ashutosh Gowatirkar directed, “Lagaan” which redefined both sports and the period drama in one stroke. The second is Dibakar Bannerjee’s “Love, Sex Aur Dhoka” that told three interconnected stories with the cinematic device of “found footage.” 

And then, there is yet another movie script that comes to mind that qualifies towards being a game changing film of its times. It was a film made in the fifties, but which stands the test of time even today. The background to how this film became a piece of celluloid gold is just as interesting as the many other legends that are associated with it. 

The writer of this film script, Mr Akhtar Mirza, had long given up on it. After he'd written it, he had shared it with several filmmakers. Notable among them were Subodh Mukherjee, Mehboob Khan and Raj Kapoor among others. All of them had refused to take it up under their banner, some calling it box-office poison and others saying that the film was virtually impossible to shoot.

A couple of years had passed since this script was buried. Akhtar Mirza had moved onto other film scripts and ideas and now with a brand new script idea in his file, he sat across the table from B R Chopra who was looking for a film subject. After pleasantries and small talk, Akhtar Mirza proceeded to narrate his brand new film idea to B R Chopra over tea and biscuits.

B R Chopra loved the idea a lot. He told Akhtar Mirza that he would make the film and wrote out a cheque of Rs 25,000/- as an advance for writing out its detailed script. Akhtar Mirza was happy, he had sealed the deal with his idea…now all he had to do was deliver the script. As they got up to leave, B R Chopra asked Akhtar Mirza if he could drop him anywhere in his car. When he confirmed that they could travel some way together, both of them waited for B R Chopra’s driver who went to fetch the car.

Now Akhtar Mirza mentioned this other script he had written, one that he felt also had great potential, but had remained unsold. Since they were still waiting, he used the time to narrate the script idea to B R Chopra. He noticed that unlike the other script, where B R Chopra had interjected with a lot of questions, he was unnervingly quiet during this particular story.

When he finished, there was a long, uncomfortable silence between the two men. Akhtar Mirza had no way of knowing what was running through B R Chopra’s mind. 

Finally when Mr Chopra did speak, he shocked Akhtar Mirza completely when he said, “I’m sorry, Mr Mirza, I will not be able to make the film that we just agreed to do. I request you to not develop the film script.”

Akhtar Mirza was dumbfounded, wondering whether the jinxed film script he narrated had somehow torpedoed the one he had managed to sell. As he was spluttering his confused “but why,” B R Chopra clarified.

He wanted Akhtar Mirza to keep the advance cheque…for he wanted him to write the script of the second story idea, not the first. He had been wowed by its concept of man v/s machine, and even if it was an untouchable in the industry, he would make it happen.

That film was “Naya Daur” which released in 1957. It starred Dilip Kumar in the role of a young tangawallah, who fights for his livelihood when a newly launched bus service threatens to drive him and the other tangewallahs out of business. The highlight of the film, beside its dramatic performances was an gruelling race between a bus and a horse cart shot in a bleak and oppressive landscape.

Naya Daur was undoubtedly the coming-of-age movie in Indian cinema – a real gamechanger in the truest sense of the word.

THE ACTRESS WHO LOVED HER SHADES OF GREY

It is very easy to be typecast in Bollywood – fond as it is of formula, driven as it is by the box office. It is for this reason that one hit film spawns an outbreak of clones, one hit song has its flurry of imitators – creating labels like the ‘angry young man’ or the ‘pativrata naari’ (the devoted wife) or the ‘all-sacrificing mother.’

In the fifties and sixties, some of these labels were taboo to most newcomers – particularly good looking aspirants avoided negative roles like the plague. Women in particular had a lot more to be wary of – there was the saccharine sweet, sister-of-the-hero role – it condemned many a fine actress to a lifetime of blink and miss roles of hero worshipping and serving as bait for would-be rapists who the hero could beat to pulp.

Then there was most dreaded role for any actress worth her salt – the long suffering mother, who had all of three expressions for any given movie. 1) Heartbreaking despair – reserved for calamities like losing the husband or the house. 2) Heartwarming joy – for the day the son comes through the door, announcing he has passed, “First claass first, ma!” 3) Heartfelt look of gratitude – to either thank the Lord above for His blessings or even sethji for finally agreeing to marry his daughter to her hero son. This was the most dreaded role for any heroine for it signaled that she had lost the battle against age and now be reigned to adding streaks of white In her hair.

Finally, there was one more role heroines kept more than an arm's length away – the role of the Vamp – for it simply meant ‘the end’ to her career as a lead actress. She'd be condemned to sport atrocious wigs, flash skin through skimpy clothes and blow smoke rings into the hero's face while tipping poison into his drink. And yes, one had to look seductive all the time.         

Of course, this phenomenon of dreaded labels didn't happen overnight – it must have taken at least a decade or two for people to realize how some roles shaped an actor's career. They became an example for others, not because they had wanted to – but only because they had not known then that their choices made in innocence would later impact their careers. 

Among the first such examples was an actress called Nadira. Born as Florence Ezekiel in a Baghdadi Jewish family on 5^th December, 1932, she made a dramatic entry into the film industry in the role of a feisty Rajput princess in the movie “Aan” opposite Dilip Kumar.

For a film made in the fifties, the role was that of a spoilt silly, brash relic of royalty where many scenes, even bordered on the cruel. It was certainly not the goody, goody role of a typical Bollywood heroine whose dharma is to run around trees as a lover and then not let her saree pallu drop as a wife.

The film was a raging hit when it released in 1952 and Nadira, who does transform into a reformed, caring love interest towards the end, became an instant star. Her fiery role was lauded for its boldness and her next film appearances were looked forward to by audiences. Maybe out of instinct or because of the roles that came her way, Nadira walked the road of a typical heroine till about 1955.

Then she was offered the role of Maya in Shree 420 by Raj Kapoor – a role which would be the clear opposite to the role enacted by Nargis, the other actress in the film. While Nargis would be the innocent, simple, down-to-earth girl next door, Maya would be what her name suggested – a cigarette wielding, liquor guzzling, rich brat who could only drag the hero down to his doom.

Nadira accepted the role eagerly, probably not aware then that she was signing up for a lifetime of negative roles, of darker shades that would never let her become the heroine that she was expected to become. And the super success of “Shree 420” would go on to seal her image as a ruthless, conniving woman who would adopt any dubious means to get what she wanted.  

But what was it that Nadira really wanted? After Shree 420, she was never offered the role of a lead heroine, and while she may not have liked it, she quickly resigned herself to it. If Miss Goody Two Shoes was not in her destiny, then she would perfect that mean streak which would be her calling card in Bollywood.

If one sees her body of work, it would seem that she relished that dash of evil in her characters, essaying dark and mean women who wanted to make one’s skin crawl. Even when she played the role of a mother in “Julie,” her character had so many grey shades that it was just short of being a complete villain.

She went on to win a Filmfare Award for the Best Supporting Actor for the role, an ode to the niche of evil she had carved for herself. A niche where people would think of one name who pioneered the institution of the vamp – Nadira. 

THE DAY HEMA MALINI CURSED HER STARDOM

Fame and popularity are the biggest attraction about the movie business (Yes, yes I know about the fat paychecks too). But nothing draws more people to the business than the dream of seeing their face on a twenty foot screen, romancing another pretty face in a setting that resembles heaven. The knowledge that you are the heartthrob of millions – people who worship the ground you walk upon, write letters in blood and proclaim their undying love to pictures in magazines. And if you happen to be a star from the South, a temple or two dedicated to your name is pretty much par for the course.  

So what could the reason be for one of Hindi cinema’s most loved heroines, Hema Malini to literally curse her stardom? After all, she had worked hard to reach the No 1 spot among heroines and had such a huge fan following across the country, that her status was undisputed.

The reason for this was one fan whose obsession with Hema Malini turned so intense and dangerous that it was to have tragic consequences.

Ironically the theme of the obsessive stalker has been done to death in Hollywood and on American television, but in the seventies it was never assumed that a fan could cross all boundaries of social decency – and intrude on another’s person’s right to privacy. Therefore those were not the days of heavy, foolproof security that one sees today. Even the thought of having a beat constable posted outside the door with a heavy stick in hand seemed ludicrous.

So when one such obsessive male stalker landed outside Hema Malini’s bungalow, there was no one than a solitary watchman at the gate. The man harboured a deep love for her – a love that had begun from her first big success in “Johnny Mera Naam.”  It had grown with every film of hers that released at the box office, through hits like “Mehbooba” and “Jugnu.”  Finally, with her memorable double role in ”Seeta aur Geeta,” his love finally prompted him to undertake the journey from his village to Hema Malini’s home.

Now, as he stood on the pavement opposite her bungalow, he pondered over his next course of action. If he went up to the guard and asked to be allowed to meet Hema Malini, he knew he would be scorned at…possibly even be tossed out like a fake dime onto the street. He paced up and down, peering at the many windows in the bungalow, hoping to catch a glimpse of his one-sided love.  Probably if he would have seen her, he would have been content and left for the day. And maybe later better sense would have prevailed on him.

But even as the early morning sun increased its glare to the harsh afternoon rays beating down on him, there was no sign of Hema. He had no idea whatsoever if she was even there inside the house. As the sun set, leaving him only twilight for company, he now began to think about the futility of his vigil. And just as the thought that he should go back home was about to cross his mind, two short blasts of a car horn interrupted it. He looked back at the gate and saw a swanky car, obviously a foreign make…and through its lightly tinted windows, he caught that glimpse of her. There she was…Hema Malini, probably returning from her shoot and destined to meet her biggest fan.

All plans to leave were now scratched, new ones were unfolding in his mind. How should he introduce himself when he met her? How could he reach her room in the first place? He resolved that he must go up to the security guard at brazen his way through with a believable story…maybe he was an assistant to a producer…or perhaps pretend he was some sort of a handyman who had come to repair the television or the refrigerator.

Once again, he paced up and down the pavement, undecided about his course of action as it was now the turn of the moon to peer down at this unseen stalker.

The hours ticked away to somewhere around two hours past midnight when he made up his mind – he would scale the boundary wall of the bungalow, hop onto and adjoining tree and make his way along one of its branches onto a ledge of the first floor. Once there he had plotted his onward climb to reach one of the open windows. It all went to plan, when he did reach that window and with the minimal effort was able to force it open.

He entered the room to find it empty – where was Hema? He wondered to himself. There was no option but to look into each room and find out.

He had barely stepped out of the room into the wide corridor when he felt he was being watched by someone. He swerved quickly to see a young woman who seemed to be one of the maids. Her eyes were transfixed on him, as if she were a deer who had just spotted a leopard. Just seconds later she let out a piercing scream, enough to shatter the still of the night several times over. “THIEF…THIEF, CATCH HIM…SOMEBODY! QUICK!

Lights were hurriedly switched on, and other servants emerged for the other rooms. Hema’s parents too, came out of their room to see what the commotion was all about. The intruder panicked, and began running looking desperately for an avenue to escape. He entered a room with half the household in pursuit, some distance away.

They had all seen the room he had entered and a couple of the male servants had armed themselves with rolling pins and frying pans to take him on. When they all entered the room, they turned on the lights and there he was…standing next to the dining table. By now, Hema and her parents had also come into the room.

They saw the man cornered against one side of the room, looking around desperately for a window to jump out from. Hema MAlini was in the room but now his priorities were to get out of this mess. As the servants confronted him loudly, he made his final and most fatal mistake of the day. He reached for a knife from the dining table, brandishing it before everyone to keep away from him.

Seeing that he had armed himself, someone from the room went out to call the police, while the others kept the ‘thief’ at bay. Soon enough, the police arrived and the young man was placed in custody. But the tragic part of the story was still to follow.

All this commotion and excitement had put severe stress on Hema Malini’s father. He had been a heart patient for some years and the events of the night took their toll. He collapsed, clutching his heart in pain and by the time medical assistance could be provided, he passed away. 

After police interrogations were completed and the young man’s story verified, the real tragedy of the story emerged.  This was a crazed fan whose ardent devotion need not have taken such a perverse turn that night.  And that was the day when Hema cursed her stardom and the bereavement in her family it had caused.

A SONG THAT WASN’T A GREAT HIT, BUT WHICH STILL TOUCHED A MAN IMMENSELY

It was a day, not very different from other days for Mohammad Rafi when he walked into the recording studio. The song he was recording was for a movie called Ballika Vadhu – a coming of age story of a child marriage where the little boy and girl blossom into youth against the backdrop of the Indian freedom struggle.

The lyrics of the song interested him – they were powerful words extolling people to sacrifice their personal wealth, their own comfort for the cause of the motherland. He asked the director, Tarun Mazumdar who had written this rousing song.

Tarun Majumdar replied that they were from a poem of a Bengali writer – a writer who had penned several inspiring works during the Independence movement. Rafi was intrigued – he wanted to know more.

However since there was a song to be recorded, he kept his desire to know more on hold and proceeded with learning the song and getting its nuances right along with R D Burman, the music director of the film.  Once his rehearsals of the song were over, it was now up to the musicians to lay the basic tracks for him to sing on.

As the musicians began arranging their tracks, Mohammad Rafi continued talking to Tarun Mazumdar about the song. He was amazed to learn that the song was inspired from a couplet in Bengali by a writer named Mukund Das…and that the writer was a freedom fighter during India’s struggle for independence.

An extremely sensitive Mohammad Rafi was touched to the core when he heard about Mukund Das. He immediately went up to the producer of the film, Shakti Samanta, who was present there and informed him of his decision. He would not charge a single penny for singing the song. A very perplexed Shakti Samanta asked him why.

Explaining the significance of the song to him, Mohammad Rafi said, “We owe our freedom to the efforts and sacrifices of people like Mukund Das…my refusal of payment for this song is a small acknowledgment towards what our generation owes the man, it is my humble tribute to him.” 

The song was Yeh Chudiyan Nahin and you can see it by clicking on the link below.

YEH CHOODIYAN NAHIN

FROM BOILED EGGS & WATERMELONS TO SHUTTER SPEEDS & LIGHT METERS

A good ol’ rag to riches story is always provides inspirational fodder – particularly when those stories have a combination of hard work, desire to excel and a tenacious, never-say-die attitude in them. And if all these qualities are displayed at the bottom rungs of the social ladder, the tale works even better at motivating those who are not so hard off in life. 

This is the story of a young man who defied conventional logic and thinking that you need diplomas and degrees to succeed in life. It is the story of Ashok Mehta – one of India’s greatest cinematographers, who astonishingly never had any formal training in a subject as complex as photography. And yet, went on to become such an experienced master of the field that his techniques are followed even today, his mastery over composition, lighting and camera movement admired even now.

In his film career, he won the National Film Award for cinematography twice – for 36 Chowringhee Lane in 1981 and for Moksha In 2000 (a film he had also directed). Besides these, his name stands against a body of work that would do anyone proud – Bandit Queen, Utsav, Ijazzat, Mandi and Trikaal among so many other commercial successes too.

While it is known that he was born in Punjab the year India got her independence, little is known of how and when he came to Mumbai.

As a young man, his first attempt at sustaining himself was with a stall where he sold boiled eggs on the streets of Mumbai to make a living. Later, when he discovered that margins of profit were better in selling watermelons, he switched to those…anything that would make him an extra buck to keep the roof over his head.

One day, while he pushed his cart of watermelons on the streets of Mumbai, he stumbled onto a film shoot. As expected, a small crowd had gathered in the area and Ashok Mehta wondered what the fuss was all about. His curiosity though, encouraged him to linger on…and what he saw mesmerized him so much, that he resolved to work in a film studio some day.

The opportunity came soon enough – when he heard of a job available as a canteen boy in one of the film studios in Bombay. He jumped at this god-sent opportunity – for it was here that he came in touch with people from the film industry, saw the craft of cinema practiced daily. And slowly but surely, became acquainted with its different departments.

Whenever he met somebody of even minor importance in the film studio, he would not hesitate to take an interest in their work, strike up a conversation and even ask, if there were opportunities for  him. After a few months of carrying plates and tea cups around, his efforts did bear fruits, marginally though…when he took the job of an office boy in one of the offices at the film studio.

His job profile became a bit more respectable (after all, people would be more forthcoming with knowledge or in trusting their equipment with an office peon than a canteen boy). And that’s exactly what happened. Ashok Mehta found the doors of Bollywood opening slightly when he managed to get the job as a camera coolie (Perhaps his dexterity in carrying plates and cups without breaking them in the canteen job had come in handy in the vocal resume he provided).

Now he was actually carrying these mysterious cameras with their different lenses, the marked boxes with specific filters, tripods and other paraphernalia. It was an intriguing, exciting world that beckoned him to learn more…and learn he did. He developed a voracious appetite for all things related to photography. He’d pick up books from pavement sellers, strike up conversations with camera store owners for mundane information like specifications, talk to assistant cameramen about the craft itself and where to get the relevant information.

As his knowledge increased, so did his standing in the hierarchy of camera management – from camera coolie, he became camera attendant and finally, the fancy title of camera caretaker.  Throughout this journey, his hunger for knowledge remained insatiable – he now began studying the masters of photography in India and abroad, started watching foreign films where he studied their lighting closely.

Soon names like Hitchcock and Henri Cartier Bresson became second nature to him and he would willingly share the information he’d garnered with his fellow camera attendants. His growing knowledge of the field impressed many, and soon enough, he became Sudershan Nag’s Camera Assistant for the film “Trishna.”

It was a matter of just six months of learning and applying the principles he’d learnt in that position for him to gain the confidence of the film industry.  Soon, Ashok Mehta was at the helm of the camera for an independent film, called Witness starring Shashi Kapoor. Though it never saw the light of day, his work on it had sufficiently impressed Shashi Kapoor to recommend him to other producers and directors.

And from then onwards, Ashok Mehta’s work consistently reached new heights, setting standards for others to emulate and immortalizing his name in the Indian film industry as its greatest cinematographer.

Do check out this song from Utsav, a film produced by Shashi Kapoor and directed by Girish Karnad, where Ashok Mehta's lighting of this period drama does full justice to the glory of India from a bygone era.

MANN KYON BEHKA RI BEHKA

A GALAXY OF STARS…ALL IN ONE FILM. OR SOMETIMES IN ONE SONG!

It is a difficult enough task to make multi-starrer films in India – the pay packets of the stars being what they are, one can imagine producers bursting a spleen or having a heart attack when told of the number of stars in any given film.

But even though it is difficult, having three or even four stars in a movie is pretty much par for the course for producers with the available resources. Mehboob Khan’s “Mother India” was probably among the first of the lot, then there was Ramesh Sippy’s “Shaan” coming right down to Karan Johar’s soppy family drama, “Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gum.”

But we are not looking at these kind of multi starrers here. I am talking about films where the director has very cleverly, within the confines of his story, managed to include numerous film stars into a film’s scene or in a song. The latest one was Farah Khan’s “Om Shanti Om,” where she cleverly drew on her experience as a dance choreographer to have almost the entire film industry shaking a hip to the song “Deewangi Deewangi.”

She had probably been inspired by Manmohan Desai‘s wonderfully executed “John Jaani Janardan,” from the movie “Naseeb.”  The peculiarity of this movie was that it was already a multi-starrer, boasting a star cast that had the following names: Amitabh Bachchan, Rishi Kapoor, Shatrughan Sinha & Hema Malini among others. And Pran (Just as his name appears in numerous credit titles).

But even with all these stars, Manmohan Desai had another cinematic ace up his sleeve. Very smartly, he threw a lavish party to celebrate the golden jubilee of one of his films (Does it matter which one, since almost all his movies were jubilee hits!). But what was interesting was his meticulous planning for capturing this song on to celluloid. Cameras were strategically placed to capture the entry of the stars, extras were hired to recreate the frenzy of an autograph-hungry crowd.

And in a stroke of genius, he integrated some of the most memorable imagery from Bollywood of the past into the song. While Amitabh Bachchan played the part of a subservient waiter in the song, singing John Jaani Janardan…Manmohan Desai assigned iconic scenes to some of the other stars. Dharmendra was depicted as the macho he-man, Shakti Kapoor shown as the sleazy character he was associated with. And in a masterstroke, he got the great showman, Raj Kapoor to perform with an accordion in hand at the exhortation of his eldest son, Randhir Kapoor.

When the movie released, the song itself was worth the price of the ticket – and audiences went crazy seeing so many stars, all in the confines of a song.

The earliest film however, to depict so many stars, all within one scene of a film, was the 1950 film, “Kaala Bazaar.” It was also the film which had the unique distinction of having the three Anand brothers, Dev, Chetan and Vijay acting in it.

Since the film was the story based on the black marketing of movie tickets, Chetan Anand, the director of the film, planned and executed an ingenuous plan. He got Dev Anand to attend the movie premiere of “Mother India” with a movie camera in hand. Dev Anand stood outside the venue and began recording footage of the galaxy of stars that came to watch the premiere.

He captured on film, actors like Dilip Kumar, Rajendra Kumar, Guru Dutt, Nargis and Nimmi, the trio of singers, Mohammad Rafi, Lata Mangeshkar and Kishore Kumar, comedians like Mukri, film directors like Sohrab Modi, and many others.   

When Vijay Anand, the director of the film, saw the footage, he was overjoyed. They had the arrival of the virtually half the movie industry on film. And when he edited the film, he used all the footage to recreate the scene of a movie premiere in progress, where the crowd goes into raptures on seeing the stars. And Dev Anand mingles among them doing what else? The black marketing of movie tickets.

The clip you will watch here is the song "John Jani Janardhan" from the movie Naseeb, directed by Manmohan Desai. It is always good fun to watch for its overall choreography of its galaxy of stars.

John Jani Janadhan 

THE SINGER WHO WAS ADVISED TO BECOME A COMMEDIENNE

Often it takes time to find your calling – no matter where one tries to build a career. This is even more so in Bollywood – where so many people come in to become actors, but end up making their mark in film direction or cinematography, stunt direction or dance choreography. It is a very rare case indeed, where a person has tasted reasonable success in a certain field, but then decides to consciously change their career path.

That person was an amazingly genial, wonderfully gregarious…and extremely rotund Uma Devi, who is better known as…Tun Tun. Very few people know today that she had started off in the Hindi Film Industry as a singer.

Even that had been no cakewalk for her for hers was a childhood full of struggle and deprivation.

Born in a small village called Alipur on 11^th July, 1923, she had lost both her parents by the time she was two and a half years old. She had an elder brother for company who shouldered the responsibility of raising her and she has recalled fond memories in an interview about him. Her brother loved to perform in the Ram Leela in the village and when she was about five-six years old, she was watching his performance from the roof of the house. She dozed off and fell from the top. Her brother, about eight-nine years elder to her, had rushed to her side to see if she was alright without caring two hoots for the show.

This love of a sibling too didn’t last very long as her brother died a mysterious death when he reached his teens. Now she was at the mercy of unscrupulous relatives who treated her like a maid  in exchange for the meagre food that was put in front of her. She has recalled that she would be herded off to any wedding or death in the village to assist with the rituals. And often, she would be packed off to the Dariyaganj area in Delhi to work for anybody who needed a pair of hands to do menial labour. Here she stayed with other relatives whose neighbours revealed a dark and grim secret to her – that her parents and then her brother had been murdered because her family owned considerable property in Alipur.

In Delhi, she met Akhtar Abbas Kazi, an Inspector in the Excise Department who was a comforting shoulder to her. He used to encourage her to sing and her confidence developed. However, the partition of India took place and Akhtar Abbas Kazi chose to go to Lahore leaving her bereft of the one person she had for company.
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Fed up of the oppressive environment where she would be chided for even humming a song (and probably fearing for her life as well) she ran away from Delhi to Bombay with dreams of singing songs for films in her eyes. All she had with her was the name of film director Nitin Bose’s assistant – a man named Javed Hussein who gave her shelter when she met him. 

He advised her to go to Kardar Studios where Mr A R Kardar, a producer was making his film, “Dard” and was probably on the lookout for new talent. She has herself described the scene where she marched into A R Kardaar’s room, and in a very strident tone of voice asked Mr Kardar himself, ”Where can I find Mr Kardar? I want to sing in films.” He was probably amused with this ‘I-give-a-damn attitude of the newcomer, so he called for Naushad’s assistant, Ghulam Mohammad to test her voice right then and there.

As Ghulam Mohammad settled down with his tabla, testing it for its pitch and timbre, he was startled to hear her instructions, “Play that properly, how will I be able to sing?” Mr Kardar himself, was quite taken in by the nerve of the girl…she seemed like a persistent bundle of mirth and girth.  After she finished her rendition of Noorjehan’s song, “Aandhiyan Gum Ki Yun Chali,” both Mr Kardaar and Ghulam Mohammad were completely speechless. Mr Kardar was so impressed that he immediately contracted her on a monthly salary.

It is an unconfirmed aside to the story that when Uma Devi eventually met Naushad who was the music director of the movie, “Dard,” she reportedly told him that she would throw herself into the sea if he didn't give her a chance to sing. Well, if this anecdote is indeed true, then this piece of facetious emotional blackmail gave rise to the biggest hit of her career. “The song “Afsana Likh Rahi Hoon” in “Dard” even today, is a favourite melody for Antakshari competitors when it is their turn to sing with the letter “Aa.”

From this heady success in 1947, Uma Devi sang for more than a handful of films till about 1953, notching up around forty five songs to her credit. But then, the pressures of married life and the responsibilities of rearing her children forced her to take a break from singing for films.

However, as her family increased, so did the expenses – and soon Uma Devi and her husband (the same Akhtar Abbas Kazi who knew her in Delhi and had returned from Pakistan) realized that a single income would not be sufficient to maintain their living standards. So she took the decision to return to films and approached Naushad as he had been her mentor, besides giving her the biggest hits of her career.

It was a pragmatic Naushad who counseled her that the music scene in the film industry had changed considerably in those intervening years. He frankly told her that the natural limitations of her vocal range plus lack of classical training would make it an uphill battle for her. And even more so as the industry had discovered in Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhosale, two singers of incredible vocal range and classical training.

He advised her to fall back on the other talent she possessed – of comic timing and natural exuberance that had potential...not hidden behind a microphone, but projected onto the big screen. A screen that she could light up with thousands of laughs just by filling it up with her giant frame.

Uma Devi who had been offered a bit role even when “Dard” was made, considered her options. Realising that Naushad, while breaking the harsh reality of her diminishing singing career, had also opened a window of opportunity to her…grabbed it with both hands. Naushad introduced her to Dilip Kumar who agreed to have her play a small role in Babul the next film he was doing with Nargis. It was all moving smoothly, and then it was Naushad who provided the masterstroke – she would be introduced in the film as Tun Tun.

Over the next four decades, Tun Tun moved from her status as India’s first female comedienne to one of its most successful comedy acts. She acted in a succession of films, with notable performances in Guru Dutt’s classics like Aar Paar, Mr & Mrs 55 and Pyaasa in the fifties to Feroz Khan’s Qurbani and Prakash Mehra’s Namak Halaal in the eighties.

In numerous films, she acted with virtually every male comedy actor of her times – Bhagwan, Johnny Walker, Agha, Mukri and Keshto Mukherjee. While her last screen presence was in the movie, “Kasam Dhande Ki” in 1990, her screen name lives on as a term of endearment for obese women, even today. 

The following clip is Uma Devi's biggest hit song, "Afsana Likh Rahi Hoon" from the film "Dard." The song is picturised on Munawar Sultana.

AFSANA LIKH RAHI HOON

“STEP INTO MY ROLE,” SAID THE STAR TO THE NEWCOMER

Stardom is an intoxicating drug. Once you feel its effect, it becomes difficult to let it go. You’ll find innumerable examples of stars who’ve tried their best to hold on to their fading popularity. Some have tried desperate measures – buying up tickets of their own movies, planting members from their fan clubs inside theatres to whistle and cheer during their scenes. That is why, the statement above or rather the sentiment behind it, has been expressed, probably only once in the film industry. And that’s why this story needs to be told.

Ashok Kumar had always been a reluctant star (another story needs to be written on this). While the career of acting was thrust down on him, he earned every bit of his success with a string of movie hits in the fifties. He was the first `bankable’ actor – an actor who could draw crowds to the theatres on the strength of his acting. And at this height of popularity, he was being approached by droves of producers, all eager to sign him on for their next project.

This story occurred on the sets of “Ziddi” in Bombay Talkies where Ashok Kumar had come for the first day of shooting. After the first few shots were taken, he went off the sets for a moment’s break and that’s when he bumped into a young man standing outside.  He was a strapping, handsome fellow whose eyes immediately locked into Ashok Kumar’s.

Making polite conversation, Ashok Kumar asked him who he was and what he was doing there. The young man replied his name was Dev Anand…he had acted in one film, but unfortunately it had not done well at the box office. He asked Ashok Kumar if he could find him some work, any role would do.  

Ashok Kumar thought for a while – and then gestured to Dev Anand to follow him inside. He led him to the sets where the next shot was being lit…asked where the producer and director of the film were and immediately herded all of them into a room for an impromptu meeting. Here he dropped the bombshell before them all, Dev Anand included!

He asked the makers of the film to consider Dev Anand for the lead role in the film, for the part he was acting in. The producer of the film and its director, Shahid Latif were both aghast. It was a preposterous suggestion and they dismissed it immediately. But Ashok Kumar was adamant; it seemed that he had up his mind that Dev Anand was more suitable for the role than he was. He made all the logical arguments – they should at least try out the young man, that they had hardly shot any scenes with him, so there wasn’t even a cost issue. And then, the final argument – if things didn’t work out with Dev, he assured them that he would step back into the film.

It was an extremely hesitant producer and director who finally agreed to try out Dev Anand – on the guarantee that Ashok Kumar would be back if things went wrong. And boy, did things go wrong. The very first scene stretched on for eight takes and a nervous Dev Anand knew that the director would soon lose his patience with him.

Sure enough, Ashok Kumar was summoned and told that this new fellow wasn’t working out and he would have to do the role. But Ashok Kumar wasn’t finished – he took Dev Anand aside and gently asked him why he was so short on confidence. It turned out that there were simple communication issues with Shahid Latif’s instructions and once they were sorted out, the next take was in the cans at the first go.

As Dev Anand continued with the shooting, Ashok Kumar watched him for a few more scenes. Once he was satisfied that the new actor was working out just fine in the role he had renounced, he turned around and left the studio content. 

Content because Ashok Kumar the star had several projects in the pipeline. But Ashok Kumar, the man had just given an opportunity to a complete stranger to find his own place in the film industry…and he hoped with all his heart that he would find it.   

WHEN A SINGER CONTEMPLATED TAKING OFF ON LEAVE

It was for the film Basant Bahar that Shankar Jaikishan approached Manna Dey for a classical song that would be filmed as a competition between two singers in the royal court. They briefed Manna Dey that his was to be the hero’s voice – the one who would win the singing competition. Mannaji asked the duo the identity of the singer pitted against him and he was shocked to hear the name – Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, the doyen of Indian Classical Music. He flatly refused to sing the song – reiterating repeatedly that he was no match for the maestro. Inspite of their many entreaties, he simply refused to listen, finally leaving the meeting as the composers were adamant that he could do justice to the song.

On the way home, Manna Dey’s mind went into overdrive. He knew that Shankar Jaikishan were very stubborn when they wanted to be and would not give up. They would continue to pester him for days on end, entreating him to sing the song. So when he reached home, he promptly went to his wife Sulochana and asked her how she would like a vacation for a week or so…a vacation somewhere far away where no one would be able to reach them.

His wife, who knew the untiring workaholic he was, realised there was some reason for this sudden desire to go off on a vacation…a reason that he was not telling her. Slowly, she coaxed the entire reason out of Manna Dey and upon hearing it; she gently chided him for being a defeatist. Yes, Pandit Bhimsen Joshi was a legend, but Manna Dey was also a good classical singer, among the few in the film industry. So why couldn’t he take it up as a challenge. If anything, he would emerge richer from the experience, she reasoned.

Though he agreed to sing the song, Manna Day took a months’s time to prepare for it. He approached an Indian classical singer, Ustaad Abdul Rehman and would daily train along with him to familiarize himself with the genre of Indian Classical Music. After all, he would be matching vocal chords with the great Pandit Bhimsen Joshi.  

On the day of the recording, Manna Dey’s nerves were on edge just to be in the same recording room with him. And when Pandit Bhimsen Joshi sensed this, he put the young Manna Dey at ease. He advised him to play with his vocal chords, suggesting that he raise his pitch to a certain octave and then bring it down like the motion of a painter’s brush. 

When the song, “Ketaki Gulab Juhi” was finally recorded under Shankar Jaikishan’s baton, the result was truly electric. Pandit Bhimsen Joshi turned to Manna Dey and told him that he had sung so flawlessly, that he should seriously consider singing classical music too. But Manna Dey, humility personified, replied that he even if he repeatedly sung each alaap for weeks together, he would never be able to match the maestro. He was content singing the lighter genre of film music.

The song itself turned out to be a masterpiece in film classical music, besides its cinematic wizardry as Bharat Bhushan the hero with playback by Manna Dey defeats some unknown character artiste who had the good fortune of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi singing for him. 

You can watch the song by clicking on the link below:

KETAKI GULAAB JUHI