WHEN A HAIR STYLE ALMOST COST AN ACTRESS HER FILM ROLE

After school, the only other place where one can get into trouble for an inappropriate hair cut is probably the armed forces. Besides these two institutions, one is pretty much free to maintain whatever hairstyle one deems fit, unless one has joined a dictatorial company (Yes there are some of those too!)

But the film industry too, is a field where the hair style, particularly for those facing the camera, is just as important. Particularly in Hindi cinema where there are trademark looks for certain character types. In the fifties and sixties, long, lustrous hair was the ornament of the heroine. If she tied it in two neat pigtails, she was the epitome of goodness, a woman with a heart of gold who would sacrifice anything for her man or her family. If she left it loose, allowing the breeze to play with it, this nymph of virtue was in a mischievous mood, ready to tease the hero with her platonic seduction (The art of making love by holding hands, nothing else). And if she planned to go to a party, the same long tresses would magically transform into something called the “bouffant” – a creation probably meant to stop babies from hiccoughing.

If the woman was a vamp, she had short hair. Period.

If at all she had long hair, then it had to be in psychedelic colours…like decadent pink or debauched purple.

Yes Bollywood also took its hair styles and haircuts very seriously. And now, one can understand how a hair cut almost cost a heroine the role she had just acquired from a prestigious banner. It might astonish people to know that the heroine was none other than Sadhana – the heroine with the most popular hair cut, imitated by masses of young girls in the sixties.

Of course, the story took place many years before the `Sadhana cut’ became a phenomenon. A time when Sadhana was a fresher looking to make a break in the film industry.  She was spotted by a noted producer from the times, Mr Shashidhar Mukherjee and he signed her on for the film, “Love in Simla,’ the female lead opposite his own son, Joy Mukherjee. On the first day of the shoot, he noticed that her forehead was a bit broad, so he asked the hair dresser to give her frills to cover up the expanse. It was an effect that he had seen on a heroine named Audrey Hepburn in Hollywood and he showed her pictures to Sadhana’s hairdresser as a reference.

After he saw Sadhana’s final look, he was pleased. Here was a heroine with the face of an angel, and a hair style that was so chic, so mod.

Now while, “Love In Simla” was being made, Sadhana also met other producers, hair set in her original two pigtails look. Among these producers was Bimal Roy, who at the time was making “Parakh.” When he saw Sadhana – she looked the part of a simple village girl, with an innocent face and expressive eyes and he had no hesitation in signing her on.

The shooting of Parakh began many months later and by now, Sadhana who was shooting for “Love In Simla,” had adopted the Sadhana cut as her look…on film and in life.

So when she finally went for the “Parakh” shoot, it was as the femme fatale Sadhana instead of the girl next door Sadhana. When Bimal Roy saw her he was shocked and he couldn’t help but blurt out, “What is this? You are not right for the role in my film.”

Sadhana had no clue what had changed since her last meeting with the man. She was oblivious to the fact that her earlier hair style made her look like a plain Jane…pretty, but plain. The frills on her head were making her look like a city slicker – street smart and drop dead gorgeous. She was far removed from the character of a village girl in “Parekh.”

Bimal Roy saw her crestfallen face and the sullen silence that accompanied it. He studied her face closely and realized that it was her hair style – it was the main culprit that had roobed his character of her innocence. So he told Sadhana bluntly, “It’s your hair style, unless you change it, you will never be able to fit the role.

Sadhana summoned her hairdresser…and briefed her to remove the fringe and make her the Sadhana of yore. The pig-tailed, simple girl next door was back and when he saw her, Bimal Roy smiled approvingly.  

THE ACTOR WHO WAS AN ENCYCLOPEDIA OF FILMMAKING

The Hindi Film industry has never been short of jacks of all trades. In fact, there have been several personalities who have been good at what they do…and then at some other tasks too. The first man who immediately springs to mind is of course, the legendary Kishore Kumar. Not only did he leave behind a legacy in singing, he was an actor, a film director, a music composer…besides of course his comic genius in real life.

Then, there was also Raj Kapoor, who had a successful stint as an actor, then became a topnotch film maker. And whose banner has given us the most memorable songs as an enduring legacy – songs over which he had his personal stamp of supervision.

Then there are others too, like Dev Anand and Feroz Khan who have alternated wearing hats of acting, producing and directing, most effortlessly. But this is about another man altogether – a man who not only dabbled in the various trades in the film industry, but has also won widespread accolades in various disciplines.

That man was Manoj Kumar – an intense actor, a script writer concerned with real issues and a nuanced film director. It would surprise many to know that he is probably the only one who has won an award or been nominated in most of the categories he worked on. In 1968, Manoj Kumar swept the Filmfare Awards for the film “Upkar” in the categories for Best Film, Best Story, Best Director and the Best Dialogue. In 1972, he bagged the best actor award for the film, “Beimaan” and then repeated his award winning streak with the Filmfare Award as the Best Director for the film, “Roti, Kapda Aur Makaan.”  

It is probably this recognition over diverse disciplines that earned him the respect and admiration from the film industry as a knowlegable and complete filmmaker. The following anecdote illustrates this perfectly.

When the movie Don was being made and was almost finished, its director, Chandra Barot, sought out Manoj Kumar and showed him the film and asked him for his views. Manoj Kumar told him that he liked the film very much, but he felt that the second half had belome very heavy because of its intesnse scenes and the actionfilled climax. He told Chandra Barot that he needed to insert a song in the second half to make it a more balanced viewing experience.

Chandra Barot was in a dilemma. It was a suggestion that would have been easy to ignore if it was given by anybody else – but this was Manoj Kumar, a man who had his finger on thepulse on the audience. He created a situation for a song in the movie, briefed Kalyanji Anandji to create the song and went about shooting and editing it into the film.

When “Don” released in 1978, it stormed the boxoffice…and the song, “Khaike Paan Banaraswala, inserted on Manoj Kumar’s advice was the movie’s biggest draw. Chandra Barot had referred his fim to the encyclopedia of Hindi films and had come out a winner. 

A CHILD STAR WHO WAS AMONG THE 12 IMPORTED CAR OWNERS IN BOMBAY

Back in the seventies, success was not measured in the number of houses or flats one possessed. After all, real estate was not as astronomically priced as it is today, and it was not unusual to hear stories of lyricists or music directors charging fees for a single assignment that could buy them a flat, or even a bungalow in some distant suburb.

No, in those days it was the foreign car that was the symbol of having arrived. This was because import duties were so high, that buying a foreign car meant the person was affluent enough to pay more than double the price of the car as the duty was more than 100%. Those were the days when the Premier Padmini and the Ambassadors roamed the streets like herds of wildebeest or antelope in the Savannahs. The occasional Impala or the Thunderbird was like the rarely spotted lion or tiger – a breed that would have onlookers crowding around it at traffic lights, staring at it longingly as it zoomed away when the lights turned green.

One can imagine how rare this breed of foreign cars was with a simple statistic from those times – there were only twelve foreign cars registered in Mumbai for several years in the seventies. And one of those cars was owned by a child artiste!

That child artiste was none other than Junior Mehmood – who had such a terrific run in Hindi cinema in the seventies that almost every other film seemed to have a comic act written for him. He worked with almost all the biggest stars of the time – Rajesh Khanna, Dharmendra, Shashi Kapoor, Sanjeev Kumar and of course Mehmood, who had named him and taken him under his wing.  

Born as Naim Ahmed Sayyed in Bombay in 1956, he started off in a bit role in the 1967 film, Naunihal progressing to roles that kept increasing in length. And as his roles increased so did his remuneration. In an interview, Naim Sayyed has spoken of how his wages increased because of his elder brother.

He has recalled that when he first began his career as a child artiste, he would be paid Rs five per day. Then when he had established a foothold in the industry, he went on to receive Rs Five Thousand per film. One day, when the two brothers were sitting together, his elder brother asked him how much he was charging per film. When he heard it was a sum of Rs Five Thousand, the elder brother said, “What!! Start asking for Rs Fifteen Thousand from tomorrow.” Naim Sayyed was taken aback at his brother’s confidence in his ability to draw three times. But he followed his advice and soon realized that producers were prepared to pay for the childish brand of humour he injected into their films.

After a couple of months, the conversation repeated itself like a déjà vu – when his brother heard he was charging Fifteen Thousand rupees, he said, “What!! Are you nuts!?! Ask for Thirty Five Thousand rupees.”

Even this amount, producers were prepared to pay.

A few more months passed and the conversation took place again. Now Junior Mehmood had hiked his remuneration to Rs Sixty Thousand rupees. The line of producers outside his door had reduced only a bit, and now he was emboldened enough to ask for the magic figure of Rs One Lakh.

And this was at a time, when the top heroes of the day were charging between two- two and a half lakh rupees per film. Junior Mehmood had now reached a stage where he earned a lakh of rupees for playing the hero’s sidekick or his comedic partner. While heroes earned their wages over several months of shooting, Junior Mehmood’s roles usually demanded a week to ten days of shooting per film. That effectively meant that he was in a position to do many more films…and receive even more six digit cheques in his name.

And that explains the gleaming imported car that stood outside his home in the seventies.

THE RARE WOMAN WHO ENTERED BOLLYWOOD AFTER MARRIAGE

Marriage is supposed to ring the death-knell for a heroine's career in Bollywood. That's the reason why there are so many rumours of hush-hush weddings conducted in the dead of the night in faraway temples. Then, there are vociferous denials of tying the knot by heroines and a general aversion to even sporting an engagement ring on the finger. All these maneuvers only so that the star value of the heroine doesn't come plummeting down.

So one has to admire the pluck of a young girl who entered films after her marriage...all for a lark. And then made people sit up and take notice with such fresh performances, that almost everyone was astonished by her natural acting abilities.

What was ironic was the first time a reputed producer had approached her, she was candid enough to tell him that she didn't know how to act.

This young, fresh-faced lady was Vidhya Sinha – a girl who had entered a local beauty competition just for the heck of it. When she won it, she was genuinely surprised….though not so much by the publicity that followed. Her face was splashed in a couple of national magazines and by sheer chance, Basu Chatterjee, the producer-director reputed for injecting realism into cinema, saw her.

As luck would have it, he was looking for the girl next door for his next film project – and Vidhya Sinha’s looks  fit the bill perfectly. He got his production team to track her down and set up a meeting with him.

Vidhya Sinha at the time was happily married to Venkateshwaran Iyer, and was not really inclined towards the film industry. So when Basu Chatterjee asked her about working in films, she laid her cards on the table.  Yes, she wouldn't mind working in films, but there was one little problem, she told Basu Chatterjee. She didn’t know how to act.

When he heard her innocent answer, Basu Chatterjee couldn't help but guffaw loudly. He found her candid admission endearing, along with the rare commodity of honesty that graced her words. So he allayed her fears with a line that reflected what he thought of the quality of films being produced in the film industry at the time.

He told her, “You don't worry about acting…acting is something, I'll teach you.” And then as an aside, he added, “I'll let you in on a secret; acting is something some of our biggest stars also don't know how to do!” 

Hearing this, Vidya Sinha couldn't help but stifle a smile. With one sentence, Basu Chatterjee had shattered the star system and its vain rankings. And endeared himself to her as a person who would take the utmost care of her in her new journey as a film actor. She would go on to make landmark films with Basu Chatterjee – films like Rajnigandha and Chhoti Si Baat, that captured the lives of ordinary, middle class people with their unique set of issues.

Even the toughest critic found Vidhya Sinha a complete natural before the camera – and the accolades for her came thick and fast, proving to herself that she indeed was an actress… and perhaps, as capable as the best of the stars.

Watch this lilting melody from Rajnigandha, the movie where Vidhya Sinha had won over the hearts of millions of Indians

RAJNIGANDHA PHOOL TUMHARE

THE ONLY VILLAIN WHO INSPIRED A LEGION OF STAND-UP COMICS

It is said that the real measure of your fame lies in how many imitators one creates. Charlie Chaplin might have been thrilled to discover that Raj Kapoor was popularizing his tramp figure among Indian audiences. Amitabh Bachchan must have smiled wryly to himself at seeing many romantic heroes from the seventies, trying desperately to ape the ‘angry young man' and failing miserably. 

Nothing succeeds like success – and once people discover a good thing, hundreds will jump on the bandwagon and be inspired to follow the leader. Now this is the norm with heroes and heroines, singers and musicians and even successful scripts. But can you imagine a villain whose style was so distinctive that he didn’t inspire imitations, but instead, started a cottage industry of stand-up comics who created one-liners galore under his name.

This is truly unparalleled – for while villains may have had several parodies of their acts on screen, this villain stands apart for the reams and  reams of jokes that have been created around his persona.

That actor was Ajit – whose one classic line in the film "Kalicharan," set off peals of laughter with its unintended pronunciation. That line was, “Sara Shehar Hume Loin Ke Naam Se Jaanta Hai.”  Now those were the days, when it was probably too tedious to think of correcting the pronunciation of ‘Loin’ to ‘Lion’ and anyway, Subhash Ghai, the director of "Kalicharan" must have thought that Hindi movies are made for the masses, so the little slip of tongue by Ajit would go unnoticed in the larger scheme of things.

However, in that hit movie, this inadvertent phrasing, “Sara Shehar Hume Loin Ke Naam Se Jaanta Hai,” became an urban legend. It was the spark where comedians looked forward to the next film for similar gaffes to fuel their comedic acts. What they discovered was a treasure trove of characteristics in Ajit, the villain.

First, there were his henchmen – all God fearing, but devil worshiping Christians like “Raabert” or “Mikaal.” A moll named Mona would always be floating around in a bathtub somewhere, probably trying to see if the Archimedes principle worked. (What displaced more matter in Ajit’s brain? Mona…ya Sona? Ya Mona ke saath Sona?)

Sample some of these side-splitting Ajit jokes:

Ajit:  Raabert, iss ko liquid oxygen may daal do! Liquid isse jeene nahi dega, oxygen isse marne nahi dega!

Ajit:   Raabert, isse champagne mein daal do! Woh shame se nahin mara toh pain se zaroor marega!

Ajit:    Raabert, iss Secretary ke haath kaat daalo! Usey typing toh aati nahin, shorthand kar legi.

Ajit:     Mona, tum Tony ke saath mat jao
Mona: Par boss, kyon nahin!?!
Ajit:      Kyon ke dear, badi Monatony ho jayegi…

So while you quickly google some more Ajit jokes over the internet, do doff your hat to the villain, jise saari duniya loin ke naam se jaanti thi. 

The link to take you to some of his jokes is here:

Ajit Jokes

WHEN ALL YOU NEEDED WAS DASHING GOOD LOOKS

Back in the fifties and early sixties, the times were much simpler. Movie scripts were basic storytelling, with the camera holding on to the actor’s faces for several minutes at a time as they delivered lengthy monologues. Songs too were filmed with slow, easy moves – a nod of the head, a wave of the hand enough for an actor to carry off an entire stanza. Yes, acting was a profession where one didn’t really break into a sweat…unless the scene required the actor to perspire.

Compare that with today, where movie making is all about fast cuts, bizarre camera angles and unpredictable editing. There is a frenetic pace about today’s films, in the storytelling, the music and the choreography. And of course, every film strives to have a climax scene, that no one has ‘seen before.’ The result of all this progress that movies have made in execution is that actors now need to be the complete package.

A typical hero in today’s era needs to have quicksilver feet to dance like a Travolta, the willingness to be strung from wires to do death defying stunts like Jackie Chan, sob believably (preferably without a bottle of glycerin) and just generally be good at everything the script demands. Today’s hero and heroine (once in a while, there’s a woman-oriented subject too) need to be the complete package.

So can you think of that time, when all that a career in acting needed was two words on your resume – good looks.

This story is about the actor Feroz Khan, whose entry into films began with him going to a party. Born on September 25^th, 1939, he studied in Bangalore and came down to Bombay in search of a career. In those times, he stayed with his elder sister, Dilshad Bibi and a career in films was furthest from his mind.  

One day however, he went to a party with some of his friends where he was spotted by a big producer of those times – S. Mukherjee. He noticed the young Feroz Khan, was impressed enough by his dashing good looks to walk up to the stranger and ask him, “Do you want to act in films?” 

Feroz Khan was too stunned to react, after all what did he know about acting to say yes? So he just gaped at S. Mukherjee as if the man had just landed from Mars and asked him a question in an unintelligible language. S Mukherjee smiled at Feroz Khan’s reaction – he had seen it many times before. An awestruck expression on people's faces whenever they met somebody from the film industry.

So he told Feroz Khan to take his time and decide…handing him his visiting card, should he be inclined towards films.

When Feroz Khan went home and told his sister about it, she told him excitedly that S Mukherjee was a well known producer and he must consider his offer seriously. So he went for a meeting with him, and by the time it was over, Feroz Khan had walked out with the contract for his first film – Zamana.  

Though the film didn't get made for other reasons, Feroz Khan was soon signed up by many other lesser known producers for their films – all on the basis of his good looks. His first film release was the 1960 film, “Didi” where he played the second lead. And after he proved his talent in a host of hit B-grade films like Samson, Ek Sapera Ek Lootera, and Chaar Darvesh, he was signed up for the film, Aarzoo, costarring Rajendra Kumar and Sadhana.

This top grosser of 1965 was his big break into the league of A-grade movies and after he won the Filmfare Award for the Best Actor in a supporting role, there was no looking back for Feroz Khan. He was now a proven talent, one who would go on to give Bollywood a legacy of style, macho panache and ruggedly handsome good looks.

The good looks that had started it all.

Check out one of Feroz Khan's most endearing songs from the film, "Oonche Log." A song where he sings in praise of the heroine's beauty. But considering the heroine is very rarely seen in the song, it seems more of a tribute to Feroz Khan's good looks.

JAAG DIL-E-DEEWANA

A KISHORE KUMAR PRANK IMMORTALISED ON A RECORDING

Everybody loves a good prankster, except perhaps the persons on whom the prank is played. But even their irritation and angst will eventually melt away once they realize the prank was all in good fun, and was done with no malicious intent.

Besides his awesome talents in singing and acting, Kishore Kumar was legendary when it came to pulling off the classic prank that would have everybody in splits. It is rumoured that once, when he was supposed to drive the car out of frame in one shot, he continued driving past the end point, past the director’s chair, out of the film set and all the way to his home. When he was questioned why he did that, the reply was simple, “The director did not say ‘cut,’ so how can you expect me to stop?”

While this prank and many others are etched in the memory, there is one that has been etched onto vinyl for posterity.

It was during the recording of a song from the movie, “Aap Ki Kasam” – the super hit starring Rajesh Khanna and Mumtaz in the lead. The music director of the film was Rahul Dev Burman and its producer was J Om Prakash, a man known for keeping a tight rein on the finances of his film.

The song was “Jai Jai Shiv Shankar” and if one hears the song, it becomes apparent that this duet also has many other character voices lending a flavor of fun in their bhang-inspired timbre. There are some lines of dialogue, some hoots, whistles and cheers that take the song to an enjoyable drunken crescendo.

  

When R D Burman heard the situation – the hero and heroine singing the song with a bhang-fuelled energy amidst a crowd of temple devotees, he was very excited. This was different from the usual song and dance routines that he usually set the score to. Here, he had the opportunity and challenge to infuse the song with an infectious rhythm, an engaging melody and the joie de vivre of a drunken crowd.

So he summoned a troupe of character voices, each with their dedicated specialties in hooting, cheering and whistling, some with their distinctive rural accents, a few with a comic nasal twang. When J Om Prakash walked into the studio in his capacity as the film’s producer, he was aghast to find it bursting at the seams with a bunch of jovial and very oddball characters.

In fact, he had been surprised at the gates of the studio itself, where he had seen one weirdo making clucking sounds as if he were a hen, while another was whistling like a roadside Romeo. This parade of characters had continued even up the stairs, where some men were making guttural noises in varying pitch and others were practicing cackling laughs that might have done a Dracula proud.

Then, he had wondered what all these strange people were doing on the premises. Now as he stepped into the studio room, he was mortified to find ten more people in the recording room, where R D Burman was testing their voices. Now the penny dropped! All these people numbering about fifty, had come for the recording of his film’s song!

His mind immediately shuddered at the thought of signing so many payment vouchers to all these artistes (if they could be called that). He looked at the clock, it was now eleven o clock, at one, there would be the lunch break and he would also have to foot the bill for their meals. And if it stretched into the evening, as it most likely would, the final amount would definitely go over budget by several thousands of rupees.

With a worried expression, he summoned R D Burman to a vacant corridor where all these assorted audio clowns were out of earshot and asked him why so many people were required for the song. Rahul Dev Burman wondered what kind of question this was. Scratching his balding pate, he replied simply, “Because they are needed.”

J Om Prakash wasn't satisfied with this. He pointed to a man making weird chuckling sounds that echoed the length of the corridor. “That man, what do you need him for?” he asked. R D Burman smiled and said, “He is my hooting specialist, he’s very important for the song. J Om Prakash pointed to another fellow, contorting his lips as if blowing smoke rings. “What about that guy?” he asked. R D Burman replied, “Oh that fellow, he is the whistling specialist, he is very important for the song?”

J Om Prakash went through this routine over a few more people. R D Burman spoke of a specialized talent for everyone, and he certainly couldn’t do this interrogation over fifty odd people. So then he asked him, “Why can’t you get one guy who can hoot, whistle and chuckle for you?” Rahul Dev Burman gave him a “Are-you-mad” kind of look, laughed loudly and went back to his recording.

J Om Prakash now took out his little notebook and roughly calculated what the damages would be. He had budgeted twenty five thousand rupees for the song, now his calculations were showing a hole in his pocket of Rs fifty thousand. DOUBLE THE COST!!! PACHHAS HAZAAR RUPAYE!?! He went back to R D Burman and whispered in his ears, “Yaar, you are spending fifty thousand on this one song” (Yaar, pachhas hazaar lag gaye!!)

R D Burman was irritated with this money-minded approach to making music. He kept quiet and continued with the recording of the song. As they progressed, J Om Prakash would come and listen to the work in progress and shake his head at R D Burman, “Yaar, mazaa nahin aa raha hai…aur pachhas hazaar kharch ho gaye!”

With each of these gripes, R D Burman was becoming more and miserable. And Kishore Kumar who was in the recording observed his glum disposition. As the song neared completion, he came over to Rahul and asked him what the matter was. A dejected Rahul explained what had happened earlier and how J Om Prakash kept saying, “Pachhas Hazaar lag gaye…mazaa nahin aa raha.”   

That’s when Kishore Kumar burst out laughing. The thought of J Om Prakash complaining about paying so much money tickled him pink. It was absolutely priceless. So when he went back to finish the recording of the crescendo sounds, he burst out on the mike, “Bajao, bajao…imaandaari se bajao! Pachhas hazaar karch hue! Hee! Hee! Hee!

That brought a smile to R D Burman’s face and he kept Kishore’s impromptu scrap of fun in the final mix of the song, and if you listen closely you can hear Kishore Kumar’s voice saying “Pachhas Hazaar Kharch Hue!” as the song comes to an end.

Listen to it by clicking on the link below:

JAI JAI SHIV SHANKAR

THE DAY R D BURMAN TOOK A DOBERMANN APPROACH

There are songs that owe their birth to brilliant flashes of genius – moments of literary excellence when the poet sentenced himself into self-imposed isolation, dug deep into his solitude and his experiences to translate them on to paper as verses of literary heaven.  Those are the times when he is not bothered by things like writer’s block, for his pen flows freely with the ink of life, bursting eagerly to narrate its unrequited saga.

Then there are those times when that ink dries up, when the poet feels he has either run out of experiences to share or when he senses that his expression lacks the passion that defined his earlier work. It is this period of literary drought that every writer dreads…when he desperately hopes and prays for the new rain of inspiration that will germinate dormant seeds of thought into productive verse.   

Shailendra , the poet, didn’t have these problems in his craft. He was in the most prolific phase of his career, his evergreen songs for the Shankar Jaikishan duo creating several masterpieces for the Raj Kapoor banner. He was now being approached by other music directors too, all eager to have his name in the credits as the songwriter. One among them was Sachin Dev Burman, the man who had migrated to Bombay and become one of its most respected music directors.

Shailendra had been commissioned to pen the songs for the movie, “Kaala Bazaar” and he had delivered all its songs except one. It was a song that S D Burman had already composed the music to…all Shailendra had to do was immerse himself into the situation of the song, hum the tune to himself. And of course write the words of the song down!

The first two steps were easy enough. It was the third that was proving so damned difficult.  Probably it was the flood of work that had come his way, or maybe it was the fact that in his own head, Shailendra had written almost all the song of the film and so had mentally tuned off the project. Or it is even possible that he had written several drafts of the song, but since none had met his own high standards, Shailendra had probably tossed each draft into the waste paper basket.  Whatever the reason, Sachin Dev Burman still didn’t have a song at the end of a couple of months.

Knowing that this one unfinished song was becoming a big deterrent in the completion of the movie, S D Burman summoned his son, Rahul Dev Burman to his rescue. Rahul had already been assisting his father and on many a film score, the name R D Burman came under S D Burman as his chief music assistant.

It was now Rahul Dev Burman’s turn to get a taste of Shailendra’s procrastination. He would promise Rahul that he would definitely write the song that very day and then, sheepishly tell him that he hadn’t managed to write it. But he would promise to write it the next day, leaving Rahul holding on to his word like the Gospel.

This went on for a couple of weeks, and then one morning, when S D Burman asked his son the progress of the song, Rahul replied sheepishly that he had still not managed to get Shailendra to write it. S D Burman instantly flew into one of his terrific Bengali rages. Scolding his son severely, he told him that if he was unable to get the song written by that day, he should not bother coming home. A shocked Rahul could do nothing else but embark on his Herculean mission right away…after all, only he knew how serious his father could get when it came to his work.   

Hoping to catch Shailendra before he left for a recording session or for his meetings for the day, he hurried along wondering how he could convince this much respected, much older doyen of Hindi poetry to write one song, just one song for him. A song that wasn’t so much about gaining entry into his house, but more about regaining his father’s trust, about proving to him that he could also be entrusted with a responsibility.

When Shailendra opened the door, R D Burman went straight inside and sat down on the nearest available chair. He looked at Shailendra and asked him the million dollar question, “Have you written the song?” A question to which Shailendra slowly shook his head from side to side. If they had been playing dumb charades, Rahul would have no difficulty in guessing the answer was “No.”

Rahul looked seriously into Shailendra’s eyes and with all the seriousness he could muster, said, “Well, I am not leaving your side today…till I get the song from you.”

Shailendra was astonished at the audacity of the lad. He dismissed him, telling him he had several meetings and a couple of recordings lined up through the day. There was no way the song could be written that day. R D Burman just crossed his arms like a determined mobster and looking straight into Shailendra’s eyes said, “Today, wherever you go, I am coming with you. Unless you want to write that song and give it to me right now.”

Shailendra thought to himself, “How could this little slip of a boy, just stepping into his teens, hustle him like that?” He would lead him such a merry dance all around Bombay, the fellow would go running back to his father. Besides, songs were not written like this, in haste or hurry. They needed a fired-up inspiration, an urge to soar into the skies on wings of lofty words. And these words wouldn’t come to him just because a gangly, pimply teenager wanted them to. So he smiled at R D Burman and said, “You want to follow me around? Be my guest.”

What followed after that was a testimony to young Rahul’s dogged determination. Shailendra took him along to recording studios, to lengthy meetings with all sorts of people. Through it all, Rahul stuck by his side like a Doberman does when he’s clamped down on a suspect. At one point, Shailendra asked him if he would even follow him into the toilet. Rahul said no…he wouldn’t, but only after he had ensured that there was only one entry to it and that he could stand on guard outside.

Finally it was late in the evening and Shailendra had run out of places he could take Rahul Dev Burman to. He decided to return back home, with Rahul faithfully in tow. On the way, he decided to stop off at the beach and both of them set off walking on its sands. At a point, Shailendra sat down and Rahul settled in next to him. He looked up at the sky…it was an empty, cloudless sky. A night when even the moon had decided to play truant.

Shailendra took out his notebook and began verbalizing his thoughts loudly. “Aasmaan khula hain, chaand bilkul hi kho gaya hai…hmm”

And then in a burst of inspiration, he wrote the first two lines of the song, “KHOYA KHOYA CHAAND, KHULA AASMAAN.” Then looking at Rahul Dev Burman with a mischievous smile continued writing, “AANKHON MEIN SAARI RAAT JAAYEGI…TUMKO BHI KAISE NEEND AAYEGI.” The first para of the song, the mukhda of the song was ready. After this momentous breakthrough, Shailendra was on song…literally and he wrote, not two, not three…but four more paragraphs to the song.

When the movie Kaala Bazaar released, the song Khoya Khoya Chaand became the rage throughout the nation. Dev Anand on whom it was picturized, now had women swooning over his walk, besides his dashing good looks.

As Shailendra reveled in its success, he silently acknowledged the role R D Burman had played in its creation. He knew now that besides talent and inspiration, sometimes what it takes is just some good, old-fashioned doggedness. 

Listen to this all time classic by clicking on the link below:

KHOYA KHOYA CHAAND KHULA AASMAAN

WHEN REAL LIFE FORCED ITS WAY INTO A MOVIE SCRIPT

Life is inspiration for every creative art – whether it s the writer who fills his pen with its ink, or the artist who draws the curves of a model posing for him onto canvas. Whether it is the lyricist whose words evoke heart-felt emotion or the musician who often finds his muse from sounds in nature.

And while films are largely fictional in their narration, some of the most powerful pieces of cinema have been based on real life heroes. And villains.

This however, is neither the story of a biopic or an autobiographic essay on celluloid. It is the simple instance of a film director and actor reacting to the poignancy of a real life situation that played out before his eyes. And he then considered it a moment riveting enough to be depicted on screen as mirror to society.

The movie was, “Kaagaz Ke Phool.” Its director – Guru Dutt, who had also cast himself in the lead role of a film director on the decline in the movie.

The incident happened on the sets of its shooting one day. The scenes being canned that day had required several extras and all of them needed to be on call for the sake of continuity. After one shot in that scene was in the cans, the next would be quickly lit up and then, the extras summoned to take their positions.   

During one of the scenes, it was noticed by Guru Dutt that one of the women, who was present in the earlier frames of the scene, was now not at her designated position. He scanned around the set and saw that she was nowhere there. In an irritated tone, he called for a halt to the shooting. He asked his production-in-charge, where the women had gone off to – he couldn’t take the next shot without her.

The production-in-charge immediately barked instructions to his subordinates and they all began hunting for the woman. It didn’t take too long for them to find her, for she had gone to a secluded corner of the studio itself, huddled down with her daughter of about six years next to her. She had gone there because her baby in arms had began crying and she had taken it there to breastfeed it. And for privacy on that crowded set.

The assistant who found her immediately lost his temper with her. “WHERE THE HELL DID YOU DISAPPEAR? CAN’T YOU SEE WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SHOT?” And for good measure, he threw in a couple of expletives as well.

When Guru Dutt heard the raised voice and its uncivilized phrasing, he rushed over to see what the matter was. He immediately sized up the scene when he saw the young mother hurriedly hand over the baby to the elder sister. His sensitive character had understood how ruthless life in the city had become.

So driven was it by profit, so single minded it had become about work – that it had dehumanized people into forgetting about basic human values. It was one of those rare instances when Guru Dutt became very angry. Eyes blazing, he caught the film hand by his shoulder and turned him around to face him.

And in a booming voice that must have rattled his spine, he yelled, “DON’T YOU KNOW HOW TO TALK? GET OUT OFF MY SET.”

The incident left him shaken. When he had calmed down, he went up to the woman and apologized on behalf of the crew. He struck up a conversation with her, made her feel comfortable and told her that she should finish feeding her child and take as long as it needed. His shot could wait for her, the entire film unit could also wait.

Later on, when the scene replayed in his mind, he decided that he must make it a part of his film. He had to hold up a mirror to society, to show them how business minded and consequently, how heartless it had become. 

Where the signing of contracts, the focus on the business and the counting of money – all had become greater than the hunger pangs of a child.