The film survived a studio fire, a separation and two deaths along the way. Pakeezah, a film that Kamal Amrohi began shooting in 1956 as a tribute to the beauty of his wife, Meena Kumari — then a rising star, saw its fair share of hurdles in its journey till release. When the film finally arrived in 1972, Meena, who had become a huge star by then, passed away within weeks of its release.

This week, Pakeezah begins another chapter in its long journey. The Film Heritage Foundation’s new 4K restoration of Pakeezah will premiere at Festival Lumière in Lyon, France, before heading to the 70th BFI London Film Festival, scheduled from October 7 to 18. The London festival announced its lineup on Wednesday. The fest describes it as “one of the last great classical musicals of Indian cinema, the visually opulent and emotionally tragic Pakeezah is a Byzantine story of star-crossed lovers.”

FHF director Shivendra Singh Dungarpur, who restored the film, tells us, “The restoration of Pakeezah took two years. It has been one of the most exciting yet one of the most challenging restorations I have worked on." Even cinema experts consider it one of the most moving and most extravagant productions in Indian film history. We take a look at the iconic film's arduous journey to restoration.

In an interview to Star and Style just a few days after the release of the film, Meena Kumari said, "Pakeezah is the beloved, which has been born of this filmmaker’s imagination nearly two decades ago. ‘Pakeezah’ is the vision which has haunted his soul for as long as I can remember. . . I have lived with ‘Pakeezah’ almost as long as I have lived with its creator . . . For Kamal Saheb, the filmmaker, it was to be his life’s work, his raison d’etre... But both of us went back eventually, and we finished this film together – he as its creator and I as its physical, spiritual and visual embodiment.”

Meena Kumari will remain the greatest artiste the Indian screen has ever known: Ashok Kumar

In an interview to the same magazine, Ashok Kumar, who played the role of Nawab Shahabuddin, said, "Pakeezah kept me in touch with two of the biggest talents which the Indian screen will ever know – the poet-director Kamal Amrohi, and Meena Kumari, my co-star in Pakeezah and so many earlier films. She is, and will remain, probably the greatest artiste the Indian screen has ever known."

Pakeezah took fifteen agonising years to make, from 1956 to its release on February 4, 1972 - plagued by a switch to colour, a studio fire, casting delays, and went over budget due to Kamal Amrohi's determination for perfectionism in each frame. The star Meena Kumari and Kamal Amrohi separated in 1964, leaving it abandoned as she struggled with alcoholism and cirrhosis. When her friends Sunil Dutt and Nargis saw the rushes, they convinced her to finish it in 1969. Along the way, German cinematographer Josef Wirsching and composer Ghulam Mohammed both died before seeing it completed.

It was released to critical acclaim; the film became a box office hit, but Meena Kumari died just weeks later. Cinema experts say that the film was released at a moment when cinema was moving away from the refined, Urdu-inflected literary style and studio aesthetic of the 1950s and 1960s toward more modern, urban, and action-oriented storytelling.

Late British film critic and historian Derek Malcolm described Pakeezah as one of the most extraordinary musical melodramas ever made.

The restoration team found that Pakeezah’s original negative was almost melted and unusable, but recovered an interpositive, a CinemaScope print and a colour reversal internegative (CRI) from archival sources. With no surviving original camera negative or principal crew to consult, the team used original shooting stills and memories of Kamal Amrohi’s children, Tajdar and Rukhsaar Amrohi, to help recreate the film’s colours.

The surviving elements had scratches, mould, fading, grain, halos, vinegar syndrome and colour inconsistencies, requiring extensive digital restoration and colour correction.

The sound was restored in 5.1 using the film’s sound negative and a release print, while the restoration sought to maintain consistency across the different surviving picture elements.

Pakeezah was restored in 4K by Film Heritage Foundation at L’Immagine Ritrovata laboratory, in association with Bilal Amrohi of Lionheart Cinema.

Ever since I forayed into the world of film restoration, it has been my dream to restore Pakeezah. I first watched the film as a child, with my grandmother, in a cinema in Dumraon, Bihar, and it has stayed with me since.

The restoration took two years and was among the hardest I've worked on. When I went to inspect the original camera negative and saw that it had almost melted, my heart sank. In my mind, I could see each frame like a painting saturated with colours, the opulent sets and the luminous beauty of Meena Kumari and the songs of Ghulam Mohammed were ringing in my ears as if it was yesterday, but not a single cast or crew member survived from the film and I wondered how I would be able to restore Kamal Amrohi’s original vision with what I had to work with.

We couldn’t have asked for a better showcase for the restored Pakeezah than the Festival Lumiere in Lyon, the birthplace of cinema, which is helmed by Thierry Frémaux, Director of the Festival Lumière and the Cannes Film Festival.

The screening in France will be followed by the UK premiere at the London Film Festival at a gala screening at the BFI IMAX.

"Pakeezah was my father’s obsession, his dream, his oxygen that gave meaning to his life. He nurtured the film for over fifteen years like a child till it was fully matured and ready to be presented to the world. As a thirteen year-old, I witnessed the countless sacrifices my father made and the relentless dedication and perfectionism in the face of almost insurmountable challenges to make his vision a reality. I have preserved every bit of his legacy that remains in Amroha, but for years, I felt that my father’s legacy as a great master of cinema had been forgotten.

I only wish my father were alive to see his creation restored and reborn for the world to see fifty four years after it released. I cannot wait to see the restored film back on the big screen and I will be travelling to London to present the film.

I was at the grand premiere of Pakeezah in 1972 with my father and Choti Ammi (Meena Kumari) and the film cans arrived at Maratha Mandir in a palanquin. I never imagined that I would be presenting the restored film with my family at the gala premiere in London fifty fouryears later.

I would like to thank Shivendra Singh Dungarpur and Film Heritage Foundation for restoring the film with so much passion and meticulous care and for bringing my father and his greatest work back to life so that new generations will see the unforgettable Meena Kumari and enjoy the beauty of the film.

I remember when I was a child, my father was deep into the making of Pakeezah. Everything in our lives revolved around Pakeezah. My father had put in everything he had in the film and whenever we asked him for anything as children, his response would always be, “After Pakeezah.” Pakeezah was his life’s mission. I have so many memories of the film as I would regularly visit the sets on Floor No. 3 at Filmistan where much of the film was shot. The film has influenced generations of filmmakers and even today I am sometimes asked how did he achieve some of the shots.

At 77, Hema Malini has spent more than five decades in the public eye — first as one of Hindi cinema’s most enduring leading ladies, then as a celebrated classical dancer and, later, as a politician. Yet, she insists she has never simply stood still. In a candid conversation with Mumbai Mirror, the actress looks back at an era when stardom did not come with the relentless glare of social media and camera phones, shares her views on the industry’s obsession with appearance and ageing, and explains why she believes audiences have continued to remember her.

Having entered the film industry in the late 1960s, Hema has witnessed its transformation from close quarters. And if there is one thing she finds striking about the current generation of actors, it is the constant pressure to remain visible.

“Today there is too much exposure. We were never exposed like this. Now, before stepping out of the house, an actor has to think about what to wear, what bag to carry, how to walk, because somebody is photographing you from every angle. You go to the airport and people immediately click photographs with their mobile phones. Even if you’re not dressed properly, nobody cares. The picture is everywhere,” she explains.

She believes the chase for constant visibility has also changed the way younger actors approach fame. “Youngsters today want quick fame. For publicity, they are ready to do anything. We never had to do all that. We worked for 60 or 70 days on a film and then waited to see the result on screen. I always knew I had done my best. Whether the film became a hit or not was a different matter.”

The conversation then turns to another pressure that comes with living under the public gaze: the industry’s preoccupation with looking young. While cosmetic procedures have increasingly become part of the conversation around celebrity appearances, Hema believes there is a fine line between maintaining oneself and going too far.

“Ageing gracefully is very important because you have to maintain yourself. If there is something genuinely necessary for your appearance, one can definitely try it. As long as you are in the public eye, you have to be presentable. That’s all. But don’t overdo anything. Even if you wear something simple, be dignified. Women should dress up nicely. They don’t have to expose too much. Nowadays, young girls expose so much. Being a woman and being a mother, I don’t like it. It really hurts,” she adds.

While appearances and visibility may dominate the industry today, Hema believes her own longevity has come from something more substantial: never allowing herself to become creatively inactive. “People say they have not forgotten me, but that’s because I never stopped. Apart from acting, I continued with my classical dance. Then I became a Member of Parliament and I’m constantly working in my constituency. I’m always among people, doing some work or the other. So, I’m not remembered only as an actress. My dance became another identity and then my public work became another responsibility,” she signs off.

For nearly four decades, Dipika Chikhlia has been closely identified with one role that became far bigger than a career milestone. Her portrayal of Sita in Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan (1987-88) made her a household name. While it brought her immense love and respect, it also shaped the kind of work that came her way. Today, the actress is not looking to distance herself from Sita, but to be seen beyond it. She wants to take on strong, meaningful roles that offer her creative satisfaction.

She says, “I think everyone gets stuck in an image. It comes with popularity. No one is to blame. You just have to give yourself time and gradually people begin to accept change.”

While Ramayan was the turning point in her career, it also influenced the choices she made thereafter. She recalls, “I started with films, but after doing my first film, I realised I wasn’t comfortable with people seetee maaroing at me. They wanted me to wear swimming costumes and do glamorous roles, but that didn’t align with my interests. I kept praying that I would do work that earned me respect. Things fell into place magically and Ramayan happened. If I hadn’t played Sita, I would probably have been just another heroine of the late ’80s and early ’90s, and my career would have been completely different.”

The image she built through Sita remains something she values, but Dipika now wants it to coexist with a wider range of work.

She adds, “I’m not going to call it a day until I get something meaningful. I want strong, powerful roles. I am a good actor, just give me a chance. There are so many opportunities today for actresses between 50 and 70. We can do much more than just play mothers and grandmothers. I’m slowly adapting myself to today’s times. I just want filmmakers to see me differently too. Unfortunately, we don’t get offered artistically satisfying work. Industry people are experimenting, and I hope they start experimenting with me now.”

Dipika is looking at films and OTT while ruling out the demanding schedule of daily television. She says, “I want to focus on films and OTT. I don’t think I can commit to television anymore because it is too time-consuming. I’ve received good offers, but working 22 days a month for 14 hours a day doesn’t work for me. I’ve never worked for money; I want creative satisfaction. I don’t want to reach the end of my career feeling that I played just one role and that’s what my life summarizes. I am far more.”

From a teenage actor finding her way on film sets to an established performer, Karisma Kapoor says her career has been one of constant evolution. In a conversation with Bombay Times, she reflects on growing up in the industry, adapting to new mediums and the role of dance in her life.

After being in the industry for over three decades, Karisma believes an actor’s learning never really stops. “Being an actor means evolving every day. I have not only grown with every film, but every single day. I like to learn and grasp things from various people and various sets. It’s that constant growth that makes you evolve.”

Having started working at a young age, Karisma says much of her growing up happened on sets. “I started very young, in fact, Prem Qaidi released four days before my 17th birthday. So, I’ve literally grown up in the industry. I’ve learned from my experiences, from all the ups and downs. And literally climbed the ladder one step at a time. When you look back and feel that you could have done things differently, it means you’ve grown as an actor.”

Karisma, who in recent times has been part of OTT shows like Mentalhood and Brown, feels each medium comes with its own demands. While she is grateful for the opportunities, she admits that the transition to OTT was challenging initially. “OTT is very different from filmmaking. If you ask me, it’s pretty tough. Because when you’re doing an episodic show, you need to be on the ball. In one day, you may be shooting scenes from episode one or seven. So, the pace and the way it’s shot is different. For a movie star, OTT requires a shift in gear. Even television is a different ballgame.”

For Karisma, instinct has always mattered more than a carefully mapped-out career. “I’ve always been the kind of person who, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don’t, I don’t. I’ve never really planned anything in my career. I think I’ve been lucky enough to have had some memorable films and played some amazing characters throughout my career,” says the Raja Hindustani actress.

Currently, Karisma is seen judging India’s Best Dancer on television. But long before dance became part of her professional identity, the actress says it was something she enjoyed at home. Her memories include dancing with her younger sister, Kareena Kapoor Khan, to songs from the films they watched as kids. “As a child, I was a huge fan of Sridevi. I remember Kareena and I used to dance for our parents to the song Tathaiya Tathaiya, Naino Mein Sapna. Dance has always been important to me.”

Karisma also learnt Kathak as a child and remembers Kareena watching her during her dance classes. “Whenever I practiced with my ghungroos, she loved watching me and listening to the beats. Dance has always been an integral part of our lives, with so many great dancers in the family, including Shammi uncle, Chintu uncle and Shashi uncle, who had their own distinctive styles.”

The ease of accessing news, information and entertainment at the tap of a screen has also made it harder for people to step away from it. Arjan Bajwa believes the habit of constantly checking social media is affecting attention spans and turning an information-driven medium into an addiction.

The actor, who has been part of films such as Fashion, Rustom and Kabir Singh, says, “Social media is informative because it has largely replaced the editorial material we used to consume. It gives us access to information, news and ideas from across the world, but one has to strike a balance. We have become so addicted to Instagram and Facebook that the moment we are free, we pick up our phones to see what is happening. One has to consciously step away from the digital world and put the phone down. Digital detox is very important to maintain a balance between time and attention.”

While Arjan considers social media an important professional tool for actors, he believes they should be mindful of how much of their personal lives they share.

He says, “For actors, social media has become an important way to connect with the audience and give information about what’s happening in their professional space. There are also people who display their lives on social media because audiences are interested in knowing what their favourite actors are doing and how they are living. But there has to be a limit.”

He adds, “There are a lot of very big stars who are not on social media, and things are going absolutely fine for them as well. It’s one’s own choice how much you want to let people into your life and personal space. Actors also need to maintain a certain exclusivity or novelty about what they are doing. There has got to be a balance between maintaining a presence online and keeping people engaged and intrigued to know more about you.”

From entrepreneurship to motherhood, Mira Rajput says she approaches every aspect of her life with intent. While juggling her ventures and raising her children, she admits that finding a balance isn’t as difficult as it may seem. “Balance isn’t a perfect formula; some days are messy, and that’s okay. For me, it’s about being present where I am, and I try to compartmentalize my mental energy. When I’m with my kids, I’m fully present. When I’m working, I give that my focused energy,” she says.

For Mira, wellness rituals also play a role in helping her stay grounded. “Whether it’s meditation, a simple skincare routine or a red light bed therapy session,” she adds.

Does being married to actor Shahid Kapoor mean the couple ever exchange notes on entrepreneurship? Mira says their approaches may be different, but that makes their conversations all the more interesting. 

“We’re both passionate but in very different ways. Shahid is instinctive — he goes with his gut when he believes in something. I tend to be more measured; I like to analyse before deciding. But that balance works for us — it’s what makes the conversations at home very interesting,” she concludes.

Mira Rajput and Shahid Kapoor’s relationship has unfolded largely away from the constant glare of the spotlight. The two got married in a private ceremony in Gurugram in July 2015, when Shahid was one of Bollywood’s most sought-after actors. They welcomed their daughter, Misha, in 2016, followed by their son, Zain, in 2018. Over the years, Mira has carved out an identity beyond being known as Shahid Kapoor’s wife, building her own presence across entrepreneurship, wellness and lifestyle. While they may approach work and decision-making differently, as Mira says, those differences have also shaped their conversations at home.

Kumud Mishra, known for roles in both commercial movies like Sultan and socially conscious films like Article 15, has carved a unique space in Hindi cinema. During a recent chat, the actor spoke to us about the changing landscape of Indian cinema and the responsibility of artistes today.

When asked about the rise of socially driven films and what drives this shift in storytelling, the Article 15 actor replied, “We are becoming insensitive as a society. We are becoming intolerant. We have stopped listening. We have stopped talking to each other. The space for dialogue is ending. Only the space for monologue is going on. One person will speak a soliloquy and the other will listen. In such times, it becomes the responsibility of art to create an environment where the issues we are ignoring, the issues we are normalizing, should not be normalized. In life, whenever anything is normalized, it will be dangerous.”

He added, “I think it is important to have discussions and debates on socially relevant issues. We have started talking about them, but today, when something happens, we often react by saying, ‘Yes, this happened, we got the information,’ and move on. It has stopped affecting us in the same way. Does an incident have to be more horrific for us to take notice? When the Nirbhaya case happened, there was a huge uproar. For a moment, it felt like society still cared. But over time, we normalised such incidents. That is dangerous. As artistes, I believe it is our responsibility to talk about and engage with such issues.”

Discussing the commercialization of theatre and offering perspective for young theatre actors, Kumud said, “The complaint about theatre people not earning has always been there and will remain, but that is not a problem. I think theatre is doing quite well, and the commercial aspect, I think if any medium is giving you money, then it is a very good thing, it is necessary. Along with that, what do you do with it? What do you do with success? That is your responsibility. If you become a slave to that success and you adopt that same formula, then that is unfortunate. But if you are taking that and giving something new to your art, to your medium, then it becomes an interesting thing.”

For young theatre actors specifically, his advice is simple yet powerful. “I don’t have any advice because every generation comes with its own new challenges and new directions and they are fully capable, much smarter than us. The only thing is you’ll have to read a lot, work hard and keep doing it.”

August has been a significant month in Subhash Ghai’s career, with several of his best-known films, including Karma (1986), Saudagar (1991), Pardes (1997) and Taal (1999), releasing during the month. Decades into a career defined by commercial cinema, the filmmaker believes the industry’s relationship with success has changed, with box-office numbers increasingly dominating conversations.

Ghai recalls how he approached filmmaking earlier in his career. He says, “In our time, the respect for art and craft was much higher. Today, you tell a newcomer that his film is doing well, he will reply, ‘Ki itne crore bana liye hain.’ Even the stars in the ’80s and ’90s never used such language. The conversation revolved around the craft then. My principle is that money will follow if I give a good product. We have produced 42 films, of which I have directed 18, and 34 out of 42 are hits. This is because we always focus on scriptwriting and the making of the film. We never made a project. We made films. We told stories. We gave music.”

The celebrated filmmaker also feels the atmosphere on film sets has changed, particularly the sense of unity within large crews. He says, “During my time, 200 logon ki film release tak ek family jaise thi. Kyunki kisi aadmi ka vision toh raha hi nahi. Sab alag alag kaam karte hain.”

Having worked with some of the biggest stars of his time, Ghai also recalls how he managed to bring large ensembles together, even as the culture of entourages existed then too. “Yeh mere time par bhi tha. This is about demand and supply, where you respect people because of their status.”

One of the exceptions, he recalls, was Shashi Kapoor, who maintained a clear distinction between professional and personal expenses.

He shares, “When Shashi ji would go to Kashmir for a shoot, he would ask at the hotel reception to make separate accounts for billing, personal and professional. He wouldn’t burden the producers with his personal expenses. That’s why he survived so long. These people created discipline. Integrity matters.”

For anyone nursing a heartbreak, his voice fell like gentle rain on parched earth. With every note rendered, the heart seemed to heal to its touch.

Even now, exactly 50 years after his passing on August 27, 1976, Mukesh, the master of melancholy, continues to comfort millions on aching afternoons and vagabond nights.

The Delhi-born singer passed away following a fifth heart attack, shortly before a sold-out musical show with the peerless Lata Mangeshkar in faraway Detroit. The two singers, who shared a close bond, were on a series of shows across cities in the US and Canada.

The Delhi-born singer passed away following a fifth heart attack, shortly before a sold-out musical show with the peerless Lata Mangeshkar in faraway Detroit. The two singers, who shared a close bond, were on a series of shows across cities in the US and Canada.

Mukesh’s son, Nitin Mukesh, who was with him in his room at Hotel Pontchartrain during the fatal heart attack, remembers that three days earlier, his father had asked Lata in Montreal if Nitin could sing a few songs at the show.

“I don’t know why he said that. He had never done that before,” says Nitin, who would go on to become a popular playback singer in his own right.

Introduced by Lata to the audience, Nitin sang the chartbuster Kabhi Kabhie Mere Dil Mein. Mukesh played the harmonium. After the show, Nitin received accolades from the audience.

But when he asked his father about his performance, Mukesh simply said, “Bahut achha tha (it was very good), but there is room for improvement.”

“He didn’t praise me to the skies,” Nitin says. “But my mother told me later that he called her and said, ‘Tumhare bete ne to apne baap ko bhi peeche chhod diya (Your son has left his father far behind)’.” The next day, Nitin again crooned a few songs, this time in Toronto. The father-son duo sang Jaane Kahan Gaye Woh Din from Mera Naam Joker as a duet.

Nitin got to sing a lesser-heard stanza: “Is dil ke ashiyaan mein bas unke khayal reh gaye / Tod ke dil woh chal diye, hum phir akele reh gaye.” The words turned out to be strangely prophetic. “It’s been 50 years since I sang those lines, but they still haunt me,” Nitin says.

That was to be the last time Mukesh sang on stage. They took the train to Detroit on August 26, a day before the scheduled show. Father and son shared a room at the hotel. On August 27, the fateful day, Nitin stepped out for lunch.

“When I returned, I saw him peacefully asleep. I let him be and dozed off,” he says. Nitin remembers being woken up by his father, who teased him: “Aaj mera gala ekdum theek hai, aaj tujhe nahi gaane doonga (My voice feels perfect today, so I won’t let you sing at all).”

Mukesh then stepped into the shower. “Suddenly, I had an awful vision. I did something which I had never done before. I knocked on the door and said, ‘Papa’. He was almost irritable. ‘Kya hai? I am getting ready.’”

Nitin started feeling more relaxed. But when Mukesh took more time, he called him a second time — only to get a similar response.

A couple of minutes later, the door opened and Mukesh emerged, panting. He took a cushion and sat on the chair. “I instantly sensed something was wrong, and started patting his back gently. He said, ‘Don’t touch me, I am feeling uncomfortable.’ He was also sweating.”

Nitin called Lata and the hotel reception. The paramedics arrived within minutes, but before them came Lata with her ‘bhabhi’. She applied a tika on Mukesh’s forehead. “Lata didi was scared and aghast,” says Nitin.

“My father scolded me, ‘Why did you have to call her, main theek ho jaoonga (I’ll be alright),’ he said.” Before the paramedics put him on a wheelchair and took him down to the ambulance, Mukesh asked for the Ramayan, which he read and recited every day. “In the ambulance, he was calling out to his own mother,” says Nitin.

The ambulance reached Detroit General Hospital in about 10 minutes. Nitin was relieved to see an Indian doctor among the medical staff. “I knew that at least one of the doctors would know who he was treating,” he says. Mukesh was wheeled into emergency. The Ramayan was returned. That was the last Nitin saw him alive.

Mukesh was only 53. Sadly, two other singing greats — Mohammed Rafi and Kishore Kumar — also died in their 50s.

Nitin says the number nine held a special significance in Mukesh’s life. Nitin Mukesh was born on July 27 — the numerals adding up to nine. When his father travelled to Kenya and Mauritius for shows in 1963, he chose June 27 as the travel date. In 1976, they left for the US-Canada tour on July 27. In Detroit, after Mukesh saw that the hotel room number was 2007, he said: “Sabse achha show hoga (It’ll be the best show).” The Detroit performance would have been the ninth show of the tour. Ironically, Mukesh also passed away on August 27.

Mukesh’s seven-album magnum opus, Tulsi Ramayan, remains an evergreen classic.

One of the albums, Sundarkand, has 6.6 million plays on YouTube, along with more than 3,500 emotional comments.

Old-timers recall how the devotional tracks would play in temples near their homes, becoming a part of their daily lives.

Many singers have since recorded the Ramayan, but Mukesh was “the pioneer”, Nitin points out. “So many people come and talk to me about the Ramayan. And, till date, the album fetches royalty,” he says. 

Mukesh’s rendition of the epic is rich, resonant and filled with a devoutness that comes from deeply feeling the words. The seven albums were recorded over seven to eight years, during which the singer survived four heart attacks. The album’s composer and Mukesh’s friend, Murli Manohar Swaroop, once reassured Nitin after his father’s fourth attack:

“Chinta mat kar, Nitin, papa ko kuchh nahi honewala hai. Ramayan baaki hai, bhai (Don’t worry, Nitin, nothing will happen to your dad. The Ramayan is still left).”

The recording of the final Ramayan album was completed just a few days before Mukesh and Nitin flew out for the tour. “When he came back home that night, he sobbed like a child and said, ‘My mission is complete’.”

Many of Mukesh’s signature tracks were recorded with Shankar-Jaikishan. But several of his unforgettable numbers, including the song for which he received the National Award, Kai Baar Yun Bhi Dekha Hai from Rajnigandha, were composed by Salil Chowdhury.

“So many male singers sang for him. But he handpicked the songs that he gave Papa. They sat and sang together, ate and drank together,” says Nitin.

Nitin also recalls that Salil da ruffled feathers when he gave the Anand song Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaaye to Mukesh.

The original Bengali version, Aamaye Proshno Kore Neel Dhrubotaara, had been sung by Hemant Kumar. “But he insisted that Mukesh would sing the number,” Nitin says.

He also remembers the forgotten Kaise Manaoon Piyawa from the 1961 film Chaar Diwari — a song that “perished like an unseen desert flower” when it was first released. “But in America, the audience still asks for that song.”

Salil Chowdhury’s tunes for Madhumati and Anand were chartbusters. But Nitin points to two other Salil classics sung by Mukesh — Zindagi Khwab Hai from Jagte Raho and Nain Hamare from Annadata. “They are perennial favourites,” he says.

Leg-spinner B S Chandrashekhar, who fashioned a bunch of unforgettable Test victories for India in the 1970s, was perhaps Mukesh’s greatest fan.

Journalist Raju Bharatan once wrote in the Weekly that the ace spinner possessed more than 100 records of K L Saigal and over 300 albums of Mukesh.

Former India captain Sunil Gavaskar has recalled how Chandra would be fired up by a Mukesh song playing on a transistor radio in the stands.

When Ajit Wadekar’s team returned after winning India’s first Test series in England in 1971, Chandrashekhar was the toast of the nation. His leg-breaks and googlies had produced a dream spell of 6/38 and destroyed England at The Oval. Mukesh was in hospital at the time, having suffered his second heart attack. Chandra drove straight from the airport to meet his idol.

“He was India’s man of the moment. But he came to the hospital to meet Papa. My father was also thrilled and humbled. The doctors took care to ensure that he wasn’t too excited. Both were in tears,” recalls Nitin. “Chandra could hardly speak Hindi. But he knew every Mukesh song.”

Over the years, the singer and the cricketer developed a strong mutual admiration society. Every time Chandra was in Bombay, he would visit Mukesh at his residence. “On different occasions, he brought Gavaskar, Vishwanath, and Syed Kirmani home,” Nitin says.

In 1973, against Tony Lewis’s visiting team, Chandrashekhar scalped a record 35 wickets at Bombay’s Brabourne Stadium. “Chandra signed and gifted the record-breaking ball and a bat signed by the Indian cricket team to my younger brother, Mohnish,” he recalls.

Chandra was in Bangalore when Mukesh passed away. The story goes that the flights were fully booked and Chandra barely managed to get himself onboard. “He was heartbroken, absolutely uncontrollable,” says Nitin. Chandra later named his son Nitin as a mark of respect to the singer.

Mukesh may have been gone for five decades, but the emotional intimacy of his voice has never really faded.

His songs continue to find listeners in moments of loneliness, nostalgia and heartbreak. His Ramayan continues to play in homes and temples. And the memories of the man behind that unmistakable voice continue to live on through those who knew him.

The singer is long gone. The songs endure.

The history of the Indian television detective can be traced through his tools. Karamchand had a carrot and an assistant named Kitty; the crime procedurals of the satellite era brought forensic laboratories, mobile vans and officers who could extract a confession before the next commercial break. Today, CCTV footage and phone locations do much of the sleuthing.

Between these eras sits CID, which began in 1998, survived the saas-bahu boom and remained on air until 2018. Its return in December 2024 after a six-year absence proved that reruns, memes and YouTube clips can keep a television institution alive long after its original audience has grown up.

For Dayanand Shetty, 56, stepping back into Inspector Daya’s familiar jacket felt less like a comeback than reporting for duty. Plans for a feature film had taken shape during the pandemic before the channel opted for a new television season. “Ultimately, it’s the fans’ prayers, love and affection that made the show come back,” he says. “For me, it was nostalgia, but I felt I never left. We were continuously working on the show, the story and trying to do something in a film format.”

The programme’s great trick was allowing its officers to become larger than the cases. ACP Pradyuman’s raised finger, Abhijeet’s suspicions and Inspector Daya’s approach to locked doors became more memorable than most murderers.

The series could also be technically ambitious. In 2004, 22 actors and a 175-member production unit filmed a 111-minute episode in one continuous shot, earning a Guinness World Record. Yet the line that travelled furthest required only four words: “Daya, darwaza tod do.”

“I won’t say it’s a national meme, but people love it,” Shetty says. “Wherever I go, news anchors use ‘Daya, darwaza tod do.’ It’s used in cricket commentary, interviews and across platforms, along with ‘Kuch toh gadbad hai, Daya’.”

Memes can flatten an actor into a punchline. In Shetty’s case, they became free syndication, carrying the character to viewers born after the original episodes were broadcast. “Gen Z is discovering it. Forget Gen Z, even Gen Alpha is!” he says. He has encountered children as young as three who refuse meals until an episode is switched on.

The role’s physical authority preceded Shetty’s acting career. He was a competitive shot-putter and discus thrower until a knee injury led him towards theatre, advertising and television.

“I was never a bodybuilder or a model. The career just happened,” he says. “I used to go to the gym regularly because I was an athlete. When I quit athletics, I joined a gym just to stay active.” He stopped heavy weight training more than a decade ago and now relies on stretching, occasional cycling and home-cooked food. Television’s most famous battering ram has evidently required less maintenance than the doors.

Shetty’s move into vlogging now lets viewers meet the men behind the severe expressions. Friends and colleagues had repeatedly reminded him that “the entire world is doing something on YouTube”. He and Aditya Srivastava began Safar Khane Ka, retracing filming locations and visiting the restaurants that fed them between shoots.

“People saw where we ate after shoots and where we ordered food from. The audience loved it,” Shetty says. His channel now carries behind-the-scenes footage and updates about forthcoming projects. “It’s just my first step as a vlogger.”

The appeal lies in surrendering some of the control required by acting. “Vlogging is much more convenient because it’s extempore. You live in the moment and speak your mind without worrying about scripts, lighting or sweating. As an actor, everything is calculated: how Daya stands, looks and speaks.”

He and his long-time colleagues are now developing the Udupi Series, too, another crime programme for the internet. “Crime shows are our forte, but I also love emotional, family-based dramas focused on relationships,” he says.

But the online audience is a different beast. Viewers want to enjoy their shows with takeaways, while planning holidays; creator culture also feeds on access. It’s a whole different world he’s entered. And after decades spent breaking into rooms, Shetty appears to have understood that the contemporary performer is less about breaking down doors, but more about opening them to let viewers in.