Showing posts with label An Ordinary Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label An Ordinary Life. Show all posts
Nawazuddin Siddiqui blames his tell-all memoir on his ‘inner Manto’
8:07 AM
Niharika Lal (BOMBAY TIMES; December 13, 2017)
Revealing details about his romantic life in his memoir, An Ordinary Life,
without the permission of the women involved, got Nawazuddin Siddiqui a
lot of flak. He was accused of “exploiting and disrespecting” women to
sell his autobiography, and a Delhibased advocate even registered a
complaint with the National Commission for Women (NCW) against him for
“outraging the modesty” of Niharika Singh, his Miss Lovely
co-star. Following this complaint, Nawazuddin had tweeted an apology,
saying that he was withdrawing the book. The memoir had also mentioned
his relationship with Sunita Rajwar, who had also sent a legal notice to
the actor.
Speaking at a session of Jashn-e-Rekhta, a
festival which celebrates the spirit of Urdu, in Delhi, the actor
explained to the audience why he bared it all in his book, blaming it on
his ‘inner Manto’. Nawaz, who is playing the role of Saadat Hasan Manto
in a Nandita Das film, said, “Yeh sach maine nahin, mere andar ke Manto ne bulwaya tha. Mujhe Manto mein jo sabse achhi baat lagi, woh yeh thi ki unhone apni life mein
jo sach dekha, wohi likha. Usi dauran ye cheez mere dimag pe itni chha
gayi ki main itna zyada sach bolne laga ki bahut zyada controversy shuru ho gayi. Baad mein mujhe realise hua ki yaar yeh thoda zyada ho gaya. Thoda sambhal kar rehna padega ab.”
In his apology tweet, Nawaz had written, “I m apologising 2 every1 who’s sentiments r hurt bcz of d chaos around my memoir #AnOrdinaryLife I hereby regret & decide 2 withdraw my book. (sic)” Explaining the reason behind the tweet, he said, “I wrote a book, which led to a lot of controversy. So my director said public apology de do. Toh maine apology de di. Darr toh hota hai sach bolne mein. Par main kabhikabhi sochta hoon,‘Yaar! Sach mein bhi yeh hone laga – thoda chhupa lo, thoda pretend kar lo, thoda bata do. Toh phir kya sach?’”
‘SOCH RAHA HOON SACH BOLOON YA PHIR SE PURANA NAWAZ BAN JAOON?’
After excerpts from his memoir were out, Nawaz was also accused of lying about the details of his relationships with the women mentioned in it. But the actor insisted at the session that he used to lie and pretend before he made Manto– that making a film on the playwright changed him as a person. He said, “Main pehle pretend karke bolta tha, jhooth bolta tha, par Manto ke baad mujhe lagne laga ki sach bolunga. Himmat usse bandhi. Par mere bahut saare doston ne gaali deni shuru kar di – ‘tu pagal hai?’. Toh mujhe laga, yaar, galat impression pad jayega. Mujhe realise hua honest rehna mehenga pad raha hai. Abhi main kashti ki majhdaar mein hoon, kisi nateeje par nahin pahuncha hoon ki main sach bolun ya main phir se wohi Nawaz ban jaoon.”
Fearing legal repercussions, Nawazuddin Siddiqui withdraws his memoir 'An Ordinary Life'
8:28 AM
Following a complaint registered by a Delhi-based advocate with the National Commission for Women
Nishi Tiwari (MUMBAI MIRROR; October 31, 2017)
Over a week since excerpts from Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s memoir, An Ordinary Life, started doing the media rounds, the actor, and his publisher, Penguin Random House India, have decided to pull the book off the stands following its much-hyped October 25 release.
The news came close on the heels of reports that Delhi based advocate Gautam Gulati has registered a complaint with the National Commission for Women (NCW) for outraging the modesty of Nawaz’s Miss Lovely co-star, Niharika Singh.
The publishers confirmed that the book has been recalled but refused to divulge further details. Nawaz share on Twitter, “I am apologising to everyone whose sentiments are hurt because of the chaos around my memoir, An Ordinary Life. I hereby regret and decide to withdraw my book.”
Gulati was quoted as saying, “I don’t know Niharika Singh personally nor have I spoken to her. I have lodged a complaint with NCW with a request to give direction for the registration of FIR under sections 376 (rape), 497 (adultery) and 509 (insulting the modesty of a woman) of IPC. He was evidently married when he was having an affair with Niharika and kept her in the dark about it.”
Snippets from Nawaz’s tell-all memoir assumed a life of their own, when people mentioned in them pleaded misrepresentation. Niharika Singh, who met the actor on the sets of Ashim Ahluwalia’s 2012 film, Miss Lovely, wrote a scathing rebuttal to his claims that they dated for over a year. “Nawaz and I had a brief relationship in 2009 during the making of Miss Lovely that lasted less than a few months. So today when he paints me as a woman in fur enticing him into her bedroom with candles, or desperately calling him and mailing other women on his behalf, I can only laugh. He obviously wants to sell his book and it would appear that he is willing to exploit and disrespect a woman just to do so,” the actress clarified in a Facebook post.
This was followed by another rebuttal from Sunita Rajwar, Nawaz’s first girlfriend and a fellow NSD graduate. Calling him a perennial “sympathy seeker”, she wrote in her own Facebook post, “I did not leave you because you were poor, but because of your poor way of thinking.”
Rituparna Chatterjee, the US-based author of the book, remained unavalaible for comment.
On condition of anonymity, a publishing professional told Mirror that the book should’ve masked the identities of all parties involved and also sought their permission before publishing details of their interactions with Nawaz.
-------------------------------
Fearing legal repercussions to his raunchy expose, actor withdraws copies of his memoir from bookshelves to rewrite his story
Mohar Basu (MID-DAY; October 31, 2017)
It has been a trumatic week for Nawazuddin Siddiqui, who faced severe backlash after mid-day published explosive excerpts from his tell-all biography, An Ordinary Life: A Memoir, about his affair with Niharika Singh. In a dramatic move, the actor took to his Twitter yesterday to announce that he was withdrawing his memoir in the light of events that transpired over the past few days.
Siddiqui wrote, “I am apologizing to everyone whose sentiments are hurt because of the chaos around my memoir #AnOrdinaryLife. I hereby regret and decide to withdraw my book. (grammar corrected)”
He found himself in the eye of the storm ever since the excerpts were exclusively published in mid- day. Close on the heels of his raunchy confessions, Niharika Singh had slammed the actor in an interview to midday (October 25), where she claimed that she was considering legal action.
On October 29, Delhi advocate Gautam Gulati lodged a complaint with National Women’s Commision, requesting for an FIR to be filed against him for adultery, rape and ‘insulting the modesty of a woman.’
Sources close to the actor reveal that the decision to withdraw the book was not a knee-jerk reaction. “He is deeply upset with the reactions that have come in. A senior Bollywood star was supposed to grace the book launch, but backed out following the controversy. NCW too has summoned him following the complaint. To avoid any further mess, he thought it best to withdraw the book,” revealed a source.
The publishing house, Penguin-Viking, had printed nearly 4000 copies, of which about 2000 have been already sold off from e-commerce websites. The publishers have now requested the sellers to return the remaining copies.
The spokesperson of the publishing house confirmed the same. However, insiders in the publishing house claim that the memoir will now be rewritten in parts, with the focus firmly on his journey from Muzaffarnagar to Bollywood. “A conversation has been initiated with Rituparna Chatterjee [co- author of the memoir]. All details of his marriage and personal life will be removed in the new version,” added the source. Chatterjee, on her part, told mid- day, “It’s way too early to comment.”
Miss Lovely actor Singh didn’t respond to our message till the time of going to press. As far as his legal case is concerned, advocate Rizwan Siddiquee representing the actor said, “The complaint made to the NCW is baseless. He has 48 hours to withdraw it.”
Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s tell-all biography lands him in a legal soup
8:12 AM
Mohar Basu (MID-DAY; October 30, 2017)
after mid-day published explosive excerpts from Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s tell-all biography, An Ordinary Life: A Memoir, about his affair with Niharika Singh, the actor finds himself in hot water.
While Singh had admitted to mid-day (in the issue dated October 25) that she was considering legal action against Siddiqui for sharing intimate details about their relationship without her consent, Delhi advocate Gautam Gulati has registered a complaint at National Commission for Women (NCW) against him for outraging the modesty of his Miss Lovely co-star.
Gulati says, “I don’t know Niharika Singh personally nor have I spoken to her. I have lodged a complaint with NCW with a request to give direction for the registration of FIR under sections 376 (rape), 497 (adultery) and 509 (insulting the modesty of a woman) of IPC. He was evidently married when he was having an affair with Niharika and kept her in the dark about it.”
Following the furore that Siddiqui’s racy confessions had created, a livid Singh had revealed to the media that she had found out later that “he had a wife in the village whom he never spoke about.”
In his complaint, Gulati writes, “The actor has published it without having second thoughts about how this kind of act can ruin the married life of the victim. For minting money and garnering free publicity for his book, the actor has bargained the modesty of a woman.”
Sources inform that the NCW is likely to summon Singh for an inquiry next week. The book will be launched on November 2.
I don’t want someone sensationalizing episodes of my life-Irrfan Khan on why he isn’t keen on a biography
7:50 AM
Nayandeep Rakshit (DNA; October 27, 2017)
Recently, Nawazuddin Siddiqui was in the news for his shocking revelations about his relationships and sexcapades in his biography — An Ordinary Life: A Memoir. While there is an ongoing war of words between Nawaz and Niharika Singh, we caught up with Nawaz’s arch-rival Irrfan Khan and asked him if he was keen to get a biography written.
He brushes off the idea saying, “If you ask about me getting my own biography, I cannot do it. Because for me, to go around praising myself is the most boring thing to do.” He adds, “For the last four years, Penguin publishers are after me to write my story. They are now exhausted trying.”
NO CONTROVERSY
What’s stopping him, we ask. “I don’t want someone sensationalizing episodes of my life and writing about it that way. Then getting people to talk about it and making it news, will be the last thing I would do,” he asserts. We wonder whether that is a jibe at Nawaz. History has it that the two have been at loggerheads for quite some time now.
'IT CANNOT BE AT THE CENTRE OF IT'
The only way to get him to be part of biography is by moving the focus from him. “I cannot be at the centre of it. If I get someone who will write it for me, without me, where I just happen to be and they concentrate more on my times, I will definitely be interested.” Rather than the controversial tidbits, Irrfan wants his biography to focus on other key episodes and anecdotes from his life. “I am from a feudal background, we used to manage in a one-bedroom-hall house...what my father used to do and how things slowly happened — if somebody can have a take on that, I would love to see that. But it should not be about me,” he says.
NO BIOPIC EITHER
Not just a book, he feels his story won’t even make for an interesting film script. “It has become a trend and now, a formula. So no, a biopic on my life would be a mistake.”
Nawazuddin Siddiqui has chosen to fabricate stories and manipulate a fleeting relationship-Niharika Singh
8:04 AM
After mid-day publishes Nawazuddin’s raunchy confessions about ex-lover Niharika Singh, starlet lashes out, calls him exploitative
Mohar Basu (MID-DAY; October 25, 2017)
A day after mid-day published excerpts from Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s tell-all biography, An Ordinary Life: A Memoir, about his affair with Niharika Singh, the Miss Lovely actor is seeing red. Singh said that she is contemplating legal action against him for defaming her and spilling details about their relationship without her consent. “When that happens, I will let you know,” she replied to this reporter on text message.
Claiming that the stories are fabricated, she said, “Nawaz and I had a brief relationship during the making of Miss Lovely that lasted less than a few months. So today when he paints me as a woman in fur enticing him into my bedroom with candles, I can only laugh. He obviously wants to sell his book.”
However, a source close to Siddiqui claimed to be aghast at Singh playing the victim card considering she was in the loop all along. The source said, “To suggest that he had done it without her knowledge is incorrect on her part. He’d written the book when he was in New York about a year ago, and he had made it a point to inform her about it categorically.”
The source added that Siddiqui was initially amused over Singh crying foul over his confessions. “He found her statement funny. But when a few media people landed up at his place for his comment, he realised that she’d stretched it too far.”
In the excerpt published by midday on October 23, Siddiqui revealed how his affair with Singh began. “For the very first time I went to Niharika’s house... When she opened the door, revealing a glimpse of the house, I was speechless with amazement. A hundred, or so it seemed, little candles flickered beautifully. She wore soft faux fur, looking devastatingly gorgeous, her beauty illuminated even more in the candlelight. And I, being the lusty village bumpkin that I am, scooped her up in my arms and headed straight for the bedroom. We made passionate love. And just like that, out of the blue, I began a relationship with Niharika Singh, a relationship which I did not know then would last for almost one and a half years...”
Siddiqui also claimed that Singh would send mails to one of his lovers on his behalf. Horrified that Siddiqui had gone public with his confessions, Singh issued a statement on Tuesday, saying, “He has chosen to fabricate stories and manipulate a fleeting relationship. None of what he has written has been with my knowledge, let alone my consent. It is this very aspect of Nawaz that caused me to end my relationship with him in the first place. I have always maintained that he’s a brilliant actor. However, I had hoped these acting skills would have remained confined only to the screen. Still, I wish him well.”
How Nawazuddin Siddiqui's real-life romances mirror his career graph
8:01 AM
Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s romances, with false starts and theatricalities, take after his career graph
Nishi Tiwari (MUMBAI MIRROR; October 25, 2017)
Nawazuddin Siddiqui had proved his acting mettle early on in his career with blink-and-you-miss yet powerful turns in Sarfarosh (1999) and Black Friday (2007). But it was only in 2012, that the actor truly waltzed into the public consciousness as Faisal, the reluctant heir to Manoj Bajpayee’s Sardar Khan in Anurag Kashyap’s Gangs Of Wasseypur.
In his memoir, An Ordinary Life, published by Penguin Random House India and co-written with Rituparna Chatterjee, Nawaz springs another surprise by way of his relationships.
Much like the mild-mannered Faizal whose propensity for the mafia world is serendipitous in the wake of his father’s assassination, Nawaz’s first relationship set him on a path of love and episodic heartbreak. Despite himself — he describes himself as a “lusty village bumpkin” and a “selfish bastard” self-consciously — he would go on to date several women before settling down. And revisit their memory with a poetically wistful flair that we wouldn’t have associated with him. “It was very sweet, like rain is after a very long spell of drought,” he says about his first girlfriend — another National School of Drama graduate.
When it ends, as abruptly as it began and on the girl’s terms, the low hits him as unassumingly as the high of the first rushes. “With every brushstroke, I tried to erase her off my heart as well. But, of course, the brush refused to do double duty and erased only the marks on the wall, not the scars on my heart,” he narrates.
Then, there’s a “lovely, dear Jewish girl from New Jersey, who lived in New York City”, Suzanne, who followed Nawaz back to India and kept extending her visa every few months to live in with him. Her departure (to sort out her visa) coincided with Nawaz commencing work on Ashim Ahluwalia’s Miss Lovely in 2012, where he met actress Niharika Singh.
He documents their relationship that, according to him, started off with them heading straight to the bedroom, and lasted a little over a year. The tone is consistently reverential and unassuming but Niharika has stated that it was a fleeting romance, and that Nawaz is talking about it just to sell his book. The jury is still out on the veracity of both their claims. Nawaz closes the romance chapter of his life with his first wife, Sheeba, and girlfriend-turned- current wife, Aaliya (aka Anjali). Unsurprisingly, Aaliya is to Nawaz what Mohsina was to Faisal.
Nawazuddin Siddiqui had proved his acting mettle early on in his career with blink-and-you-miss yet powerful turns in Sarfarosh (1999) and Black Friday (2007). But it was only in 2012, that the actor truly waltzed into the public consciousness as Faisal, the reluctant heir to Manoj Bajpayee’s Sardar Khan in Anurag Kashyap’s Gangs Of Wasseypur.
In his memoir, An Ordinary Life, published by Penguin Random House India and co-written with Rituparna Chatterjee, Nawaz springs another surprise by way of his relationships.
Much like the mild-mannered Faizal whose propensity for the mafia world is serendipitous in the wake of his father’s assassination, Nawaz’s first relationship set him on a path of love and episodic heartbreak. Despite himself — he describes himself as a “lusty village bumpkin” and a “selfish bastard” self-consciously — he would go on to date several women before settling down. And revisit their memory with a poetically wistful flair that we wouldn’t have associated with him. “It was very sweet, like rain is after a very long spell of drought,” he says about his first girlfriend — another National School of Drama graduate.
When it ends, as abruptly as it began and on the girl’s terms, the low hits him as unassumingly as the high of the first rushes. “With every brushstroke, I tried to erase her off my heart as well. But, of course, the brush refused to do double duty and erased only the marks on the wall, not the scars on my heart,” he narrates.
Then, there’s a “lovely, dear Jewish girl from New Jersey, who lived in New York City”, Suzanne, who followed Nawaz back to India and kept extending her visa every few months to live in with him. Her departure (to sort out her visa) coincided with Nawaz commencing work on Ashim Ahluwalia’s Miss Lovely in 2012, where he met actress Niharika Singh.
He documents their relationship that, according to him, started off with them heading straight to the bedroom, and lasted a little over a year. The tone is consistently reverential and unassuming but Niharika has stated that it was a fleeting romance, and that Nawaz is talking about it just to sell his book. The jury is still out on the veracity of both their claims. Nawaz closes the romance chapter of his life with his first wife, Sheeba, and girlfriend-turned- current wife, Aaliya (aka Anjali). Unsurprisingly, Aaliya is to Nawaz what Mohsina was to Faisal.
I had a plain aim: go to her house, make out and leave-Nawazuddin Siddiqui
12:00 PM
MID-DAY (October 23, 2017)
'(My first relation] was like rain after a spell of drought'
I was performing in a play in Mumbai which was when I finally had my first romantic relationship. Incidentally, she too happened to be an NSD graduate, though we had never met there. It was very sweet, like rain is after a very long spell of drought. Sunita had fallen madly in love with me. Every day, she would come over, hang out at my house in Mira Road and scrawl our names in tiny font all over the wall... Then she went off on a holiday to her home town in the hills to see her folks. When she returned, Sunita would not take any of my calls. And when she did at last, I was flabbergasted. After such a deep, passionate love, she simply said, 'Nawaz, you focus on your career. And I will focus on my career.' She cut off all contact after that and I plunged into another deep, deep depression. I took a bucket of fresh white paint and began to replace her artwork on my walls with the blank canvas that they were before...
Living in Mira Road meant that the local train was our lifeline. We were at the station almost all the time. Soon after her call, one day I was at the station and stood there staring at the tracks. A train was coming, screaming its arrival with a lusty horn. It would be simple and instant. Should I jump on to the tracks and end it all? End this struggle, end this life? I had nothing. No love, no work, no money. But some being woke up in me and gave me a metaphorical slap. 'You know this is not your department,' the voice in my head said. 'Then why? Why did you go that way? Why!' it screamed at me.
The train sped away, screaming pompously, cutting through the air... I decided that I would never again be emotional in any relationship... Never again did I allow myself to be vulnerable like that again, not even with my wife... Yet it was important to analyse what had happened... [Sunita must have been advised] she should probably date someone successful, not a struggling, desperate actor who was out of work. Today, Sunita tells everybody that she was once together with me in a very serious relationship. Incredible, isn't it?
'What happens in New York stays in New York'
Those years between 2006 and 2010 were pretty incredible too. The industry had begun to notice me... Strangely, the West was kinder to me first, both in terms of love and work... I was at a cafe once with my friend in New York City's Soho area. The stunning waitress kept staring at me... 'You? You are an actor?' she asked a rhetorical question. 'Yes!' I replied. 'Which film of mine did you see? Gangs of Wasseypur?' She squinted, trying to remember, 'No, no,' she said. 'Another film!' After a few moments, she responded: 'Lunchbox!' We got talking and let's just say what happens in New York stays in New York...
'Why are you not mailing me, Nawaz?'
Before that came Suzanne: a lovely, dear Jewish girl from New Jersey, who lived in New York City. We met there and hit it off. She came to Mumbai and began to live with me... Every few months, she kept extending her visa... The shooting of Miss Lovely commenced. Suzanne used to accompany me there. Then came the day when her visa expired and she needed to return to New York to sort it out. She was gone for many months. One day, while we were shooting a dance scene, something happened to my co-star Niharika Singh... She was suddenly cold, went out of her way to maintain a distance from me and began to keep mum. I was puzzled... She used to be friendly, social and talk quite a bit. I thought it was best to ask her what had happened and so I did, not once, not twice, but several times, for several days... I invited her over for a home-cooked meal, a mutton dish which was my speciality. She politely agreed and came over... Not only did she eat everything that was on her plate, but she praised it as well.
'Now you come to my house, Nawaz. I will cook mutton for you,' she said warmly. For the very first time I went to Niharika's house... When she opened the door, revealing a glimpse of the house, I was speechless with amazement. A hundred, or so it seemed, little candles flickered beautifully. She wore soft faux fur, looking devastatingly gorgeous, her beauty illuminated even more in the candlelight. And I, being the lusty village bumpkin that I am, scooped her up in my arms and headed straight for the bedroom. We made passionate love. And just like that, out of the blue, I began a relationship with Niharika Singh, a relationship which I did not know then would last for almost one and a half years...
Meantime, emails from Suzanne started coming. 'Why are you not mailing me, Nawaz? What's wrong?' I did not respond... I trusted my silence would convey what needed to be conveyed. When I was checking my inbox one day, Niharika happened to see one of her emails. 'Who is this?' she inquired. 'You know very well who it is,' I said. 'It's Suzanne.' 'Wo-ow! It's still going on between you two! Amazing!' Niharika thundered in anger. 'It is wrong. I hope you know that...'
From that day, Niharika began to send emails to Suzanne from my email address. She would type, 'I cannot continue with you ...' and sign off as me. Imagine the shock for Suzanne. She would send heartbreaking replies... After a few of these email exchanges, Suzanne figured that this was not my voice at all. 'Who is this writing, Nawaz? I know this is not you... Who is she? Who is this b***h?' 'B***h!' That word infuriated Niharika so much that she made me end all correspondence with Suzanne forever... I was very sad. Then I thought, so be it, it's all right, I am with Niharika. My melancholy evaporated quickly.
'I was a rascal who cared only for himself'
Niharika was an intelligent girl. Being an actor herself meant that she knew and understood my struggle for work... She would call me in frequent spurts throughout the day demanding to know of my whereabouts... [Then] The regularity of the questions felt like being nagged non-stop... There was another piece to this puzzle. Like all girls, Niharika obviously expected some of the sweet conversations that lovers have, to take place between us. But I was quite a selfish b*****d. I had a plain aim: go to her house, make out and leave. I could not talk lovey-dovey too much. It finally struck her that I was a rascal who cared only for himself. (Actually, all the girls I have ever been with have had this same complaint about me. I would only come to them for my own needs. Otherwise, I might not even take their calls.) When I went to her place next, she was wearing a silk robe. I ran my hand over its coolness around her waist, grabbing her but she pushed me away. 'No, Nawaz!' she said. 'I won't meet you again. This is enough.' I pleaded, I cried, I apologized. But she remained adamant. She had had enough. So that was that, we broke up cutting off all contact. Two months later, another girl came into my life in a most mysterious way. I did not know then that years later, I would marry her."
Excerpts from Siddiqui's tell-all biography An Ordinary Life (Penguin-Viking, 2017)
Nawazuddin Siddiqui opens up on his first marriage with Sheeba & then getting married to his sweetheart Aaliya
8:06 AM
How a tumultuous relationship, followed by an equally rocky arranged alliance, led Nawazuddin Siddiqui back to Anjali, who’d become his second wife, Aaliya
MUMBAI MIRROR (October 23, 2017)
I would follow her, plead for forgiveness and cajole her to return home. This became a sort of a ritual, like a cassette tape annoyingly put on repeat. Although I loved her very much, I thought she might be too risky to get married to. So I decided to not get married at all. The saga of love and running around in circles continued for something like a year and a half. Then came a time when she did not return for a very, very long time. I forget the exact length of time. I was rather fed up of running around like this repeatedly.
Even though my heart pined for her, I did not go to get her. The prolonged period turned into a silent break-up. I think nowadays they call it ‘ghosting’. The loneliness was getting to me now.
► Ammi picked a lovely girl called Sheeba who hailed from Haldwani, which is near Nainital. I got married a few months before the shoot of Patang. Ahead of Haldwani, lie Bijnor, Najibabad, etc.; most of Sheeba’s family had settled in Haldwani and around it. Anjali had disappeared for almost a year; there had been no word from her at all. I got married and went to shoot Patang in Ahmedabad, tagging Sheeba along. We lived together for nearly two months. The crew of Patang knows her well. Then she went home and I went on to shoot my next film. Sheeba was a wonderful girl with a heart of gold but her brother was very intrusive. He interfered in our marriage constantly.
► Before I had set off for the court, Ammi too had advised me on similar lines. ‘If you feel there is even a teeny bit, even a drop of love left between the two of you, suleh kar lena (go for a compromise). Tell the judge then that you have made a compromise and you two want to live together.’ Her voice rang in my ears, her advice swirled in my head in a loop. I tried to make eye contact with the woman who was still my wife, but might not be within a matter of minutes. Her eyes were often lowered or gazing elsewhere. Perhaps it was a mismatch of moments. I tried again and again and again, my desperate, apologetic eyes seeking hers, but I just could not get her to look at me. (I got plenty of eye contact from her brother though.)
Our hearing began. The judge called Sheeba and asked her, ‘What do you want?’ She replied, as if with a sense of urgency, ‘I want a divorce. These guys have tortured us.’ My heart sank on the spot. My lawyer, to whom I had communicated Ammi’s wishes as my own which indeed they were, whispered in my ears what I already knew, ‘They have asked for divorce. There is nothing we can do now. I’m sorry, Nawaz.’
► Anjali and I began to meet again and soon after, we got back together. She would arrive very upbeat, with a confidence that my house was her own. She treated the tiny space—which then was still the one-room flat in Malad—as if it was her own. It was lovely. Her presence soothed me. But something was different. This time, she demanded marriage right away. She insisted upon it continuously. I was afraid: what if she repeated her ways of leaving in bouts of anger? She persisted, trying to assure me that she would not. In Budhana, we, especially the elders, believe that any spoilt child — a spoilt youngster actually— is bound to mend his or her ways once she or he gets married.
► During the ceremony, the mullah told Anjali that she would need a Muslim name for the nikah, while her Hindu name would be in brackets. ‘Zainab,’ Anjali said instantly. ‘You can keep my name Zainab.’ I was completely shocked and looked at her wide-eyed in silent bewilderment. How did she come up with a random name like that on the spot? Your name is your identity. How could you change it just like that?
► Approximately three years after our wedding, Anjali decided to rename herself.
Excerpts from An Ordinary Life, A Memoir, by Nawazuddin Siddiqui with Rituparna Chatterjee, and published by Penguin Random House India
In Bollywood, the heroine is still a prop and the hero must dance and shoot people-Nawazuddin Siddiqui
8:01 AM
Sharmila Ganesan Ram (THE TIMES OF INDIA; October 22, 2017)
As if to casually justify the title of his soon-to-release memoir 'An Ordinary Life', a pyjama-clad Nawazuddin Siddiqui is sitting on the velvet sofa of his Andheri office with his legs folded under him.
Ash-grey lips alternating between sips of green tea and long drags from a freshly rolled-up cigarette, the red-eyed actor says he owns two "high-tech" homes nearby but their lavishness alienates the rustic in him. Both in person and in his new memoir co-authored by writer Rituparna Chatterjee, Siddiqui seems reluctant to fully embrace his ascent from the dung cake-laden walls of Budhana village in western UP to the red carpet of Cannes.
In Budhana, Siddiqui — the eldest of eight — grew up washing buffaloes, wrestling to develop muscles in vain, and declaring his love to a girl by sticking romantic notes to kites. Not only was he the first to don a pair of jeans here but also the first to become a graduate. What followed was a stint at a petrochemical firm in Vadodara, the discovery of theatre there, National School of Drama, day job as security guard in Noida, a 12-year-long struggle in Bombay, marriage, divorce, marriage, daughter, son and, finally, success. He talks to Sharmila Ganesan Ram about the power of lies, Saadat Hasan Manto's honesty and the things he can't talk about
You've shared many personal details such as your series of relationships. Were you ever worried about the reactions?
I wanted to be honest as this is a memoir after all but I am also nervous because I have named many women that I either had crushes on or had affairs with. I don't know how my wife will react to that. But I'm not that worried about (public) reactions as I'm not a trend-following, market-pleasing actor.
Why were you called 'Risky Pehelwan' in Budhana?
I was very weak so my mother enrolled me to train under wrestler Mullah Pehelwan. He used to think I was brilliant but weak. Kushti matches in our village used to be hour-long events typically but in my case, either the opponent would defeat me or I would defeat him, all within a minute. So I was called Risky Pehelwan.
How does Budhana react to your success?
People there shower me with love but there's one particular relative of mine — in his sixties — who still refuses to believe that the guy he is seeing on screen is me. There is a cinema hall in our village now and every time I am on, he turns to the person on the next seat and says this isn't Nawazuddin but someone who looks and sounds like him.
Your mother was shortlisted by the BBC as one of 100 most influential women recently. Tell us more.
She used to live in a village smaller than Budhana in a mud hut. She was unlettered, started her education only after marriage and went on to coach 150 to 300 kids, some of whom are now in the army and some are doing government jobs.
What did your struggle in Bombay entail?
It started with bit roles in crime serials on TV but soon after, the Ekta Kapoor era came up and TV turned glossy. As many TV serials would be shot in the evening, no one wanted dark-complexioned actors whose faces could not be seen when it was overcast. This would mean extra expenditure on lights. Then came bit roles in films such as Sarfarosh where I would get beaten up. I even did C-grade films with the famous Joginder. One was called Bindiya Maange Bandook.
Your first car was a second-hand Maruti Esteem?
Yes. It was the first big thing I bought from my paycheck for Rs 75000 but it got stolen once and I spent the whole night looking for it. I had a shoot that morning for a film but I couldn't remember the dialogues. In the scene, the actress Shefali Shah had to slap me but she was gentle. So I asked her to slap me hard and when she did, I woke up and was able to remember the dialogues.
Did your stint as a chemist inform your acting in any way?
I used to conduct purity checks on crude oil at a petrochemical factory in Vadodara. What science has taught me is accuracy of measurement which I try to bring into acting by measuring my emotions. Not getting overly sentimental in a sad scene for instance. Foreign-educated directors always say, "do less".
Is Bollywood changing?
Like the 17th century playwright Moliere who would repeat the same type of characters in every play, Bollywood has a set of stock characters — a hero, a heroine, and a comedian. The actress is a prop with a butt and boobs who has no job except to love the hero. The hero must dance and shoot 10 to 15 people unnecessarily. There's no reference to his job or her intellect. Even though that is changing and many are showing courage to do something substantial, there are actors who are turning down good roles to pander to the same kind of cinema.
Where does the star system of Bollywood leave the script?
Many stars get stories written for themselves. They are busy making projects instead of films.
Do characters change you?
Of course. Every character gives as well as takes from you. I'm playing writer Saadat Hasan Manto in a new film and his sensibility resonates deeply with me. He stood for honesty and courage and exposed the society's hypocrisy. I wanted to enter his inner world so I listened to old songs, read him and his contemporaries such as Ismat Chugtai and Premchand and even imagined them having conversations filled not just with mutual admiration but also ego clashes.
Are you able to say things through cinema that you are itching to say in real life but can't?
For sure. For instance, I can't and won't comment on the political climate because I have seen what happened to those who did. But I can channel my urges and my frustrations through my characters. In a famous scene in Raman Raghav 2.0, my serial killer character tells a cop: "Maarte toh aap bhi ho. Par fark yeh hai aap dharam, desh aur insaniyat ka sahara leke maarte ho aur main bas maze ke liye maarta hoon (You kill and so do I. The only difference is you use the crutch of religion, nation or humanity for murder whereas I just kill for fun)." This is so relevant to what is happening in the world now.
As if to casually justify the title of his soon-to-release memoir 'An Ordinary Life', a pyjama-clad Nawazuddin Siddiqui is sitting on the velvet sofa of his Andheri office with his legs folded under him.
Ash-grey lips alternating between sips of green tea and long drags from a freshly rolled-up cigarette, the red-eyed actor says he owns two "high-tech" homes nearby but their lavishness alienates the rustic in him. Both in person and in his new memoir co-authored by writer Rituparna Chatterjee, Siddiqui seems reluctant to fully embrace his ascent from the dung cake-laden walls of Budhana village in western UP to the red carpet of Cannes.
In Budhana, Siddiqui — the eldest of eight — grew up washing buffaloes, wrestling to develop muscles in vain, and declaring his love to a girl by sticking romantic notes to kites. Not only was he the first to don a pair of jeans here but also the first to become a graduate. What followed was a stint at a petrochemical firm in Vadodara, the discovery of theatre there, National School of Drama, day job as security guard in Noida, a 12-year-long struggle in Bombay, marriage, divorce, marriage, daughter, son and, finally, success. He talks to Sharmila Ganesan Ram about the power of lies, Saadat Hasan Manto's honesty and the things he can't talk about
You've shared many personal details such as your series of relationships. Were you ever worried about the reactions?
I wanted to be honest as this is a memoir after all but I am also nervous because I have named many women that I either had crushes on or had affairs with. I don't know how my wife will react to that. But I'm not that worried about (public) reactions as I'm not a trend-following, market-pleasing actor.
Why were you called 'Risky Pehelwan' in Budhana?
I was very weak so my mother enrolled me to train under wrestler Mullah Pehelwan. He used to think I was brilliant but weak. Kushti matches in our village used to be hour-long events typically but in my case, either the opponent would defeat me or I would defeat him, all within a minute. So I was called Risky Pehelwan.
How does Budhana react to your success?
People there shower me with love but there's one particular relative of mine — in his sixties — who still refuses to believe that the guy he is seeing on screen is me. There is a cinema hall in our village now and every time I am on, he turns to the person on the next seat and says this isn't Nawazuddin but someone who looks and sounds like him.
Your mother was shortlisted by the BBC as one of 100 most influential women recently. Tell us more.
She used to live in a village smaller than Budhana in a mud hut. She was unlettered, started her education only after marriage and went on to coach 150 to 300 kids, some of whom are now in the army and some are doing government jobs.
What did your struggle in Bombay entail?
It started with bit roles in crime serials on TV but soon after, the Ekta Kapoor era came up and TV turned glossy. As many TV serials would be shot in the evening, no one wanted dark-complexioned actors whose faces could not be seen when it was overcast. This would mean extra expenditure on lights. Then came bit roles in films such as Sarfarosh where I would get beaten up. I even did C-grade films with the famous Joginder. One was called Bindiya Maange Bandook.
Your first car was a second-hand Maruti Esteem?
Yes. It was the first big thing I bought from my paycheck for Rs 75000 but it got stolen once and I spent the whole night looking for it. I had a shoot that morning for a film but I couldn't remember the dialogues. In the scene, the actress Shefali Shah had to slap me but she was gentle. So I asked her to slap me hard and when she did, I woke up and was able to remember the dialogues.
Did your stint as a chemist inform your acting in any way?
I used to conduct purity checks on crude oil at a petrochemical factory in Vadodara. What science has taught me is accuracy of measurement which I try to bring into acting by measuring my emotions. Not getting overly sentimental in a sad scene for instance. Foreign-educated directors always say, "do less".
Is Bollywood changing?
Like the 17th century playwright Moliere who would repeat the same type of characters in every play, Bollywood has a set of stock characters — a hero, a heroine, and a comedian. The actress is a prop with a butt and boobs who has no job except to love the hero. The hero must dance and shoot 10 to 15 people unnecessarily. There's no reference to his job or her intellect. Even though that is changing and many are showing courage to do something substantial, there are actors who are turning down good roles to pander to the same kind of cinema.
Where does the star system of Bollywood leave the script?
Many stars get stories written for themselves. They are busy making projects instead of films.
Do characters change you?
Of course. Every character gives as well as takes from you. I'm playing writer Saadat Hasan Manto in a new film and his sensibility resonates deeply with me. He stood for honesty and courage and exposed the society's hypocrisy. I wanted to enter his inner world so I listened to old songs, read him and his contemporaries such as Ismat Chugtai and Premchand and even imagined them having conversations filled not just with mutual admiration but also ego clashes.
Are you able to say things through cinema that you are itching to say in real life but can't?
For sure. For instance, I can't and won't comment on the political climate because I have seen what happened to those who did. But I can channel my urges and my frustrations through my characters. In a famous scene in Raman Raghav 2.0, my serial killer character tells a cop: "Maarte toh aap bhi ho. Par fark yeh hai aap dharam, desh aur insaniyat ka sahara leke maarte ho aur main bas maze ke liye maarta hoon (You kill and so do I. The only difference is you use the crutch of religion, nation or humanity for murder whereas I just kill for fun)." This is so relevant to what is happening in the world now.
Excerpts: The role Nawazuddin Siddiqui was ashamed to play
7:59 AM
In a forthcoming memoir, the actor recalls his struggling days when he fainted on the street from hunger and 'slept' onscreen
THE TIMES OF INDIA (October 22, 2017)
I decided to pack my bags and leave for Mumbai, certain that I would be given a red-carpet welcome because I was from NSD. Almost immediately, reality slapped its icy water on my starry-eyed face and cut my dreamy wings. Forget the red carpet, work seemed as scarce as drizzle in drought-prone lands.
Without money trickling in, affording rent, affording food, affording cigarettes, affording girlfriends, affording even transport to get to those auditions, becomes a series of battles. Cheap luxuries like bananas and dry roasted channa kept me going. Very soon, I had to give up on them as well. Then came the days when my friend and roommate, Vijay Raaz, and I went on a strict diet: we had Parle-G (glucose) biscuits and tea for breakfast; we had Parle-G biscuits and tea for lunch; we had Parle-G biscuits and tea for dinner.... Soon, even the Parle-G diet ended.
It was another of those afternoons in Mumbai that I spent roaming under the scorching sun. This time I was waiting below the building where my senior Manoj Mishra resided. He was working in television, so he would probably have some money. I was hoping he could give me an udhari of Rs 100 or so. When he came down and I asked him, he said, 'Nawaz, I have only 100 rupees. I can give you 50.'
'Okay. Theek hai. Pachas hee de de yaar! (All right, give me 50!)'
He had work but had not been paid. Just like I had not been paid for Shool in spite of multiple trips to the production offices, begging them for what was my due. (Finally, they had offered me a meal instead, which my starving belly had gratefully accepted.)
Manoj went to one of the shops around the corner to get change. When he returned with two 50-rupee notes and handed one of them to me, he asked, 'When can you return the money, Nawaz? I have no more. This is all I have.'
I assured him, 'As soon as I get money, I will return it to you.'
But Manoj knew that I was not getting any work. He was concerned. 'Listen, Nawaz, go to your home town if you are not getting any work. It is okay. What can you do?' he advised kindly.
Just then I struck the wall of his building and fainted, falling to the hot ground. He sprinkled cool water on my face. I regained consciousness.
'What happened, Nawaz?'
'Yaar! I don't know. I have not eaten for three or four days,' I told him.
And I burst into sobs. He began crying too. We were not crying out of starvation. Our tears were tears of despair. When would this torture end? Were we so manhoos (ill-fated) that we had no right to a silver lining?
There was a casting director called Jogibhai. During one of those especially desperate phases, I called him a dozen times. 'Jogibhai, please give me some work. I am desperate. Any work will do. Small, big, anything at all. Please, Jogibhai!' I pleaded. He relented on the final call.
'All right, Nawaz. Go to Film City. There is an ad shoot happening there. Go and meet the chief AD (assistant director). I have spoken to him about you.'
'Thank you, Jogibhai! Thank you, Jogibhai!' I exclaimed, more in relief than gratitude.
'They need two guys. So get someone else too.' He hung up.
There is no dearth of struggling actors. I got someone quickly. Both of us walked from Four Bungalows in Andheri to Film City in Goregaon on foot for the 7 am shoot. The ad was for some brand of air-conditioned buses. The two of us were in the crowd, playing roles of junior artistes. All the actors looked engaged in activities, like passengers usually are. Some were playing cards. Somebody was reading a newspaper. Somebody was knitting a sweater. I had declared that I would sleep. It sounds simple, but it was actually a strategic move on my part. Kaam ka kaam and nobody would even notice that I was in this role since my face would be hidden. I was a bit ashamed to play this role since I was an actor and not a junior artiste or what they call an extra in the West. At the end of the shoot, the chief AD gave us a total of Rs 4000, Rs 2000 to the actor who accompanied me and Rs 2000 to me. Before the creases of our smiles could broaden, a man interrupted us. He was the coordinator of junior artistes. 'Who are you guys?' he asked in a stern voice. 'We are artistes,' we replied cautiously. 'What artistes?' he demanded. 'We are junior artistes,' we replied sheepishly.
'Okay. Show me your cards,' he said, stretching out his hand to take and inspect the cards we did not have. 'We have no cards. We are actors.' 'If you are actors, then why are you here doing the work of junior artistes?' he demanded.
'We had no work, sir. So we did this. Please understand, sir,' we pleaded. After a moment's silence, he asked us, 'Did you get paid?' 'Yes.' 'How much?' 'Two thousand per person.' 'All right. So you have two choices,' he explained. 'Either you give me 1000 rupees each or I send both of you to jail.' We reluctantly handed over half of our payment to him and walked out of Film City that evening in silence. Right outside was a bar. I believe it was called Sudarshan Bar, but I am not sure. We still had 1000 rupees each. So we drank rum, Old Monk. And we ate Chinese food. Actually, we ordered everything we could: chicken chilli, shahi paneer, rotis, fried rice . . . who knew when we could afford to eat again!
(Excerpted from An Ordinary Life: A Memoir with permission from Penguin Random House India)
THE TIMES OF INDIA (October 22, 2017)
I decided to pack my bags and leave for Mumbai, certain that I would be given a red-carpet welcome because I was from NSD. Almost immediately, reality slapped its icy water on my starry-eyed face and cut my dreamy wings. Forget the red carpet, work seemed as scarce as drizzle in drought-prone lands.
Without money trickling in, affording rent, affording food, affording cigarettes, affording girlfriends, affording even transport to get to those auditions, becomes a series of battles. Cheap luxuries like bananas and dry roasted channa kept me going. Very soon, I had to give up on them as well. Then came the days when my friend and roommate, Vijay Raaz, and I went on a strict diet: we had Parle-G (glucose) biscuits and tea for breakfast; we had Parle-G biscuits and tea for lunch; we had Parle-G biscuits and tea for dinner.... Soon, even the Parle-G diet ended.
It was another of those afternoons in Mumbai that I spent roaming under the scorching sun. This time I was waiting below the building where my senior Manoj Mishra resided. He was working in television, so he would probably have some money. I was hoping he could give me an udhari of Rs 100 or so. When he came down and I asked him, he said, 'Nawaz, I have only 100 rupees. I can give you 50.'
'Okay. Theek hai. Pachas hee de de yaar! (All right, give me 50!)'
He had work but had not been paid. Just like I had not been paid for Shool in spite of multiple trips to the production offices, begging them for what was my due. (Finally, they had offered me a meal instead, which my starving belly had gratefully accepted.)
Manoj went to one of the shops around the corner to get change. When he returned with two 50-rupee notes and handed one of them to me, he asked, 'When can you return the money, Nawaz? I have no more. This is all I have.'
I assured him, 'As soon as I get money, I will return it to you.'
But Manoj knew that I was not getting any work. He was concerned. 'Listen, Nawaz, go to your home town if you are not getting any work. It is okay. What can you do?' he advised kindly.
Just then I struck the wall of his building and fainted, falling to the hot ground. He sprinkled cool water on my face. I regained consciousness.
'What happened, Nawaz?'
'Yaar! I don't know. I have not eaten for three or four days,' I told him.
And I burst into sobs. He began crying too. We were not crying out of starvation. Our tears were tears of despair. When would this torture end? Were we so manhoos (ill-fated) that we had no right to a silver lining?
There was a casting director called Jogibhai. During one of those especially desperate phases, I called him a dozen times. 'Jogibhai, please give me some work. I am desperate. Any work will do. Small, big, anything at all. Please, Jogibhai!' I pleaded. He relented on the final call.
'All right, Nawaz. Go to Film City. There is an ad shoot happening there. Go and meet the chief AD (assistant director). I have spoken to him about you.'
'Thank you, Jogibhai! Thank you, Jogibhai!' I exclaimed, more in relief than gratitude.
'They need two guys. So get someone else too.' He hung up.
There is no dearth of struggling actors. I got someone quickly. Both of us walked from Four Bungalows in Andheri to Film City in Goregaon on foot for the 7 am shoot. The ad was for some brand of air-conditioned buses. The two of us were in the crowd, playing roles of junior artistes. All the actors looked engaged in activities, like passengers usually are. Some were playing cards. Somebody was reading a newspaper. Somebody was knitting a sweater. I had declared that I would sleep. It sounds simple, but it was actually a strategic move on my part. Kaam ka kaam and nobody would even notice that I was in this role since my face would be hidden. I was a bit ashamed to play this role since I was an actor and not a junior artiste or what they call an extra in the West. At the end of the shoot, the chief AD gave us a total of Rs 4000, Rs 2000 to the actor who accompanied me and Rs 2000 to me. Before the creases of our smiles could broaden, a man interrupted us. He was the coordinator of junior artistes. 'Who are you guys?' he asked in a stern voice. 'We are artistes,' we replied cautiously. 'What artistes?' he demanded. 'We are junior artistes,' we replied sheepishly.
'Okay. Show me your cards,' he said, stretching out his hand to take and inspect the cards we did not have. 'We have no cards. We are actors.' 'If you are actors, then why are you here doing the work of junior artistes?' he demanded.
'We had no work, sir. So we did this. Please understand, sir,' we pleaded. After a moment's silence, he asked us, 'Did you get paid?' 'Yes.' 'How much?' 'Two thousand per person.' 'All right. So you have two choices,' he explained. 'Either you give me 1000 rupees each or I send both of you to jail.' We reluctantly handed over half of our payment to him and walked out of Film City that evening in silence. Right outside was a bar. I believe it was called Sudarshan Bar, but I am not sure. We still had 1000 rupees each. So we drank rum, Old Monk. And we ate Chinese food. Actually, we ordered everything we could: chicken chilli, shahi paneer, rotis, fried rice . . . who knew when we could afford to eat again!
(Excerpted from An Ordinary Life: A Memoir with permission from Penguin Random House India)
I don’t think my life is ordinary-Nawazuddin Siddiqui on his memoirs titled 'An Ordinary Life'
7:55 AM
Subhash K Jha (DNA; September 28, 2017)
Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s memoirs titled, An Ordinary Life will be released soon. “It will officially be out in October. We haven’t decided on a date as yet,” says Nawaz, excited about telling his side of the story so far. “It will cover the entire period from my childhood to the time I arrived in Mumbai. So, it’s pretty much written at the mid-point of my life,” says Nawaz spilling the beans on his book.
Being Honest
“I’ve been as honest in my memoirs as I could be. I haven’t hidden anything. In fact, some people in my life are going to be deeply offended when they read what I have to say. To those who are hurt by my memoirs, I want to say sorry right now, but I had no choice. Either I told my story with utmost honesty or not at all. There’s no point in lies or half-truths if you want to tell your story to the world.” Nawaz is aware that many Bollywood actors and filmmakers have jumped on to the biographic bandwagon. He hasn’t read any of his colleagues’ biographies. “Waqt kahaan hai? I barely had time to complete my own memoirs.”
Nawaz says he took the plunge because his publishers were keen. “Penguin India not only convinced me to tell my story, but they also got a co-author on board. Rituparna Chatterjee, who is from the US, came down to India to spend time with me and record my experiences.”
Time trouble
The busy actor says it has pretty much been a roller-coaster ride of recorded experiences for Chatterjee. “Whenever I had time I called her over to share my experiences. Not only was it about finding time in my schedule, lekin mood bhi toh hona chahiye na? (One has to be in the mood, too). I couldn’t start introspecting about my life any time I was free to do so. Every phase of my life has a different connotation, relevance and significance for me. I can’t respond to every experience in the same way. So, basically the writer had to wean all the information out of me. Main unke sayyam ko salaam karta hoon (I salute her patience).”
The result, says Nawaz, is impressive. “I shouldn’t be saying this myself. But the book has turned out the way I hoped it would. I think I’ve a lot to share with people who come from small towns to the big cities with their big dreams. If I didn’t find my story inspirational I wouldn’t have put it down in a book.”
A film version of Nawaz’s memoirs is not ruled out. “Let’s see how far the book goes. Right now, I am excited about how people will respond to my brutally honest confessions. Being the hero of the story has never been a priority. I don’t mind being seen in an unflattering light.”
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