On the second anniversary of Mulk, the filmmaker says that he still can’t think of anyone who could have pulled off the role of Murad Ali Mohammed better than Rishi Kapoor
Itishree Misra (BOMBAY TIMES; August 4, 2020)

It’s been two years since the release of Mulk, a film that Anubhav Sinha said marked his rebirth as a filmmaker. The story of a Muslim family trying to fight prejudice and regain their honour after a family member turns into a terrorist, the film had Rishi Kapoor and Taapsee Pannu in pivotal roles. The late Rishi Kapoor’s role of Murad Ali Mohammed in the film has been called one of his best performances, and Sinha says that he still can’t think of any other actor who could have pulled it off. On Mulk’s second anniversary, we talk to the director about Rishi Kapoor and the life he put into the character of Murad:

How did you come to cast Rishi Kapoor in the film?
I had never met Rishi Kapoor ji, a friend took me to meet him. Before I met him, I was wondering... pata nahi role karenge ki nahi. But surprisingly, when he heard the story, he really liked the idea and agreed to do the film. I still do not know whom I could have cast as Murad Ali had Chintu ji not done it. It’s impossible for me to think of anyone else in that role. It was written for him and was done brilliantly by him. I wanted a person who looked very vulnerable, endearing and at the same time, very courageous when the situation demanded it. Someone you would want to stand up for, someone you would love. The moment I conceived the character, the first name that came to my mind was of Amitabh Bachchan. But then, I thought that he won’t look defeated. Then slowly, it shifted to Rishi Kapoor. And by the time I had finished writing, I knew that it had to be him.

Rishi Kapoor made Murad Ali Mohammed a very believable character...
Rishi ji was always very nonchalant about his work. I think Rishi Kapoor didn’t celebrate his performance in Mulk as much as he should have. It’s certainly one of his best, if not the best performance. He was never like... maine kya badhiya kaam kiya. He was very casual about his stardom and acting. He had lived all his life being Prithviraj Kapoor’s grandson and Raj Kapoor’s son, so it had become very routine for him.

Reportedly, it would take him three hours for the make-up and prosthetics and another hour to get it off. He didn’t mind that?
I remember we were shooting in Lucknow in October-November and it was unusually hot for that time of the year. He would crib ki, ‘mujhe garmi lag rahi hai, ab mein aur shoot nahi karunga’, but he would still continue to shoot.

In an interview to us, Rishi Kapoor had said that it was the toughest role that he had ever played and he couldn’t ever imagine being cast in that role...
It was that endearing personality of his caught in that bizarre situation that reminded me of Balraj Sahni saheb in Garm Hava (1974). That distraught character, torn between choices, no support system, that’s the same vulnerability that Rishi ji brought into the character of Murad Ali, and that’s why his performance always reminded me of Balraj Sahini’s.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 20, 2020)

It’s been almost half a century, but filmmaker Praveen Nischol vividly remembers a soft-spoken gentleman on the sets of Chetan Anand’s Hanste Zakhm, who would sit quietly in a corner, furiously writing between shots. He was none other than Balraj Sahni who, by then, had already authored books and also penned the screenplay of Dev Anand’s Baazi with Sahir Ludhianvi.

Praveen ji who was assisting Chetan saab on the film, admits he was quite in awe of the legendary actor who bore a striking similarity to his good-looking brother and the film’s hero, Navin Nischol. He recalls rounding up Vinod Mehra, Prem Chopra and Anil Dhawan who lived in the same housing complex, picking up Sujit Kumar from his bungalow, and with his brother going for a run on Juhu beach. “We invariably landed up outside Chetan saab’s shack, and as we sprinted, exercised and splashed in the water, we would often spot a man swimming deep in the sea, for a mile, and back. Watching from afar, we’d marvel at Balraj saab’s fitness and try to emulate him,” he recounts.

On the sets, the veteran actor was always very polite, a dignified figure in his khaki uniform or suit, commanding respect without demanding it. “He kept to himself and only had long conversations with Chetan saab. They were two dignified gentlemen with wonderful smiles that could blow you away,” the writer-producer-director avers.

In the film’s prologue, Meena, the young daughter of the Superintendent of Police, Dinanath Mahendru (Balraj Sahni), is abducted by a pimp in a case of mistaken identity. Despite her father arriving with the ransom, she is sold into a brothel and grows up to be a prostitute, Chanda (Priya Rajvansh), who falls in love with the cabbie, Somesh (Navin), who ferries her as she goes about her business. In a not-unfamiliar twist, he turns out to be the man Rekha, the pimp’s daughter whom the cop has brought up as his own, was to marry.

To cut a long story short, Chanda, is once again kidnapped by the same pimp, and her father once again rushes to her rescue in the film’s climax. Prodded by Jeevan saab who played the villain, Balraj saab picks up the walkie talkie and addresses his long-lost child by his pet name for her. “Minoo,” he mutters, his face reflecting the storm of emotions churning within him. He regrets he didn’t recognise her earlier and assures her he will get her out, even as she urges him to do his duty without any thought for her safety.

“It was a long shot, intercut later, but the way he said ‘Minoo’ and went on to perform the scene, was felt by everyone present. Even today, just talking about it, gives me gooseflesh,” Praveenji admits, going on to add that after the shot, Balraj saab retreated into a dark space which had him worried. “But Chetan saab told me to let him be.”

He learnt later that the actor’s daughter, Shabnam, had returned home after a disastrous marriage, suffered a nervous breakdown and a brain hemorrhage and passed away earlier that year. She was just 26-27, a carbon copy of her mother and his first wife, Damayanti, whom Balraj saab lost when she was the same age. Her demise broke his heart again.

“Like Navin, Balraj saab, too, was a method actor who belonged to the (Konstantin) Stanislavski (the Russian actor and theatre director-theorist) school, which urged actors to use 'emotion memory' to bring realism to the creative process. In simpler terms, this meant, revisiting an emotional experience from one’s life to make the performance credible. While we never spoke about it, I am pretty sure he was remembering his daughter when doing that scene which is why he looked so disturbed after giving the perfect shot,” asserts Praveen ji.

Hanste Zakhm released in 1973 and did well commercially. On April 13 the same year, Balraj saab took his final curtain call. He remains unforgettable.

After spending years trying to crack an acting role, Rajendra Kumar was about to give up when he received an unexpected note. A new biography documents his arduous journey to success
MID-DAY (March 1, 2020)

Devendra Goel had promised him a break in films. He'd said he would sign Rajendra as the hero of his film. But two years had gone by since… So H S Rawail Sir had been proved right, yet again. Acting is not for me, Rajendra told himself in despair. I must approach producers to direct films. But will they trust me to carry an entire film on my shoulders?

Insecurities and fears weighed him down as he went about his daily tasks, unaware that the universe was conspiring to bestow upon him what was meant to be his.

It happened a week later. One evening, as he sat smoking in his room at Marina Guest House, a peon came up with a note sent by none other than Devendra Goel.

'Meet me in my office tomorrow morning,' was the message written in the note.

Although Rajendra had to report for Rawail's Mastana early the next day, he followed his instinct and landed up at Famous Studios. Rajendra was sure that Goel would offer him a film. But there could be many a slip between the cup and the lip, he reminded himself, as he sat across the producer in his office.

Thankfully, Goel came straight to the point.

'We'd met in 1952 and I'd said that I'd give you a chance,' the producer began. 'The time has come to fulfil my promise.' With that, he placed an agreement on the table in front of Rajendra. 'You are working in my next film, along with Balraj Sahni and Geeta Bali,' he elaborated.

Rajendra looked from Goel to the agreement and back in wonder.

'Go ahead. Read it!' the producer prompted.

Rajendra read through the contract, but among the lines of typed words that his eyes went over, what stood out starkly against the white paper was a number: 1,500.

One thousand five hundred rupees! A fortune! Rajendra couldn't believe his luck. He did tell himself, though, that however lucrative the payment he had been promised might seem, what was invaluable was the full-fledged role he had been offered in a film.

Without further ado, he signed on the dotted line.

'Congratulations, my boy! You are on your way to stardom,' Goel said with a smile, handing Rajendra Rs 101 as the signing amount.

A jubilant Rajendra Kumar almost floated out of Famous Studios, reaching the sets of Mastana far later than when he had been expected to report for duty.

A furious Rawail confronted him. 'You, a mere assistant director, have the audacity to keep the great Motilal waiting?' he yelled.

'I am sorry, Rawail Sir. But please hear me out first,' Rajendra said, unable to contain his joy. 'Today, I have become an actor in the true sense of the term.'

'What are you talking about? What actor?'

'I have signed a film with the famous Devendra Goel.'

'Who is he, anyway? And you can't call every second film "a film"!' Rawail said disparagingly.

'Rawail Saab,' Rajendra told him firmly, 'film or no film, Goel ji has offered me a chance of a lifetime today and that too with a signing amount. Today, I gave nothing and lost nothing, but my gain is immeasurable. Today is special for me.'

With a look of disdain, Rawail turned away from his assistant director. 'Silence on set!' he shouted, calling his crew to attention.

Goel's Vachan, starring Geeta Bali and Rajendra Kumar in the roles of siblings, released in early 1955 and was a huge box-office success. In the film, Rajendra Kumar sailed through his first major role, a lock of hair falling on his brow, his fingers splayed across his face in a gesture adopted from 'tragedy king' Dilip Kumar's characteristic technique, or his arms crossed behind his back. But he did seem cockier and more confident in the romantic scenes.

Excerpted with permission from Jubilee Kumar: The Life and Times of a Superstar by Seema Sonik Alimchand, published by Hachette India


With Dilip Kumar, Raaj Kumar and director C V Sridhar

On a visit to Mumbai, the legendary Soumitra Chatterjee, spoke about his experiences of working with Satyajit Ray, friendship with Shashi Kapoor and why he stayed away from Hindi movies
Sreeparna Sengupta (BOMBAY TIMES; April 24, 2019)

For Soumitra Chatterjee, whose prolific career spanning over six decades, saw him as the most enduring face of Oscar winning master filmmaker, Satyajit Ray’s movies, it is his immense work in field of theatre, that has found him in the city of Mumbai time and again. However, Hindi movies have never been a lure for this legendary Indian actor.

Recently, a captive audience at the packed Nehru Center auditorium, soaked in the aura of the 86-year-old thespian at a cultural programme, organised by South Mumbai’s oldest Tagore music school. Later, over a more relaxed one-on-one conversation, he lets on, “Poetry has been very dear to me from an early age. That’s a legacy of my parents. It was my father who gave me the idea of doing poetry recitals. And my mother unconsciously sowed the plant for the love of poetry that I have.”

The actor’s love for theatre also developed at a very young age, much before the arc lights took over. In fact, it was theatre and the common love for world cinema that saw a friendship develop between late actor Shashi Kapoor and him, “Shashi was also into theatre from the very beginning. And although he had to bend and mend his ways for the Hindi film industry, he was always aware of what was happening in theatre and cinema around the world. Later, as a producer, Shashi produced some remarkable films.”

When probed on a black-and-white photograph of the two dapper actors in their hey days, which he had shared on social media, he says, “That was taken in Berlinale. We had become friends since the time we did films like, Charulata and Shakespeare Wallah. Both the films were shown in Berlin in 1965. So, the photograph that you are referring to was taken then. And as far as I remember, it was shot by none other than Satyajit Ray. Both of us were very young at that time and Shashi was the ever-handsome, charming and witty person,” adds the actor, who was no less a heartthrob of Bengali cinema then. Incidentally, both their films won top awards at the Berlin film festival, that year.

‘Balraj Sahni is the best that Indian cinema has seen’
Given his association with the Hindi film industry, ask him why he has never been seen in a Hindi film, like some of his contemporaries — Suchitra Sen, Sharmila Tagore and Uttam Kumar, he says, “Frankly, I was not keen on doing Hindi films. For the single reason, that the kind of films I started liking were those of filmmakers like Vittorio De Sica, Federico Fellini or other new-age filmmakers that opened windows for the kind of films that I wanted to do. Although from an early age, I used to see many Hindi films. And actors like Dilip Kumar Saab and also, Raj Kapoor to an extent, were favourites of mine. But the more I think about an sub-conscious influence on me, only one name comes to my mind — Balraj Sahni. He is the best that Indian cinema has seen and I still adore him as my idol.”

‘I don’t know why Satyajit Ray liked me’
Introduced to cinema lovers the world over as Apu of Apur Sansar on May 1, 1959, he has vivid memories of his first day at shoot with Satyajit Ray (it was his 27th death anniversary on April 23). Reflecting on his first meeting with the maestro, he says, “I was initially taken for an interview with Mr. Ray when he was looking for someone to play Apu for the second part of the Apu trilogy. But I was too grown up and tall for the adolescent Apu. And I wasn’t selected. But much later, after I had been working with him for two-three years, I came to know that he had made up his mind to make the third part of the trilogy, after he saw me. Over time, as we collaborated more, we developed a rapport and he started giving me a lot of freedom into the way I wanted to do a role. It was exciting to shoot with him.” Pausing to reflect, his voice trails off with a shy questioning laugh, “...And I don’t know why he liked me.”

‘Ray used to draw sketches of the make-up and look before actually going into the shoot’
When the conversation steers to Charulata, his voice swells with pride, “That was a great film. Satyajit Ray always felt that was his most perfect film. In fact, as a student of Bengali Honours, I knew the original story, Noshto Nir extremely well. It was one of the greatest stories written by Tagore. Ray used to draw sketches of the make-up and look before actually going into the shoot. He did that for Charulata as well and sent me a table piano, long before the shooting started. I would practice on it as it was necessary to do that for shooting a song in the film,

‘Every conversation with Ray was a learning’
Chatterjee’s collaboration with Ray spanned across 14 films, including masterpieces like Aranyer Din Ratri, Devi, Ghare Baire, Ashani Sanket among others, showcasing the actor as one of the most versatile in Indian cinema.

“Every conversation with Ray was a learning. He was my mentor, a kind of teacher, but unobtrusively so. He always behaved like a friend, more like an elder friend. And even today he has remained an inspiration,” signs off the legend, who has worked with filmmakers like Mrinal Sen, Tapan Sinha, Goutam Ghose, Rituparno Ghosh. His most recent works include films like Shonar Pahar, Mayurakshi, Basu Poribar in which he was cast with Aparna Sen after 19 long years. 

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; May 10, 2018)

On December 14, 1961, Rabindranath Tagore’s birth centenary (he was born on May 7, 1861), Bimal Roy’s Kabuliwala, based on a short story by the Nobel Laureate, opened in the theatres. I watched the film as a teenager, on Doordarshan, and it was made unforgettable by Balraj Sahni who lent warmth and dignity to the Kabuliwala who in Kolkata befriends five-year-old Mini, who reminds him of the daughter he’d left behind in Afghanistan. There’s a heart-breaking poignancy in the Pathan’s story as just before he is to return, he gets into a scuffle with a neighbour who ows him money, and accidentally kills him. After an eight-year jail term, he comes with dry fruits for Mini, to find her in wedding finery, all set to go off to her father-in-law’s home for real. He realises then that even his daughter, whose palm imprint he carries, must be all grown-up too. It is at this crucial point, that Mini’s father decides to give the money kept aside for lights and a band, to the kabuliwala so that he can go back home to his own daughter.

On Tagore’s 157th birth anniversary, when I quizzed Amrit Shah, Roy’s long-time associate, about Sahni, he revealed that he’d first made the actor’s acquaintance at the Communist Party Headquarters he’d go for his meals where as a student council member. “After the party was banned, he was arrested and would come for shoots with cops, returning to the Arthur Road Jail after pack-up,” says Shah, who on Sahni’s request, let his Bengali director-friend, Prabhat Mukherjee, share his apartment for a couple of years. “By the time he started working on Kabuliwala, he was a big name.”

Shah adds that when the film was nearing completion, as was his habit, he went to Roy with a proposal to send to distributors asking for advance (Minimum Guarantee). To his surprise, the producer insisted they sell it on a simple commission, as they were flush with funds thanks to the overflow they were getting from Madhumati and Sujata. “There was no arguing with Bimal da so I informed the delighted distributors that they’d only have to pay for print and publicity,” he says.

Buzz is, after seeing the rough cut, Roy reshot certain scenes directed by Hemen Gupta, perhaps because he wanted his tribute to Tagore to be perfect and true to his craft. Shah won’t comment on this but acknowledges that the film was a failure commercially and cost their company big money. “Bimal da was unperturbed, moving on to his next project,” he marvels.

Roy’s son, Joy, who was around six then, recalls a hideous apparition from a dream sequence and two little boys playing the tabla. “They were Nikhil Ghosh’s (Padma Bhushan tabla maestro) sons, Nayan Jyoti and Dhruba Jyoti,” he smiles. Sonu, who played Mini, was his neighbour who lived in the bungalow across and came to play with him. “One morning, baba came down and whispered something in her ear and Sonu raced home. Five minutes later, she was back with a “Yes”. I presume he’d offered her the film and she returned with her parents’ consent. That was the only film Sonu ever did, moving away after some years,” Joy flashbacks, adding that by a strange coincidence a week ago, he made the acquaintance of her young nephew at his gym and learnt that Sonu was living in the US. We tried getting her to share her memories with us but she stayed out of reach.

However, Gulzar saab, who penned “Ganga Aaye Kahan Se, Ganga Jaye Kahan Re” which with its philosophy of universal acceptance, informs that he landed this opportunity after a song by his friend and the film’s original lyricist, Prem Dhawan, was rejected by Roy. Since they were recording the songs first, they needed an immediate replacement. “I was assisting dada by then and he asked Salil da (composer Salil Chowdhury) to get me to write one. I’d penned “Mora Gora Ang Lai Le” for Bandini aur mera reputation ban gaya tha. I demurred, even calling up Prem who begged me to do it or else Bimal da would stop him from going off on a tour with IPTA,” he narrates.

Gulzar saab had seen Rajen Tarafdar’s 1960 National Award-winning Bengali film, Ganga, and suggested to Chowdhury that they do something along the lines of his composition “Amar Dubaili Re”. The music director who was playing ping pong in the bedroom listened absentmindedly till the sound of Roy’s station wagon had him scurrying upstairs. The filmmaker watched him playing the piano silently from the door and Chowdhury nervously blurted out that he was wondering if they could do something on the lines of “Amar Dubaili Re”. Roy responded sardonically, “Dubane ke liye itna nahin sochna padta hai, gana banao,” and walked away.

“Salil da continued playing till he heard Bimalda’s car drive off, then told his assistant Kanu Ghosh to write the song with me and went back to his ping pong. 'Ganga Aaye Kahan Se' was on the same metre as the earlier song and five decades later, reminds us of a Kabuliwala and his story that still strikes a chord,” says Gulzar saab.

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; January 6, 2015)

In 1962, China attacked India over a disputed 3,2225-kilometre-long Himalayan border, launching simultaneous offensives in Ladakh and across the MacMohan Line on October 20. Chinese troops captured Rezang la and Tawang before ceasefire was declared on November 20.

The Chinese withdraw from India, but Chetan Anand, with memories of the first Sino-Indian War still fresh on his mind, arrived in Ladakh a year later with an idea of making India's first war movie.

"This was the first time a movie camera had travelled to Ladakh and overwhelmed by the scenic beauty around us we exposed over a lakh of footage only to return to Mumbai and realise that we didn't have a story," recalls M S Sathyu.

Anand quickly developed a story around a small platoon of Indian soldiers believed dead who are rescued by Ladakhi tribesmen and a young captain, Bahadur Singh who dies, with his girlfriend, holding the Chinese at bay so his comrades can retreat to safety. But they are killed too. "When I asked Chetan saab if we were going back to shoot in Ladakh, he surprised me by asking me to recreate the hilly terrain in a city studio," says Sathyu.

Working from the photographs they had taken, he built Ladakh in Mehboob Studio with an artist, Yusuf, to paint the backgrounds. Sathyu got the Filmfare Award for Best Art Direction for his true-to-life sets.

While shooting Haqeeqat in Jammu & Kashmir Sathyu remembers that there were no pucca roads, just tracks in the sand and one day the jeep he was in, drove straight into Chinese territory. "The jeep behind tried to signal but since there was no barbed wire, we crossed over and were met with sten gun and machine gunfire. Fortunately, we were pulled out in the nick of time by the soldiers who were with us," says the art director.

Balraj Sahni almost got swept away by flash floods while crossing an icy river. Once again, it was the jawans who jumped to his rescue. Anand had many real soldiers in his cast, including the Ladakh Scouts who played the Chinese. Amongst them, it was not difficult for Dharmendra, who played Captain Bahadur Singh to pass off as a dashing officer.

"He was a funny fellow. One evening, he got drunk and went missing. We went looking for him and found him sleeping peacefully in a real jawan's tent at the Bartal camp," Sathyu laughs. Haqeeqat launched many careers, including that of Sanjay Khan, Sudhir, singer Bhupinder as an actor and Priya Rajvansh who played Angmo, Bhadhur Singh's girlfriend. Sathyu remembers her as a tall, beautiful girl who in her cap, costume and tribal jwellery convincingly passed off as a Ladakhi girl. "The role didn't demand great histrionics, she just had to look the part and sing a song filmed on a set I had created in the studio and wasn't happy with," he says candidly.

Picturising a song on a closed set didn't pose as big a challenge as filming a war sequence with real bullets. Still, there weren't any mishaps except one when a persistent junior artiste, Dagru, finally got himself a bit role by turning up at Mehboob Studio everyday. "He was placed on a bunker three feet up and when hit by a bullet had to tumble down. He did, with a somersault, and then lay on the floor with a smile on his face. He had broken his spine,"says Sathyu.

He rushed him to Nanavati Hospital but despite all our efforts, he died. "We didn't know where he was from. After a long search we finally learnt that he had a wife in a village near Satara and the body was sent there," says Sathyu.

The film opened at the First International Film Festival of India in New Delhi. It was premiered at Odeon cinema. The then President of India, Dr Radhakrishnan, the chiefs of the Defence Forces and Bollywood bigwigs like Prithviraj Kapoor and Raj Kapoor were present on the occasion. Sathyu has no memories of the premiere but he remembers walking out of a screening of the colorised version at IFFI in Goa a few years ago.

"The starkness of black-and-white which gave the film its classic touch is lost. Scindler's List was made at a time when enough colour was available, yet Steven Spielberg shot it in black-and-white," he points out. "By colourising Haqeeqat digitally, Chetan saab's boys have ruined the film. Following my objections they dropped my name from the title credits, and Priya's too."

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; November 18, 2014)

M S Sathyu's 1974 directorial debut, Garm Hava, re-opened in theatres last Friday after four decades, with the sound digitally enhanced in the US and 2 lakh frames meticulously corrected.

One of the Sunday shows in Mumbai drew an 80 per cent attendance and had the audience on its feet, clapping appreciatively. It was a rare honour for its 84-yearold filmmaker in an era when "everything is going bang bang". The film's magic lives on in its subtle performances and sensitive story.

The Film Finance Corporation (now the National Film Development Corporation) had rejected a script earlier but immediately approved of this one, based on an unpublished short story by Ismat Chughtai, about a North Indian Muslim businessman, Salim Mirza, whose decision, post Partition and Mahatma Gandhi's assassination, not to relocate to Pakistan, devastates his family.

"Ismat had not even written the story, she simply narrated it to me. And though living in Mysore, I had not been exposed to the Partition, I had read and heard about it as a student, and this story struck a chord," Sathyu recalls.

He was associated with the leftist Indian People's Theatre Association and cast several stage actors, many of whom had never acted in a film before. One of them was A K Hangal, who ran a tailoring shop in Crawford market, wore natty suits, enjoyed the stage but had turned down many film roles before this. He plays Mirza's business associate, Ajmani Sahab, who buys his house.

Garm Hava also introduced a fresh faced law student, Farooq Sheikh, who was lured not so much by a Rs 700 remuneration, but that he would get to work with 'the' Balraj Sahni. Sahni who had been directed by Sathyu in a play earlier, immediately agreed to play the patriarch for a measly amount of Rs 5000.

Another debutant was Shaukat Kaifi, wife of Kaifi Azmi who bagged two Filmfare trophies for Best Screenplay (with Shama Zaidi) and Best Dialogue, plays Mirza's wife. She used to perform with Prithviraj Kapoor and Sathyu had seen her on stage when she was touring Bangalore. "Garm Hava was her first film too," he smiles.

The role of Mirza's mother was first offered to Begum Akhtar but the singer wasn't permitted to act in films. Sahani was getting anxious about rehearsing his scenes so Sathyu asked Mathur, the owner of the haveli in Agra where they were shooting, whether he could introduce them to one of the nautch girls who had once entertained his grandfather. And that's how the filmmaker and his cameraman, Ishan Arya, landed up on the doorstep of Badar Begum.

As a girl of 16, she'd come to Mumbai to become an actress, but unlike her neigbour Nimmi, Badar Begum couldn't make it big in Bollywood. After a few roles as an extra, she returned to Agra, became a prostitute and later the owner of a brothel.

On the day of Sathyu's visit, the police had raided the brothel and taken her girls away. "Let them come back another day," the septuagenarian, told Mathur, refusing to believe that the guests from Mumbai were there to offer her a film.

When she was finally convinced, she accepted the offer. Her performance bagged her two awards, and she returned to the brothel.

Sathyu persuaded Bahadur Khan with whom he'd work in the Little Ballet Troupe, to score the music. He flew down from Kolkata and recorded the entire score at Mehboob Studio in a couple of days.

The soundtrack included a qawwali by Aziz Ahmed Khan Warsi of the Warsi Brothers fame. "We had shot the qawwali without a song and showed the silent portion to him. He recorded the song in one go," marvels Sathyu.

He remembers how they had a dummy unit to lure away star-struck fans from the hotel so they could step out, shoot in the shoe factory, crowded bazaars, at Fatehpur Sikri and even the Taj Mahal, quietly, sometimes without requisite permission.

"We shot inside the Taj and in its gardens on a Sunday. I paid seven gardeners Rs 5 each to keep curious tourists at bay. By the time people realised we were shooting, we had run away with the reels," he laughs.

The chuckle dies away when he recalls the untimely death of Balraj Sahni's daughter Shabnam. "She was married to a man in Kolkata on the insistence of her grandmother who passed away soon after and her mother-in-law started taunting her about her association with a Muslim boy, making her lose her equilibrium," he says.

She returned to Mumbai and after rehabilitation started and she took up a teaching job at the Sadhana School. Sahni was campaigning in the interiors of Madhya Pradesh, when he learnt that she had committed suicide. He flew back in the CM's private plane and was accompanied home by Sathyu, where ignoring the family, he ran up the stairs to her room.

The scene was recreated in Garm Hava when his heart-broken daughter, Amina, kills herself. "I told him I didn't want any tears, he didn't shed any," says Sathyu.

Sahni died the day after he finished dubbing for Garm Hava. The last lines he recorded for the film were "Insaan kab tak akela jee sakta hai?" Salim Mirza is one of his finest performances.

However, the censors wanted the film banned. Sathyu screened the film for Prime Minister Indira Gandhi and I & B Minister I K Gujral who suggested that he release it down South first. Garm Hava opened in Bangalore, then premiered in Paris in January 1974, forging a connection with the 700-odd cine buffs, many of them French. On the recommendation of a critic, it was then invited to the Cannes Film Festival where it was nominated for the prestigious Palme d' Or. It was also India's official entry in the Best Film in a Foreign Language category at the Oscars.

"I didn't need to lobby for it, Garm Hava was invited by the Academy of Motion Pictures after the Cannes screening. I didn't have much money so I couldn't go to the US but I sent my film," smiles Sathyu.

Forty years later, the scorching winds continue to blow us away with this poignant post-Partition story of a nation divided.