Kamini Kaushal, who made her film debut in Chetan Anand’s classic ‘Neecha Nagar’ (1946), who sparkled as the leading lady in the first box-office hits of Dilip Kumar (‘Nadiya Ke Par’, 1948) and Dev Anand (‘Ziddi’, 1948), and who enjoyed a fruitful second innings as character actor in films such as ‘Upkar’ (1967) and ‘Do Raaste’ (1970), passed away at her Mumbai residence late Thursday night. She was 98. The news was confirmed by Sajan Narain, a close friend of the family, to news agency PTI.

Like the leading character of her last film, ‘Laal Singh Chaddha’ (2022), Lahore-born Kaushal’s career too was marked by her presence in significant moments of film history. ‘Neecha Nagar’ was a Grand Prix winner at Cannes. Raj Kapoor also acted with her in his second film, ‘Jail Yatra’ (1947).

Kaushal was the first heroine with whom Dilip Kumar formed a winning pair. ‘Shaheed’ (1948), ‘Shabnam’ (1949) and ‘Arzoo’ (1950), being three other films. In the opening credits, she was billed above Kumar in all these films, which underscores her seniority and star value at the time.

Director Bimal Roy’s ‘Biraj Bahu’ (1954), based on Saratchandra’s 19th century novel, was the high noon of her acting career. Kaushal was pitch-perfect in the title role capturing the tone and tang of a rural Bengal homemaker whose life unspools from idyllic to calamitous.

The Times of India described her performance as “dignified, refined, sympathetic, beautiful, rounded to the last nuance and shade and tone of expression, a histrionic gem of flawless perfection, the finest of her career.” It fetched her Filmfare’s best actress award.

Her second innings as a supporting actor began with Manoj Kumar’s ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where she played his mother. She became a regular in his positive nationalism films. ‘Upkar’ (1967) offered her the stand-out part of a widow torn between two sons with opposing approaches to life. Another notable role came in Raj Khosla’s superhit family drama, ‘Do Raaste’ (1969), where she played an amiable bhabhi who tries her best to keep the family from falling apart. In Ravi Tandon’s ‘Anhonee’ (1970), Kaushal delivered a deliciously wicked surprise to her fans playing the devious and plotting stepmother willing to kill for money.

Life dealt her unkind cuts. Born on Feb 24, 1927, Uma (her real name) lost her renowned botanist father, Shiv Ram Kashyap, when only 7. The five siblings -- two brothers and three sisters -- were brought up by her mother. Undeterred, she graduated from Lahore’s Kinnaird College displaying a flair for sport and plays.

Then Kaushal’s elder sister died in a motor crash and she “came to Bombay to nurse her two little nieces and her brother-in-law BS Sood who had been seriously injured. She decided to look after him as a wife for the rest of her life” wrote Sushila B Rani in the book, Stars of the Indian Screen (1952). Sood was an officer with Bombay Port Trust.

At this stage, she was offered ‘Neecha Nagar’ by Chetan Anand, who named her Kamini Kaushal. In 1954, she also acted and produced ‘Chalis Baba Ek Chor’, a comedy with a bunch of kids that flopped.

Kaushal participated actively in public life and freely spoke her mind. While inaugurating a women’s section of the Indo-Soviet Cultural Society in Bombay in 1958, she underlined the need to build closer understanding between the peoples of India and the Soviet Union. “Cinema was never my be-all and end-all,” she told TOI in 2008.

In 1969, G D Khosla committee’s report on Film Censorship spoke up in favour of celluloid kissing which created a strong conservative backlash. Kaushal supported the report. “A kissing sequence done gracefully would be a good substitute for blaring erotic songs,” she said at a Lions Club function in Delhi that year.

Making puppets was a passion in her late life. She was also an active chairperson for the Children’s Film Society of India. Kaushal floored everyone with her spirit, elegance and self-deprecating humour while delivering the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement award acceptance speech in 2015. “Ours was a quieter period…may be our eyes spoke more than our bodies,” she said. The audience connected and clapped.

But there was also a tinge of sadness. “I am missing our gang today. Most of them are gone. Just not fair. I feel very lonely here today. All of them are disappearing and going away one by one. Which breaks your heart…,” she said. Everyone stood up when she finished her speech.

Now Kamini Kaushal has joined her gang.

New Delhi: Oscar-winning British film director David Lean visited Pune’s FTII (Film and Television Institute of India) campus in the early 1960s, watched a bunch of short films made by the students and tersely told the teachers, “Something is wrong with your teaching,” reveals a new book brought out to celebrate 60 years of the institution.

The attention-grabbing nugget is part of an article written by Hindi film director Sriram Raghavan (Johnny Gaddaar, Andhadhun) following a conversation with actor-director Asrani. Both are FTII graduates. Asrani, who belonged to the first batch, was in the campus when the Oscar-winning director made his visit.

Lean (Lawrence Of Arabia) made his remark after noticing that the diploma films made by the students were derivative in nature. “I can tell you which shot is from which German or Czech or French film. You should watch the films of V Shantaram and Bimal Roy too,” he said, according to the article.

For the record, FTII went on to produce many first-rate directors and actors: Adoor Gopalakrishnan, Shaji Karun, Subhash Ghai, Jaya Bhaduri, Shabana Azmi, Naseeuddin Shah, Om Puri, Rajkummar Rao, to name a few.

Raghavan further writes that Lean had come to India on a holiday with his fourth wife Leila Matkar who had relatives in Kolhapur. At that time the sets of Dr Zhivago were being erected in Madrid. “He was dressed in a bush shirt and pants and was wearing Kolhapuri chappals,” Asrani told him. 

Interestingly, the British filmmaker’s name also figured in the interview of award-winning Malayalam film director Shaji Karun (Piravi). He had applied for a seat in FTII’s cinematography course and was quizzed about his views on the photography in David Lean’s films.

“The simple confidence that soon I would be on the train back home gave me the audacity to openly expose my lack of knowledge of the subject,” says Karun self-deprecatingly in the book, “Being FTII: Perspectives on the Film and Television Institute of India.”

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 8, 2018)

For years, he had nurtured the dream of becoming an actor, even confiding in his mother that he wanted to run away to Mumbai. She had stopped him, saying if he did, his strict schoolmaster father would turn her out too and suggested that he send out applications to film producers from Punjab instead. Dharamendra or Dharam Singh Deol as he was known then, had laughed at how ‘bholi’ she was. But soon afterwards, he saw an ad for the Filmfare talent-hunt contest inviting participants from across India, and filled out the application. He was shortlisted for the auditions and subsequently picked out as the winner by filmmakers Bimal Roy and Guru Dutt. And his dream of coming to (then) Bombay was realised.

Dharamji, who turns 83 today, is still just as passionate about films – he describes the medium as his “beloved” and asserts that he didn’t come here to make money or buy bungalows and cars. “I wanted to act so I could make a place for myself in people’s hearts. I rented an apartment initially and bought a Fiat car for Rs 18,000 (pictured on top) just before the release of my first film. I drove straight to the studio to give Bimal da the good news and took him out for a spin. He was very happy for me and assured me that I’d go far,” the actor reminisces, pointing out that though he’s not shrewd and manipulative, he’s survived in the industry for almost six decades and delivered over 100 hits with a lot of hard work and a “little bit of talent”.

Rajkumar Santoshi, a self-confessed Dharmendra fan, attributes the actor’s longevity as much to his versatility as to his innate goodness which his face reflects on screen, along with his honesty and simplicity. The filmmaker owes his break as a director in Ghayal to Dharam ji who put his trust in a rank newcomer who’d assisted Govind Nihalani and belonged to a different school of filmmaking. Santoshi’s original producer had dropped out because he wasn’t happy with his choice of hero, first Kamal Haasan, then, Sunny Deol. “Sunny took me to Rajasthan where Dharam ji was filming J P Dutta’s Batwara for a narration. He liked the story as much as Sunny had and asked me curiously if I was related to filmmaker P L Santoshi whom he knew well. On learning that I was his son, something I hadn’t divulged, he embraced me and told us to go ahead. Ghayal was the first film he lent his name to as a producer. It got us plenty of rewards and awards,” he says.

Santoshi goes on to point out that though a hugely under-rated actor, Dharamji’s range of histrionics in the films of the ’60s and ’70s had matched that of Dilip Kumar and Amitabh Bachchan. Four of Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s films alone – Satyakam, Anupama, Guddi and Chupke Chupke – had showcased his talent in diverse performances. “He was the only one to stand up to the Rajesh Khanna popularity wave in the ’70s with hits like Mera Gaon Mera Desh, Samadhi and Sholay, in which, despite Sanjeev Kumar and Amjad Khan having author-backed roles and Amitabh Bachchan at his brooding best, Dharam ji managed to stand out with his ‘soocide’ act atop the water tank,” Santoshi, known as an actor’s director, says, adding that his comic timing is also impeccable, as seen in Sholay and Pratigya . “When he serenaded his heroine with a 'Rafta Rafta' or a 'Yamla Pagla Deewana', he made the romance seem real and while he was flexing his muscles as a He-Man, there was a vulnerability to him that made you want to protect him. Not to forget, he was voted among the 10 most handsome men in the world at one point, he didn’t need cosmetic surgery and his hair is his own. Today, he’s still a very good-looking 83-year-old man,” he asserts.

Dharamji’s cousin, Guddu Dhanoa, says he’s proud to have a brother who’s so handsome. “At airports and other public places, I could see waves of adulation and admiration follow him, along with cries of, ‘Dharmendra... Dharmendra,’” says the director of films like Ziddi, Bichhoo and 23rd March 1931: Shaheed featuring Sunny and Bobby. “I was so proud to have such a handsome brother, one who visited us in Delhi when I was still in school, bringing with him hordes of fans into our home who wanted to speak to him and touch him. Army jawans came in trucks and blocked our lane so he could not run away. He was at the height of his stardom then, and I’ve heard when because of date problems there was talk of him dropping out of Sholay, the price per territory for the film fell from Rs 25 lakh to Rs 12 lakh,” says Dhanoa.

When I ask Dharam ji who only this year was seen in Yamla Pagla Deewana Phir Se, for the reason he has remained in people’s hearts for so long, he typically replies with a shayari he had just penned, “Mauka diya muqaddar ne, dil-dimag ek hue, neki bhi saath hui, mehnat aur mashaqqat ke, manzilein tai hoti gayi, aur hum surkh-ruu hue.”

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.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; January 11, 2018)

Cinema was an integral part of my growing up years. My mother would drag me to the theatres to see Roman Holiday, Quo Vadis and Spartacus. And on Sunday evenings I was allowed to park myself in front of the TV and catch a Hindi movie and Doordarshan was my introduction to Navrang, Hum Dono, Chalia and Devdas. Thereafter, every time I met Dilip Kumar, I’d remember him as Devdas slurring drunkenly, “Kaun kambakht hai jo bardasht karne le liye peeta hai, main to peeta hoon ki bas saans le sakoon.”

Amrit Shah, filmmaker Bimal Roy’s manager however reveals that while the actor was always in character through the making of the 1955 film, he never saw him inebriated. “Devdas might be drunk but Dilip Kumar never was,” asserts the nonagenarian, who goes on to recall how on the day of the film’s premiere in Kolkata, while the press was watching the tragic love story, Roy rushed Dilip Kumar and Suchitra Sen to New Theatres Studio where he shot a scene of Parvati returning home after her nuptials with a zamindar years older, to learn that Devdas has been drinking heavily. Since she still loves him, when they run into each other on the staircase, she stops for a brief chat, hoping to wean him off alcohol. “Even though the film was on the verge of being unveiled, Bimalda felt that the connecting link between two scenes was missing and when he got his actors together, he grabbed the opportunity to shoot it. It went by in a flash but he still incorporated it into the film later. That is the kind of meticulous director he was,” narrates Shah who’d joined Bimal Roy’s production company just six months before and remained close to the family even after his death on January 8, 1966.

During Madhumati which was filmed in Ranikhet and Ghorakhal in the Nainital district, Shah and Dilip Kumar lived under the same roof, in adjacent six-by-eight-feet rooms with a cordoned-off bath. The village was devoid of amenities, including bare necessities like electricity, tea, milk and even water. But there were no airs or starry tantrums from the leading man when he was asked to bathe rather than shower with a bucket of hot water or given a stringed ‘khatiya’ to sleep on. “He would eat meals with the unit, never missed his call time and after shooting, we’d often sit together and chat about everything, from cinema to religion,” narrates Shah, recalling how once, with the boldness of youth, he had quizzed the actor on rumours of his interference on the sets and how he had ghost-directed some of his films. “Yusuf bhai asked me if I had ever seen him give Bimal da instructions or even suggestions. But he admitted that in certain cases he had no option but to intervene if unsatisfied with the director, because films were being sold on his name and as the ‘hero’ he couldn’t afford to disappoint his fans.”

That shoot was an eye-opener for Shah. He flashbacks to a drive from Delhi to Nainital, that took them past a famous temple. They had to drive across a river over a sheet which served as a makeshift road. Halfway down it, the car slipped and stalled. Dilip Kumar’s fans instantly spotted him inside and crowded the car. Even as visions of mob violence flitted through Shah’s mind, he stepped out and spoke to the star-struck devotees. While doing so, he casually rested his hand on the car and tried to push it. Instantly, everyone around gave him a hand and car was back on track. “Smiling at his fans, Yusuf bhai got into the car and we crossed the river. But after about 100 metres, he asked the driver to stop and reasoned that pilgrims came to the temple and to the river every day to pray and we were passing by without stopping,” narrates Shah. To his surprise, the actor got out again, walked down the river bank, and scooping up some water washed his hands and feet, closed his eyes and prayed before proceeding to shoot for his paranormal romance drama with Vyjayanthimala playing three characters. Madhumati bagged nine Filmfare Awards, including best director for Bimal Roy.

Boman Irani is currently hosting a five-part weekly series on late director Bimal Roy
Chaya Unnikrishnan (DNA; February 1, 2016)


Tell me about hosting The Bimal Roy Festival?
There was a time during the Doordarshan days where even with limited air time — four hours of programming — we used to get to see one classic every week. Today, with 180 channels and round-the-clock programming on each channel we don’t get to see one single classic film. It’s a crime to not show what we have as treasure and legacy. And if this continues, it will be forgotten forever because nobody will go out and buy them. When I got to know that Zee Classic has taken the initiative, I wanted to be a part of it. Not only has the quality of Bimal Roy’s cinema been an inspiration for the filmmakers of that generation who went on to make good films, it will be a learning for today’s young filmmakers too, and that for me is the best thing.

Which among his films is your favourite?
All his films are great, but the first one I saw when I was a kid was Do Bigha Zamin. I was thoroughly moved by the film, and the performance of Balraj Sahni. Back in the fifties the director had recreated the era so authentically. We talk about how we have better actors today, but Balraj Sahni did it back then. He was highly educated, a sophisticated man who had returned from England, and he played a rickshaw puller with so much authenticity! It was a great inspiration for me. Besides Do Bigha Zamin, I love Madhumati and of course, his Devdas is a yardstick for all Devdas films and Dilip Kumar’s performance is the reference point. Bimal Roy’s Bandini and Sujata were reflective of the society in those times. It was controversial then and is probably even today. But he was brave enough to make them. What’s more, they were not limited to a specific audience, they were palatable to the masses and entertaining. That was really the mark of that man.

Which of the characters from his films would you like to play?
A classic is a classic. I would feel bad to answer that. It’s a scary thought. But yes, all his five movies (that will be shown on the channel) can be remade — they are great timeless stories. And if there’s one character I would love to play, it would be Balraj Sahni’s from Do Bigha Zamin. I want to live through the emotions, enjoy the pain and hard work of that character.

You will now be seen in the third installment of Housefull. Which kind of comedy film and role do you find more challenging — over-the-top humour or realistic?
All the roles have to be challenging. Even in a Housefull 3 I must be challenged in some way because I am creating a character. You just can’t land up on the sets and perform. I have been privileged to work with some great directors and do a variety of films — those which are realistic with social messages as well as out-and-out entertainers. If I say I want to do only socially relevant films, I will be sitting at home for the rest of the year. I am willing to do any kind of film provided there is a spectrum for me to perform, whether it is Jolly LLB or 3 Idiots. I can’t say I will do only relevant cinema because at heart I am an entertainer.

Of the characters you have played so far, which ones have the maximum recall value?
There are three characters that get most talked about - Asthana (Munnabhai MBBS), Khosla Ka Ghosla’s Khurana and Virus from 3 Idiots.

Which are you most fond of?
Khurana. What happened was early in my career I got to play several characters based in Mumbai. Khurana was the first one from outside Mumbai. It was an alien character to me. The film was based in Delhi and I had to make Khurana as acceptable to Dilliwalas as to anybody else. That was a challenge. And, when a Delhi guy came up to me and said you have lived the Dilliwala perfectly, I felt very proud and still do.

What do you look for when you are offered a role?
What is important to me is the story. If the story is good, the character automatically improves and if the story is not good, no matter what you do your character won’t be remembered. So, I would rather go for an interesting story than a character.

Any plans of turning director?
That has been the plan for a long time. I am working towards it, soon there should be an announcement.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; January 8, 2016)

Today is Bimal Roy's 50th death anniversary. The filmmaker who bagged two National Awards, the International Prize at Cannes and 11 Filmfare Awards, with Madhumati taking home five, passed away on January 8, 1966, at the age of 54. After his untimely demise, the family retained his office at Mohan Studio in Andheri till they were told to vacate the premises by a builder. That's when his son, Joy Bimal Roy, visited the bungalow adjoining the studio, on the first floor of which was his baba's editing room and library where he kept stock shots and live sounds.

"This was in 1999 and it was there that I discovered half-a-dozen reels tagged Kumbh Mela. Baba had started a film, Amrit Kumbh Ki Khoj Mein, based on Sameresh Basu's novel, Amrita Kumbher Sandhane, and ma would fondly speak about some scenes from it, including one in which a father is separated from his son. Thinking it was that film, I started watching the negative and discovered it was one-hour footage of the Kumbh Mela in Allahabad and the negative was in perfect condition," says Joy.

He decided to edit and curate the footage as a documentary tribute to his father but didn't have the funds till Yash Chopra approached the family for the overseas video rights of Bimal Roy's films. When Joy told him about the Kumbh footage which he could incorporate as a bonus, Chopra allowed him the use of his editing facilities and his editor. Joy cut a 11-minute documentary which begins early in the day and ends with an aarti on the Ganga at night, with shots of pilgrims arriving by train, bus and on foot all day.

Since it was silent footage, he had to decide on the sound and after toying with the idea of using orchestra and even Indian classical music and Marathi folk, Joy was put in touch with a sound engineer, Arun Nambiar, who came up with the idea of using music from his father's own films. Arun left for Bangalore after two days, but Joy took his idea forward, using music from Devdas for the train shots and Madhumati for the mela sequences.

"There's a scene of a pandit speaking which I matched with a scene of another pandit speaking in Parakh. I have used one song, Kabuliwala's "Ganga aaye kahan se" since Kumbh is all about the Ganga," says Joy.

Not many in India however saw the documentary as it was only attached to the overseas DVDs. Joy did premiere it in January 2000 during an exhibition of his father's photographs at Mumbai's Nehru Centre. But the film arrived from Adlabs only on the morning of the screening, and when he played it, he discovered to his shock and horror that the sound was not in sync. "There's a technical issue when you transfer sound from film to video. So the "Ganga" song at the beginning started after the boat had passed and played on in the end after the aarti had ended, spilling into the title credits. I was so disappointed that I never looked at the film again. I did not even have a copy of it. But then my nephew and a journalist from Kolkata told me that it was available on YouTube. When I watched it, I realised it was a perfect print with the song in sync," says Joy who's finally happy he unveiled one of his baba's last footage on screen.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 29, 2015)

Since Christmas Day, when she bid adieu to the world stage, a lot has been written about Sadhana — her films, fashion trends and fringe. But few remember her in Bimal Roy's 1960 political satire, Parakh, whose theme resonates even half a century later when political rivals use every trick in the book to woo voters, when elections have turned into a farce and democracy disappoints.

Roy's daughter, production and costume designer Yashodhara, admits that the late owner of Evergreen Decorators, Mohammed bhai, took her by surprise when she visited him for some artefacts, by suddenly talking about Parakh. He sighed over the fact that no one, not even the intelligentsia or the media in the '60s, had understood this path-breaking film, far ahead of its time, even though it bagged three Filmfare Awards, including best director for the visionary Roy, best supporting actor for Motilal and best sound for George D'Cruz.

Yashodhara's brother, Joy, points out that his baba had been a pioneer even in his craft and perhaps was the first to employ the 'freeze' effectively in the scene when the postmaster of Radheypur calls a panchayat to reveal that he has received a cheque in the mail from philanthropist JC Roy with instructions that the money should go to the most deserving person who'll use it to benefit the village. The initial skepticism evaporates when he announces the amount — Rs 5 lakh — and the camera freezes on the faces of five "incorruptible" residents — the zamindar, priest, contractor, doctor and school teacher — who will vie for the booty. The ploy sparks off greed and also inspires sudden acts of charity while ripping apart morality in the small community.

The film is based on a Salil Chowdhury story, but Rinki Bhattacharya, another of Roy's daughters, admits to strong parallels with one of Mark Twain's short story, The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg. However, five decades later, Salilda is remembered not so much for his story as for his score.

From Lata Mangeshkar's devotional prayer with its melancholic tinge and marvellous choral arrangement, "Mere Mann Ke Diye", to Manna Dey's "Kya Hawa Chali, Babu Rut Badli" with its baul beats and the breezy, "Mila Hai Kissi Ka Jhumka", Parakh has some rare gems. But "O Sajna, Barkha Bahaar Aai" is undoubtedly one of Lata's most hauntingly beautiful songs. The evocative black-and-white frames and the masterful play of light and shadow on Sadhana's classically perfect face making it ethereal storytelling. The song, which also has a Bengali version, "Na Jeona, Rajoni Akhono Baaki", still drenches one in a shower of melody.

The late composer's wife, Jyoti, recalls him restlessly strolling up the down one morning, notebook and pen in hand. When she urged him to sit down, he told her that he was working on a song and after a while hummed a few lines to her. "I liked it and also the girl on whom 'O Sajna' was picturised. Sadhana dropped in at our Perry Cross Road home once for a cup of tea but didn't speak much," she reminisces. Her elder daughter, Aloka, remembers how her younger sister, Latika, after hearing 'Mila Hai Kissi Ka Jhumka' on the music countdown show, Binaca Geetmala, began to think of it as her song and would get angry if anyone else hummed it."

Rinki, who was Sadhana's age, remembers the actress as being "formal and distant", also a fashion icon in her tight churidars, short kurtas and Audrey Hepburn fringe. "She was most unlike baba's heroines and ma wondered if she could pass off as a Bengali village girl," reminisces Rinki, who'd overheard some of her baba's colleagues telling him that she was more apt to play Seema than the glamorous Sadhana. "But there was no question of me acting in a film and he was certain Sadhana would do a convincing job. She did, going through a complete transformation for Parakh even doing away with her fringe or the "Sadhana cut" as it came to be called. My late husband (Basu Bhattacharya), who assisted my father would tell me that it was a problem keeping her hair off her forehead. They had to pull it back and pin it up."

Yashodhara adds that her father would get second hand clothes or buy new ones of cheap quality and pass them over to the dress man, Kishen, with instructions to make them "purana". This meant that saris were stretched, never ironed or starched for that "lived in" look.

But even minus her glamour, Sadhana was an alluring partner for Bengali babu, Vasant Choudhury, who played the schoolteacher and left Rinki star-struck when he visited their home in Mumbai. She was later told that the actor's girlfriend, who was her age, had confided in a friend that she hoped Rinki wouldn't impress him too much.

We learn in Rinki's book, The Man Who Spoke in Pictures: Bimal Roy, that once when his hero dropped by, Roy who had just returned from the Cairo, laid out some neckties and curios and asked him to pick one each as a gift, before driving him to the studio. En route, both chain smoked, but it wasn't till they reached the studio that Vasant learnt that the filmmaker had been puffing on an artificial cigarette he'd picked up in England. It was his way of cutting down on the cancer sticks and staving off the dreaded disease.

Bimal Roy died on January 8, '66, at the age of 56, from lung cancer.

Veteran actress Sharmila Tagore talks about gender bias and everything that has changed with our cinema
MUMBAI MIRROR (October 22, 2015)