As told to Ankita Chaurasia (MUMBAI MIRROR; August 20, 2020)

The first film I shot for was Gaata Rahe Mera Dil. Ronit Roy, who was a big name at the time after Jaan Tere Naam, and his brother Rohit, were my co-stars and I had shot for my introduction scene with the latter. The makers had announced my debut with a huge close-up picture in a trade paper. But the film never saw the light of the day. However, my picture got noticed and landed me Baazigar opposite Shah Rukh Khan, who I had been a fan of since his Fauji days.

The first time I faced the camera was for the song, “Aye Mere Humsafar”. Other unit members had all carried duvet covers and bedsheets from their hotel rooms to the location. It was eight degrees in Igatpuri and I was shivering in a flimsy salwar kameez because I had no idea it was going to get so cold.

I was just 17 then, straight out of college, and though a lot of boys liked me, I hadn’t even hugged one before. I was really innocent, but luckily, the song required me to look nervous, so it worked.

I didn’t even know how to lip-sync and was standing with my back to the camera for my first scene. Rekha Chinni Prakash, the choreographer, kept screaming “Cut” and telling me my hair was obstructing the shot. Thank God for Shah Rukh, who took me aside and told me that the camera is my audience so even though I was giving beautiful expressions, no one could see. That bit of advice has stayed with me.

Honestly, I didn’t think I would last this long. Looking back, I think I got the hang of acting only after Dhadkan. Working with (director) Dharmesh Darshan and then, Revathi in Phir Milenge made me fall in love with cinema and the art of acting. Before that, I was just having fun. And had started commanding a high price from my second film itself. After the Main Khiladi Tu Anari chartbuster, “Churake Dil Mera”, I hit the jackpot. I didn’t come from a filmy background, so it was all about buying a car and a bigger house. Thankfully, the audience was much more forgiving back then. When I see my hair and makeup in old movies, I want to hide under the chair.

Now a familiar face in South Indian films, the actor talks about riding the choppy waves of public adulation
Kunal Guha (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 15, 2020)

At 58, Suniel Shetty is still built like a tank. He brushes his hands over his salt-and-pepper beard as he settles down for this interaction at his Aaram Nagar office. The actor may have slipped off the Hindi film radar, but he has been making waves down South. In recent months, he’s shared the screen with Rajinikanth (Darbar), Kichcha Sudeep (Pailwaan) and will soon be seen in Mohanlal’s epic period war film Marakkar - The Lion Of Arabian Sea. “The passion to create and love for life” is what keeps him going, he says. “There’s a generation that has forgotten me and a younger generation that respects me for my fitness, rather than for my films,” he says. “They think you’re yesteryear’s [star]… but they don’t know why you’re not working.”

Shetty shares that he was comfortable with his extended sabbatical; he never thought he’d end up working in South Indian films, despite having done cameos in the past [Kalimannu (2013) and Kakkakuyil (2001)]. “I didn’t want to do a negative role and any actor from Bollywood who goes there is offered just that. They believe that you’re a national-level hero, so if any of their heroes can beat you up, it’s the best thing ever.” His recent film choices, he says, were driven by passion and uncertainty. “When you’re back from a long sabbatical, the best work doesn’t come your way and I wasn’t even sure if I can act,” says the actor credited for 128 films.

The response that Darbar and Pailwaan received, however, encouraged him to consider more projects. In the forthcoming Mosagallu, he dons the avatar of a powerful cop, while he plays a 16th century warrior in Marakkar - The Lion Of Arabian Sea. Unsurprisingly, Shetty’s invincible action hero image from the 1990s still has traction. He credits veteran actor Danny Denzongpa for helping him carve this image in his debut Balwaan (1992). “When we were brainstorming on how to make my character seem powerful, Danny Sa’ab suggested that I carry him on my shoulders and then drop him. The last person who had lifted him up in a movie was Amitabh Bachchan in Khuda Gawah. This tip worked like a charm.”

But at 58 it’s getting tougher to keep up with that image. Of an action sequence shot for Darbar, where he was expected to “fall and throw five kicks and six punches”, he says, “I asked a 19-year-old assistant if he felt I’ll pull it off, and he said ‘Very easily, sir’. Then, I asked him how old his father is, and he said 54. I told him, ‘I am 58, so if your dad can do it, I’ll do it’.”

Shetty made several attempts to shake the image of a brooding, death-defying action star, but it was never “accepted”. “I tried comic and socially-relevant films too, but they didn’t work,” he says. “My producers would only say, ‘Do action scenes aur ek baarish mein gaana daal dena, body dikhake’.” In fact, the feedback he received from his family for his non-action films was just as telling. “I would ask my parents and kids, ‘How’s the film?’ and they’d say ‘Brilliant’ and then later, ask for a Saridon. So, you know where you stand.”

Post Hera Pheri (2000), a milestone in Shetty’s chequered career, many were convinced that he also had the chops for comedy. “And that was validation for an actor who was dismissed by critics as ‘absolutely wooden’,” he says. But there was always a back-up plan. Shetty ran a restaurant and boutique business before films and if acting didn’t work out, he would have to swallow his pride and listen to friends say, “Actor banne gaya tha, wapas aa gaya”. But since he had signed about 14 films even before his debut, there was no looking back.

Later, Shetty decided that rather than struggling to dazzle his audience with his performance, he would startle them with death-defying stunts. “I took on action stunts which were so dangerous, people would say ‘Alag hain’,” says the actor, who remembers that some of them actually lead to serious injuries. “While shooting for Mohra [the 1994 hit], when I lost a ligament, I was told to go for surgery but I couldn’t as 17 films were pending. Kitchen usi pe chal raha tha,” he says. “I would shoot for Mohra during the day and then strap my ankle and go shoot for Gopi Kishan at night. I’d only get two hours to rest — while commuting between Mukesh Mills and Filmistaan.”

Only time will tell if his son, who makes his debut this year with Milan Luthria’s remake of RX100, is cut from the same cloth. While Shetty believes Ahan will be able to handle success, he worries about how he will deal with failure. “There will always be brickbats, and nowadays, any faceless person can take pot-shots at an actor. But I’m sure Ahan will fight back,” he says.

Reflecting on his own experience, Shetty shares that when he started out, he was “barely ready to take on the world”. “We felt personality hain, we’ll wing it. But dialogue bhi bolna hain, naachna bhi hain and both haath aur pao ke saath nachna hain,” he says with a laugh. The actor got a lot of flak for his puppet-like moves and peculiar voice. “Every newbie thinks that you’re the next Bachchan. But then you watch your film and think ‘Sh*t, I really need to learn the craft’,” he says. Incidentally, this was what he told his daughter Athiya after her debut Hero opened to a lukewarm response. “Then, she really worked on her performance and the result can be seen in Motichoor Chaknachoor,” he says of her third film with Nawazuddin Siddiqui.

The actor, who counts Border (1997) as his most gratifying film and credits Dhadkan (2000) for helping him sharpen his craft, learnt lessons of his own along the way, too. “Dharmesh [director Darshan] told me ‘Just really believe you’re the character’. That’s when I realised that the most important thing for an actor to do is to invest 10 per cent mind and 90 per cent heart,” says Shetty, who does not grudge his peers their succes. “I don’t want to compete with the Akshays and the Ajays because you know you don’t stand a chance,” he says. In fact, he appreciates their strengths. “Jackie Dada’s [Shroff] personality is so loving and affectionate that if you give him attitude, he’ll just ignore you; Amit ji’s [Bachchan] humility makes you feel, ‘Amitji aise hain, toh main kaun hoon’, while Salman Khan has mastered the art of commanding attention and respect without saying a word,” he says.

Divya Dutta says she is happy and satisfied that she’s not playing the quintessential Bollywood heroine
Titas Chowdhury (HINDUSTAN TIMES; November 29, 2019)

Divya Dutta, who started her career many summers back, may have not always played the quintessential Hindi film heroine in a chiffon-clad saree, but her filmography boasts of some strong supporting character portrayals. “People have tagged me as an unconventional heroine. Now, I’m doing films where my character is pivotal and (though I might be doing love stories) I’m not romancing the typical hero. I did a wide variety of films all these years and I don’t think anybody would’ve survived without doing that,” she says.

She reveals that despite being a brilliant student academically, she always knew that films were her true calling. “As a child, I used to dream about being an actor. I would be the class topper. But during break time, I would day dream about someone announcing, ‘And the award for the best actress goes to Divya’. And then one day, from somewhere in Ludhiana, I suddenly ended up standing before Suniel Shetty (actor),” she laughs.

Ask her about her modelling days and she shares, “After Surakshaa (1995), I did a love story that didn’t do very well. Post that, I was picked by the biggest advertisement makers. My association with Vidya (Balan) goes a long way. We worked for Raju (Rajkumar) Hirani, Rakeysh (Omprakash) Mehra and Pradeep Sarkar (filmmakers) and we became their favourites. Those commercials were rich in content and not high on glamour.”

Sharing an anecdote, Divya says, “I met Dharmesh Darshan (filmmaker) at the Veer-Zaara (2004) premiere. He said to me, ‘You’ll be the diamond in our shelves that will shine even after 25 years.’ I’ll never forget that.”

The Badlapur (2015) actor says that her journey has been about making mistakes and learning from them. “For someone who didn’t start in a typical way, I went on to play some significant roles. I started my journey with a multi-starrer, where I played one of the heroines. But even in multi-starrers, I held my own. Now, I’m finally getting to play lead roles and people tell me that they love to watch me. I hear things that other heroines want to play my part. That surprises me! It has been a self-made journey, which was all about making my own mistakes, getting up on my own, great family support and people’s belief in me,” she signs off.

Recalling a quarter century in showbiz, the Baazigar heroine, now new-media star, opens up on films, food, fashion, fitness
Mayank Shekhar (MID-DAY; May 27, 2018)

To start right from the beginning, you literally stooped to conquer with your debut, Baazigar (1993), falling off a terrace, and rising as a star. Take us through that iconic scene. Hear there was no body-double, VFX, you actually hung there for three hours in a harness?
It was the whole shift, not just three hours! The only time they got me down was during lunch-break. We shot that sequence, the same way, over four days. And we shot it several times. Back then, we had no technology — just getting a hang of even the green [chroma] screen. They shot me falling with the harness on, and with the camera on top, and there was a building cut-out, which was moving. The harness marks are still there on my belly bone. They left deep cuts, as they were not sponged. I am just happy, I was okay. Being new, I didn't know any better.

You were 17, that's almost child labour!
Which is what I am saying. When you are young and don't know much, you are open to experimenting. I had no idea why I was in the movies. I was offered a role, and I did it. Because there was so much effort put into that sequence, I guess it stood out.

But Bazigaar was not your first film. There's one called Gaata Rahe Mera Dil, a love-triangle, with Rohit and Ronit Roy. Were they playing brothers in the movie?
No! And I want to kill you for bringing this up. It's my deep-dark secret. It was my first film. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it didn't happen.

Why unfortunately?
Because the financers ran out of money, and I don't think I would have become this big a star, given Baazigar was a platinum-jubilee hit. And nothing succeeds like success! Gaata Rahe Mera Dil was supposed to be directed by Dilip Naik, who was earlier an assistant to Yash ji [Yash Chopra]. He saw me at an agency, where I was giving a screen test.

You were already modelling then?
Yes, I had finished school, and someone had clicked my photographs. It was completely random. I had to no inkling of what I was doing in the industry, or how I got here. It was all chalked out by God. At that time, Jaan Tere Naam had released, Ronit Roy was really big, with his famous song, Yeh Akkha India Jaanta Hai. So I was like, "Woah! I am going to work with Ronit Roy." The script was centred on the girl, who falls in love with this guy, who dies. She loses hope, and someone who looks like him, comes into her life. The guy gets killed because of [his love for] music...

Sounds like Kaho Naa Pyaar Hai to me.
No, it wasn't. I'm not getting into details.

Why, someone else will steal that script?
No! So, anyway, someone at Venus [production company], which was auditioning for Baazigar, saw my pictures in a full-page ad, in a trade paper [announcing my debut]. Sridevi ji was supposed to play a double-role in Baazigar initially, because that is how the original film [A Kiss Before Dying] is [supposed to be].

Apparently when Abbas-Mustan told you Baazigar was a remake of A Kiss Before Dying, the first thing you said was you're not going to kiss in the movie!
Yes. I was really dumb [laughs]. I told them clearly that I won't kiss in the movie. I haven't kissed on-screen. That was always my condition.

But it was a rule with a lot of people then. Salman (Khan) still doesn't.
Yes. Shah Rukh Khan kisses?

Yes.
Earlier even he had this condition in his contracts. I got away with it. Imagine if I was in the industry now!

The other thing you had an issue with, you've mentioned, is with Hindi. Odd, since you grew up in Chembur, no?
I could speak Tulu well, having spent a lot of time with my grandmother in Mumbai. We would speak English at home. I spoke Hindi on the 'katta' at Poddar College, for half a year that I went to college. I am also a college dropout, if you remember. And the Hindi was all, "Aata hai, mereko, tereko…" My grammar was rubbish. In Bazigaar I would get my lines in my small make-up room in Film City. I would write those lines in English [Roman script] first. After, "Start sound, action," the camera would roll at a volume 10 time louder than usual, and I would forget all my lines. I remember Shah Rukh telling me, "Just perform for the audience. Forget that the camera is staring at you. Just do it as if no one [around] is watching." This was of great help.


So you went back to college after Baazigar?
My father had put just one condition — that I complete my education. He wanted me to join his business. We made pilfer-proof caps for medicine bottles. It was interesting, but not something I wanted to pursue. So after Bazigaar released, I'd go to college, and there would be a traffic jam. Even dad realised that it'd be difficult for me to keep up with the curriculum.

You do Bazigaar, then Main Khiladi Tu Anari (1994), which is just as huge. Seems like Vivek Oberoi's career to me: Company, then Saathiya, and then a bunch of films that few talk about. True?
[Laughs]. But, you know, strangely, a lot of songs from all the films that we don't remember are big hits, even today. That's the funny thing about my filmography. People don't remember the movies. But they do recall the terrible songs!

Why terrible, they were hits!
They were really terrible. Like I remember this song, Tak Taka Tak [Zameer], and then we had Barana De [Insaaf]. They were hilarious. But I was getting paid. I'd do my job, and get out. With due respect, I really think I am blessed.

You made a massive comeback with Dhadkan (2000), which is considered a landmark, in terms of commerce, yes, but you were also taken seriously as an actor.
Yes, before Dhadkan, I was doing only glamorous roles; and in the '90s, the film industry was predominantly male-dominated. It still is, but is gradually changing. At that time even the heroines didn't care. We were paid, and it was fewer days of work on a film. We did three shifts. It worked out well. Dhadkan took five years to make. By which time I had been totally written off. Akshay [Kumar] had had some major flops. Suniel [Shetty] also had had terrible flops. So, all three big flop-actors were in one movie. The film got shelved. Dharmesh [Darshan] started working on Mela, with bigger stars. His point was, "Itne saare flop actors ko kaun jayega theatre main dekhne!" I went begging to Dharmesh's mom, told her my life has come to a standstill — why doesn't her son want to make this film? I've never narrated this incident before. So, she later spoke to Dharmesh, and told him, "Kisi ki haai nahi leni chaihye. Movie ko complete kar de." Dharmesh finished Dhadkan. Mela flopped. Our film became a big hit, because of the songs, or my prayers. That's life.

The songs are still huge.
Yes, they still play at weddings.

But looking at your career in terms of pure performance, Phir Milenge (2004), stands out, right? Strong role, non-mainstream film, much loved.
For sure. I give a lot of credit to [director] Revathy. She made me believe that people love you for who you are, and the character you project. And not the make-up you wear. I was playing someone detected HIV positive, and I decided to use a bit of concealer and kajal. She said, you can't do this! When I shed my inhibitions, I felt like a new person. But there was a film called Rishtey [2002], where I had put it far more effort, which was, again, a huge flop. I played a Koli woman, worked on my dialect, spoke in Marathi, with a twang. There were long dialogues, and the very first scene that [director] Indra Kumar shot was the confrontation scene, the climax, between Karisma [Kapoor] and me. I was supposed to slap her, she pushes me. How am I going to do this? I got nominated for the part, but didn't win any awards. That was the most difficult role of my career.

Shouldn't the toughest part be playing yourself in [the reality show] Big Brother, being locked for three months, in the UK (2007)? You'd seen the show before? What made you do it?
I had watched the show, yes, but didn't know what I was getting myself into. My career was going through a lull. So was I, personally. When they offered me the money they did, and said I just had to play myself — firstly, I had no idea why they wanted me. After I came out of the house I realised there is a huge Indian diaspora they were catering to.

And you were the only foreigner in the house.
Yes, feeling like an alien. It was the first time I had been abroad alone, left to fend for myself. I was used to walking with an entourage. Here, I was a glorified maid — cooking, cleaning, since no one else [in the house] was interested. To top that, everyone would complain. It was a thankless job. They spoke about how I was eating with my hands, bitched me out. One had no idea how people were perceiving you from outside. Suddenly, in the second week, I saw helicopters circling the house, shutters were coming down. The scale on which they were shooting was really huge.

Looking back, what did it teach you?
Firstly, it makes you brain-dead. For three and half weeks, I always felt that I would get eliminated. I was praying to get out. After a fortnight, I realised something was happening. I was being treated badly. But I never put it down to racism. I just felt like the girls were very insecure.

But the racism row became huge, even discussed in the British parliament. What was it like living through that?
After I came out, they first took me to a psychiatrist. I was mentally scarred [laughs]. The one thing I remember vividly was that I had forgotten how to use a phone, or type messages. [As for public response] I had children and old ladies come up to me and cry. At some point they had faced racism. They could associate me with their experiences. A lady told me, "After Gandhi ji, if there is any Indian that people will know by name, it's Shilpa Shetty." That was a big compliment. But it was a scary and unnerving experience at the human level. So when I met Gordon Brown, he apologised; Tony Blair did the same. Every time I met someone, they would apologize, saying, "We aren't like this. It is terrible what you went through." They felt huge guilt. Today, if you ask me to be part of Big Brother, my answer would be no.

But what do you make of that kind of fame: it's overnight, and disappears overnight, too? Did that happen?
There was a lot I did there [in the UK] for almost a year and half. I got married after, so I didn't want to do anything. I was offered [BBC's] EastEnders. But anywhere you want to make a base, you have to make that country your own, and I wasn't willing to do that. I didn't do it for marriage, wouldn't for work.

Is that where you met your husband (Raj Kundra)? How did that happen?
A month after Big Brother, Raj was introduced to me through a common friend. Anybody who becomes famous there, can have a perfume [brand of their own]. And guess what, it even does well [laughs]. So Raj knew the owners of my perfume company. I had a firm doing the deal, but Raj offered me triple the money. He had a soft spot for me. And I was like, "He's such a cute guy!" So I did the deal, and that's how we met.

Another unique facet of your public life is that after a stint on films, TV, you're the first Indian celebrity to get on YouTube, starting out with fitness stuff. Would that be correct?
I'll tell you why there are no celebrities on YouTube. Because it doesn't make you any money [laughs]. People go there to become celebrities. I am a little cracked that way. But I've always been this person. I did a Yoga DVD 13 years ago! I used to be a state-level volleyball player even before I joined movies, and probably the only actress who would go to the gym. The hero would be shocked to find me there. Primarily, I wanted to bring about awareness towards health. It started out in a small way. I spent money from my pocket to shoot videos for YouTube, so people could get back to home-style cooking. I wanted to inculcate habits on how, when, and how much to eat. This whole influx of junk food joints makes me really sad. I've lost a couple of people who were really close, many in my circle are suffering from cancer, and immunity disorders. All this boils down to one thing: our lifestyle, and eating habits. I might get shot someday, as I say some honest things.

Why would you get shot?
Because these huge conglomerates are not happy. As celebrities we are at a blessed position. People take us seriously. So why not make use of that voice with something as important as health?

I know you talk strongly against aerated drinks. Ever asked your contemporary movie-stars to stop endorsing them?
It's not my place. But as celebrities we have great power. Aerated drinks are the worst things to have happened to this generation. My son has never tasted them. He is six, and has actually given up refined sugar. He calls it poison. They say sugar is more addictive, if not as addictive, as cocaine. If you don't encourage your children to smoke, drink, why would you let them have aerated drinks?

Popular diet regimens/fads keep changing every few months. What do you personally advocate?
To keep it simple. Go back to how people ate 70 years ago.

But people were dying damn young 70 years ago!
Maybe you're talking about open-heart surgeries, and advances in medicine. But look at the quality of life they led. And look at ours. Fine, we are living up to 70 years, but with diabetes, and many other illnesses. And I don't want to sound preachy. But if there is a change that has to happen, it is the current generation that we need to target. That's my idea behind getting on social media.

Many would aspire to have a body shape like yours, a lot of which is also determined by genetics, do you think?
You can literally reverse a bad deck of genes, with a good lifestyle. I put on 32 kilograms after my child was born. I just let myself go. I was having a baby really late, and this became my alibi. But I have changed my lifestyle, and with that I don't mean I am not eating. I have a tablespoon of ghee with my lunch. I don't eat after 8 pm. If Raj is late, he has dinner alone! If you are fit and happy, you can be a catalyst in making others happy.

I haven't seen your Yoga videos, but I did see you do Yoga with Baba Ramdev. Honestly, if I become the finest practitioner of Yoga in the world, is Baba Ramdev the best I can look like?
What if I tell you that he's someone who's suffered paralysis, and got out of it with Yoga? He's such a fit man. He was able to single-handedly encourage people to take it up. Only old people used to do Yoga before. The younger generation would hit the gym, or do other workouts: Pilates, etc. Yoga has suddenly got its importance back.

You think the West, especially coastal US, taking to Yoga made it hip back here as well?
That could be one of the reasons. In India, for sure, it was Babaji, though. I give him that credit. As for younger generation, I'd also take some of the credit, for making it look cool! On a serious note, because you brought it up, I don't know why we tend to ape the West so much. The power of Indian food is unbelievable. And while we're copying the West, it's funny that as an antithesis, the West is copying us — using coconut oil, clarified butter, which is ghee...

We touched on food, films, fitness. On fashion, I'm told, you don't wear animal prints anymore. Why? That was your thing!
It was my thing. But then you grow up, and move on. And it's not like I don't wear animal prints. Dolce & Gabbana used it for years, Gucci brought it back. Animal prints will never get out of style. But, I'm slowly turning into a yogini [laughs]. I just want to wear white kurtas, jeans. Just keep it simple. But then, I feel, no one will click my photos then, or they'll grill me on social media!

Final question: One thing I wanted to ask you about was the concept of the 'Bollywood mom', who'd always be with heroines at work, back in the day. True for several female stars, including you. What's it like being at work with your mom?
She was my reality check. Now you have several cameras shooting you, and a video-assist, where you can check the shots. My mom was my video-assist in those days. After the shot, I'd look at her behind the camera, for an okay.

Not the director?
If the director said OK, and she'd go [expresses poor take], I'd be like, "One more!" [laughs]. I'm sure it wasn't easy on her. We didn't have vans. We could be shooting on the road; she'd just take a chair, and sit there. She really made sacrifices; she was just 40 at the time.

Were you living her dream in some way?
I still am. This is the most beautiful life. It's been a rocky journey, a great roller-coaster ride. My manager is sitting on my head, going, "You need to do a film!" I don't have the time. So yeah, I will just take it as it comes.

(Transcribed by Sonil Dedhia, Sonia Lulla, Mohar Basu)


Shilpa Shetty in conversation at mid-day office. Pic/Sayyed Sameer Abedi

Aamir Khan kicks off mid-day's unique conversation series, where Mumbai's most popular and sharp creative minds dig deep and decode their art and craft, before a select live audience
Mayank Shekhar (MID-DAY; October 27, 2017)

Aamir Khan came over, rather under-slept, stressing over the release of his latest film 'Secret Superstar'. He spoke in-depth on the economics and craft of filmmaking. And only two days later, he conquered the box-office yet again with 'Secret Superstar', maintaining an unrivalled cent per cent hit-rate as a Bollywood producer

Superstar, filmmaker Aamir Khan kicked off the first edition of Sit with Hitlist - a conversation series with India's top creative minds, before a select audience. We intended to host this freewheeling chat in an auditorium. Date and technical issues did not permit it this time. This was a budget version of 'Sit with Hitlist', held at the mid-day office. But as goes with low-budget ventures, with Aamir in it, we knew the word-of-mouth would ensure mid-day's brand-new property would be a huge hit! It was.
Excerpts from the conversation

The big news of 2017 was of course Dangal, and China. Producer Siddharth Roy Kapur's reason for the film's unprecedented success is the Chinese audiences sensed a common Eastern sensibility in the film's father-daughter relationship. Do you agree?
When I visited China and Turkey recently, I realised that their emotional key is very similar to ours. I carefully noticed the reaction that Dangal got in theatres in China. It was the same as for an Indian audience - they were laughing, crying, and clapping at the same points. There was no difference at all.

Is that true for Indians watching Chinese films? I am not sure I get that sensibility the same way.
Well, I saw Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon [2000], and loved it. I was clapping and whistling throughout. I didn't come with any pre-conceived notions. I love Jackie Chan movies. I was in college, when I first saw Police Story [1985] - the action was unbelievable. And it's so humorous. I have connected with these films.


Aamir Khan in conversation with Mayank Shekhar at the first edition of Sit with HITLIST, before a live audience, at the mid-day office

Your personal global reach as an actor really began, thanks to the Internet. Is that right?
My assumption is that it happened with 3 Idiots [2009], which became a huge hit on the Internet. Rajkumar [Hirani] and Vinod [Chopra] got to know about it. Someone from China contacted us, and we released the film there a year later, by when most people had already watched it. They started looking for my other films, and now many of them have watched Taare Zameen Par [2007], Lagaan [2001] and Rang De Basanti [2006].



Considering the strong role of Internet, it was a surprise when I read somewhere that you are such a "big screen guy". Would you bypass something like Netflix?
I was talking about myself as a consumer, and not the creator, of content. As an audience, cinema is more important to me - huge screen, Atmos sound, a richer, larger experience, than a laptop. This doesn't mean I wouldn't want to do a Netflix, or TV series, when the quality is equally cinema-like. I have been asked by them [Netflix] to create something. Content for every platform is different. For Netflix, the content cannot be delivered in one session. The narrative needs to be episodic. I would be keen if something like that comes my way. I have watched Breaking Bad. It's my favourite. I like Game Of Thrones and House of Cards.

One of the central themes of your latest release, Secret Superstar, is how Internet can turn you into an overnight star. How do you compare that kind of stardom with yours, at a time when anything can go viral?
Some of the videos which go viral are one-offs, like a cat doing something funny. But then there are talents that people discover on the Internet - it offers great opportunities. The small-town girl in Secret Superstar has no access, but she is full of passion. She doesn't have to break into the limited distribution network anymore.



Back in the '90s when there wasn't so much talk about box-office numbers, how could you tell someone is finally a star?
From the time I was seven, I remember reading Trade Guide, and other box-office journals. We would check out the figures of dad's films, and there would be a circuit-wise break up. Within the industry, the [box-office] knowledge was always there, since cinema has always been around as a business. Today, mainstream media is picking up box-office figures, and that's a choice you're making.

In small towns, for instance, when people didn't know box-office numbers, one way to gauge stardom was if people had begun copying an actor's haircut. True?
There are many yardsticks for measuring how popular a star is. Copying style is one of them. I remember when Mr Bachchan became a huge star, I wanted to get bell-bottoms made like his. For me, it is essentially about how many seats one fills. It means that people love you and your work, and now they want to go and experience it. That's important. We often measure stardom by how big an actor's commercial successes have been. That is a faulty method. PK's or Dangal's business has to do with how great those films and their scripts were. It's incorrect to attribute that to my stardom. My stardom comes into play when I make a bad film that people don't want to watch. They still come because of my name. So if you want to measure an actor's stardom, you should check out how well his flop does.


Aamir Khan signs on a memorabilia, the original poster of his 1994 release, Andaz Apna Apna

In that sense, the Khans have dominated Bollywood for over 25 years. My question to you is: Do you remember the first time you met Salman and Shah Rukh?
The first time I met Salman was at Babla's [director Aditya Bhattacharya's] house, who made Raakh [1989]. Incidentally, Salman and I were in the same class for a year in the second standard [at St Anne's, in Pali Hill]. And we didn't know each other then! I was at Babla's house to discuss a short film called Paranoia, where I was the actor, spot-boy, production head, first AD - all rolled into one. We shot that film for a month. I was 15, and this is the first time I ever acted. Salman was cycling around in Carter Road. He knew Babla too. We stood in the balcony and talked. He told me about how he also wanted to become an actor. I thought of him as a sweet chap. Shah Rukh, I remember meeting briefly, when I was shooting with Juhi [Chawla], somewhere on the road. He had begun shooting a film with her [Raju Ban Gaya Gentleman]. Deewana [his debut, 1992]
hadn't released yet. He was sweet, and it was a warm meeting.

Clearly nothing momentous. Now one of the reasons 2017 has been considered a sub-par year in Bollywood is because the two top stars' films didn't do well - let alone break records. Do you think the film industry has been relying on the Khans for too long to bail them out every year?
There are other hugely successful stars - Akshay [Kumar], Hrithik [Roshan], Ajay [Devgn]…. The three of us [Khans] have been successful for quite a while; it's natural for the trade to bank [on us]. Sometimes films work, sometimes they don't. At one time, Mr Bachchan was huge. None of us will ever see the stardom he has. He once had eight films simultaneously doing really well in theatres. Trade would bank on him for seats and popcorns. Ideally, there should be more stars. But it's a natural process. Becoming a star is an intangible thing. What is it that people connect with me so strongly over? I have absolutely no idea.



Over a conversation in 2011, you'd told us about a bubble in the film industry, referring to studios that paid money assuming the highest possible returns. Effectively in 2016, most studios went bust. Did you predict this?
Who am I to predict? But it's bad business. Say, Dangal has done Rs 385 crore business, and I come with the next film that gets sold at Rs 400 crore, because a studio is willing to pay that much. They assume that my next will be as big or bigger than Dangal, which was huge to begin with. That's not sound business. A studio can't pay on hope. You have to invest on surety. If the lifetime of the last film is Rs 380 crore, then you know that the next will definitely make Rs 200 crore. The upside is then there for everyone to share. This is why I don't load my film with my fee. My model is that I don't charge any money. All the money goes into filmmaking, and fees, of everyone else. And then the first money [coming in] goes towards recovering the P&A [cost of print and advertising]. Eventually if the film tanks, I get zero. That's a risk I am willing to take. I'd rather lose.

And then if the film [Dangal] does Rs 1,300 crore [in China], means you get a good bulk!
Sure, and I bring that value to the table. Investors are completely secure. I take a sizeable chunk. When the film does Rs 1,300 crore, first the government takes a certain tax amount, and a major chunk goes to theatre chains, and the exhibition sector. It's the same with India, except in China, there are also rules on how much people from outside the country can take as share [revenues from a film]. It finally boils down to 12.5 per cent, which is still good.

Did you pick up a mansion from 12.5 per cent of Chinese box-office?
I am not good with money. I don't do investments and I have very few properties. Basically, my mind doesn't work in that direction. I am not a business savvy person.

You're certainly good at film business, with a 100 per cent track record as producer.
Creatively I don't want to mess with what I want to do. So, say, I want to do a Dhobi Ghat [2011], I'll make sure it's made in Rs 5 crore. For the investor, I know this [amount] will come back, and we'll make a little profit. Films will be profitable if you make them economically viable, and this gives me the freedom to make what I want.

Here's how you get it right each time: budgeting, great script-sense, making sure casting, locations are spot-on. The new thing I've learnt is how much emphasis you give to the audience testing the first-cut of your film. Unknown people repeatedly watch it in focus groups, whose responses eventually determine the final cut/edit. Isn't that losing creative control, almost like filmmaking by public consensus? Odd, no?
No. It's not [by] public consensus. I'm not going around asking people what I should do with my film - and they say cut this or that - and I make the changes. The whole basis of testing a film is that we have a story in mind that we're trying to narrate to you. I just want to make sure that what I'm narrating to you, is coming through. Or are you receiving something else? We become so close to our material that while making a film, we're not able to be objective enough to understand how it's being received.

Can you give concrete examples from your films where there was disconnect between what you were saying, and what was being received?
Let me give you two examples. Take Sarfarosh [1999] first, which was a cop film, about policing. At the test screenings, the consistent response was, "Where's the policing? We don't see any. He [the cop] is constantly listening to ghazals!" We were like, "How's that possible - there's the Khera Naka scene, with the entire action, his leg gets broken, he's in the hospital, where he dives, despite the injury - all those scenes were there." While we were befuddled, we knew this was a problem. So we added three scenes to the film. One, in the beginning, we raid a corrupt cop in the tribal belt of Maharashtra, where ACP Rathore [his character] goes through the phonebook, to get whereabouts of Sultan, which he gets after delivering a tight slap to the corrupt cop. Again, while searching for Sultan, we reach his mother's house, where I stop my colleagues from being rough with her. The third scene was about a raid, where we caught two guys, who we interrogated, but we were getting nothing out of them. This is when I fire at one of the guys, just so the bullet misses him. He spills the beans.

Wasn't that guy Nawazuddin Siddiqui [in a split second role, much before he became popular]?
That was Nawaz, which I didn't know! When I was working on Talaash [2012] with Nawaz, is when he told me, "Sir, I've already worked with you!" "Kab?" "Sarfarosh mein. Main wahi tha!" (laughs). So, after inserting those scenes, the problem [over showing policing in the picture] that we were constantly facing, disappeared overnight. Suddenly the film changed.

Another example?
Now the whole thought behind Taare Zameen Par was that one has to be inclusive. Every child has a problem, and you can't segregate them from other kids. What we were arguing for is that special schools should actually not be necessary. All kids should study in the same school. The reaction we would get is: "So, you're saying, Ishan is a special child, so he should study in a special school!" And we were clearly saying the opposite. As were all our lines. We realised there's some miscommunication here, and for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. Now if you remember, the film's title track is shot in a school for special children, where I teach. The school's annual day is going on. The kids are dancing in slow-motion, parents are hugging their kids, I've got tears in my eyes. This is when the song begins. From my face, the screen dissolves to Ishan's face, sitting all alone, lonely and low, in a [regular] boarding school. His parents can't come to meet him, because his brother has a tennis match. We then cut to the brother playing tennis, while his father is upset etc. A friend of mine, Amin Hajee, who played the mute in Lagaan, told me he thinks the problem is in the song: "You're looking at children getting so much love in the special school, and the image dissolves to Ishan alone. It seems you're saying he should be here, and not in a regular school." First I didn't agree with him, because that's not what I was trying to communicate. But, heck, let me try. So instead of dissolving from my face to Ishan's, we cut to the brother, who's not playing tennis well, and then brought in Ishan. We literally changed one thing over 30 seconds. That problem got solved. Nobody made the same point [about the film's intention] anymore. Now with dissolving my face with Ishan's, I wanted to communicate, sub-consciously, that he [Nikumbh, the teacher] actually sees himself in Ishan [he went through the same problems as a kid dealing with Dyslexia]. But I was failing in communicating that anyway. And I've been doing test screenings right since QSQT [Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak, 1989].

Showing the first cut to regular junta, from your first major film onwards?
Yes. Some of the reactions make sense, some don't. Many of which I already have answers to, since the film still has to go through post-production. Again, I'll give you a broad example. Often people say that from a particular point, a film becomes very boring: "The moment the song comes in second half, the film dips." Now most people will feel that they should cut the song. But that won't be the solution. You're feeling the weight over here [in the film's timeline], but the reason for that is somewhere earlier [in the film]. There's something wrong in your structure. You need to figure that out. It's like going to a doctor and telling him your symptoms. Can he treat that? No. He can treat your problem. Likewise, there is a dip in the second half, but the problem is somewhere in the first half, you need to treat that - either you haven't built up the plot properly, or the sub-plot is too weak. You need to understand where the correction lies. So it's not filmmaking by consensus. With Raja Hindustani [1996], we had a very bad reaction [from test audiences]. Dharmesh [Darshan] was like, "Oh God, we're finished!" I told him, according to me, you shouldn't change a single thing about the film. So it's a science: you have to know what to take, or correct.

But who did you show Raja Hindustani to? Can't be a Malabar Hill audience, they'll reject it anyway, it's too massy and hardcore.
Well, we showed it to a hardcore Hindi heartland audience. There was a wedding happening in Dharmesh's family, so people had come in from Punjab, Allahabad, and other places.

Another thing I learnt about you, from my childhood [guitarist] friend, who spent over 10 days in your Panchgani house, scoring music with Amit Trivedi, is that you're seriously hands-on. How important is it for a Hindi filmmaker to know his music?
I am not formally trained in music, and I am not involved in the music of every film, unless the producer/director invites me to be part of the process. When I was working with Mansoor [Khan] on Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikander or QSQT, I was very closely involved. As I am with the films I produce.

What do you mean by involved, do you make suggestions?
I react to the piece and convey to the composer what I feel. I might act out something to tell him what I want. Sometimes I do get technical. I have basic knowledge to make a few suggestions. In Secret Superstar, for instance, the song Main Kaun Hoon (sings it) was at one point going on falsetto. It wasn't sounding right. I requested Amit to change it. He obliged. We already had another track, Main Nachdi Phira, going into falsetto. We couldn't do it for two important songs.

You've spoken at length here about the science of filmmaking. How do you merge that with art? (Mohar Basu in the audience asks)
Let me fine-tune your question. It's not the science of filmmaking, but mass communication, because filmmaking may choose not to be mass communication, and then it won't follow these laws that you're talking about. You are trying to communicate to a whole mass, so you try and reach the common point among all these people. But that's not how I begin. While listening to a script, I become the audience. It's like you watching a film. And at that time, I'm just reacting emotionally to it. For example, when I heard the script of Delhi Belly, I was on the floor, laughing. At that time, I'm not thinking of the science. That happens when I start work on the script, with the director and writer, and say, I check: Have we locked our goal early enough? What is the premise of Delhi Belly? 'Shit happens'.

You keep a one-liner, always?
Yes. The premise and what the film is trying to say are important. A film may not be socially relevant, but it has to say something. So yes, do we have a clear enough premise? Do we want to sharpen it? Is my goal locked, well in advance? There are times when the film is going on and on, and you don't know where it is going, so you start losing interest.

Let's look at Lagaan. The premise is, "Rains aren't happening. You can't pay tax." Gora says, "Lagaan maaf kar denge, if you beat us in cricket." My character says, "Sharat manjoor hai." The moment he says that, my goal is locked. Now, as an audience, I know that cricket main harane wale hain. Now, that journey from goal-locking to the goal has to be exciting, difficult, with a lot of obstacles, which makes it even more exciting. At times, the main plot becomes too boring. Are the subplots getting over, before the main plot? Because if that's not the case, I'm not interested; having reached the goal. The end fizzles out. So these are the basic rules of mass communication in entertainment.

You emphasize strongly on emotional connect, is that something you seek in all your films? (Sonil Dedhia in the audience asks)
All. When I say emotional connect, I don't mean crying, because that's what people often associate with that word - "Oh matlab rona dhona hai." What I mean is some emotion is being tapped into - it's making you feel thrilled, giving you lots of stress, because suspense is an emotion being tapped into, in a thriller. Or it could be fear, because it's a horror film. So, the film connecting at an emotional level is important to me.

A distinction between art-house and mainstream, according to a filmmaking wit I once interviewed, is that with the latter, the audience knows exactly what's going to happen (they like that), while with the former, they don't. In fact, they don't even know if anything will happen in an art-house film at all.
I feel that in mainstream cinema, you should have a sense of where the film is headed. But at each stage, if you know what is going to happen, then the film becomes too predictable, and doesn't engage you enough. So it's important to surprise the audience.

Final question: Honestly, decode your character Shakti Kumarr in Secret Superstar. He's a sleazoid called Shakti, clearly named after Shakti Kapoor. He talks a lot like Anu Malik and Anil Kapoor, both of whom I saw at your film's private screening.
I've taken a lot from various people and built this personality. I've used Anil's style of talking a few times-like in the awards' night scene, where I say, "Awards lete lete thak gaya hoon main." When Anil says bye to you on the phone, for instance, he never says one 'bye'. He goes, "Okay, bye bye bye bye bye bye…". There are some things that stay with me. Jeetu ji [Jeetendra] once came to meet my uncle [Nasir Hussain]. I used to be his assistant at the time. And Jeetu ji is a fab guy, with a great sense of humour. He told my uncle, "Nasir saab, mujhe double role offer hua hai. Mujhse ek role theek se hota nahin, mujhe do role de rahe hain!" But he used a phrase then, "Dekhte hain. Buck up India!" Now whenever I meet Jeetu ji, he says, "Buck up India." He'd ask me, when is your movie releasing? I'd say, December. "Haan, buck up India!" I used that in the film! (laughs).

There's no Anu Malik in it, come on?
Now, don't ask me who all are in it. Okay, there's a little bit of Anu Malik. But I'm not mimicking anybody, because I can't do that.

Dharmesh Darshan explains his unannounced sabbatical; why plans of Dhadkan 2 fell through.
Sanyukta Iyer (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 8, 2016)


On Dharmesh Darshan’s 42nd birthday on May 16, 2014, Ratan Jain, who’d produced his 2000 romance drama Dhadkan, featuring Akshay Kumar, Suniel Shetty, and Shilpa Shetty, asked him to announce a sequel. According to Dharmesh, he agreed to come on board as a “director making a comeback” out of sheer respect for his longtime association with his producer friend. Also, he figured he could give the second instalment a modern spin, mounting it on a much bigger budget than the original. However, two-and-a-half years since the film’s inception, Dharmesh has walked out of the project citing differences in negotiations. While he has seceded all association with the development of Dhadkan 2, the producers are now bringing on-board a newer, much younger director, Prem Soni whose last directorial was Preity Zinta’s debut production, Ishkq In Paris three years ago.

“Even though I had said ‘yes’ in principle, I wasn’t too sure after the negotiations that followed. There was a lot of back-and-forth and we worked on the terms of agreement for six months. I had absolutely no need to prove myself — over the years, Dhadkan has become a cult film as well as has made profits via satellite rights. I did not want to make a sequel just for the heck of it,” Dharmesh cleared the air to Mirror, further adding that he went on a sabbatical six years ago after 18 successful years in the film industry. “I was at the top of my game. My directorial debut, Lootere, released when I was 24 and was a super-hit. Four years later, Raja Hindustani made me a leading director at 28. My contemporaries, Aditya Chopra, Karan Johar, and Sooraj Barjatya decided to turn producers and my parents wanted me to follow suit but I didn’t want to chase money,” Dharmesh recalls, noting that he chose to make only seven films, including Mela and Haan Maine Bhi Pyaar Kiya, when he could have directed 70.

Aap Ki Khatir, the 2006 romantic comedy featuring Akshaye Khanna and Priyanka Chopra, would go on to become Dharmesh’s last directorial. On May 9, 2009, his mother, Sheila Darshan, daughter of Nanabhai Bhatt and the older sister of filmmakers Mahesh and Mukesh Bhatt, passed away at 69, making the director retreat into mourning. “My world changed overnight. Two-and-a-half years later, my father (Darshan Sabharwal) passed away on December 31, 2011. In 2007, I had two big-budget films lined up, one whose script I had already completed and was on the verge of taking to the floors. But I returned my signing amount and chose to go a sabbatical in 2010, and have been on a break for the past six years,” he explains, quick to add that there is much more to do besides making films, like teach, and travel and that he has no regrets since he has already broken all box office records of his time and made films like Raja Hindustani and Bewafaa that were “way ahead of their times”. And there’s another reason for his time-off from the film circuit. “In a time of money-hungry producers, everyone courts controversy and everything is about a person’s visibility and validity, I call myself a complete misfit. Fame, name and moolah came to me early on in life, and while they’re important to me as well, I’m not a businessman. Maybe I’m foolish or an artist with integrity,” he asserts.

While he continues to receive offers to remake films or direct sequels, he does not want to touch any of the classics because he believes it is “impossible to redo a soulful film.”

Today, he lives alone, without a partner or any children to cater to. “All artists live through the noise of a film set and the loneliness when in a crowd. While filmmakers manage to work through all kinds of emotions and situations, I cannot exhibit my grief and vulnerability on set. Neither do I crave for the attention anymore, nor do I mind the loneliness,” he says matter-of-factly.

Isn’t the lure of making a couple of crores a tad tempting or worthy of prompting a comeback soon? “Demonetization has proved that anything can happen to your wealth overnight. We’ll never know whether the filmmaker who chased it all was the right one or the one who gave it all up,” he signs off.

Meena Iyer (BOMBAY TIMES; September 23, 2015)

Prakash Jha never got to hear the track Aadesh Shrivastava composed for Gangaajal 2 before his untimely death
Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 7, 2015)

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 8, 2014)

Speaking to Mirror from Shimla, Dharmesh Darshan admitted that he was travelling around the country, quietly scouting for two new faces for the Dhadkan sequel. “They will be the new Shilpa Shetty and Mahima Chaudhary,” he asserted.

Dharmesh, who will be ending his sabbatical with this film, is looking for two terrific dancers with a pan-India look. “Juhi (Chawla) and Karisma (Kapoor) were from the North, Shilpa from down South and Sushmita Sen from the East, there’s never been any regional bias. In fact, I may travel abroad because girls in London and New York are more Indian than girls here. Once I find the duo, I’ll package them according to the requirements of the script,” says Dharmesh who gave Juhi, Karisma and Shilpa makeovers in Lootera, Raja Hindustani and Dhadkan.

Like Aashiqui 2, Dhadkan 2 will not feature the original cast of Akshay Kumar, Suniel Shetty, Shilpa and Mahima. “It’s a fresh concept and a younger film,” he said.

Dharmesh who’s locked the script, says he has “committed in principle”to direct the film for Ratan Jain, but nothing is on paper yet. “If I can make the film without any creative compromises, I’d love to see Dhadkan grow and evolve.”

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 4, 2014)

Back in 1966, Darshan Sabharwal took the brave decision to make his romantic suspense thriller, Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi, in black-and-white at a time when colour exploded on the Indian screen. The suspense drama revolves around a mysterious woman who emerges, so it seems, from the skeletal remains at an excavation site, and bears an uncanny resemblance to a centuries-old statue. “The film is in the genre of Mahal and Woh Kaun Thi and my father felt that the eerie beauty of the subject could be best captured in cinematographer Keki Mistry’s black-and-white frames like the earlier classics,” explains Saberwal’s filmmaker son Dharmesh Darshan.

The film opened two years after Kashmir Ki Kali and transformed Sharmila Tagore from a shy teenager to a courtesan from the Magadh era who supposedly returns to life to reclaim her lover. “Everyone was wowed by her sensuality in an Amrapali costume designed by Oscar-winner Bhanu Athaiya. Since her character Kiranmai was from another world, Bhanuji suggested an Amrapali costume for her which was teamed with exotic jewellery like chokers, dangling earrings and a bracelet that becomes an element in the storytelling. Even the trend of Sharmila’s famous bouffants started with a layered, old-world hairstyle adorned with a piece of jewellery in this film,” points out Dharmesh.

Interestingly, while shooting the film’s poignant climax on the rocks of Bandstand, where the lovers meet for a final goodbye, director Brij suddenly realised that Sharmila couldn’t be wearing the Amrapali costume and decided on a white sari. “My mother (Sheila Darshan, the sister of Mahesh and Mukesh Bhatt) would often complain that my father borrowed one of her beautiful white saris for that scene and it never came back to her,” Dharmesh reminisces with a laugh.

The film co-starred Biswajeet who like in Bees Saal Baad is drawn towards his doom by a sonorous signature tune, Har tukda mere dil ka, and a woman who could be real or ethereal. Mumtaz caught the eye in a role with shades of grey and Prithviraj Kapoor played the archaeologist caught in a web of deceit. “But the story revolved around Sharmila and established her not just as a glamorous star but also as a performer,” asserts Dharmesh, who 30 years later reminded the actress about the film when she made a two-scene appearance in his Dhadkan as Akshay Kumar’s mother.

Yeh Raat Phir Na Aayegi continues to haunt with its charttopping tracks, from Har tukda mere dil kaand Yahi woh jagah hai to Main shaayad tumhaare liye ajnabee hoon, Phir miloge kabhi iss baat ka vada kar lo and Mohabbat cheez hai kya. “There was also a beautiful duet, Huzur-e-waala jo hai ijazat, picturised on Helen and Madhumati for the first time,” says Dharmesh. “Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma called up Ashaji (Asha Bhosle) from the US after hearing the songs during a drive. They recreated the magic of Ashaji and OP Nayyar.”