Madhureeta Mukherjee (BOMBAY TIMES; July 11, 2020)

At 65, Anupam Kher, by his own admission, has more fire in his belly than he had in his twenties. With over 500 films in his repertoire, he has traversed genres and movie industries seamlessly — thriving everywhere he went. Yes, he did step over some stumbling blocks, but he turned them into stepping stones. The actor, who calls himself an ‘eternal optimist’, tells us that his sense of wonder and curiosity about his craft has kept him on his toes all these years. He also explains how in today’s times, we need to express more, instead of finding a shortcut to every emotion.

Here’s Anupam Kher, revealing his emotional, expressive and comical self. Read on...

You complete 36 years in the industry, this year. You were 28, when your first film, Saaransh released, where you played a 65-year-old father. Now, at 65, when you look back, how does it feel? Did you have any dilemma about playing a character more than twice your age in your debut film?
I went to drama school (National School of Drama), had heard and learnt about other actors, and read world literature. So, when you are a trained actor, you don’t have these insecurities. I would give my left arm to play a 65-year-old man in my twenties. A lot of people told me, ‘Tu barbaad ho jayega, poori zindagi buddhe ka role karega’. Interestingly, at 28, I pulled off the look of a 65-year-old, but today, at 65, I don’t look like that old man. It feels like the The Curious Case of Benjamin Button story (laughs!). In fact, I broke this myth of actors being typecast in the industry. I have done films as diverse as Karma, Khosla Ka Ghosla, A Wednesday, Shola Aur Shabnam and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. So, I had no such insecurity. At a very young age, my father told me that failure is an event, never a person. On top of it, I am an eternal optimist — it’s a lethal combination.

So, would you say that your education and experiences before you became an actor, made you fearless in a way?
Well, I was confident. I knew that I needed a break and I waited for nearly two-and-a-half years for it. I have tried to be fearless throughout my life… halaki aadmi kuch banne ke baad kam fearless ho jataa hai. Jab aap kuch bhi nahin hote ho and you hit the lowest point, the only way is up. I did face bouts of fear at times, as I was financially in a bad situation, and there were days when I was so depressed and low, tab pata hi nahin hota tha achhe din kya hote hai. When I first came to Mumbai, I lived in Bandra (East), in a chawl with three others. Main har cheez mein achcha hi dhoondta hoon. The address of the house that I was living in then was 2/15 Kherwadi, Kher Nagar, Kher Road. I thought, duniya ki koi takat mujhe rok nahi sakti. I always found comical situations even in the most difficult phases of my life and that’s why I tell people that they should never feel dejected. You should dream beyond the skies. Dreams ka toh syllabus hona hi nahin chahiye. Jitna dream karoge, uska 10% toh kam se kam aasman tak hona hi chahiye. Even after nearly 515 films, I still feel that I haven’t reached the interval of my life.

I assume that’s also the reason why you are not particularly fond of titles like, ‘legend’ and ‘thespian’. And, in some of your earlier interviews, you had said that when you went to work in the West, you wanted to feel like a newcomer...
One of the reasons I wanted to go to America was that here, people had started calling me veteran, thespian, legend. Yahan, har kisi ko legend bol dete hain, when they reach a certain age. Legends are people like Dilip Kumar saab, Raj Kapoor saab, Mr Amitabh Bachchan, Robert De Niro. I am proud of the work that I have done, but titles like these often come with some connotations. It’s like people saying that you have done enough work, so we will now give you a lifetime achievement award and you can walk into the sunset. I do not want to carry the burden of being Anupam Kher on my shoulders. And yes, I wanted to feel like a newcomer, as far as my craft is concerned. Sometimes, it is good to unlearn things, because what you have learnt in the past becomes a burden. This thinking that maine jo kar liya hai wohi aakhri shabd hai...I don’t subscribe to that. I don’t take myself too seriously, and the people who do that are the most comical ones in the world.

When you started work in the West, what did you feel were the most glaring differences between our movie industry and Hollywood?
I think that their pre-production is phenomenal. Their sense of time and punctuality are amazing, too. Everyone is a trained actor, no one is there by fluke. They are not there because their parents were somebody. They are thoroughly prepared, right from the spot boy to the producer — everyone is totally immersed in their work. At least, the people that I have worked with so far have been like that. Abhi yahan bhi hona shuru hua hai. Things are changing in our film industry, too.

You came to Mumbai from Shimla in 1981 and got your first break three years later. Today, there is a lot of talk about insiders-outsiders and Bollywood’s privileged club, et al. How was it back then? How much do you think the industry has changed over the years?
In the early 80s, everyone came to Mumbai from small and big towns to make a mark here. Back then, there was no such thing as I am an outsider, and you are an insider. We all had goals and we wanted to achieve them. What has changed over the years, and I am glad that I saw both sides of it, is that our relationships were much stronger. There was no technology, so there was more human contact. After a shot, there wasn’t much choice for us other than sitting with our co-actors and chatting under a tree. Also, that is the reason our old friendships have remained intact over the years. Now, we have PR companies, but back then, a few journalists that I knew were like my friends. Now, with professionalism of this nature, there is bound to be a certain degree of aloofness. The system makes you adapt and that has happened to some extent in our film industry, too. But, when I came here in my 20s, I never felt that I needed to pack my bags and leave, and I don’t know of anyone who felt that way. I don’t think we should divide the industry between outsiders and insiders. Everyone dreams and dreams follow no such theory.

Today, there is a lot of conversation about mental health, and also, the kind of pressures that young actors in showbiz face and where it can lead them. You recently revealed that at some point, you were diagnosed with manic depression. Tell us about what you learnt during that period...
In India, there is still a stigma around mental health. I don’t think depression is necessarily attached to any profession. Today, we are all in an environment where people will make you feel that they are better off than you are. If someone has more friends on social networking platforms, the one with lesser followers feels inferior. The world is so much in your face, you are constantly made to feel that you are an underachiever. Real laughter and smiles have been replaced by emojis. We are not seeing and feeling things anymore. Mental health is something we need to talk about. Every person who meets with failure at some point, goes through depression. It is human and natural. It is a sense of loss. Grief ka koi timetable nahin hota, woh kabhi bhi aa jata hai. You have to fight it with positivity, and by talking and listening to people. You have to draw strength from yourself and your family. Usko samajhne mein time lagta hai. In the movie Hum Dono, ek gaana hai, ‘Jahan mein aisa kaun hai jisko gham nahin mila’. It is a fastpaced life, where we are running nowhere. Today, kids don’t have that sense of wonder that you and I have, as they are hooked on to their mobiles. Today’s generation hits the search engine to find quick answers to everything. Knowledge does not translate into experience unless you live that. Jab tak dil toota nahi kisi ki mohabbat mein, aap kitna bhi search kar lo, woh answer aapko online search mein nahin milega. We need to connect and engage more with people around us.

Besties, Waheeda Rehman and Nanda

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 30, 2019)

Their friendship started on the wrong footing. Waheeda Rehman was shooting Guru Dutt’s Kaagaz Ke Phool at the now defunct Central Studio and on another floor Nanda was filming Naya Sansar. They bumped into each other on the staircase. Nanda ji who had loved her performance in Pyaasa , paused with a friendly greeting but lost in her thoughts, Waheeda ji passed by without even a smile in acknowledgment. Later, in Filmfare, Waheeda ji clarifed she hadn’t heard her, but Nanda ji at the time perceived it as a snub and was deeply hurt.

Cut to the first day of Kala Bazar which featured both actresses. When writer-director Vijay Anand was introducing them, Waheeda ji responded with spontaneous warmth, but her usually affable co-star was more reserved remembering the earlier slight. It took a few days for the ice to thaw, but soon, both actresses were turning up on the set an hour before call time just so they could chat. And over many conversations and shared secrets, a lifelong friendship was cemented.

Kala Bazar had Waheeda ji as Dev Anand’s leading lady and Nanda ji as his younger sister. And while she carried off the role with effortless ease, by then Nanda ji, who had started her career as a child artiste, was tired of playing the baby and sister. Mohan Churiwala, a close associate of Dev saab, recalls that when the actor-filmaker approached her to play Sapna in his 1960 production, she sighed, “You are also giving me behen roles.” With her words echoing in his ears, the following year, in Hum Dono, he cast her as one of his leading ladies, along with Sadhana.

Nanda ji played Ruma, Major Verma’s wife who has a heart ailment and so cannot undergo any kind of emotional shock, which is why when he goes missing in action and is presumed dead, his lookalike Captain Anand is forced to masquerade as him. “The film had been planned with Meena Kumari and Mala Sinha and when he offered her the role, she wondered briefly if she would be able to pull off a role meant for Meena Kumari. It was a flawless performance,” raves Churiwala, pointing out that even in Kala Bazar for the scene in which the police come to arrest Dev saab, she cried without glycerine and the tears continued long after the shot was over.

Dev saab then cast her as one of his teen devian in the ’65 musical romance, flirting with her, crooning “Aise To Na Dekho” and eventually choosing to marry her simple typist over his genteel, moneyed benefactor Simi and the glamorous but lonely actress Kalpana. While on marriage, Nanda had made a pact with her bestie Waheeda that they’d marry on the same day and would continue with their dosti ever after. “And it won’t be an arranged marriage for us… Say some kind of a love marriage,” she had giggled.

Waheeda ji tied the knot with her Shagoon co-star Kamaljeet aka Shashi Rekhi on April 27, 1974. Nanda ji found love with filmmaker Manmohan Desai. The couple even got engaged, but after his untimely demise she never married and lived alone till her death on March 25, 2014.

She had gone on a self-imposed hibernation in the ’70s, returning to the screen in ’81 with Ahista Ahista, followed by Prem Rog and Mazdoor. “I’m fortunate that I featured in all her three comeback films. Nanda tai was a fabulous actress and the scene in Prem Rog where she berates me for not admitting that I’m in love with Dev (Rishi Kapoor) just before the song 'Meri Kismat Mein Tu Nahin Shayad' still gives me gooseflesh. And unlike many senior actors, she never offered advice, simply enhancing your performance with hers,” says Padmini Kolhapure.

Waheeda ji has fond memories of how her friend would burst into loud laughter without provocation but only in the company of people she liked. Padmini, too, remembers her as a warm woman, fun to be with. “Those days there were no vanity vans so between shots, I’d stroll into her make-up room. While I sat, she, once she was in costume, could never sit still. She’d stroll around the room, chatting animatedly. Nanda tai, Shashikala ji, Ashalata Wabgaonkar ji and I had all grown up in typical Maharashtrian families and when we were together, we only spoke in Marathi and found lots of things we had in common,” she smiles.

After Mazdoor in ’83, Nanda ji was rarely seen even in public, choosing to stay out of the limelight. But even today, those who knew her well remember not just her shy smiles but also her sense of fun. For me, she’s as much the weepy sister of Toofan Aur Deeya and the wheelchair bound romantic of Aaj Aur Kal as she is glam queen of Jab Jab Phool Khile and the cold-blooded murderess of Ittefaq who can kill with a look or an ice pack.


Nanda with Dev Anand in Hum Dono; with Padmini Kolhapure in Prem Rog

On his 97th birth anniversary, a look at why the legend of Sahir Ludhianvi has endured beyond his life
Mudar Patherya (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 8, 2018)

Sahir Ludhianvi would have been 97 today. The irony is that even as his physical trace has disappeared — his grave zameendost — he is more alive now than ever.

An Indian communication agency has calligraphed Sahir’s kalaam on its walls; a company’s promoter has printed eight personal visiting cards across colours, each bottomlined with successive lines from Sahir’s “Main zindagi ka saath nibhaata chala gaya”. Delhi chief metropolitan magistrate discharged the Italian business Ottavio Quattrocchi from a long-standing Bofors pay-off case in 2011 after invoking Sahir’s “Woh afsaana jisey anjaam tak laana na ho mumkin, usey ek khoobsurat mod dekar chhodna achcha.” Anurag Kashyap’s Gulaal (2009), acknowledged the film’s inspiration as “Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai?” Sahir’s “Kabhi Kabhie” (Amitabh version) continues to be India’s number one after dinner poetry recitation number.

Why has the legend of Sahir revived? Because Sahir combined social conscience, lingual embroidery, extensive applicability, phonetic traction and conversational treatment. Besides, Sahir could have communicated in emotion-neutral zubaan; he utilized anger instead. His could have been ‘sit and listen to what I have to say’ kalaam; it was a raised fist instead. Sahir’s could have been a ‘You figure out what I have to say’; his was a rude slap instead. Sahir could have democratized delivery; his was a ‘You will need to raise yourself to my level’ intellectual arrogance instead. Sahir (like Manto) was society’s inconvenient mirror. If the government showcased happy farmers in contrived newsreels, Sahir thundered about rural exploitation. If the media glossed over women’s rights, Sahir wrote about prostituted women. If shaayars wrote on gulaab and shabaab, Sahir thundered about inquilaab instead.Sahir’s simmering anger was derived from first-hand experiences.

One, as a child he perceived first-hand his family’s feudal decadence, resulting in his father having married 12 times, his parents’ divorce and fight for his possession (first male heir). The scar was the birth of his feminism, reflected in his “Aurat ne janam diya mardo ko, mardo ne usey bazaar diya”, or his “Yeh koochey yeh neelamghar dilkashi ke” or even his take on Empress Nurjehan .

Two, he would slip his communist spiel into even his relatively non-serious kalaam pictured on Johnnie Walker: “Baant kar jo khaaye uspe apne jaan-o-dil lutaa, Arre jo bachaaye maal usko juutiyon kaa haar de!” Sahir wasn’t tickling with a feather; he was drilling into your cranium.

Three, Sahir evolved into a national conscience-keeper, ceaselessly blowing the whistle. Sahir couldn’t care less; he undiplomatically wrote, “Cheen o Arab hamaara, Hindustan hamara, rehne ko ghar nahi hai, saara jahaan hamara” not only as a take-off on Nehru’s Panchsheel initiative, but he was also raising the pitch against Iqbal’s arguably parochial Taraana-e-Milli.

Four, when he saw capitalists virtually running post-Independence India, Sahir counter-questioned: “Daulat badhi to mulk me iflaas kyu badha? Khush-haali-eawaam ke asbaab kya hue?”

Not content, he warned: “Fakakaashoin ke khoon me hai josh-e-inteqaam, Sarmaaya ke fareb e jahan-parvaree ki khair” (The hungry poor masses are driven by the passion for revenge, let the proponents of a treacherous capitalist society beware) some years ahead of the Naxalite uprising.

Six, when he perceived a post-Independence generation vacate the ideology-driven position, Sahir questioned: “Yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye to kya hai?” — the gold standard of realism writing in Hindi cinema.

Seven, Sahir raised the flag for Urdu zubaan in post-Independent India. On the centenary of Ghalib’s passing away in 1969, when it would have been customary for him to write on the celebrated poet, he wrote a scathing commentary on the government’s hypocrisy instead: “Aazadi-e-kaamil ka ailaan hua jis din, maatoob zubaan thehri, gaddar zubaan thehri.” Gaddar. Only a gunslinger like Sahir could possibly have used that word.

Eight, he persuaded AIR to credit naghma-nigaars (lyricists) when announcing songs; he compelled film producers to remunerate him a rupee more than Ms Mangeshkar at the height of her glory.

The big message: Sahir relished taking on the economically and politically mighty. Today, his conviction and clarity would have provided a virtually extinct Left with some spine; his counter-radicalism would have rallied the secular; his women-centric kalaam would have helped men raise the equality flag.

The man (only 59) died in 1980. The poet lives on.

Shubha Shetty Saha (MID-DAY; December 26, 2015)

Sadhana is yet another example to the statistics of how the film industry largely doesn’t really turn back to check on its people, once they are past their prime and fade into the oblivion. Even though Sadhana enjoyed the position of being one of the most sought after actresses in ’60s, she was easily forgotten once she decided to step into the shadows. Sadhana had chosen to stay away from the media glare since, by her own admission, she wanted to be remembered as the ‘khubsoorat’ Sadhana.

What she hadn’t chosen, however, was fighting a battle in her old age, all alone — the struggle to keep her Santacruz home for which she even had to seek police protection. Not many from the industry, except old friends Helen and her family, and Nanda, came forward to help her.

It was in the ’60s that beautiful Sadhana, along with being an actress to reckon with, was also a fashion icon. Her fringe cut hairstyle, presumably simply done at the behest of director RK Nayyar (whom she later married) to hide her broad forehead, went on to be imitated by millions of girls, famously called as Sadhana cut.

Born in Karachi, Sadhana might have been destined to be an actress, as her father named her after his favourite actress of ’ 40s, Sadhana Bose. After making her debut in a Sindhi film, Sadhana’s big Bollywood break came in the form of Love In Simla, with Joy Mukherjee. Lore has it that she had to compete with another promising actress (Asha Parekh) to get the coveted role.

Sadhana easily fit into the various roles that she was offered, from being a cotton saree clad teacher from a small town in Asli Naqli to a Muslim student in Mere Mehboob to a rich modern girl in Waqt. In the earlier phase of her career, Sadhana made a hit pair with Dev Anand (who can forget the utterly romantic Abhi na jao song in Hum Dono picturised on this couple?). However, later, it was her onscreen chemistry with jubilee star Rajendra Kumar that was much talked about. The two stars were great friends off screen too.

Interestingly, while Sadhana’s endearing smile was considered an asset for her romantic roles, it also served another purpose. Some filmmakers felt her smile held the mystery ideal for her to be cast in mystery thrillers. Her double role in the 1966 mystery film, Mera Saaya, where she played two sisters, one homely and another a restless wayward character, turned out to be the highlight of her career. Her feisty dance performance on Jhumka gira re, is still one of the most memorable things about the actress’ career
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Voice Of Support

Salman Khan was one of the few people in the industry who seemed genuinely concerned about Sadhana having to fight to save her house in Santacruz. Salman was informed about the issue by his step mother, Helen. Back in 2010, the actor had tweeted, “Who is this builder who is making Sadhana Aunty's life miserable, threatening her and nobody is doing anything about it."

“And you believe that in this day and age, this kind of stuff happens in our country where a living legend's life is hell (sic).”

Five years later, when the issue was not resolved, the actor had yet again expressed his anguish during the course of a casual chat with hitlist. “Her life is being made difficult. They are cutting her electric connection, literally trying to drive her away. It is terrible that no one's trying to help one of us from the industry. It is shameful that we cannot help the older people amongst us,” he had said.

Did you know?
Sadhana has a personal connect with Karisma and Kareena Kapoor. She was their mother Babita's first cousin. The late actress' father was the brother of actor Hari Shivdasani, Babita's father.


Bangs on!

Sadhana was considered a trendsetter in the film industry in the 1960s, a role model for fashionistas of her time. While her fringe cut hairstyle was a rage and came to be known as the Sadhana cut, her figure-hugging kurtas also caught on among the fashion conscious.

There's a backstory to her famous hairstyle: since Sadhana had a wide forehead, it was highlighted on the big screen. While shooting for her debut film, Love In Simla (1960), opposite debutant Joy Mukerjee, the film's director RK Nayyar (later, her husband) got a snapshot of Hollywood star Audrey Hepburn on the set. He instructed the hairstylist to give her similar fringes, which would substantially cover her forehead. It turned an instant hit and Sadhana stuck to the style in several of her films. In fact, 'Sadhana cut' became the desi word for bangs.

The hair cut posed a hindrance when Sadhana signed Bimal Roy's film Parakh (1960). The filmmaker felt her hairstyle would not work for a village belle role. Determined to be part of the film, Sadhana then immediately went to the dressing room, pinned her fringe behind with a clip and returned in a plain saree to fit her character.

Her tight churidar kurtas became a must-have in women's wardrobes, especially after her 1965 film Waqt.

Nostalgia notes

I worked with Sadhana in Waqt, my second film after Kashmir Ki Kali I was new and inexperienced and she was a star already. But, it was wonderful to work with her. I remember the badminton scene we shot together. I found her warm and slightly tomboyish. She did not have starry tantrums. She was professional and also a good human being. At that time, she had an eye problem as a result of thyroid issues. I remember she was okay in one scene and in another, her eyes were bulging out. But she had a lot of courage, determination and endurance. I regret that I lost touch with her. I have a lot of respect for her and am upset since I heard the sad news.
—Sharmila Tagore, actress

When she was turning director with Geeta Mera Naam (1974), she told RK Nayyar that I don’t want any choreographer other than Saroj Khan. I told Sadhana I cannot do the work because I do not have a (industry membership) card. She asked me not to worry and got me a card. She even paid for it and made me the dance director that I am today. I have done many songs for her like Jhumka Gira Re, I don’t think anyone can look so sexy as she did in a saree. I often met her and we played cards. God bless her soul.
—Saroj Khan, choreographer

When I entered the film industry, Sadhanaji was already a star. I had a brief role in Woh Kaun Thi, but that was my big break. One thing I liked about her was that she was cooperative, a team player and an intelligent girl. She would grasp things really fast. She had millions of fans, and girls used to follow her hairstyle. She was at the peak of popularity, but then, unfortunately, thyroid problems struck her and she suddenly found herself out of job. As an artiste, I know how depressing it is. But she was very brave. She accepted whatever happened and remained the jolly person that she always was.
—Prem Chopra, actor

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 21, 2015)

In the late '50s, Vijay Anand had fallen ill. His publicist, Amarjeet, nursed him back to health. Soon after, with an assistant in tow, the filmmaker popularly known as Goldie, took off in a jeep to Kashmir and en route wrote a screenplay based on Nirmal Sircar's story, complete with the dialogue. Two lookalikes, Major Manohar Lal Verma and Captain Mahesh Anand, are the protagonists of this story of mistaken identity, and Goldie roped in his older brother, Dev Anand, to play the double roles and produce Hum Dono. Amarjeet was launched as a director with the film but Mohan Churiwala, a close associate of Dev, reveals that it was Goldie who ghost-directed the film. Amarjeet was in the running for the Silver Bear at the 12th Berlin International Film Festival. He lost the award to Francesco Rosi who won it for Salvatore Giuliano.

Dev Anand was hopeful that his first double role would fetch him a third Best Actor Filmfare award, after Guide and Kala Paani. But Raj Kapoor walked away with the Black Lady for his performance in Jiss Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai and Dev lived with the regret all his life.

The actor admitted that Mohd. Rafi's evergreen Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya, har fikr ko dhuen mein udata chala gaya summed up his life's philosophy. "I don't smoke but even I believe in shrugging off the cares of the world instead of letting them settle heavily on my shoulders," he said. The song was inspired by a Hafiz Jalhandri's nazm, Abhi to main jawaan hoon, which he'd croon when in college. "He told Sahir Ludhianvi to come up with a romantic song based on the same metre," says Churiwala, adding that Sahir and debutant composer Jaidev came up with other gems like Abhi na jao chood ke and the Lata Mangeshkar bhajan Allah tero naam which she sang for free.

Hum Dono was one of Navketan's last black-and-white productions and 50 years later, Hyderabad-based Goldstone Technology approached Dev Anand with the proposal of colourising and re-releasing the film. He wasn't keen having heard unflattering comments about the two colorised films which were re-released. He was told that Mughal-e-Azam had used just eight colours and Naya Daur 16 while for Hum Dono, Goldstone Technology planned to use 65,000 colours, cinemascope and convert the sound to 7.1 Digital Dolby. He gave the nod after after he was shown a two-minute coloured version of Abhi na jao chod ke on a laptop.

Hum Dono Rangeen opened in February 2011 with Dev Anand remniscing about his favourite cinematic moment when Capt. Anand bemoans his lost love and Major Verma talks about the futility of war over a drink. "In '61, the film was way ahead of its time," he had pointed out.

The premiere was a star-studded affair but the two leading ladies, Nanda and Sadhana, couldnt be coaxed into coming out of hibernation. '"Sircar had recomended Meena Kumari to play the Major's ailing wife and Mala Sinha to play the Captain's estranged sweetheart," Churiwala says adding that the Anand brothers opted for Nanda and Sadhana instead. They weren't there but Dev Anand was the star of the night telling everyone, "Dev Anand is still competing with the world!"

Ten months later, on December 3, he left the world.