Film director Rahul Rawail (‘Betaab’, ‘Arjun’) worked as an assistant to Raj Kapoor in ‘Mera Naam Joker’ and ‘Bobby’. In a conversation with Avijit Ghosh, Rawail talks about his book, ‘Raj Kapoor: The Master At Work’, which offers a first-hand view of the art and craft of the filmmaker who regaled millions in India and the world with his conscientious social dramas and passionate romances. Edited excerpts:

The way he organised everything, the way he paid attention to all the departments. He was like a music director conducting a symphony.

The circus scene in Mera Naam Joker. He was working with a unit of 300 people, 5,000 junior artistes, 100 Russian circus artistes. Indian circus artistes. Animal trainers. And there was this one man controlling everything like clockwork, like he knew everything that he was doing.

His attention to detail. And also his thinking about the film all the time. That process never ended. The driving force was to deliver the best possible film that he could. That’s what he aimed for and wanted to achieve.

Normally in a party scene, you have people who are supposed to be drinking alcohol. You mixed Thums Up with water to make it look like whiskey. To the viewer, it was normal; to the unit it was inexpensive. In Bobby, he wanted champagne to be served for the scene. So we mixed Limca with soda. He said: “This is a billionaire’s party. It has to be real champagne.” I said that would be very expensive. He said: “I don’t care. The look of the man drinking champagne would be different from the look he would have when drinking Limca with soda.”

It was just the passion with which he made films. It was all a master plan in his mind which he executed piece by piece.

He believed that his films should definitely carry a social message. He did what he believed in. That’s why the films worked and in a big way. His last film, Ram Teri Ganga Maili, was the biggest hit R K Films ever had. Starting from Aag in 1948, we can see flashes of a genius. The progression was huge. Technology was changing but he didn’t pay much attention to it. He said: “What I say is from my heart. That doesn’t change. There may be a different way to shoot it. But I shoot a film, the way I see it.” He never went for any kind of gimmickry.

Pay attention to your film, think about it all the time. Don’t let your mind waver from the film. Do what your heart says. Almost 95%, it will be the right thing. Maybe 5% it will not. But it doesn’t matter. And if it doesn’t work, don’t give up hope.

He was a complete foodie. His life revolved around films and food. He used to drive from Chembur to the town, then an hour’s drive, to take the Deccan Queen to Pune for the food it served. I think even when he was eating, his mind was working on the film. Suddenly, he would say, I am thinking about this and let us do it like this in the shooting tomorrow. I think those were just tools which he used for his mind to be working.

Absolutely. We were all given the same food to eat. There was never any differentiation. We would have chicken, fish, mutton, prawns or crabs. It was a huge spread. The food was laid on one table together. Everybody had to come there to eat. During a film’s final editing, he would first sit and work out the menu. Somebody would say, the dal is very good, or the chicken there is very good. He would say write it down. Then 2-3 cars would go in various directions to pick up the food. That’s the way he worked. Somewhere that not only made him happy but also made people working for him happy.

Manoj Kumar with wife Shashi and Raj Kapoor at a suburban hotel, celebrating his National Award win for Shaheed; with Rishi Kapoor in Mera Naam Joker (below; right)

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 3, 2020)

I knew about the Joker long before Joaquin Phoenix brought him home to me. And unlike his trigger-happy Arthur Fleck or Pennywise the Dancing Clown of It, my funnyman with the painted smile and cherry nose did not give me the shakes; he made me smile, sigh and sing, “Jeena Yahaan, Marna Yahaan, Iske Siva Jaana Kahaan.” On Raj Kapoor’s 32nd death anniversary on June 2, I decided to rewind to the film closest to his heart, Mera Naam Joker, with the man, who, though on screen for a short time as David who woos Mary away from an adolescent Raju, had a major role to play in this 224-minute story.

Let’s start with Raj Kapoor’s Shree 420, which released in the Capital’s Regal cinema. Among those who queued up for tickets, first day, first show, was a young boy fondly called Ghulu. He entered the auditorium, took a corner seat and, as the lights dimmed, gave himself up to the story of Raj, Vidya, Maya and a life gone astray. Suddenly, when the song, “Shaam Gayi, Raat Aayi Ki Balam Aaja” came on, a group of men stood up, started to whistle and create a commotion.

“In a flash, a man dressed in white raced past me towards the stage. As he went up on the dais, the lights came on and I saw an enraged Raj saab calling the men, hired by rival distributors to run down the film, ‘bhaade ke tattu’. He told them that he’d made the film with heart and honesty and God would reward him. Pointing to the door, he told them to get out and shame-faced, the men complied,” Ghulu, who grew up to become Manoj Kumar, reminisces, adding that at night, when his naani wondered why he couldn’t sleep, he told her all that had transpired and asked her who was this man who could talk so fearlessly. “‘He’s a karmayogi—one who connects with God through actions’—she told me, and the words stayed with me.”

A decade later, Manoj saab was shooting for Raj Khosla’s Anita at Mehboob Studio when he got a call from Raj saab, who wanted to come over and meet him. He offered to drop by himself and a couple of days later, was at RK Cottage at 2 pm, where Raj saab requested that he oblige him by doing a cameo in Mera Naam Joker. “I immediately agreed. We decided to shoot after I’d released my Upkar,” he narrates.

Soon after, while he was away in Delhi or maybe Kolkata, Raj saab tried calling him and was brusquely told he had got the wrong number. On his return, Manoj saab was surprised when singer Mukesh relayed this to him, saying Raj saab was upset, thinking that he was being avoided as Manoj saab didn’t want to do Mera Naam Joker. Almost immediately, Manoj saab called Raj saab and asked to see him.

“We met at 4 pm at (composer) Jaikishan’s residence, where I assured Raj saab that neither I nor my wife Shashi would dare discomfit him. I told him I was looking forward to working with not the showman but a karmayogi and went on to tell him about the earlier incident at Regal. Raj saab quietly heard me out, then, put his head in my lap and started crying,” he recounts.

Soon after, Manoj saab flew down for the shoot in Ooty where, while narrating a scene that they were to shoot the following day, Raj saab stopped abruptly, alerted by the expression on his face that he didn’t agree with something. When prodded, Manoj saab pointed to a certain dialogue which made a reference to Gandhi ji’s assassination. He pointed out that since Raju was an adolescent then, the Father of the Nation would have been alive. Taken aback, Raj saab retreated to his room on the first floor, but after half an hour, came down, telling Shashi ji to persuade Manoj saab to re-write the scene for him. “When I demurred, pointing out that (K A) Abbas saab (who had penned the story and screenplay) was a senior writer, he made me speak to him on the phone and he gave me his permission,” the writer-actor-filmmaker reveals.

Raj saab was so impressed with his dialogue, particularly one where, in response to young Raju’s query about who’s the biggest joker till date, David points his thumb towards the sky and reacting to Raju’s “Bhagwan” reasons that God, like the joker, does everything for others, apne liye kuchh nahin. “Appreciating that dialogue, Raj saab called (DoP) Radhu Karmakar and a few others to listen to me as I narrated what I’d written, pointing out that I had encapsulated the philosophy of the joker in these lines,” Manoj saab recalls, adding, “The first story in this three-story film was reworked by me, but I didn’t do it for name, fame or money. I paid for my travel expenses and hotel stay and refused to take credit as writer. Mera Naam Joker was my tribute to karmayogi Raj Kapoor. In Urdu, ‘awara’ means ‘khushboo’ and even today, the ‘fragrance’ of Raj Kapoor fills our senses.”

Rishi Kapoor who had a huge body of work with fifty years as an actor is no more. The actor had been suffering from leukemia for two years and passed away on Wednesday morning. The actor had a great innings as male lead with some hugely popular musical films which are remembered till date. It is a very sad day for the industry as it loses a huge personality.

The actor started his career as a child artist in the 1970 film MERA NAAM JOKER and then made his full fledged debut in 1973 with BOBBY which is probably the biggest debut ever. The film smashed all records and was not just the biggest hit of that year but remains one of the biggest blockbusters of Hindi cinema till date.

BOBBY made Rishi Kapoor a sensation and the stardom was consolidated a few years later with blockbusters like LAILA MAJNU (1976) and HUM KISISE KUM NAHEEN (1977). The 70's was the golden period of Hindi cinema with huge multi starrer blockbusters but it was Rishi Kapoor who delivered the biggest solo grossers of the 70's. It was the time of box office titans but Rishi Kapoor made a place for himself among these titans.

A sign of a huge popular career in Hindi cinema is a silver jubilee (25) or more HIT films as male lead and Rishi Kapoor is one of those very few actors in over 100 years of the industry who achieved this. There will be around ten actors who have achieved this in history which puts the popularity and career of Rishi Kapoor into perspective.

Rishi Kapoor took stage-exit, just as he'd dived headlong into the most eclectic stage of his career!
Mayank Shekhar (MID-DAY; May 1, 2020)

Actor Rishi Kapoor died young, at 67. If he'd passed on few decades later, he would've still died young. And I don't mean that cliché about being 'young at heart' and all. I mean, literally, young in the head—where it counts.

Think he was between 25 to 30 years old; tops. This infused into his natural persona that casual aliveness of late youth—he's the guy you could chill at the corner-bar with, all through a party, as I did, couple of times. Feel blessed.

It also made him impulsive, tad impatient, moody, on occasion; unreasonable, even. Not an easy man to know and walk around, without care. Also he was therefore (mentally) a decade younger to me, and so there arose the minor/moral dilemma over what to call him! He didn't like Mr Kapoor ("Waddyathink, am an uncle or what?"). Rishi ji wouldn't cut it. He preferred Rishi. I carried on with Mr Kapoor.

In the hierarchy of naam-karan (naming ceremony) in Indian popular culture, the apex of the pyramid belongs to the person the public bestows upon a common nickname, short-form, or epithet. It's not so much a mark of honour as it denotes the level of familiarity the public feels with a public figure!

This cuts across professions. It is most common in films—whether that be Shahenshah or Big B for Amitabh Bachchan; or Baadshah, King Of Romance, King Khan or SRK for Shah Rukh Khan. Tells you something about their image too.

Rishi went by the short, cute sobriquet, Chintu, at best, Chintuji—eternally that boy, at any rate India's first 'chocolate hero', who debuted as the National Award winning child-star of Raj Kapoor's magnum opus, Mera Naam Joker (MNJ; 1970). In fact, if you observed him closely, when he spoke with that impish smile—he still had a sweetly chubby face—it was quite easy to transpose him into the little Raju, besotted by his teacher Mary (Simi Garewal), from MNJ.

Thereafter he held a list of firsts for Bollywood that may not occur to you instantly, if I don't bring them to mind here. For one, up until Rishi's debut as the lead actor in Bobby (1973), he told me, Bollywood's heroes and heroines used to be men and women—holding books and going to college in their 30s and 40s! It's true. Rishi was 21; his leading lady, Dimple Kapadia, after whose character the film is titled, was 16.

While Bobby gave birth to a super-hit romantic pair, Dimple got married, and quit movies altogether. This posed a peculiar problem for Rishi. He was left to swim around a leading ladies' pool—Zeenat Aman, Parveen Babi, etc—that was considerably older, and therefore unfit to be cast as his conventional, romantic leads. There was Neetu Singh, absolutely his perfect onscreen better-half— later his off-screen wife. "But then, how many films could I do with her? So it had to be Neetu, or a new girl," he said.

Don't know if such an entry is allowed into the Guinness book, Rishi held the glorious record of introducing 23 female leads as his on-screen partner in the movies. And even that number he wasn't sure about. Besides that he wished to add even Alia Bhatt (Student Of The Year; 2012), Taapsee Pannu (Chashme Baddoor; 2013), into the list, since they had debuted in Bollywood with him, although he wasn't the lead in those movies.

Did he even remember all those 23 heroines he worked with; was he in touch with any of them? "Don't know where's Kajal Kiran (Hum Kisise Kum Naheen; 1977), Shoma Anand (Barood; 1976), Bhavana Bhatt (Naya Daur; 1978)…" Gah! Would've been a great idea to click Rishi seated in the centre as the good old Gopi surrounded by his debuting leading ladies — an eclectic array, almost stacked up like sardines — to celebrate 50 years of his debut, which falls on September 28, 2020.

A mart is really how the movie business/trade has traditionally perceived itself — setting a price for what sells, and a sell-by-date for what doesn't. This is as true for stars as the image or genres associated with them. In that sense Rishi, although he liked to call himself the "right person at the wrong time", had an absolutely uninterrupted 25-year run at the movies — between 1973 and 1998 (averaging around five to six films a year) — which for its time is also a record of sorts: "Shelf life for a hero then was 20 years; 10 years for heroines."

He said the reason to quit films was also his. He had just got bored of the proverbial dancing around trees. Nothing exciting seemed to exist in the horizon. And so one fine day, he rounded up the four to five producers he owed advances to, and simply returned them their money.

This is when Rishi was 46. Shammi Kapoor, Rishi's uncle, and the seminal singing-dancing star of the generation he took over from, had retired at 37. Amitabh Bachchan, Rishi's older contemporary, left films (to return only much later) at 40. Of course none of these age restrictions/rules for retirement matter anymore. Shah Rukh Khan, 54, has currently taken a break to recalibrate his leading man's career.

Note: I mention Shahenshah, and Badshah or King Of Romance, again! This is because in the pantheon of Bollywood stars, Rishi saw himself sandwiched between the two: "I should've entered films in the '90s," he said. The year of Rishi's debut, 1973, is also when Prakash Mehra's Zanjeer proclaimed Amitabh Bachchan as the 'angry young man'— simultaneously killing that flowery phase of Rajesh Khanna romances; and gently pricking at the bud the romantic Rishi Kapoor from coming into full-potential, glorious bloom.

At the box office, Rishi, in many ways, would've been Rajesh Khanna's natural successor. In terms of a female fan-following, he sort of already was — with hordes of women, by his own account, taking their clothes off, so he could autograph their bras! And special 'Bobby buses', matched with theatre timings, plying between Punjab, Faridabad and (what was then) Gurgaon, so people from far-off towns could catch his first film.

Except the phase that followed, especially in the '80s, was full of, as he put it, "B and C centre maar-peet; Lahu Ke Khoon [both mean blood] kind of films, and some skin-show. The ambience, mahaul, was only for action." Rishi, on the other hand, had been secure enough in his masculinity to go drag with Rafoo Chakkar (1975). One such "totally wahiyaat (crappy)" film, he told me about, was called Hawalaat (1987), where he starred alongside the 'action types', Mithun Chakraborty and Shatrughan Sinha. He was of course the "guitar and dafli playing type." When it came to promoting the film, the producer asked him "to pose with a chaku (knife)" for the poster, to draw in audiences!

It is in this backdrop that one has to register the fact that Subhash Ghai's cracker musical Karz (1980) had tanked at the box-office. Ghai recently sold its remake rights for Rs. 3 crore, which is a sum he'd not even come close to with the original. Likewise, Rishi's Tina Munim, Poonam Dhillon, Rakhee Gulzar co-starrer, Yeh Vaada Raha (1982), based on Danielle Steele's novel The Promise, showed no promise either. Neither did Zehreela Insaan (1974). Nor was Ramesh Saagar (1985) quite the Sholay!

The above is merely a short Spotify playlist I'm making for you, so after you're through with the Hum Kisise Kum Naheen medley, you check out the opening riffs of Karz's Ek Hasina Thi, the title track of Yeh Vaada Raha, and the finest R D Burman number, O Hansini, from Zehreela Insaan, or O' Maria from Saagar. These soundtracks have been around us all along. Post Rajesh Khanna, R D arguably equalled Rishi, on screen. R D is very much alive. So will Rishi. Music is the medium through which Hindi movies survive public memory.

Also, only a proper desi film aesthete would be able to tell how Rishi was uniquely gifted at lip-syncing, to perfectly own a song, before the camera. It's called song-acting—a talent that has no use in any another film culture. The first time Rishi was asked to perform a track (Main shayar toh nahin, from Bobby), he recalled, his father, Raj Kapoor, allowed him no choreographer. The logic being the choreographer would give him steps that other stars had already performed to. He would automatically be compared to them!

Even as an actor, it can be argued, Rishi looked and behaved like no one else—of his time, or from the generations before. Let alone other Kapoors. None of whom seemed like shadows of each other — carving niches of their own — while being raised under the banyan tree of Prithviraj, a full-time theatre and later film-studio actor, who began a four-generational legacy that Rishi was a proud and aware progeny of.

Contrary to popular perception — mainly because so many get to take a shot at stardom in the first place — most superstar-kids don't make it in the movies. Comparisons do them in. What separated Rishi from his father Raj, for one, was the lack of being — a word he used himself — the "stylised" actor.

By which you mean certain tics, manners, or andaaz, as it were, that instantly marked out say Dilip Kumar, Raj Kapoor, Dev Anand, and others. Rishi didn't have that. And this is what made his return to "character-driven" or more realistic films, at a larger stage, easily possible. Which wasn't the case with most others before him. It's the lightheartedness of his films that rendered him an underrated actor—hardly ever taken seriously by the critical establishment; something that bothered him much. He told me comedian Johnny Lever had a bone to pick with him. Rishi was the only star who'd been around for so long, that Lever couldn't find a way to mimic on stage! Fair point.

In 2017, I had the honour to host Rishi's first (and as yet only) retrospective of films at the Jagran Film Festival. From a filmography of over 150, we had to pick five. This was impossible. Going back and forth with his suggestions, we kept widening the quota. Until we reached a point that we could no longer accommodate more than eight films. And yet, how could MNJ be left out? We decided to play eight and half films in all—the half comprising Rishi's section from the three-part MNJ!

To be fair, an artiste/entertainer's self-perception should be at the core of his fan-base. And for this moment, don't care what Rishi Kapoor gems you've found — let's make it about the jeweller foremost. According to him, besides Karz and Bobby, Rishi's greatest works were—Habib Faisal's Do Dooni Char (2010), Raj Kapoor's Prem Rog (1982), Karan Malhotra's Agneepath (2012), Shakun Batra's Kapoor & Sons (2016), Manmohan Desai's Amar Akbar Anthony (1977), and Yash Chopra's Chandni (1989).

Notice his latent bias towards more recent releases. You can gauge the phase he was enjoying the most — placing his acting chops on display. It doesn't seem as if fate had mortally attacked a man who's young or old — just someone with such vitality and zest for life, that he was looking to soar. That's what hurts far more. Rishi had battled leukemia for two years.

The reason for his return to films, he told me, was a lovers' tiff of sorts that he'd had with his filmmaker buddy Rakesh Roshan, who'd pricked his ego with some loose talk about his career (or the lack of it). The expectedly emotional Rishi reasoned that he had retired from stardom, yes, but not from acting. He decided to stage a comeback — also to prove a point to Roshan, who, along with Jeetendra, Prem Chopra, and his Campion schoolmate, director Rahul Rawail, were known to be his close friends.

Basically the Rishi Kapoor I observed from a private quarter was no different from the Rishi Kapoor one experiences from a distance, in public. Meaning, what you saw is what you got. No overt agendas as such. This often cofounded political coteries on social media, with a lot of his tweets driving traffic to the Right, and then swerving conveniently to the Left-Liberal, as they say!

Guess if you've lived your adult life entirely in the public eye, you'll either always fake it, or just stop caring beyond a point. Of course he also had a socially well-connected, mature, adult side to him, with an eye on the lay of the land. But for the most part, it seemed, Rishi kept it real.

With personal disclaimers, he had no qualms admitting to the world he'd frickin' bought the Filmfare Award, for Bobby! He wrote it in his book, and explained further at an interview with me before a live audience. What're you gonna shame him for?

As a Bollywood star, he didn't think twice before drunk-dialing me past midnight, referring to how I had obliquely compared his son Ranbir's performance in Rockstar (2011) to Amitabh Bachchan, Aamir Khan, Hrithik Roshan — "Abey, beta toh mera hai!" True.

He could get childishly excited even about wearing a delegate-badge at a film festival, given that he said, surprisingly (for me), he'd never been formally invited to one before. But then again, despite his first and only retrospective being held across 16 cities over three months, he could bail out a day before the all-important closing ceremony, for a conversation before a packed house.

Because? He had an issue with an absolutely random cartoon published in Mid-day, about the fire at R K Studio. No, you couldn't console him. Just couldn't. That was Rishi. His friends say the same. Everyone loved him just the way he was though. Good luck God. And thank you, Mr Kapoor.


Bobby (1973)

Neha Maheshwri (BOMBAY TIMES; November 27, 2019)

Day six of the ongoing International Film Festival of India (IFFI) in Goa got movie enthusiasts hooked to a session on ‘The Contemporary Filmmakers of Different Generations’, which was spearheaded by filmmakers Imtiaz Ali and Rahul Rawail. Just as the moderator kick-started the session, Ali requested to be allowed to interview his co-panelist and thus began an interesting trail of conversation. Right at the start, Ali told us how he ended up on stage. He shared, “We often give interviews, in which we are asked the same questions and we give the same answers, which makes us feel that our life is boring. So, when I got a call from Mr Rahul Rawail asking me to come as a guest to IFFI, I gladly accepted his invite, but had just one request — that I would like to interview him.”

‘WATCHING RAJ KAPOOR AT WORK CHANGED MY OUTLOOK TOWARDS FILMS’
Interestingly, Rawail said that he didn’t want to become a filmmaker to start with. He recalled, “My childhood friend Chintu (Rishi Kapoor) invited me to watch the shoot of a circus sequence in Mera Naam Joker (1970). I was 15 then. I wasn’t interested initially, but then he told me that there will be Russian girls in skimpy clothes (laughs!). On the set, when I saw Raj Kapoor at work for the first time, it changed my outlook towards cinema and I decided to become a filmmaker.”

Talking about the influence of Rawail’s film Arjun (1985) on his life, Ali said, “I remember how my friends stayed over at my house and watched Arjun back-to-back two times on a VCR. After that, we came out on the street, trying to pick a fight with everyone, ki maarte hain kisi ko.”

Rawail recalled, “We struggled for six months to crack the story. Then one day in Khandala, we read an article on the growth of Dawood and Pathan gangs. I was woken up at 3 am by Javed ji (Javed Akhtar is the writer of the film). He called me over to his room, as he wanted to narrate something to me. He had this habit of writing on scraps of paper, including toilet paper. In three hours, he had written an entire script, which was an absolute achievement.”

Praising Ali, Rawail said, “I feel a great connect with Highway (2014), because somewhere, the atmosphere of the hut where they (characters played by Randeep Hooda and Alia Bhatt) lived reminded me of Betaab (1983).” Ali agreed, “Yes, it was shot in the same terrain. There is a place in Pahalgam, called the Betaab valley. The scene in my film was shot a bit ahead of Pahalgam.”

‘THERE HAVE BEEN TIMES WHEN I HAVE GOT THE ANSWER WHILE MAKING A FILM AND NOT WHILE WRITING IT’
The filmmakers also got candid about their inspirations. Rawail explained why most of his male characters displayed a lot of fury. “Those films came at a time when the educated youth was unemployed, and it was a huge problem. Aaj bhi hai, but uss zamaane mein bahut tha,” he said. On his part, Ali said, “The stories that I have written are about things that have not happened directly in my life. But because of imagination and a certain type of sensitivity, I might have felt strongly about it.”

When asked by an audience member if he gets closure while writing or directing, Ali replied, “Sometimes, I don’t understand the difference between writing and direction. There have been times when I have got the answer while making a film and not while writing it. In a way, it’s the question that leads me into making that film or scene. For example, I had this recurring dream of missing a train before I made Jab We Met (2007). A few months after the film, I stopped seeing that dream, so in a way, something was addressed.”

‘IT’S NOT FAIR TO JUDGE A FILM ON THE BASIS OF THE AUDIENCE’S REACTION DURING INTERVAL’
Talking about the perception that networking is necessary to land work, Ali said, “Chahe jitni bhi dosti ho, but kaam jiska achha hota hai kaam ussi ke pass aata hai. In that sense, every filmmaker is selfish; he wants the best actor and director. There are actors like Ranbir Kapoor, who don’t socialise, and he is not on social media either, but is doing pretty well.”

When asked what was plaguing the industry, Ali said, “Business is very myopic. If a film doesn’t work in the first two shows on a Friday, toh iska matlab hai usko utaar do. There are movies that are made with a legacy and love. There are movies that are not like T-20 matches. They can give you a lot of money, but you have to be patient. I feel that that the movie fraternity shouldn’t do business like the stock market. We may perish, but our films will remain. So, that should be kept in mind and it’s not fair to judge a film on the basis of the audience’s reaction during interval.”

Rawail added, “The degradation of cinema is that we are not shooting movies, we are shooting numbers, which is a big crime. People are only bothered about what happens on a Friday, Saturday and Sunday.”

‘WHAT GUARANTEES PROFIT IS THE QUALITY OF THE FILM’
Talking about what makes a film successful, Rawail said, “What guarantees profit is the quality of the film, which according to me is completely dependent on the director.” On his part, Ali said, “Going by the success and failure of my own films, I can tell you that the movie has to be good qualitatively. We need a bit more vision from the fraternity that sells the film. They need to believe in somebody’s vision and story, only then can a director make a good film. Then, there are greater chances of success with or without stars.”

Krishna Raj Kapoor With her hubby and sons — Rishi, Rajiv and Randhir Kapoor

Meena Iyer (DNA; October 2, 2018)

On Monday morning, the Hindi film fraternity woke up to the extremely sad news of Krishna Raj Kapoor’s demise. I will always remember her as the First Lady of Bollywood. It was her elder son, Randhir, who said, “I regret to announce that I lost my mother early this morning. She died peacefully.” The wife of Padma Bhushan recipient and Dabasaheb Phalke awardee, filmmaker Raj Kapoor, Krishnaji (88) died of a cardiac arrest at 5 am on October 1, 30 years after she lost her husband on June 2, 1988.

Krishna Raj Kapoor with husband Raj Kapoor

While friends and family members poured in to pay their last tributes, her son Rishi, who left for the US with Neetu and Ranbir on Saturday, couldn’t be present for the last rites. Speaking of Krishnaji, well, a hundred memories live with me. From her immaculate, usually, clad-in-white appearance to her bright lipstick and well-manicured painted nails, almost everything is etched vividly in my mind. Apart from being a benevolent human being, she was also extraordinarily sharp.
On one of my visits to her Deonar residence two years ago, I bent to touch her feet and she reprimanded me saying, “Betiyaan, pair nahin chhooti.” Yes, the Punjabis do not permit their daughters to touch the feet of elders because they feel a girl should never have to ‘bend’ as they are considered Goddesses. So, while Rishi Kapoor, with whom I had gone to their family home, touched his mum’s feet and got blessed in turn, I got a hug from the lady.

Next, we were treated to a glass of chaas. And, then asked to go about our business. We were picking out photographs for Rishi’s autobiography, Khullam Khulla. And, Krishnaji had kindly given us access to the treasure trove of family albums spanning seven decades that are lying safe in aluminium trunks on the bungalow’s first floor.

Krishna Raj Kapoor with Raj Kapoor and a young Rishi

At lunchtime, the lady of the house appeared dressed in a dark-coloured salwar kameez, her sartorial choice a rare exception. When we requested her for a photograph, she promptly pulled out her orange lipstick, dabbed her lips and said, “I’m ready.” Like the rest of her khandaan, she didn’t relish the fact that I was a vegetarian because the choices for a herbivorous person are limited at the Kapoor lunch table. Once that hurdle was crossed, she enthusiastically fed me aloo-gobhi and garam parathas, explaining how the cauliflower was broken into pieces, not cut in the Kapoor family kitchen. Minutes later, she saw Chintu eating without wearing a napkin. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Napkin pehen loh.” It was sweet to see a 64-year-old Rishi (in 2016) being pulled up by his mother for his lack of table manners on that occasion.
Like I said at the start, Krishnaji was her own person. She didn’t suffer fools and though the world believed that she lived in her legendary husband Raj Kapoor’s shadow, this was not true.

In his book, Chintu spoke so affectionately of his mother. He said, “When my dad wanted to cast me as the young Raju in Mera Naam Joker (1970), he had to take permission from my mother, who gave him the go-ahead with a caveat saying — it should not interfere with my school studies.”

Not many may know this. Chembur would not have been the destination for the famed RK Studios that came up on a barren plot of land there seven decades ago. Bollywood’s showman wanted the studio to be built at Tardeo back in the day. Legend has it that when Krishna heard that Raj saab had a choice of choosing between Tardeo and Chembur, she promptly told him to choose the latter. The reason, according to the family grapevine, is that Nargis had a home in South Mumbai and Krishna didn’t want anything too close to her place as she was romantically involved with Raj for many years.

Krishna Raj Kapoor with Raj Kapoor and Prithviraj Kapoor

It is also a legendary tale that when Krishna learnt of Raj saab’s reported involvement with Vyjayanthimala, she walked out of her home with her children and headed to Natraj Hotel in South Mumbai. Raj later bought his estranged family a home in another location but, eventually, Prithviraj Kapoor intervened and the domestic squabble was sorted. Yet years later, Krishnaji had matured and mellowed. She was a changed person altogether. Rishi also recalled how, when Nargis set foot in the R K Studios compound after 36 years, in January 1980 on the occasion of his marriage to Neetu Singh, she was nervous. But it is said that Krishna took her aside and put her at ease saying, “My husband is a handsome man. He is also a romantic. I can understand the attraction. I know what you are thinking, but please don’t beat yourself up over the past. You have come to my home and I cannot tell you how happy I am.”
Neetu Kapoor, who spoke to her mother-in-law every single day after her marriage until the very end, addresses her as her most favourite person in the world. Mrs Kapoor made a few daily calls. Besides Rishi and Neetu, Amitabh Bachchan, whose daughter Shweta is married to Krishna’s grandson, Nikhil Nanda, used to chat with her almost daily when he was in Mumbai. Big B always made it a point to inquire about her health and she, in turn, told him details of her failing health and she blessed him.

When Neetu turned 60 on July 8 and was heading to Paris for the celebrations, her only wish was that her ma-in-law should accompany her! Here in Mumbai, too, the saas-bahu had a fixed routine. Krishnaji and Neetu usually frequented a Chinese restaurant at a five-star in BKC. Besides eating there, the senior Mrs Kapoor would also carry a parcel of their signature Peking Duck back with her to Deonar to share it with her other two sons — Randhir and Rajiv — who spent time with her at the bungalow.

Krishna Kapoor, Dev Anand and Rishi Kapoor

There are innumerable stories about the senior Mrs Kapoor, but one of my favourite ones is the one where she called Rishi and Neetu on New Year’s Eve last year to ask them about their plans. “We are listening to Shirdi Sai Baba bhajans,” said Neetu because both Chintu and she had stopped going out on NYE for a few years now. To which the matriarch of the khandaan told her, “I am out in Khandala partying with my friends. They will ring in my birthday (January 1) in just a bit. So, you old people listen to bhajans, I will party on your behalf.”

She shares a laugh with grandson Ranbir Kapoor

Ranbir Kapoor had grown particularly fond of his grandma when he stayed with her a couple of years ago. The duo spent hours bonding, watching television and generally chatting about cinema. And though Mrs Kapoor was slightly uncomfortable around his two Mastiffs, Leo and Guido, she was happy to have them around because it also meant keeping her grandson close. She tiptoed around them, but was happy to watch her favourite pota play in the garden with his pets.

Besides her family, Krishnaji’s favourite people were journalist Nishi Prem (who was virtually a neighbour in Chembur) and Dimple Kapadia. Until a few years ago, Salman Khan’s mother Salma was also extremely close to Krishna. However, of late, Salma hadn’t been such a regular with this gang. They were part of her kitty group and the girls met up regularly for some food and fun. Neetu recently hosted them at her Bandra residence and their joie de vivre reverberated around her Bandra residence, long after Krishnaji and Nishi had driven off to Chembur.

Actually, some people never really go away. They continue to live in your memory forever.

Krishna Raj Kapoor with Saira Banu and Dilip Kumar

Ali Abbas Zafar’s next rolls on Sunday with the two actors; Priyanka Chopra to join the shoot in August
Natasha Coutinho (MUMBAI MIRROR; July 19, 2018)

Ali Abbas Zafar’s period drama, Bharat, featuring Salman Khan, Priyanka Chopra and Disha Patani, rolls on Sunday. The team will begin shooting on an elaborate set in Mumbai’s Filmistan Studio and continue till August, after which they will move to Malta, followed by a schedule in Abu Dhabi.

Ali has been planning the shoot for months and will be starting with an elaborate circus sequence set in the late ’60s. “The idea is to create an Indian-Russian circus like Raj Kapoor’s Mera Naam Joker. Performers from all over the world are flying down for the circus tricks which will be a mix of trapeze hoops and rope stunts. This is Salman and Disha’s introduction. He plays a daredevil stunt motorcyclist in the circus while she is a trapeze artiste,” informs the director. The actor, who was away in the US and Canada on his Da-bangg concert tour, began training from Tuesday while Disha has been prepping up for a while now.

Priyanka Chopra, who turned 36 yesterday, is currently in the US wrapping up her Hollywood commitments. “We will be ending the Mumbai schedule with a Holi song featuring Priyanka and Salman. She joins the shoot in August and will have different looks in the film which the team has been working on in great detail as the film travels from the 1960s to the present day,” informs the director.

Salman and Disha will also go through a metamorphosis through the course of the film and Ali shares that prosthetics will take Salman back to his Karan Arjun days.

Nitin with father Mukesh, Raj Kapoor, Jaikishan, Randhir and Rishi Kapoor and recordist Minoo Kartik at the song recording for the film Mera Naam Joker
Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 14, 2017)

With a cheer, not a tear in your eye, Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye, Give me a smile, I can keep for a while, In my heart while you are away, Till me meet once again, you and I, Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye...

These were the first lines Nitin Mukesh recorded for Mera Naam Joker at Mumbai’s Famous Studio. He was then about 15, and he was recording for Rishi Kapoor, younger by two years, who played the young Ranbir Raj aka Raju in the 1970 film. Rishi was present on the occasion along with his older brother Randhir and father Raj Kapoor as also was Nitin’s own papa, the legendary singer Mukesh.

“Raj uncle decided on the spur of the moment that he wanted Mukesh’s son to sing for his son. Papa asked me if I could and I assured him I would. Jaikishan saab (of the composer duo Shankar-Jaikishen) rehearsed the popular song during World War II with me for a couple of days before I recorded it live with the other children singing in chorus,” recalls the singer. He chuckles and says that his father was more nervous than he was. Raj Kapoor was emotional, and showered him with blessings. He predicted he’d become as famous as his father. “I’d later joke with Chintu that my voice made him a star while he would attribute his success to papa who sang 'Teetar Ke Do Aage Teetar' for him in the same film.”

The actor-filmmaker was a permanent fixture in Mukesh’s life and when rehearsing or recording with him, Raj Kapoor’s Chevrolet Impala would often land up outside the singer’s one-room-kitchen apartment in Napean Sea Road in the middle of the night and bring gawking neighbours to their doors. Mukesh’s five children, who would be sleeping on the floor, would be hurriedly woken up, and his wife would rush to the kitchen to rustle up dinner for the showman who’d relax with Mukesh over a drink.

“When we moved to a three-BHK close by, he was the only outsider present at the house-warming and after walking through the rooms, he announced that he liked the children’s bedroom best but it needed an air-conditioner. The next day his gift arrived, making us feel like little emperors in our palatial bedroom, because air-conditioners were a luxury those days,” says Nitin.

He says that while most people referred to Mukesh as Raj Kapoor’s voice, the filmmaker himself admitted to Simi Garewal in her documentary that after Jaikishen passed away he felt like he’d lost an arm and after Shailendra’s demise the other, but after Mukesh succumbed to a sudden heart attack in Detroit on August 27, 1976 while on a concert tour, he realised he had lost his soul. “Raj uncle was with us at home till we left for the airport. Little did he know then that this was the last time he’d see his Mukesh Chand alive (Kapoor always addressed him by his full name). He was at the airport, inconsolable, when I returned with papa’s body. He’d been filming the flood sequences for Satyam Shivam Sundaram near Pune when he got the news and despite knowing how difficult it would be to get a busy Shashi Kapoor’s combination dates with Zeenat (Aman), and without a thought for the losses he’d incur, he drove down to be with our family for the next 10 days,” says Nitin Mukesh. Kapoor kept in touch via frequent phone calls and his wife Krishna would drop by to ensure that the singer’s family was doing well.

The times were tough for Mukesh’s family, and Nitin Mukesh would accept show offers for as little as Rs 100 to keep the kitchen fires burning. So, when Swami Chidanand Maharaj, for whose Divine Light Society his father had done a fund-raiser every year for free, offered to organise a show for him for which he was willing to pay him Rs 50,000, he was delighted. The only condition was that Raj Kapoor had to present Nitin Mukesh.

“Raj uncle had returned to shoot Satyam Shivam Sundaram but since the money would make things easier for us, I went to meet him and sounded him out. He agreed immediately and put the RK Studio machinery to work to invite the entire film industry for the show. The Kapoor family was present, along with Amitabh Bachchan, several actors and other big names from the music fraternity. It was a full house and it set the ball rolling for me,” acknowledges the grateful singer.

“Chanchal Sheetal Nirmal Komal” was the last song my father recorded for Satyam Shivan Sundaram before we left for the US. On his return he was to sing “Woh Aurat Hai Tu Mehbooba”, but I ended up crooning it with Lataji and after that I never looked back,” says Nitin Mukesh. As a tribute to his ‘Raj uncle’, who would have turned 93 on December 14, he begins every show with Mukesh’s Mera Naam Joker song, “Jeena Yahan Marna Yahan” and ends the show with his own, “With A Cheer, Not A Tear…”

Raj Kapoor's iconic Mera Naam Joker mask, and costumes worn by all R K banner heroines ­ from Nargis to Aishwarya ­ among the memorabilia lost in Saturday's fire at R K Studios, says Rishi Kapoor
Meena Iyer (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 18, 2017)

Bella Jaisinghani (THE TIMES OF INDIA; September 17, 2017)

Hindi cinema's famous showman Raj Kapoor constructed R K Studios in Chembur in 1950, reportedly with profits earned from his first hit picture, Barsaat in 1949.

This sprawling four-acre campus also served as the headquarters of his film company, RK Films, which had been founded two years earlier in 1948. His first film as independent director was Aag.

Raj Kapoor reportedly shot all his pictures after 1950 here at RK, beginning with the famous dream sequence of Awara to Mera Naam Joker, Bobby, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai, Kal Aaj Aur Kal, Satyam Shivam Sundaram and Prem Rog. Shree 420 and Sangam were also filmed in studio.

Over the decades, the fortunes of RK Studios peaked as hundreds of popular movies, not just those under the home banner, were shot here. Studio representative Kishore Darekar said on Saturday, “Manmohan Desai shot all his pictures here. Newer RK productions such as Henna, Ram Teri Ganga Maili and Aa Ab Laut Chalein were filmed here.“

As time passed, private bungalows and outdoor locations became more economically viable and a popular option to shoot rather than creating lavish expensive sets in film studios. The family stopped making films a few years after Raj Kapoor's death. Television shows do continue to rent the space, though.

Manishaa R (DNA; July 23, 2017)

A fortnight ago, there was news that Salim Khan had announced his decision to compensate distributors for their losses in Tubelight, after some of them had met Salman at his Galaxy residence in Bandra. According to sources, Khan Sr has now called for a meeting with leading distributors to discuss and evaluate the extent of losses they suffered with the film. Prior to that, he has also asked for a list of exhibitors to examine the terms and look into possible losses. Apparently, some exhibitors had booked the film on huge Minimum Guarantees, expecting it to make box-office history keeping in mind that it was an Eid release.

Veteran Central India distributor J P Choksey, who has been consistently releasing Salman starrers in the past, has hailed the gesture. “My office releases all the films directly through Salim Khan’s office, but it is true that Khan Sr has called for this meeting. Salim saab felt that the distributors who had released the film needed to be compensated to some extent. It is a very noble initiative from Salman and his father and it will set a precedent to all other stars to follow,” he said.

According to Choksey, this would be the second big instance after Raj Kapoor where a producer is going ahead to compensate his distributors, “Raj Kapoor was a generous person at heart. When Mera Naam Joker flopped, he told the distributors of the subsequent film Bobby, to deduct the losses before fixing the price of the film. It had come as a huge relief,” Choksey said, adding that another great actor is Rajinikanth, “Rajinikanth’s films hardly suffer losses, but when there was an exception like Lingaa, he compensated each and every distributor.”

The former FFI (Film Federation of India) President insists it wasn’t Salman’s star value but the script and story of Tubelight that got the disastrous response, “Salman’s presence in the film saved it to an extent, but it was his submissive characterization that went completely against his image. The story was a letdown towards the end when the girl who was initially projected as Chinese, went on to reveal her real identity from Kolkata. It didn’t seem convincing.”

Meanwhile, the exhibitors have hailed the decisions. Leading exhibitor, Akshaye Rathi, who released the film at several theatres, feels it would be a big step in ensuring the well-being of the industry, “It’s a thoughtful gesture for the health of the industry. Distributors invest crores of rupees and it is the responsibility of producers to make sure that they at least don’t lose money. Raj Kapoor and Rajinikanth have done it in the past and that’s what makes them the superstars of stars,” he said, adding that even Shah Rukh had done it in Dilwale and several other occasions when he along with Juhi Chawla and Aziz Mirza had their company, Dreamz Unlimited.

MID-DAY (July 13, 2017)

After superstar Salman Khan decided to compensate the distributors over Tubelight’s debacle, looks like Ranbir Kapoor is following in his footsteps. The actor said that if he makes money out of a film which hasn’t fared well at the box-office, he will definitely pay back the distributors.

At a promotional event of his upcoming film, Jagga Jasoos, Kapoor said, “The trend has been going on since my grandfather’s (Raj Kapoor) time in the 1950s... The style of making films where everyone makes money, not just the producers, but also distributors and exhibitors. It is a healthy exercise. If someone loses money on something and you have made money out of it, it’s good to compensate. But that depends on the person and film.”

Kapoor cited the example of his grandfather who followed a similar practice. “When Mera Naam Joker (1970) released, distributors incurred losses. So when Bobby (1973) released, my grandfather gave a bigger share to the distributors than the exhibitors. Personally, if my film fails and I am making money out of it, then I will pay back the distributors,” said Kapoor.

Kseniya Ryabinkina, the trapeze artiste from Raj Kapoor’s classic Mera Naam Joker is in Mumbai to celebrate the late showman’s 92nd birth anniversary
Khalid Mohamed (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 14, 2016)

"Ohhhhhh, difficult, difficult?” her sapphire yellow eyes dart. “Yes, yes, I remember now. The most difficult scene in Mera Naam Joker was when… How do you say it? cry? Cry when Raju’s mother dies. I don’t, can’t cry easy.”

I’m in an eye jugalbandi of sorts with Kseniya Ryabinkina at Mumbai’s Russian Centre for Science Culture where the maddening honking traffic on Peddar Road is silenced by sound-proof windows. Now 74, the heartbreaker from Moscow, is in town to attend the 93rd birth anniversary memorial event of her Raju, Raj Kapoor. “My family calls me Ksana.You can call me that if you like,” she makes life easier for me, adding, “Sorry my English, it is not so very good. Okay?”

Ksana, it is then. And our interpreter du jour, director and vice-consul of the Centre, Googles quickly to assert Kseniya means many things: Faith, Someone of Noble Character, Trustworthy. “Really, I did not know this,” laughs the trapeze artiste of RK’s four-hour-four-minute opus which unless you were hiding in a circus tent for decades, should know is justly considered a cult classic, never mind its no-show at the ticket windows way back in 1970s.

Ksana looks baffled when the irony is pointed out, “Really?” she asks incredulously. “Well. I got thousands of letters for the movie.” Vice consul pitches in with the take, “Maybe, people couldn’t adjust to the lengthy duration then.”

This interview isn’t going to be smooth vodka, must proceed soberly and methodically, to know the dropdead stunner of Mera Naam Joker whose impact has been as lasting as the opus which had the audacity of studying the tears of a clown at its own pace and magnitude. The part of Marina came to her “suddenly”, the showman of all showmen had scouted for talent at Russian circus shows. He wasn’t exactly thrilled till he saw Ksana performing at the famed Bolshoi ballet.

Elena, her elder sister by four years, was “the celebrity, I was not so much of celebrity-celebrity but he asked to meet me. I did, accompanied by officials from Sovexportfilm. The role was offered just like that. It was my second film. I had acted in one film before. In all I must have done 15 to 16 films. But I’m most remembered as the Marina of Raj Kapoor.”

Cups of cream-flaked materialise. Not surprisingly, they’re all left untouched. Ksana, a pukka Muscovite was born to a ballerina mother and a geo-physics doctor.

Naturally ballet was on their daughter’s mind. Not “acting of dramatic kind, that happened only because of Raj Kapoor.” A kind man, a gentle man, he asked her to use glycerine for that lachrymose death scene. She wouldn’t, thought of the saddest things she could, and the tears dropped. "After that shot, I felt… how do you say it?...empty.”

Must be my eyes now but I detect a trace of a fog in her sapphires. Getting quite befikre now, I bring up her kissing scene with Raj Kapoor. The vice consul isn’t pleased, he’s turned fire-engine red. “Ohhhhhh that!” she tut tuts. “Nothing, nothing, felt nothing, in ballet dancers touch bodies. Only here... on the sets the camera and lights were adding to the summer temperature.” Shrugs she, too, to the fact that stunt artistes had to stand in for her for the trapeze act. “I wanted to fly,” she recalls. “Raj Kapoor wouldn’t allow it. Two different girls, one from Moscow and one from a circus here, did that job for me.”

During the shoot of Mera Naam Joker, she stayed at hotels, other filmmakers wished to cast her, didn’t work out. Back home close to the Kremlin, she returned to ballet, acted some and retired at the age of 40 which is “normal”.

Her inability to cry stokes my curiosity. So when was the last time she cried? Blank, sound-proof silence. Prod her to recollect and Ksana states, “When my husband Alexei died. Suddenly. Heart attack, at home. No warning. He was 56. Healthy, not classic handsome but the only man I have ever loved in all my life.”

Their son Eugene, is a frontline actor. Ksana has three grandkids, one an expert at the violin, another at the piano, the third one “still decide… they are my jewels.” Speaking of jewels, Raj Kapoor gifted her a gold ring encrusted with pearls. He told her it was on behalf of an Indian delegation to the Moscow film festival but she suspects “he was shy to tell me it was a personal gift...and no, he never wrote any letters to me. How I remember his eyes, so blue, a clear ocean.”

Ksana did visit India briefly, Chandigarh specifically, for a cameo in Chintuji seven years ago. Bring up Mumbai of the Joker days and now. She pauses, the vice consul looks askance. “Like all cities, Mumbai has changed, it is not better,” she says gently. “I went out to the city today. I loved driving past the VT (CST) railway station. Architecture, magnificent, preserved, beautiful.”

We talk books (Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Hemingway top her favourites), movies (Nikita Mikhalkov she raves about), and the Kapoors. “I am guilty,” she surrenders, “I have not seen the films of Raj Kapoor’s grandchildren yet. I must.”

Before I call it quits for the evening, she stops me, says give me five minutes. And returns with a photograph showing her at a ballet performance. It shows her with a co-dancer, reminiscent of Raj Kapoor-Nargis on the R K banner. “I think he saw me in that pose,” her eyes sparkle.” And that’s how Mera Naam Joker happened for me. Suddenly.”

The showman’s story
Mera Naam Joker is one of the lengthiest Indian films ever made. The 1970 release, written by Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, marked the acting debut of director Raj Kapoor’s second son, Rishi, and took six years to make. Publicised as autobiographical, the film follows a clown who makes his audience laugh at the cost of his own sorrows. While it was a critical and commercial disaster upon release, putting RK in a financial crisis, Mera Naam Joker has, over the years, gained a cult classic status. Today, film experts label it a ‘misunderstood masterpiece’.