Though they spend most of their time in different cities, Sharmila Tagore and Soha Ali Khan will meet virtually today on Mother’s Day, and that too, for a good cause. They will be donating clothes from their closet for an auction, the proceeds from which will be used for animal welfare and social causes. In a chat with BT on this special day, Soha talks about what she has learnt from her mother’s journey as a parent and how that’s helped her in her own, while raising daughter, Inaaya Naumi Kemmu. Excerpts:

We have been associated with this group’s initiatives for a while now. This initiative gives us a chance to encourage the philosophy of pre-loved articles. It gives us a chance to look through our cupboards and put what we’re probably hoarding for years to good use. Someone will find some joy in them. The proceeds will be used for animal rescue programmes and other social causes. Giving brings its own kind of joy and peace. This is a good way and a good time to start giving back to society in some way.

Being a mother is a life-changing experience. Motherhood changes you profoundly. Once you become a mother, things are never the same. The centre of your world changes...a part of your heart goes out of your body in the form of another living being. It’s incredibly humbling and magical to see how you create life. You might think the child is half you and half your partner, but they are 100 per cent their own people. It’s fascinating to see that my daughter, at her age, has her own, unique personality. Our job as parents is to help the child become what they want to be, without forcing our dreams on them. Of course, you have to intervene as and when needed, but even with the best intentions, you have to take a backseat and let them become who they want to be

By the time I was born, my parents had super busy careers and were known as star achievers. Mom, by then, had begun to wind down her career.

When I was a little girl, she was away to shoot Mississippi Masala for about three months. I would write her a letter every day. My father would collect them and post them every Sunday to her. When I was shooting in Delhi recently, Inaaya would make video calls whenever she wanted to see me and speak to me. We didn’t have that option back then. My mother had once said that it was hard for her to be a working mother. You’re almost always hard on yourself. There were so many occasions when we wouldn’t be together on her birthday or one of our birthdays, because of her work schedule. But we would not hold it against her. Instead, we celebrated when we got the time with her. Around the time I was born, my dad had become a stay-at-home father, moving his engagements at home. It’s not like we always saw our father going to work and mom at home. We actually saw the reverse — dad was with us and mom would be away for her work. Since an early age, it taught us that mothers have their own dreams, ambitions and careers, too. It taught us that we should create a supportive environment for that. Amma and I have holidayed, been on car trips and played word games together. My parents were particular that the time at the dinner table was for conversations with family — no reading books or anything else. It was about spending quality time together. I am glad I had a role model in my mother who taught me that it’s okay to have a career and dreams along with having children.

My mom is wise. As daughters, sometimes, the last person you want advice from is your own mother, especially when it comes to being a mother. You want to find solutions to your problems, and have an identity of your own as a parent. Sometimes, you even fight against their advice because what they did in their time may not be applicable anymore. When I became an actress, and I was asked if my mother ever advised me, and I had quoted Amma then, she had said, ‘There is one captain of the ship. Your director.’ Similarly, when I became a mother, she told me that my pediatrician is the captain of the ship when it comes to medical advice, and I should turn to the doctor when the need arises. Inaaya, Amma and I were in Pataudi recently, when I got into an argument with my daughter. Inaaya was not interested in listening to me. My mother was right when she said that you can’t win against a three-year-old. You need to empathise with the child at that moment. Later, you can explain these things to her when she is in the space to listen. She was right about that and many such things. I love the fact that my mother is never overbearing when it comes to giving advice.

Theatre director Quasar Thakore Padamsee pays tribute
As told to Reema Gehi (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 18, 2020)

Ranj”, “Jeet”, “Chottu”, “Freako”. Growing up, I knew Ranjit (Chowdhry) on screen. He had acted in films such as Khatta Meetha, Baton Baton Mein and Khoobsurat. He had even acted in Badal Sircar’s play, Evam Indrajit—he acted opposite my mum (Dolly Thakore)—directed by Vikram Kapadia.

Even though he may have played the role of a shopkeeper or taxi driver, he paved the way for the early generation of actors to be featured in American television. The absolute gamut of the work he has done has been incredible. Many people now know him as that recurring character in Cosby or Vikram, the telemarketer in the American TV show, The Office.

He wasn’t a salesman of his own work. He loved cinema, but he had cut his roots in theatre. Not because of his mum (Pearl Padamsee) or dad (Alyque Padamsee), but he really cut his teeth in theatre.

Ranjit was in and around Bombay a lot when I was growing up. When I was a kid, I always found him ‘cool fun’ to hang out with. He always made you feel at ease. He got married and went off to work in Toronto. And I didn’t see him much. Then, when I was 14, I went on my first trip abroad with my father to New York. AP and I were walking on the road, when we heard someone scream, “Alyque”. We were surprised to see Ranjit and he said if he did shout ‘dad’, all of NYC would turn. He had that kind of presence. Within hours of that meeting, Ranjit and I took off. AP loved New York but hated all the touristy stuff. So Ranjit took me to the Empire State Building and Statue of Liberty. We were waiting in the line to go up the Statue of Liberty, when a few people came up to him and told him that they loved him in Mississippi Masala. It was a fantastic moment. I do believe that he should have worked more than he did. When you see him play a street urchin in the children’s film Hungama Bombay Ishtyle, you realise how much the camera loved him.

But acting is the work of his you saw; what I loved about him was his mind. Ranjit was a wonderful writer. He was one of the writers of Malgudi Days. Everyone loved the show, but since I knew him, there was a certain excitement to it. And because he had a writer’s mind, he brought great pathos to all his characters. You see that in the film Sam & Me (a film he wrote and acted in), and for which he received great acclaim in Cannes. How he would read a line was different than most actors would.

One of the aspects of living away was that he couldn’t be there for every occasion. So, he would send us a letter to be read. Farid (Currim, actor) and I would “arm wrestle” over it. Because whoever read the letter, invariably, became the star of the evening. His take on things was always hatke—he would say something fun on a solemn occasion or speak about the beauty in a fun evening. He encapsulated his quirkiness in a letter in an incredible way. In fact, when Dad would receive letters from Ranjit, he would send it to all of us just to read because they were written so beautifully.

Though our meetings were few and far between, there was always some kind of connection. As we grew up, we became four children (Raell, Shazahn, Ranjit and I) of my father. When Ranjit’s son (Avi) was born, there was so much excitement because we became uncle and aunts. It was a big moment for all of us, I remember.

We both bonded over our disdain for the IPL. He, like me, felt IPL was not cricket. AP, however, loved the IPL and we would fight with him over this. Ranjit would send me emails discussing it. Aside of cricket, we would often discuss different writing styles and other preoccupations in the world. It was like having an intellectual soulmate.

Ranjit had an acerbic tongue; his humour was always tongue-in-cheek. But despite all of that, he was remarkably tender and gentle and created that feeling with everyone around. He could appear as this constantly complaining grouch. But that was a veneer. We always had a mothering attitude towards him. He brought out in everyone that illicit warmth towards him. To each person he knew, he was always “my Ranjit”.