Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 2, 2020)

“Chalo Dildaar Chalo, Chand Ke Paar Chalo…” Tajdar Amrohi’s caller tune takes me back to my childhood, when I had listened to this song from Pakeezah on a LP record in our living room. “It’s been 48 years since the film’s release, but even today, this romantic duet, in fact, every song from this timeless album, is instantly associated with Pakeezah and Meena ji (leading lady Meena Kumari),” points out the son of the film’s writer-producer-director Kamal Amrohi.

Tajdar saab goes on to inform that while shots of the boat sailing were taken in Goa, those featuring Meena ji and Raaj Kumar saab were canned indoors because the actress was battling cirrhosis of the liver by then and too unwell to go on location. “While many berated him for making an ailing chhoti ammi shoot unnecessary songs, daddy promised he’d take good care of her and had a maid, doctor and nurse stationed on the set. Then, without the aid of blue and green screen technology (chroma keying), he brought the stars into the studio for her even as the moon played hide-and-seek with the clouds. My father was a master craftsman who arranged the lights and camera himself, planned long shots with his stars in a way that their romance would look ethereal on screen even as they disappeared behind the boat’s sail,” he reminisces.

Pakeezah started on July 16, 1956, as a black-and-white film, and was re-shot in colour and then, in cinemascope. They were still shooting when, in 1964, Kamal saab and Meena ji separated following mutual differences. When shooting resumed in 1969, “Mausam Hai Aashiqana” was the first song to be shot, with an ailing Meena ji as the mujrewali Sahibjaan being whisked away from the kotha by one of her patrons. However, the night of his dreams is ruined when they are attacked by elephants and Sahibjaan sails away down the river in the splintered boat. She emerges from the water, enters the tent of forest ranger Salim, set up by the riverside, changes out of her wet clothes into his lungi and shirt and flipping through his diary, comes face to face with the man who’d teased her imagination with his lines rhapsodising over her “pure” feet.

“No actress had worn a lungi, which back then, was seen as a male attire, before this on screen. But, daddy reasoned that, in the context of the setting and situation, it would not look out of place on her and being loose and flowing, like the gharara in 'Chalo Dildar Chalo', would camouflage the bloating her illness had brought on.

“After the film’s release, the lungi became a fashion trend, like Pakeezah bangles, dupattas and sandals. Chhoti ammi herself was wowed by how beautifully my father had picturised these songs, which she’d insisted he retain despite her failing health, like everything else in the script,” says Tajdar saab, pointing out that Meena ji herself was a poetess who often scribbled down her meandering thoughts and read them aloud to his father, who’d react with an appreciative nod, sometimes changing a word or two, even telling her how best to recite them to enhance the beauty of the verses. Does he remember any, you wonder, and without a moment’s hesitation, he rattles off a couplet of his chhoti ammi’s poetry... “Raha Yunhi Na Mukammal, Gham-e-Ishq Ka Fasana, Kabhi Mujhko Neend Aayi, Kabhi So Gaya Zamana”.

The simplicity of the words and their sensitivity leave me awed, in the same way that the film had overwhelmed Meena ji when she saw it at the premiere in Maratha Mandir, on February 3, 1972, seated beside Chandan (that’s what she called Kamal Amrohi) and her darling Tajdar. “As the story of Salim and Sahibjaan unfolded, her nails dug deep into my father’s wrist and she clutched his hand tightly, leaving imprints on the tender skin. But not for a minute did a flicker of pain or irritation cross his features. Instead a tender smile played on his lips, which widened when, resting her head on his shoulder, she asked him to promise he’d not make another film after Pakeezah, making me a witness,” Tajdar saab recounts.

He reasons that since his father survived Meena ji, who passed away on March 31, 1972, by 21 years, it was difficult for him to keep this promise. “But Pakeezah was the Taj Mahal that he built for his Mumtaz and will forever be chhoti ammi’s most memorable film,” asserts Tajdar saab, adding that today his father and chhoti ammi lie side by side in the kabrastan, reunited in death. “And I can imagine him holding out his hand to her, inviting, ‘Chalo dildar chalo chand ke paar chalo…’ and her fingers entwining with his as she replies, ‘Hum hain taiyaar chalo…’, the two of them walking away into a technicolour sunset towards a beautiful world.”

Khayyam with wife Jagjit Kaur at an event in 2017

Veteran composer Khayyam breathed his last in a Mumbai hospital around 9.30 pm on Monday
Khalid Mohamed (MUMBAI MIRROR; August 20, 2019)

He always had a furrowed brow, as if he was waiting to reach an errant melody he couldn’t quite perfect. When he did, his face would soften, he would dart a rare smile and get on to the next one, which perhaps would be recorded or stay with him.

There are scores of songs which did not reach us, and perhaps never will. His repertoire of unheard compositions have departed with Mohammed Zahoor Khayyam, who passed away on Monday night. The departure, I could see was coming, at the suburban hospital where he struggled to open his eyes at least for a flicker of a moment during a month-long stay at the Tulip cabin of the ICU unit. Yeh kya jageh hai doston, Hindi cinema could have well asked, but then I’m getting maudlin here.

The end is endemic as the last stanzas of the songs Khayyam saab had created, without ever caring for the A-listers of the geetmalas from the 1950s on to the turn of another century. To be sure, because of our limited memories, the 92-year-old icon—never called one during his lifetime will be associated most of all with the ever-resonating soundtrack of Umrao Jaan.

If he was bitter to a degree, I suspect, about the Umrao experience it was because he had topped it with the songs composed for its director Muzaffar Ali’s Kashmir-set love story Zooni. The film was left incomplete, but its songs are somewhere out there on tapes mouldering in the vaults somewhere.

Khayyam was not prolific by choice. If Yash Chopra called upon him to do Noorie, Nakhuda, Trishul and Kabhi Kabhie, it was obviously because the chartbusting music directors couldn’t have touched the composer who insisted on doing it his own way and wouldn’t be subjected to prolonged sessions at ‘sitting rooms’ as they are called. The Kabhi Kabhie score especially had that extraordinary poetic quality.

When Khayyam was no longer in the Yash Chopra ‘camp’ so to speak, he kept silent. In show business, one has to move on. When I had asked him to comment on this, he had shushed me up instaneously with a have-you-come-to-talk-about-my-work-or-gossip?

His music had the USP of pauses (check out Ae-Dil-e-Naadan from Razia Sultan). The orchestra comes to a standstill, when Lata Mangeshkar’s voice returns, it’s pure magic. Incidentally, stalwart writer Javed Siddiqui points that it was Khayaam who made the completion of Pakeezah possible. “Do you know he and his wife (Jagjit Kaur) kept trying to make peace between Kamal Amrohi and Meena Kumari. And they succeeded. The film was restarted only because of them.”

Right from Footpath and Phir Subah Hogi to Shagoon and Aakhri Khat, Khayyam’s track record is classic. He would agree to a TV serial occasionally but had stopped accepting film projects which would make him compromise with his signature style – soft, gentle, romantic and from the heart.

Khayyam saab has left the ICU unit. He can never leave us, ever, because without him will never be another subah, another song of such love and longing.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; February 8, 2019)

On February 4, 1972, all roads led to Mumbai’s Maratha Mandir theatre where Kamal Amrohi’s Pakeezah was being unveiled. A chariot driven by six horses came with the print and a navy band played as industry big-wigs strode in to a shower of flowers, the foyer redolent with the scent of kewda and mogra. In the crowd was a boy of 18 who was waiting expectantly for his ‘chhoti ammi’. As soon as her car drove up, he ran down to take her hand as she stepped out. His father who’d been standing quietly in a corner, also moved forward towards his Manju more sedately. As she walked up, ethereal in a white gharara, strands of mogra in her hair, their eyes met. Smiling up at her Chandan, she took his arm and entered the auditorium. At around 9.30 pm, the lights dimmed and the film which had been conceptualised in 1958 in black-and-white, exploded on screen in a profusion of colours.

Everyone sighed as Nargis, a heart-broken tawaif, pines away in a cemetery after being turned away by her lover’s family... They smiled as her lookalike daughter, Sahibjaan, who grows up in a kotha, finds love in a train... The lady in white seemed like she was in a trance, her nails digging into the hand of the man beside her. Her grip must have hurt but he didn’t flinch, only smiled as he gazed down at her.

During the interval, the guests crowded around the couple for autographs and photographs before returning to the movie. As it neared the end, Manju rested her head on the man’s shoulder and said quietly, “Chandan, ek vaada karoge? After this you will not make another film.” He laughed, “Then what will I eat?”

The film ended. The reactions were mixed. Majnu aka Meena Kumari, who for weeks had worried about how she would look in her first role as a nautch girl, was reassured that despite the passage of time and ill health, she had never appeared more beautiful. And while everyone agreed that this was not the same Meena Kumari of Gomti Ke Kinare and Mere Apne, there were many whose compliments sounded insincere to the film’s writer-producer-director Kamal Amrohi’s ears. Like his distributors, they weren’t sure if the late Ghulam Mohammed’s songs would work in the era of Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Johny Mera Naam.

As they drove back home, some wondered if a dancing girl who is covered from head-to-toe even when she croons, “Inhi Logon Ne Le Liya Dupatta Mera” and whose vocabulary reflected an old-world tehzeeb would appeal to the modern-day audience? Wouldn’t the ‘thehraav’ of the film seem “too slow” for viewers speeding down life’s fast lanes? “Baba only smiled at his detractors, insisting that his Pakeezah was a slow poison. It didn’t kill instantly, but would live on with the audience till D-Day and in decades to come, would be listed among the top 10 Hindi films ever,” informs Tajdar, the son of Kamal Amrohi, who’d doted on his ‘chhoti ammi’ since he was five and continues to celebrate the fact that his father’s film immortalised Meena Kumari.

Rumours abound that Pakeezah only picked up after it’s leading lady’s untimely death on March 31. Tajdar dismisses them, arguing that a flop film wouldn’t have remained in the theatres for nine weeks. “The craze began when an all-women audience took over Prakash Theatre in Ahmedabad, and spread across India. Even when the news of chhoti ammi’s death was announced in the theatres, it was a full house. After she left us, her fans returned, again and again, to watch her last film and collections escalated. The investors and distributors got their money but Baba didn’t end up a millionaire. But he’s still revered as the Last Moghul,” avers Tajdar.

On February 3, a Pakeezah boat sailed from Chowpatty to the Gateway of India and back for a week, with half-a-dozen girls on board, some playing the sitar, some swaying to the songs. “No one else was allowed to get on and a boat would go out to the sea to fetch the girls,” recalls Tajdar, adding that no one had seen promotion like this before or since.

On February 11, 1993, Chandan passed away and was buried next to his Manju. Tajdar believes, in another world, his chhoti ammi is singing to his baba, “Chalo dildaar chalo, Chand ke paar chalo, Hum hai tayaar chalo… Aao kho jaaye sitaaron mein kahin, Chhod de aaj yeh duniya, yeh zameen…”

MUMBAI MIRROR (May 28, 2018)

Veteran actress Geeta Kapoor, who rose to fame with Meena Kumari-starrer Pakeezah, passed away in a Mumbai old age home on Saturday, a family friend was quoted as saying.

The 67-year-old actress had been living in the old age home after she was reportedly abandoned by her son and daughter last year.

Kapoor had acted in around 100 films in supporting roles/characters, including prominent Kamal Amrohi’s films Pakeezah and Razia Sultan. Film producer Ramesh Taurani and Ashoke Pandit had been caring for the actress and paying her medical bills. Her son Raja is a choreographer and her daughter Aradhya is an airhostess.

“Her body will be kept at Cooper Hospital, Vile Parle, for two days hoping her children to come and at least do the last rites. Otherwise, we will do our best to bid her a dignified goodbye,” Pandit shared.

When Mirror tried to contact the late actress’s daughter, Aradhya Kapoor, who had arrived at Amboli police station on Sunday afternoon to claim the body, a family member informed that she was not in a state to speak as she hadn’t met her mother in two years. “We will shortly release a statement about the details of the funeral and the prayer meet,” they signed off.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 29, 2018)

March 31, 1972, Good Friday. Christians across the world were commemorating the crucifixion of Christ and his death at Calvary. In a Mumbai hospital, Bollywood’s Tragedy Queen was fighting for her life. “I don’t want to die,” Meena Kumari screamed, clawing at the tubes attached to her.

The actress had been diagnosed with cirrhosis of liver. Doctors in London and Switzerland had given her just six months to live and warned her to stay away from alcohol. What had started out, according to late actress Nadira, as an aperitif before dinner—a shot of sherbet-like brandy that her husband Kamal Amrohi’s German cinematographer, Josef Wirsching, thought could cure the pleurisy patch on her lung— had become a threat to her life. Meena Kumari tried to stay away but when the darkness engulfed her, it was her poetry and the bottle that offered solace.

She knew the end was near and wanted to settle her dues, which included completing her beloved Chandan’s Pakeezah. The film was launched in 1958 in black-and-white, then re-shot in colour and in cinemascope. In March 1964, when she walked out of Kamal Amrohi’s home, never to return, the film ground to a halt again. Five years and 12 days later, she returned to the Pakeezah sets. Her filmmaker-husband greeted her with a gold guinea and the promise that she’d look as beautiful as she had on the day they started the film. He kept his word. She looked stunning.

Pakeezah opened in February, 1972, with Meena Kumari in the title role of a lovelorn courtesan, Sahib Jaan, whose life changes after a chance encounter with the stranger Salim (Raaj Kumar) and a note he leaves behind, ironically praising her beautiful feet and urging her not to step on the ground — maile ho jayenge. Their paths keep crossing until he finally anoints her Pakeezah (Pure of Heart) and in the end, comes with a palanquin to her kotha to take her away from a life of shame forever.

Interestingly, the actress also opted for a change of name. She’d been christened Mahjabeen by her parents and though it was an unusual and beautiful name, it seemed a little heavy-weight for a moppet. “You sound like a stout begum sahiba,” one of the unit members joked, and the makers gave their child star a choice of four names—Kamla, Prabha and Meena. She picked the third and returned home that evening with Rs 25 that went towards paying the rent and a new name that she lived with for 34 years.

The plain little girl with a too thin face grew into a beautiful woman but a lonely one. And on Good Friday she surrendered to her fate, walking away from the world, tanha, leaving behind verses that echoed her loneliness…

Chand tanha hai, aasman tanha, Dil mila hai kahan kahan tanha.
Bujh gayi aas, chhup gaya taara, Thartharaata raha dhuaan tanha.

Zindagi kya isi ko kahate hain, Jism tanha hai aur jaan tanha.
Humsafar koi gar mile bhi kahin, Donon chalte rahen tanha tanha.

Jalti-bujhti-si roshani ke pare, Simata-simata-sa ek makaan tanha.
Raah dekhaa karega sadiyon tak, Chhod jayenge ye jahaan tanha.

Her swan song, Pakeezah, opened to a lukewarm response but picked up after her untimely death. “People packed the theatres. They weren’t coming to see a film but were there to visit Meena Kumari’s mazaar,” Nadira had told me. The words echo in my ears every time I watch the classic and I wonder if Meena Kumari might have had a better life had she remained Mahjabeen.

His children say the movie was not part of the deal
Nazia Sayed (MUMBAI MIRROR; October 19, 2017)

A movie, which survived 16 years of filming and relationship trials to become one of Indian cinema’s most iconic pictures, is now the subject of a high-profile and complex legal tussle.

DB Realty has filed a suit in the Bombay High Court claiming the rights of the 1972 classic Pakeezah, which was directed by Kamal Amrohi and starred Meena Kumari. The company has moved the suit through Mahal Pictures, which it acquired along with the landmark Kamalistan studio from Amrohi’s children seven years ago.

The children — Tajdar, Shandar and Rukshar —have contested the company’s assertion, saying Pakeezah was their father’s most personal work and it was not part of the Mahal Pictures deal.

DB Realty’s suit is primarily against Shemaroo Entertainment Ltd, which bought the film’s rights from the Amrohis in 2015. The Amrohis have joined Shemaroo to oppose the claim because they believe Shemaroo would do justice to their late father’s legacy.

Kamal Amrohi announced Pakeezah in 1956, four years after he married Meena Kumari. But the movie suffered huge delays as their relationship broke down, Amrohi switched from black and white to colour format and Kumari became seriously ill. The movie was finally released in 1972 and it is described by many as Kumari’s best performance.

In 2010, the legendary filmmaker’s children sold his Mahal Pictures to Pune-based builder Avinash Bhosale, DB Realty and the Luthrias.

Tajdar told Mirror on Wednesday that it was mentioned in the contract that after the property sale, Pakeezah’s rights would be pledged back to him as it was his father’s legacy. He said Pakeezah was never a Mahal Pictures production so DB Realty cannot claim its rights.

“Even in the film credits, it is mentioned that the film was written, directed and produced by Kamal Amrohi. Nowhere is it said that it’s a Mahal Pictures production. So when it is my father’s private property, they cannot claim it to be a part of Mahal Pictures. We have sold Mahal Pictures, not Pakeezah,” he said.

But Avinash Bhosle insisted the movie rights were part of the deal. “When we bought Mahal Pictures, the copyright of the film was also handed over to us. Yet, the Amrohis illegally sold the rights to Shemaroo. We are fighting for something which legally belongs to us,” he said.

Tajdar said in 2008, the board of directors of Mahal Pictures unanimously passed a resolution that Pakeezah’s rights would be transferred to him in the event of a company sale. He has submitted the minutes of the meeting in the court.

Vinod Karani, vice-president of Shemaroo Entertainment, has said in a reply to the suit that DB Realty-run Mahal Pictures deliberately hid the facts about the 2008 meeting from the court. He has added that DB Realty filed a “false case” after it learned that Shemaroo had started exploiting the film rights.

Advocate Mahesh Mahadgut, who is representing Shemaroo, said the Amrohis and Shemaroo had a valid agreement for the movie rights.

Jatin Rajguru, an authorised signatory for Mahal Pictures, said the company was the rightful owner of Pakeezah. “The censor board issued a certificate in 1971 where Kamal Amrohi was mentioned as the producer of the movie. At the time, he was the owner of Mahal Pictures,” he said.

He added: “Shemaroo and the Amrohis never mentioned the 2008 board meeting at the time of execution of the share purchase agreement.”

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; October 12, 2017)

'Jaani' Raaj Kumar would have turned 91 on October 8 and perhaps we might have seen him running after a train on a stormy night, like Salim in Pakeezah, who changes the life of a nautch girl, Sahibjaan, with a few scribbled lines of poetry…

“Aapke paon dekhe, bahut haseen hai, inhe zameen par mat utariyega, maile ho jayenge.”

Forty-five years later, these words spoken in that unforgettable baritone still resonate as writer-producer-director Kamal Amrohi’s son, Tajdar, admits that one of the reasons his father cast Raaj saab was because of his voice and impeccable Urdu diction, and because his face and genteel manners stamped him as an aristocrat from a cultured, orthodox family.

“Also, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai, with the same jodi, had been a huge hit and Raaj saab accepted the film without even enquiring about his role in a heroine-oriented film, confident that Kamaal saab would not be unfair to him,” informs Tajdar.

He goes on to reveal, almost half a century later, that the man you see in the first scene, running after the train, was not actually the actor but someone Kamal saab had picked out from the crowd. The man wore Raaj Kumar’s clothes and hat. “Raaj saab was arriving late and there was no time to waste as the platform had been booked for a specified time and the station master was urging him to wrap up his shoot quickly. Later, when Raaj saab saw the scene, he wondered when he’d shot it. My father assured him that they had taken the shot long ago and he’d forgotten,” Tajdar smiles fondly, marveling at the bond between his father and the actor.

Raaj Kumar had a reputation for being an eccentric. While Tajdar doesn’t endorse this, he recalls, how for a particular sequence, shot over three-four days, the actor would report every day in a different outfit despite being told there was no need for costume changes. Kamal saab didn’t argue with him after a point but on the last day of shooting, he had a quiet word with the dressman, telling him to give Raaj saab the clothes he’s worn on the first day and quickly taking his shots to ensure that continuity was maintained.

He goes on to recount another sequence, which had a thakur who, having recognised Sahibjaan from the kotha, chases after the tonga carrying her and Salim on his horse. Incensed, Salim gets off and gets into an altercation with the man, holding the reins off his prancing horse till the thakur cracks his whip down on his hand, surprising him into letting go.

“Raaj Kumar ke haath se lagan chhut jaye, yeh ho hi nahin sakta, with one twist of my hand I can bring the horse down,” the actor argued. Kamal saab pointed out that he was not Raaj Kumar but Salim in the scene but he was obdurate. “Finally my father took the junior artiste playing the thakur aside and told him to hit him a couple of times till Raaj saab let go. Perhaps he learnt about this but when it was time to face the camera, he told my father that while Raaj Kumar would never let go of the reins, maybe Salim ke haath se lagaam chut sakti hai. And so the shot was filmed with him finally disciplining the thakur,” smiles Tajdar admitting that such incidents brought the two closer, enhancing the love and respect they had for each other.

And we are left with a memory of that baritone intoning another famous dialogue from the film.

“Beshak mujhse ghalati hui. Main bhool hi gaya tha iss ghar ke insaanon ko har saans ke baad doosre saans lene ki ijaazat aapse leni padhti hai. Aur aapki aulaad khuda ki banaai hui zameen par nahin chalti, aapki hatheli par rehti han..”

Ahh, for the days of the Raaj again!

Asira Tarannum & Bharati Dubey (MID-DAY; March 8, 2014)

Of the many films featuring strong female protagonists that have come and gone, few have been etched onto our collective memory. It may be pointed out that box office success in Bollywood is attributed mainly to male stars and filmmakers spend big bucks to cast known actors in their films. But on the occasion of International Women’s Day, hitlist explores how some films were exceptional as they defied all trends and norms in Bollywood.

If we go back half a century, films like Mother India and Pakeezah — considered two of the finest classics of Indian cinema — were path- breaking movies. Nargis played Radha, a poor village woman who fights against odds to raise her two sons, while Meena Kumari’s Sahibjaan was the epitome of heartbreak. The former killed her evil son for the sake of preserving justice, while the latter sacrificed her love in the film.
Both characters set the tone of their respective films and ended up being huge hits too.

But some things changed in the ’80s and ’90s. While parallel cinema still dared to dabble in films dealing with feminist issues, commercially they were duds, however genuine the intention of the film-maker.

Films like Prakash Jha’s Mrityudand, and Rajkumar Santoshi’s Lajja, come to mind. While these movies dealt with the bold subject of women’s triumph, they didn’t work at the box office. Most women oriented films surprisingly recieved poor response. As if on cue, films with women playing the “ hero” of the film failed miserably and consistently. Soon producers feared investing in these films.

However, more recently, the tide seems to be turning in favour of these films with women- oriented scripts gaineing acceptance in the industry.

On their part, actresses too are more open to playing protagonists for a change. Filmmaker Gauri Shinde (left), who made a successful directorial debut with English Vinglish, vouches for the same. “It was difficult for me to pitch the film. I was a first-time director and I was not making a film about a young woman. It didn’t have any item numbers in it, so there were doubts in people’s minds,” she says, adding that it takes a while to draw audiences into cinema halls, but once people start liking a film, word spreads and the film’s collections pick up as well.

While Shinde found it difficult to convince studios with her film, it was a cakewalk for Santoshi. He says, “I was a successful filmmaker and nobody had any problem with my subject. During those days, films with women doing rona dhona worked well with the audiences. My films, Damini and Lajja (right), took the revolutionary road as they shocked audiences with their treatment of a woman-oriented theme.”

And while he concedes that multiplex audiences want to see all kinds of cinema, he is quick to point out that they charge higher ticket rates for male-oriented films and not women- oriented ones. “It is important to market the former in a manner where audiences connect with you,” he says.

Shinde explains that ours is a male-dominated country and the film industry, in particular, is no different. “Most of the audiences are men; they buy tickets at the counter. Besides, there is this perception that women-centric films will be boring and righteous. Unless more women get out on their own and decide what they want to watch, things will not change,” she says.

Actor-producer Dia Mirza, who is now making the film, Bobby Jasoos, with Vidya Balan playing the main lead, agrees. “As our audiences evolve, so do our filmmakers and their ability to tell stories showcasing women in interesting avatars. The new India is eager to celebrate women characters that are nuanced, entertaining and most importantly, real. Eventually it will always be the story that is the clincher, and it’s great to see that we find more and more women now taking our stories forward.”

Vidya Balan, who is known to do women centric films, seconds her. “A good film will irrespective of its theme. People react to human beings and their stories. The only criterion is how well a story is told. How else can you explain that Gravity bagged seven Oscars besides being the sixth highest grossing film of 2013?” she says.

Prakash Jha, who has featured strong women characters in films like Mrityudand, blames the society for its negative approach. He says, “Ours is a male oriented industry and society, but things are changing now. If a film is promoted well, it works. I don’t think a film will work only because it is star oriented.” Shabana Azmi, known for playing a formidable woman in her films, asks both filmmakers and audiences to be patient. “I think this is a misconception. Vidya Balan’s women-centric films have had commercial success, and in the past too, films of Meena Kumari and Nutan were very successful. I’ve had a fairly decent stint myself. We underestimate our audiences; they warm up to a good film. What sometimes fails is the budget, not the film,” she emphasises.

BLAST FROM THE PAST
. 1960s: Bandini, Seema, Sujata and Saraswati Chandra paved the way for women-centric films. Powerful direction by stalwarts like Bimal Roy, coupled with Nutan’s acting ability, took these movies to another level.
. 1970s and ’ 80s: Films like Meera, Khushboo, and Insaaf Ka Tarazu had a strong feminist flavour. While beauties such as Hema Malini and Zeenat Aman upped the glamour quotient, Shabana Azmi and Smita Patil were bracketed as parallel cinema artistes.
. 1990s: Two films from this decade stand out — the Prakash Jha directed Mrityudand and Rajkumar Santoshi’s Damini.
. 2000s: Rajkumar Santoshi’s Lajja put women’s issues back under the spotlight.
. 2010s: With The Dirty Picture and Kahaani, Vidya Balan proved that women-centric films can rake in the moolah at the box- office.