It was a warm but amiable night in Bologna. By the time the open-air screening started at the north Italian town’s sprawling Piazza Maggiore, it was already 10 pm. Yet, at least 2,000 cinephiles, mostly Italians, had turned up. This was Sholay’s restored, uncut version — an intimidating three hours and 24 minutes in length — at the Il Cinema Ritrovato festival. “But the audience was glued, watching in pin-drop silence. When the film ended at 1.30 am, the cheering was incredible. Sholay is timeless,” says Shivendra Singh Dungarpur, whose Film Heritage Foundation has restored the film.

If the viewers’ reaction in Italy in June reaffirmed Sholay’s enduring appeal across countries and generations, an X post made by Iran’s Consulate General in Mumbai in July revealed the film’s abiding impact. “Many Iranians still associate #Bollywood with this epic,” it said, adding that a newspaper in Iran had published a full-pager commemorating the movie’s 50 years.

There’s something about Sholay. Even the biggest blockbusters eventually recede from memory. With director Ramesh Sippy’s multi-starrer, the obverse seems to be true. Sholay never left us. The movie breathes in our lives through its dialogues, which have become like proverbs, and lives in our heads through its characters. When anyone says, ‘Basanti’, we know who. In India, there’s only one Basanti. As filmmaker Mahesh Bhatt says, “Nations are not built by borders. They are held together by stories. Sholay has transcended cinema. It is one of the stories that holds India together.”

The film talks to different generations in different ways. For old-timers, Sholay is inseparable from their youth, a living memory of life as it used to be. For their progeny, and their progeny, it is a family fable they have imbibed like food, and consequently discovered on TV, internet or OTT. “Some films refuse to fade because they don’t just entertain us, they actually become us,” says Bhatt. The film is a connector.

How Gabbar got embossed in our lives
The marketing men of Polydor, a record company with the film’s rights, were critical to the tattooing of Sholay into our collective consciousness. In her award-winning book, journalist Anupama Chopra writes how Polydor executives, worried at the lukewarm sales of the music album, noticed the audience being captivated by Salim-Javed’s dialogues. Within a month, a 58-minute long-playing record was released. It turned out to be a stroke of marketing genius. A TOI article noted in 1976, “the earthy outpourings of the Sholay film track” has sold “phenomenally well”. Sholay was the first film that India heard as much as it saw.

Seventies India was an audio world. This was a time when the middle-class lined up to buy rationed sugar. For most, television was just a photograph shown to nursery kids to teach the letter, ‘T’. Even record players were restricted to a thin socio-economic band. India was primarily a radio country. Paan shop transistors would tune in to Radio Ceylon or Vividh Bharati through the day.

Against this backdrop, Sholay’s dialogues blared for months at homes, in shops, markets and fairs in Inner India’s small towns, kasbahs and mofussils. By repetition of listening, even pre-teens could recall every dialogue, just like multiplication sums. Some remembered the film by heart.

The first time this reporter saw the film at a theatre, the experience was mixed. A guy sitting in the row behind would pre-empt every dialogue. He stopped only after someone told him that all of us could do the same and there was no need to show off.

This was also the first film where the most popular dialogues were delivered by the bad guy, Gabbar, played superlatively by Amjad Khan, and not the hero. “The dialogues reached a transcendental level. They are proverbial, aphoristic, dramatic. And they are fundamental to an Indian imagination in a filmy sense,” says social scientist Shiv Viswanathan.

The dialogues became unforgettable because the characters were unforgettable. “Sholay is an archetypical memory. Every character from Gabbar to Basanti to Raheem chacha, is archetypical. They all create a culture, a memory and possibility of new imitations,” he says.

Even the smallest of characters haven’t been forgotten. “Keshto Mukherjee’s cameo of a barber named Hariram is still remembered,” says film director Anil Sharma.

Stories, real and apocryphal
Mac Mohan acted in over 300 movies. In Sholay, his presence was reduced to sitting with a gun on a faraway rock. He got to say just three words, “Poorey pachaas hazaar”. But Sambha, his character’s name, became his lifelong identity. Just like Viju Khote, the recipient of Gabbar’s simple but scary one-liner, “Tera kya hoga, Kaalia?”.

In a 2015 interview, Khote told this reporter that the temperamental horse he rode threw him off at least six times. His remuneration for the aches and bruises was just Rs. 2,500. Fortunately, he did not break any bones.

Real or apocryphal, there is another story, wherein a groom refused to take the sacred vows unless the film’s dialogues were played. The missing record was brought and played. The wedding was solemnized.

For a film that has turned into lore, it is hard to believe that Sholay was dismissed as a flop in the early days of its release. In his autobiography, And Then One Day, actor Naseeruddin Shah writes about watching Sholay, running in its second week, at a “half-empty” theatre in Andheri, Bombay. Shah also writes that the blame for the failure was pinned on newbie Amjad.

Sharma, director of the megahit, Gadar, recalls coming home after watching the movie and being told by a film industry client of his father, an astrologer, “‘Sun rahe hain film flop ho gayi. Log Sholay ko Chholey (chickpeas) bol rahe hain.’ I had liked the film and told them so. But they were dismissive and said, you are too young to know about the film business. We got into a row.”

Sharma also loved the film’s impressive stereophonic sound. “When the coin was tossed and tinkled after falling on the ground, people would start looking for it beneath their seats,” he remembers.
Critics admitted to Sholay’s technological excellence but roundly panned the movie. The Illustrated Weekly of India (now defunct), a sister publication of The Times of India, said in its review: “There is nothing in the script of Salim-Javed to make this ‘the greatest story ever told’, it is just another dacoit tale on the lines of Mujhe Jeene Do, Gunga Jumna, Mera Gaon Mera Desh.”

The Statesman (New Delhi edition) said: “For nearly four hours, this film assaults one’s senses psychologically, emotionally and at the end almost physically.” Sunday Standard called it “a shaggy dog Western, sporadically funny, ludicrously heroic, monstrously violent and sprawled in loose limbed abandon”. Most reviews, barring Weekly, also ignored Amjad’s performance. The film received just one Filmfare award — for M S Shinde’s editing.

But over the decades, the film has been reappraised. In a classic case of overcompensation, Sholay was declared ‘The Best Film of 50 Years’ by Filmfare in 2005. In 2002, a British Film Institute poll hailed it as the ‘greatest’ Indian film ever made. The good times continue. “The movie is set for gala screenings at festivals in Toronto, London and New York in the coming months,” says Dungarpur.

But the critical re-evaluation aside, Sholay has become more than a movie, it has become a myth. Sharma sums it up, “Sholay now belongs to the public, not to the maker. The film has ruled over people’s hearts for 50 years. It will continue to do so for another 50 years.”

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Everyone has a favourite Salim-Javed film. Even Namrata Rao, the director of Angry Young Men, a docu-series that tells the story of Bollywood’s most successful screenwriter duo, Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar. She says, “Deewaar [1975] would be my favourite film, but I also love Shakti [1982].” It certainly is hard to pick, considering the duo delivered 22 blockbusters.

Together, the two writers shaped a glorious chapter of Hindi cinema. Rao, one of the industry’s most successful editors, has turned director to bring that era alive again. She worked on the Prime Video offering for three years. It all started when Zoya Akhtar, with whom she had worked on Lust Stories (2018) and Gully Boy’s (2019) songs, shared Angry Young Men’s idea with her.

“I was editing Lust Stories [2018] with Zoya. She told me then [that she had this idea]. I was very taken even then. In December 2020, she asked me if I wanted to direct it.”

The stalwarts collaborated for more than 15 years, giving us gems in Sholay (1975), Don (1978), Trishul (1978) and many more. When making a documentary that charts their career, how does one even start to make sense of such vast material?

“With a chart of their chronology,” replies Rao. “First, the anecdotes of their lives in the public domain were sought out—what was their process, the interesting things they did together and how they parted. But when we started interviewing them, the story changed. What was interesting was to tap into their personality. They are cool guys, they are badass. They dreamt big and made it happen. Like Javed saab says, ‘I didn’t think this wouldn’t happen; I always thought this could go in my biography.’ I found it beautiful how they have aged, from their young photos to the last photoshoot.”

Anyone who has seen the documentary will agree that it is true to its two subjects. The fact that it’s not a piece of glorification comes from them.

“They symbolize the wisdom about success and failure, and what it means as you age! They know storytelling better than any of us. So, they have the ability to offer what I would want. I remember when we shot the scene where Javed saab chokes up about his breakfast; he then makes light of it within minutes, saying, ‘Achcha, abhi aapko shot mil gaya mere rone ka.’ I was taken aback when Salim sir spoke about his mother because I got an insight into the vulnerabilities of this rough and tough man. They own their lives, their failures and successes, and even that they fu**ed up! I discussed a lot about Sholay [1975] with them—how they showed that a widow could be remarried, but didn’t give her a happy ending. They said, ‘You can’t push the envelope all at the same time. You first bring in the idea and then you normalize it. The story of Sholay required a tragedy to make it as big!’”

After 80-plus interviews—ranging from Amitabh Bachchan to Karan Johar, from Salman Khan to Farhan and Zoya Akhtar—Rao had 800 hours of footage. But she remained loyal to the storytelling over her favourite films. The only criticism is that Angry Young Men doesn’t have much for those who know them already.

“At the end of the day, the story represents them. As they got candid, I realized their mantra is: bolo yaar, aage dekha jaayega. That rubbed off on me. I’ve never seen their kind of confidence in anyone. That you can believe in something and stand by it, whether it goes your way or not, is what I loved about their story.”

We end the interview with two important questions. First, why did she not show them together?

“That was always the idea. We started in the pandemic when movement was limited. It wasn’t easy to shoot two people of that age. Then we fell into a pattern. I enjoyed catching them in their space. The last thing we shot was the photos when they went to Shivaji Park to inaugurate Diwali lighting. We shot at Raj Thackeray’s house!”

And is the last script of Salim-Javed happening any time soon? “Everyone at the première had that question. I can tell you they aren’t acting on it. But they are angry young men who do what they want to; maybe just as unexpectedly, they will get back someday!”

He’s been the dialogue and screenplay writer for films such as Devdas (2002), Black (2005), Saawariya (2007), Bajirao Mastani (2015), Padmaavat (2018) and Tanhaji: The Unsung Warrior (2020), among others. But Prakash Kapadia feels that despite all the recognition he’s received for his work over the years, there’s a lot that needs to change in the Hindi film industry as far as the valuation of writers is concerned.

“I think the industry needs to trust its writers more by giving them the respect, credit and remuneration they deserve,” says Kapadia. He adds, “Nowadays, when a lyricist or music director composes a song, they get royalties each time the track is played, but what about the writer? There is a saying in the film industry, ‘Jo dikhta hai, woh bikta hai’, but I want to ask, ‘Jo likhta hai, woh kahan dikhta hai?’ A writer gives the entire story, screenplay and dialogues even before a movie starts. Big buildings look good, but they stand because of their strong foundations. Movies look beautiful, but they work because of their content.”

Having worked extensively with filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali, with Gangubai Kathiawadi being his latest work as a dialogue writer, Kapadia enjoys associating with the filmmaker. “It is always an intellectual pleasure to work with a director who knows his work and understands the pain of a writer. Like me, he (Bhansali) also always wants to put his best foot forward, so we play devil’s advocate for each other. That’s how we deliver our best work,” he shares.

A satisfied man, Kapadia feels that when the audience laps up his work, it’s a win for him: “I count each film I’ve written as my credit. My films should reach the audience and that is my achievement. If my film, its director, actor or producer wins an award, I am a part of it (the win), too. Bollywood hasn’t paid much attention to its writers after Salim-Javed, but I hope I scenario changes for the better.”

“The way Goldie [director, writer and producer Sidharth Sengupta] and I work is that he sends me an open file with the screenplay; I just push the space bar, create space for myself and start writing dialogues,” says actor Varun Badola, known for his work in television serials like Astitva...Ek Prem Kahani, Koshish - Ek Asha and Des Mein Nikla Hoga Chand. Badola admits that he writes primarily for friends like Sengupta and hints at the organic nature of this working partnership. Besides being a well-known face in the Indian television circuit, Badola is also an accomplished dialogue writer, having worked for prominent web shows including ALT Balaji’s Apharan and Undekhi on Sony Liv.

Assisting Tigmanshu Dhulia in Haasil and Charas when he was only 22, and functioning as his additional dialogue writer helped him learn the ropes, shares Badola, now 48. It was an experience he put to good use when he was roped in to write episodes and scenes for Astitva, Koshish and Ek Chabi Hai Pados Mein later. It was his work on the latter which Sengupta came in to direct, that he believes got him the Apaharan job in 2017, a show which Badola believes holds some of his best work.

The two writing processes, however, have been starkly different. In television, Badola explains, one could be writing the same situation five times over. “When I was writing for TV, the idea was not to have the same conversation, the same words, but to think of something new which was difficult, because one needs to have more ideas.”

The writing for web shows on the other hand, needs to be taut and precise, he says. So, does he prefer one format over the other? “I have never written for personal satisfaction or achievement,” he responds. “It’s something to do with the way we’ve been brought up. The idea is to get the job done. Writing a good scene is just about that sometimes.”

Among writers he has admired over the years, the Salim-Javed pair still stands out, as the actor-writer recalls a scene from Don where the character’s release from jail is accomplished in less than 20 seconds. “Because they have already established that Don is so [influential], there is no need for explanations about security lapses, for instance,” he points out. “Bas story aage bhagao”. “If anyone has used willing suspension of disbelief to its fullest, it has to be them.”

At the same time, in spite of Hindi cinema’s dependence on such stellar writers, Badola is quick to point out how this creative sect in our country still does not get the credit or respect it deserves. Badola himself however refrains from writing screenplays and stories as those would take up too much time and prevent him from dedicating his energy to acting. “I don’t want to give up on acting as I love the craft. The idea [ultimately] is to have fun [with both].”  

The years have taught him to make the conversations he writes, more precise although he hasn’t consciously thought of growth in spite of having practised the craft for so many years. “The charm of writing a dialogue and of doing something new would be completely lost then,” he notes. At the same time, there is no strategising involved. “When I write a scene, I still write everything that comes to my mind and then we decide what stays and what goes,” he says.

For a creative individual whose simultaneous careers have frequently collided—he has spoken lines he had himself written in shows like Astitva—Badola hasn’t found one art to outweigh the other. “I am in love with the whole process,” he declares. There is also a need to disassociate oneself from one’s writing, he points out, because as an actor he may have visualised a scene differently from how another actor chooses to play it. “If everybody is acting to your whims and fancies, then perhaps all the actors will start looking the same,” he observes. “[The point is to] never get too emotional about your creation.”

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 24, 2020)

It’s been 41 years since Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s comedy of errors, Gol Maal, opened, on April 20, 1979, but for its leading lady, Bindiya Goswami, it seems like only yesterday. She can almost see herself as a 17-year-old, her co-star Amol Palekar standing across from her, giving her cues, and Dada sitting close by, instructing her on the emotions he wants her to express, while playing chess with one of his assistants. “He called me Bindi and would glance up occasionally to check if I was doing it right, then, go back to the chess board. He was very chilled out even though his knee was giving him a lot of trouble and he shot the film sitting down. I don’t know film kab khatam ho gayi, with absolutely no stress or pressure,” she marvels.

Bindiya goes on to recount that the filmmaker was very particular about two scenes featuring her, one in which she is trying to convince her father, Utpal Dutt, to let her marry the man she loves. And the other? “When Amol tells me, towards the end, that he will use a makeshift rope of bedsheets to get out of my bedroom. Nodding, I tell him, ‘Suno toh, I will wait for you in the car’, then, go up to the built-in wardrobe and return to him anxiously a couple of times with more ‘suno toh’, telling him to take care, before his exasperated expression has me scurrying out of the room,” she shares, saying Hrishida actually enacted these scenes for her.

Her favourite scene is her introduction, where, draped in a sari, a mangalsutra around her neck and a red bindi dotting her forehead, she is pleading with her lover not to desert her, reminding him that she has left everyone for him and is now carrying his baby. The last bit has her eavesdropping bua, Shubha Khote, dashing off with the news of her badnaami and Utpal Dutt turning up all agitated, only to learn she had been rehearsing for a college play. “That scene was so me that it came out very spontaneously,” admits Bindiya.

She remembers Amol as a quiet man whose measured speech was lightened up with with tongue-in-cheek quips. They have grown close over the years and Bindiya remembers visiting him in Pune for his 70th birthday, to which his wife Sandhya had invited all his school friends and leading ladies.

She has equally fond memories of Utpal Dutt, with whom she also worked in Basu Chatterjee’s Prem Vivah , which released in the same year, and later in Hamari Bahu Alka, husband J P Dutta’s favourite film. “Utpal Dutt was a natural in front of the camera, a riot in the climax where he chases after Amol and me, in a pair of pyjamas and vest, with his hair standing on end, through the bylanes of Juhu. The trio were masters of the craft, with Dada as one of the Gods of Hindi cinema. I got lucky landing this film with them as a teenager,” Bindiya exults.

Interestingly, script-writer Salim Khan landed up at the shoot one day, asking Hrishida if he could borrow Bindiya for half an hour. “I had bought Salim saab’s Mercedes and he knew my mother, sister and me well, and had also seen my movies. My mother and I accompanied him to Ramesh Sippy’s office that day. I later learnt that he had recommended me highly to him, and in 10 minutes, I landed Shaan,” she narrates, admitting that the action-thriller, one of the most talked-about films of that time, featuring Sunil Dutt, Raakhee, Amitabh Bachchan, Shatrughan Sinha, Shashi Kapoor and Parveen Babi, with Kulbhushan Kharbanada as the bald villain, was a huge break. “The film was written by Salim-Javed. They spoke to me about Shakti too, but eventually Smita (Patil) did that film.”

Gol Maal was shot in Hrishida’s own bungalow in Bandra and producer N C Sippy’s bungalow in Juhu. “I felt at home there as it was called Bindiya, named after his daughter. Now, the Bachchans live there and Bindiya bungalow is known as Jalsa,” she reveals.

Four decades have passed… Hrishikesh Mukherjee has passed away. Bindiya retired from films in 1986 and even Amol is an artist today, but Gol Maal remains evergreen. “There have been four Golmaals since, the title track has been borrowed for a sitcom, yet, the original remains pure gold. It’s a hit with every generation, including my own daughters (Nidhi and Siddhi). Even though I didn’t work very long, thanks to Khatta Meetha and my biggest hit, Gol Maal, people still remember me. It’s nice to know you left a mark and remain in people’s hearts,” Bindiya signs off.

Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; November 22, 2019)

I don’t claim to know her well. The only thing I remember from our one meeting at a suburban hotel when I had tagged along with my editor, was of her firing the waiter when he brought the tea because the milk was cold. By then, she had moved out of the spotlight, but Zeenat Aman was still every inch the diva.

The actress, who turned 68 on November 19, will be seen next in Ashutosh Gowariker’s period drama, Panipat, and still remains an enigma. To understand her better, I turned to Manoj Kumar saab because a plaintive Mukesh-Lata Mangeshkar duet from his film, Roti Kapda Aur Makaan, “Main Na Bhoolunga”, still resonates with me.

She played Sheetal, who’s in love with his character Bharat, but marries her rich employer, Shashi Kapoor, for the life of luxury he offers her. “It was a different role for her, with its saris and shades of grey. But right from day one, Zeenat was determined to perform better than what people were expecting from her,” shares the writer-producer-director-actor of the highest grossing Hindi film of 1974.

Interestingly, while he was scripting, Manoj Kumar saab had Sharmila Tagore in mind for the role. His publicist friend Gopal Pandey, whom he had narrated the script to, had narrated some scenes to Sharmila whose work he was handling. So,when he approached her, she told him she wanted to play the deglam Tulsi, the construction worker Bharat is drawn to after Sheetal ditches him. He left her apartment without committing and soon after, left for Delhi with his family. There, while at his farm, he wrote a four-page story about a father and son, which he made as Shor, with Nanda and Jaya Bachchan, in 1972. Roti Kapda Aur Makaan came along two years later, with Zeenat as Sheetal and Moushumi Chatterjee as Tulsi.

He recalls that for the film’s climax, he had taken four days from his artistes. “It eventually took 14 days to wrap, but Zeenat, who was a busy actress then, quietly juggled schedules and dates, giving me the time I needed. She had to hold back her tears and following instructions, impressed with her performance,” he raves.

During the shooting of the film, he ran into Raj Kapoor at composer Laxmikant’s music room. When asked him, “How’s the girl?” he praised Zeenat, saying she was hard-working and determined to do good work. “Wonderful!” Raj ji exulted. Five years later, she was his Roopa in Satyam Shivam Sundaram. “I can’t say I got her the film,” Manoj Kumar saab shrugs.

However, there is one other film that he can claim to have got Zeenat. Nariman Irani, the cinematographer of Shor and Roti Kapda Aur Makaan, had suffered a financial setback and came to him for help. “I told him to get Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar to write a script for him. He could produce the film with my assistant Chandra Barot as the director. I spoke to Amitabh (Bachchan) and Zeenat who were working in my film and they agreed to act in it,” shares the veteran actor-filmmaker.

The film was Don. After watching a trial show, he suggested they incorporate two songs. “They added one, but even Amitabh agrees 'Khaike Paan Banaraswala' was my suggestion. The film was a blockbuster,” he says.

Zeenat also owes her make-up man to Manoj Kumar saab, who, after watching the first day’s rush print, instructed his make-up man, Krishna Dada, to do her make-up, before reshooting the scenes. “Zeenat liked her look so much she asked me if she could keep Krishna dada. She was shooting four shifts a day and I knew I would lose him. But I let him go, knowing he’d make good money with her and she would gain from his expertise,” he smiles, adding fondly, “Zeenat was a dedicated actress, I wish her all the best.”

Three generations of the Jaaferis on what it takes to keep audiences entertained
Kunal Guha (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 9, 2019)

All of 80 years, veteran comedian Jagdeep has an elephant’s memory. Precisely half-a-century ago, he escorted his son to the premiere of his film Anmol Moti (1969) — the first Indian film to feature an underwater fight sequence —in which his character wrestles with an octopus. When the creature eliminates his character in the scene, his son Jaaved Jaaferi, barely six then, was reduced to a howling mess. “He felt his father was no more,” says Jagdeep, whose film career spans over 70 years. Ahead of his grandson, Meezaan’s debut in Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Malaal, three generations of the Jaaferi clan collect at the patriarch’s Versova home to mull over their shared legacy.

Most know Jaaved as an accomplished actor, host and voiceover talent, the one who introduced Indian audiences to freestyle dance. But ask Jagdeep about his son’s earliest achievements and he returns to the filming of Wardat (starring Mithun Chakraborty) in Kashmir. At an after-shoot party, Javed, then just 15, beat the film’s baddie Shakti Kapoor in a dance battle. “Woh bola ‘kiske saath mukabla kara rahe ho?’” the veteran actor recalls. Looking back at the incident that occurred four decades ago, Jaaved, credits his youthful exuberance for the win. “I was in Class 10 then, and could dance for an hour non-stop.” He remembers being introduced to freestyle dancing on the streets of New York in 1983, while on a family vacation. “We came across street performers ‘body popping’ and ‘moon-walking’, and we were so mesmerised by their moves, we watched them for a whole hour, I remember.” On his return, Jaaved worked on mastering those moves, and, it proved a game changer at college fests — he topped the All India Dance Competition the following year.

Jaaved remembers accompanying brother Naved Jafri to nightclubs — “only during the day” — to put his skills to test. “We would brave muggy Mumbai afternoons to frequent a place near the airport called Take Off (later dubbed Go Bananas) every Sunday, dressed in shimmery outfits,” says Jaaved, who also remembers that his parents didn’t entirely approve of those ‘nightclub visits’. “Before disco became a thing, nightclubs had a negative connotation, because films depicted them as dens for sharab, jua and cabaret,” says Jaaved.

On becoming a parent, Jaaved says, he allowed Meezaan more room to keep up with his social calendar. “By my time, no one went out dancing though. Most of my friends would just go out for a drink,” says Meezaan, who played basketball for Maharashtra. He also attended New York Film School before dropping out to assist Sanjay Leela Bhansali in Padmaavat, an experience he describes as “a learning experience that no film school can possibly deliver”.

“I was well-versed with the industry and my parents prepared me for every job that comes being on the sets. I was told, ‘Even if someone says ‘chai laao’, you have to do it,’” says Meezaan, who will be making his debut in Bhansali’s forthcoming production. Javed was delighted and apprehensive about Meezaan’s decision. “I wanted him to complete the course. But then, Sanjay [Bhansali] convinced me that he would groom him,” says the concerned father.

While Meezaan’s entry into Bollywood seems meticulously planned, Jaaved’s was left more to chance. In his final year at RD National College, when he was the secretary of the drama club — and would hold a crowd with his immaculate impressions — he learnt about a casting call. “Subhash Ghai’s wife had seen me dance at college fests. So when he [Ghai] was looking for someone to play a suave villain, who could dance — something that was unheard of then — I decided to give it a shot,” he says about his debut film Meri Jung (1985), when he created quite a stir with his slick moves in the number Bol Baby Bol.

“Jaaved ke dance ne disco ko maar diya,” says Jagdeep proudly, who, for his part, got a head start as a child actor in films such as Afsana (1951) and Do Bigha Zamin (1953). His modest beginnings carved his socialist outlook — something he shared with filmmakers who he worked with at the time — K Asif, Guru Dutt, V Shantaram and Bimal Roy. “When Aar Paar became a hit, people asked Guru Dutt to throw a party at Taj Mahal hotel, but he refused. He said ‘I won’t host a party at a place where my workers will feel uncomfortable’. Eventually, the celebrations took place at a film studio,” he says, remembering the stupendous success of the 1954 noir comedy.

Jagdeep, who played a minor in that film, remembers how resourceful Dutt could be when it came to ironing out production niggles. “A mob of 500 had assembled in the garage where the song Sun Sun Sun Sun Zaalima was being shot,” Jagdeep recalls. “The crowd was making it impossible to get the desired shot. The ruckus even ticked off the garage owner who demanded that the shoot be wrapped up soon,” says Jagdeep. It didn’t help that the film’s female lead Shyama, a huge star then, was willing to shoot for only three hours. “So, Dutt asked cinematographer V K Murthy to set up his camera inside the car and experiment with angles and close-shots to ensure the crowd didn’t spill into the frame,” says Jagdeep. The end result was a number that was lauded for its avant-garde picturisation. “Necessity is truly the master of invention,” says Jaaved.

An enterprising maverick himself, Jaaved reinvented his career in TV after his son Meezaan was born in 1995. “When I moved to TV, people said only flop film actors turn to the small screen, but I was confident that I was connecting with the youth,” says the actor-turned-VJ, who engineered a new coolth with his ‘Hinglish’ speak. “They were saying ‘Yo’, but I flipped it, and started ‘Oye’.” Straddling music and film-based shows, Jaaved soon became the highest-paid actor on TV. “I was making a lakh per episode then,” says the actor known for his exceptional impersonations of virtually every Hindi film actor, as well as his original avatars, such as ‘Abdul Cutpiece’ and ‘Irani Boxer’. Like his son, Jagdeep, too, was known for his masterful impressions. “I would encounter these colourful characters while travelling by train and bus, and at Irani hotels, and adapt them in my onscreen avatars,” says the Jagdeep, whose iconic turn as Soorma Bhopali in the 1975 blockbuster Sholay turned him into an overnight sensation.

But Jagdeep modestly shifts the praise to Salim-Javed’s writing. “Javed would actually demonstrate the Bhopali twang, I only had to copy it,” says Jagdeep, crediting the writers for detailing the nuances of the quirky character. The character itself, he says, was borrowed from a theatre production the writer duo worked on 15 years prior to Sholay.

Today, as Meezaan enters the industry his father and grandpa have made a mark in, Javed feels his journey will be different. “When I got into films, the hero had a mould — he flaunted the same hairstyle for 10 years, and was different from the character actors. But today, the hero alters himself based on the character.”

He trusts his son will wear the Jaaferi name like a badge of honour. “When I came into the industry, I was known as Jagdeep’s son, and I am still proud of that tag. My father was a comedian, and I was introduced as a stylish actor who could dance. But then, you have to make it on your own.”

The Jaaferis will, no doubt, be keenly watching, like the rest of us, to see how Meezaan shapes his own identity. 

Having helmed City Of Dreams, Nagesh Kukunoor on how Indian shows need to take giant strides to match global content
Letty Mariam Abraham (MID-DAY; May 7, 2019)

There's no mincing words when it comes to Nagesh Kukunoor. During our 25-minute chat, he displays his forthrightness as he argues that a film director is not necessarily the best choice to helm a web series. Or that Mumbai can hardly be a filmmaker's muse. Close on the heels of his show City Of Dreams dropping online, we catch up with Kukunoor to talk about films, web series and everything in between. Edited Excerpts From The Interview:

After a false start with The Test Case, you are ready for your web debut.
I have been wanting to tackle this format for about 15 years. I have been a huge fan of the original HBO shows before Netflix and Amazon took over. When OTT exploded in India, I attempted directing with The Test Case; that was not a satisfactory process. Thankfully, I re-connected with Sameer Nair [co-producer] for this show. It took me from August to October 2017 to finish [writing] it. Post that, I alternated between scripting with Rohit Banawlikar, directing alternate episodes, editing and producing. I wanted to explore every aspect of this format instead of sitting with a random credit of showrunner, which is the new catchphrase now.

What was your vision for City Of Dreams?
In my career so far, I have not written a single story based in Mumbai, or shot here. Visually, it is an unappealing city. The only kind of story that Mumbai lends itself well to is the gritty stuff, which is what everyone, including myself, has been doing. Rohit came up with the idea of writing something that is set in this city. It's a political drama that deals with different strata of society.

Is there a reason behind casting Marathi actors for a Hindi show?
The show is about a Marathi political family in Mumbai. The initial idea was to rope in Hindi actors. But as the discussions progressed, I felt that [Marathi actors] would lend authenticity [by way of] their pronunciation or occasional use of a Marathi phrase. For instance, there is a Muslim cop called Wasim Khan, played by Eijaz Khan. So when he does Salaam waalekum, it is perfect. Hats off to Applause [Entertainment, producer] for supporting me on this decision! Now, I want to trade all my
actors for Marathi artistes - they are disciplined and come to the set prepared.

Compared to international series, where do you think Indian shows lack?
We aren't doing well [in comparison to the West] and it stems from the writing. I don't think the calibre of directors in this country is any less than anywhere else. But we are hampered by the fact that the writing on offer is mediocre to terrible. [So, as a director] there is only so much you can do on set. Sacred Games stands out in that regard.

Do you think writers in India get their due?
They are truly the ignored lot; they have been treated like second-and-third-rate citizens in television. Thankfully, Netflix and Amazon are shelling out enough money for scriptwriters. But there has never been a pool of good writers in India. After Salim-Javed, how many writers does the general public know of? We need to get more writers and need to pay them more. I see that thought gaining ground slowly.

Mohar Basu (MID-DAY; May 3, 2019)

Finding herself among the select few writers who have their names credited among the top brass of filmmakers in the credit roll and posters of a film, Kanika Dhillon has Mental Hai Kya producer Ekta Kapoor to thank for the development.

Dhillon, who has films like Manmarziyaan and Kedarnath (2018) to her credit, reiterates the importance of film writers when stating that they shouldn’t be a “faceless cog in the creative process” of film-making.

“[Writers] pen the story, characters, emotions and the film itself. [We] are as much accountable for the success or failure of a film, and that’s how it should be. Ekta has always been among the producers who strongly believe in content creators. We had a series of discussions that spoke about the importance of writers, and how they must be given their dues, be it in terms of time, money or credit. I initiated the conversation, and [she] was willing to do it. It is one thing to pay lip-service, and another to show that you believe in what you say,” says Dhillon, wife to Mental Hai Kya director Prakash Kovelamudi.

Finding a spot on the film’s poster implies that there is more pressure on the writer to then deliver, she suggests. Even as the value that a strong screenplay holds is making itself evident at the box- office, Dhillon doesn’t believe we’re retracing the era where writers were the front when selling a film. “I don’t think it is easy to achieve what [Salim-Javed] have,” she says when we ask her of the prominence that the veteran writers held in their prime. “Their writing was capable of creating stars in a star-driven industry. A writer of this generation can only aspire to achieve what they have. But, we are collectively happy to set a precedent.”

While she credits Kapoor for the “firm and welcome step”, she adds that a number of film producers are also warming up to the notion of giving writers more importance. “Being a faceless name in a dark room should be a choice that the writer must make, not a condition that is set upon them.”

Javed Akhtar talks about receiving flak from the fraternity for supporting the Copyright Bill, mediocre scriptwriters, and his upcoming film Namaste England
Sonil Dedhia (MID-DAY; September 30, 2018)

After working for almost every day of your life (since the 1970s), you seem to have slowed down. Is it a conscious decision?
I didn't opt for retirement. The industry had stopped giving me work for a while. During the fight to pass the Copyright Amendment Bill [which ensured that writers, lyricists, singers, scriptwriters get an equal financial share in their work and not just the producer], I received support from the music fraternity, but was removed from the most popular writer's list [laughs]. Several filmmakers withdrew from me and I was not being offered films. Thankfully, things have changed in the last few months because I believe, producers and music companies have reconciled with the idea that the law has changed, and no one is going to be at the losing end. Composers and lyricists will get a better royalty, something that they truly deserve.

Being a veteran in this industry, did you expect to receive flak from the fraternity?
I had decided to speak up and if I had to pay a price for it, I was fine. It was my choice and I still stand by it. Even if people don't want to work with me in future, I am not going to hold grudges against them. I was guided by conscience and principles. It was great when the government and opposition unanimously passed this bill.

You have spent more than four decades in the industry. How do you look back at your career?
I have seen the highs and the lows. Both are important. Overall, it has been a satisfying journey. My only regret is my lack of discipline. Had I had that I could have achieved a lot more. But I haven't given up. I'm in competition with myself, but when I look at the mediocrity around me, I feel poignant. I am not saying that there are no good lyric writers, but I believe the charm is lost. Apart from a handful lyricists, nobody understands poetry.

Is that an observation over the remixes we've seen lately?
That is one of the pressing concerns. It is creative vandalism and bankruptcy. I don't understand the need to remix classic songs. Why is there a lack of self-confidence? Lyricists should be confident enough to give hit songs. Why do they feel the need to borrow? Besides that, these songs by Lata Mangeshkar, Mohammed Rafi, Kishore Kumar are our cultural heritage and must be preserved, rather than adding rap to it. Some things need to be respected the way they are.

Do you feel mediocrity has seeped into script-writing as well?
The script is the core of any successful project, but that concept seems lost. Films these days are made on magnanimous budgets, but only one per cent is spent on the script. You may shoot in foreign locales, add special effects and get the best actors on board, but without a good script, everything falls flat. Unfortunately, scriptwriters are paid peanuts. Everyone seems to be in a rush to announce their release dates. Writers need to be paid well and be given ample time to work on the material. When Pandit Mukhram Sharma [before our time] or we [Salim-Javed] wrote scripts, we commanded a position that compelled producers to pay the price we quoted. I wonder if writers today would be allowed to be that powerful or be given that position. Precisely why, I am not sure if we'll ever have another Salim-Javed. At the same time, it's interesting to see the variety of stories offered today, which was not available back in the day. Things are better in that aspect.

Do you feel the restriction on freedom of expression by some fringe groups force filmmakers to compromise on their work?
We have seen many unconstitutional powers in society take a stand and get away with it often. It is undemocratic and sad that the freedom of speech is lost. It's a law and order problem. I believe it is the responsibility of the government that the dignity of a prestigious body like the Censor Board needs to be preserved. Indian film industry is a huge organisation which generates a lot of revenue and employment, but the government tends to be cynical about our problems. There is a lot of callousness, carelessness, and jealousy involved, which needs to be looked into.

What stops you from writing a script?
Sheer laziness. My songs are doing well and writing them comes easy to me, which also gets me the appreciation and a lot of money [laughs], but I miss writing scripts. I have written a couple of scripts and am waiting to find the right people who would be passionate enough to make it.

It's been a while since your son [Farhan Akhtar] directed a film.
My guess is as good as anybody, but I feel he is finding pleasure in working as an actor or going on stage and performing for now. Direction is a serious job and there have been many times that he has toyed with the idea of getting back to direction, but I don't know what happened of it. He hasn't closed the doors to direction for sure.

Coming up next
Javed Akhtar, who had earlier written songs for Vipul Shah's Namastey London, is also penning the lyrics for the Arjun Kapoor-Parineeti Chopra-starrer Namaste England. "Vipul is an easy-going director and a dear friend. When filmmakers know what they want from a song and scene, it becomes easy to write, that's why I love working with Vipul. I also enjoyed working in tandem with Manan Shah [music composer]. He is young, talented and has a bright future."