Dinesh Raheja (MID-DAY; March 11, 2018)

Most people remember Nargis Rabadi, better known as Shammi, who passed away on March 5, as a talented comedienne whose open face and maternal mannerisms instantly endeared her to the audience.

But few would recall her as a romantic lead — Dilip Kumar serenaded the then-elfin Shammi with the Talat Mahmood number Yeh Hawa Yeh Raat Yeh Chaandni in Sangdil (1952) and she traipsed nimbly through the popular song Bade Armanon Se Rakha Hai Balam in Malhar (1951). Shammi’s career straddled six decades and her cache of cameos is impressive: She was rich girl Nanda’s chirpy chaperone in Jab Jab Phool Khile, the nosy neighbour in Ittefaq and Saira Banu’s westernised mother in Purab Aur Paschim.

She was also recognised as an actor of mettle for her award-winning performance in Samaj Ko Badal Dalo. But there was more to Shammi than what was seen on screen. Two of her closest friends, actors Asha Parekh and Waheeda Rehman, give us an intimate glimpse into her life.

She was gutsy and independent: Asha Parekh

I was close friends with Shammi ji for more than 50 years; she was like family to me. We struck an instant friendship from the time we first met... on a plane! In 1961, I was flying to Chennai to shoot for Gharana, and Shammi ji was headed to the same city to dub for a film. My leading man Rajendra Kumar knew Shammi very well, and he introduced us on the flight. She was a happy-go-lucky person, always ready to share a good laugh; and we hit it off.

Our friendship endured through the decades and, later in life, we also became business partners and made a couple of TV serials together. She was my fellow traveller — together we have extensively toured the US, England, Singapore etc.

As an actor, I worked with her only sporadically — in Manoj Kumar’s Upkar (1967) and Mohan Segal’s Saajan (1970). We also shared screen space in the Gujarati film, Akhand Saubhagyavati (1963). But since we had a common friend in Nargis Dutt, we would meet often in the early days of our friendship too. Shammi ji was friends with many actresses; she was also very close to Jaya ji. During Amitabh Bachchan’s stay at Breach Candy hospital, Shammi ji practically lived with 9 ayaji at the hospital.

After her marriage to Sultan Ahmed, Shammi requested me to play the leading lady in her husband’s first venture as a director, Heera (1973). I agreed and the film, co-starring Sunil Dutt, went on to become a hit. When she divorced Ahmed, she left his home in a single sari. She lived by herself in her mother’s house in Bandra. Her friends stood by her side but she was a gutsy and independent woman who could take challenges in her stride. If I were to describe her in one word, it would be ‘noble.’ Her life was like an open book, and I too confided in her a lot. She was an emotional support and also great fun to be with. Not too long back, I recall Shammi ji and I went to see a film with some friends on Independence Day. Unfortunately, it was a bad film and since we were in a crazy mood that day, we ended up giggling continuously at what was unfolding onscreen.

At first, we were a group of six friends who met regularly — Waheeda Rehman, Sadhana, Nanda, Helen, Shammi ji and I. Today, Sadhana, Nanda and Shammi ji are no more; and now we are only three. I guess this is life.
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She was a voracious reader: Waheeda Rehman

Shammi ji was known as a comedienne, and she was drawn to comic roles in films and TV serials like Dekh Bhai Dekh, because her real-life personality was so funny... She was full of life. I knew Shammi ji well for 55 years.

I can’t recall our first meeting after all these years; but what I do remember is that she was very friendly with Johnny Walker, and those days I would shoot a lot with Johnny for Guru Dutt’s films and for other films too. Later, when I was shooting in Rajasthan for Reshma Aur Shera (1971), my leading man, Sunil Dutt’s wife Nargis had come to visit the sets... Shammi ji had accompanied her as she was very friendly to Nargis ji.

Shammi ji got along with most people, and was always there for everyone on sad and happy occasions. She was very close to Asha (Parekh) too, and was like a mother to Asha after the latter’s mother passed away. Over the years, Shammi ji became a regular visitor to my house too. We shared a common love for books; we’re both voracious readers. And she loved my children. Not that I ever had reason to contact her in an emergency, but I knew that I could call her at midnight if I were in distress and she would rush to my aid.

I didn’t know Shammi ji so well as a fellow actor because we rarely worked together. She was signed for Aadmi, in which I acted alongside Dilip Kumar and Manoj Kumar, but for reasons best known to her, she dropped out after doing two days’ work. When I was in Iran, shooting for an Indo-Irani production, Subha-o-Sham (1972), she sent me a telegram stating that she had married Sultan Ahmed. When I came back, I threw a party for her.

My last two meetings with Shammi ji were at her residence and at a Juhu hospital; and both were not in very happy circumstances. When my daughter Kaashvi and I dropped in at her home recently, her eyes were not open and she was murmuring something inaudible. I tried to catch her attention and said, ‘Shammi, I am Waheeda.’ My daughter added, ‘Aunty, I am Kashvi.’ I don’t know whether she was able to place us but she suddenly uttered, ‘Khaana khake jaana, khaana khake jaana.’ Imagine, even in that state she was concerned about others! Believe it or not, whatever her financial situation may have been, she never came empty-handed to my house. She would either bring a book or some sweets.

I wanted her to accompany me to Bhutan for my son Sohail’s marriage. I told her, ‘Aapke favourite bachche ki shaadi ho rahee hai’ but she couldn’t comprehend that I was trying to invite her. I realised with a heavy heart that it was futile to insist with her. She was a lively and noble soul. I am so happy, unki kadar ho rahee hai.

Dinesh Raheja is an author and film historian

Shammi Aunty with her gang of girls: Asha Parekh, Waheeda Rehman and Helen

She passed away late on Monday night. Here’s saluting Shammi Aunty, the feisty actress and one-woman support system of several eminent heroines
Khalid Mohamed (MUMBAI MIRROR; March 7, 2018)

"Ever since childhood, I have been regarded as a jester,” she had chuckled in a conversation with Filmfare magazine, August 1957. “Before films, I worked as a secretary in a commercial firm. While dictating a letter, one of the young bosses proposed to me. I brought back the proposal neatly typed for him to sign. I was sacked.”

Shammi Aunty to an ever-loyal band of yesteryear heroines, she was an antidote to the Bollywood blues. Ever the confidante, a shoulder to cry on, she saw her besties through emergency crises. Ironically, her own private life hit the rocks when her marriage, after seven years to producer-director Sultan Ahmed, culminated in a divorce circa 1980.

The infallibly jocular Shammi — born Nargis Rabadi — didn’t ever carp about Ahmed. She had promoted him by inveigling top stars to assent to his projects, notably Heera (1973) with Sunil Dutt-Asha Parekh and Ganga ki Saugand with Amitabh Bachchan-Rekha (1978).

She glided back on the singleton’s beat. Ahmed remarried twice over. Meanwhile, apri Shammi Aunty, who had suffered two miscarriages, adopted Iqbal, the son of Ahmed’s brother. Eventually, she settled in with Iqbal, his wife and two granddaughters in two separate apartments in Millat Nagar, Oshiwara.

Customarily dressed in patterned crepe saris, she would hop into an autorickshaw — if her car’s driver was off-duty — hurrying to a friend’s home to work out a quick fix solution for the bugbear du jour.

Friendship meant never being off-duty. Clearly, her Good Samaritan disposition points to her growing-up years when she was compelled to see the brighter side of the moon. Her father, an agiary priest, passed away when she was barely three. To rear Nargis and her elder sister, Mani, who went on to become a leading costume designer in the 1960s-’70s, their mother would cook at Parsi religious functions.

The Rabadis subsisted in a Tardeo tenement till a family friend introduced the sprightly Nargis to actor-filmmaker Sheikh Mukhtar, monickered ‘The Leatherface’ because of his spotty complexion. Uninhibited and surprisingly fluent in Hindustani dialogue, her auditions were approved. The teenage girl was cast in Ustad Pedro (1949), featuring Mukhtar and Begum Para. Nargis was given the screen name of Shammi.


Was a star born? Yes and no. Averse to swerving the spotlight on herself, Shammi teamed up with playback singer-actor, Mukesh, in his home production Malhar (1951). It didn’t click. Her back-up act to Dilip Kumar-Madhubala in Sangdil (1952), a take on Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre, whizzed by unnoticed. Supporting roles became her survival kit, best exemplified by Musafirkhana (1955), in which she infused comic chemistry with Johnny Walker.

A kooky comedienne, a vicious vamp, a nanny or a naani, Shammi was cool with roles of any stripe. “I want to be part of the film industry, I wish to keep working,” she would insist to her last day. Felled by a neurological twitch in her hands and ailments accompanying advanced age, the prime cheerleader of Bollywood was last seen five years ago in Shirin Farhad Ki Toh Nikal Padi. After that, lights off.

Of her estimable collection of over 200 films and an armful of TV serials, pre-millennials will surely recall her endearing acts in Dekh Bhai Dekh, Zabaan Sambhal Ke, Shriman Shrimati, Kabhi Yeh Kabhi Woh. Of her movies, she would pick Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai (1960), Jab Jab Phool Khile (1965) and Purab aur Pachhim (1970) as her career best. A workaholic to the last drop, she would serve as co-producer on TV serials.

The only time I’ve seen Shammi Aunty at the end of a tether was at the first-day-first-show screening of Pighalta Aasman (1985) at the Naaz cinema, which she had produced. Rajesh Khanna had dropped out after irreconcilable differences with director Esmayeel Shroff. Shashi Kapoor had stepped in without charging a rupee. Shammi Aunty had said in a quivering voice, “Not a mouse has turned up. It was doomed to flop, anyway.” She’d also laughed wistfully, “Don’t go out of your way to give it a good review. I won’t read it if you do.” Her besties — Nargis Dutt, Jaya Bachchan, Asha Parekh, Waheeda Rehman, Saira Banu, Helen and Daisy Irani — were her mere apne. An inconsolable Asha Parekh says, “I have lost my mother again. Shammi Aunty loved travelling, reading bestsellers, books on philosophy, Indian and western classical music. Most of all, she loved to be in touch, dropping by for a cup of tea at least twice a week. Our lives won’t be the same again.”

One of her unalloyed joys was to fetch up at the Juhu house of fashion designers Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla to watch movies on DVD from their vast collection.

Another compulsion was to take off on group trips, the last one being to a vineyard in Nashik. On returning, she had forgotten a bottle of wine in the car. When it was sent over, she had sent it back, stating, “I left it behind purposely. I’ve lost my taste buds.”

Towards her end-days, she was in a semi-conscious state, in and out of an ICU. She was diagnosed with intestinal ailments and dementia. There were no parting words from Shammi Aunty. At the 88, she didn’t need a ventilator for her last breath.