Writer, actor, humanist, Girish Karnad never minced words while championing the idea of inclusive India
Khalid Mohamed (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 11, 2019)

In creased camel-colour corduroy trousers, a baggy maroon shirt, dangling a cigarette Humphrey Bogart-style from his lips, and propped against a wall of the Shanmukhananda Hall – the Filmfare Awards ceremony used to be conducted there – he could have been construed as a misfit in the star-freckled crowd.

That was his USP though, prompting a senior female colleague to gasp, “He’s so dishy among all the suits here.”

Girish Karnad, who passed away at the age of 81, wore his ruddy-complexioned, movie star good looks, lightly. If he acted in a stockpile of Bollywood films – the offbeat as well as the onbeat, he would declaim, “It’s only for the money,” and trill an aria of the Abba chartbuster, “Money, money, money…must be funny...in the rich man’s world.”

Self-deprecating and yet fiercely individualistic, he was the flexible savant who understood that popular cinema was a route to audiences of varied tastes. In fact, his contribution towards the aesthetic and commercial cinema would come up equal on any given scale of justice.

Of course, cinema was just one medium which the actor-playwright-scriptwriter-director-novelist-translator-documentarist gravitated towards inexorably. Gravitas at one end of the spectrum, and the hyper-fantasticated on the other, were the realms he pursued presciently.

Unarguably though, Karnad will be revered far more, and correctly so, for his pioneering theatre work, and for being a frontrunner during the 1960s in the renaissance of Kannada literary movement.

His instincts were eclectic, accounting for his collaborations most notably with Shyam Benegal and theatre stalwart B V Karanth. In the course of a conversation, he was at pains to emphasise that he had no issues with the avant-garde cinema of Mani Kaul and Kumar Shahani, adding that the films of the so-called ‘medium-wavewallas’ would also go on to become milestones. He was spot-on.

Seeing no divide between the extremist cerebral and the accessibly humane, indeed here was a beautiful mind who defined intellectualism. Intellectual, did I say? Unfortunately, it’s a gratuitously-reviled and lost quality, what with ‘libtards’, ‘fetishists’ and ‘elitists’ being the en vogue argot today. For Karnad, intellectual is the perfect fit.

Honoured with the Padma Bhushan and the Sangeet Natak Akademi and Jnanpith Awards, his childhood years were his formative phase. Because of social taboos, his widowed mother Krishnabai Mankikar had to wait five years before her marriage to Dr Raghunath Karnad. Born in Matheran, his growing up years were spent in Sirsi and Dharwad. Subsequently he graduated from the Karnatak Arts College, was selected as a Rhodes scholar and mastered in philosophy, politics and economics from Oxford University.

Back home, initially he worked at the Oxford University Press. At the age of 23, he wrote his first play Yayati followed over time by other pathbreakers such as Tughlaq, Hayavadana, Naga-Mandala and Taledanda . Influenced by the traditional Yakshagana theatre form, his plays are regarded as allegories drawn from mythology, history and the epics. For instance, Tughlaq, while focusing on the 14th century’s controversial Delhi Sultan Muhammad Bin Tughlaq, was clearly a take on the lost ideals of the Nehruvian era.

Girish Karand was a rationalist; his every word was modulated, rooted in personal experience and study. Still he wasn’t entirely satisfied, frequently dismissing some of his works as not quite up to mark. Neither would he mince his words while expressing his concern against religious fundamentalism and bigotry. A staunch secularist and feminist till the last, even while his health deteriorated, he wouldn’t lose an opportunity to critique the ruling government. Death threats couldn’t arrest his verbal bullets.

Political correctness was not his forte. Breaking protocol at a literary festival in Mumbai, circa 2012, he downsized V S Naipaul “who has no idea of how Muslims contributed to Indian history”, besides lambasting the Nobel laureate for his reported visit to the BJP office on the heels of the Babri mosque demolition. Not the sort to buckle under the backlash, he stated that the Bengaluru International Airport should be named after Tipu Sultan and not after Kempe Gowda, the 16th century ruler of the Vijayanagar empire. Agree with him or not, he could go on record to say that Rabindranath Tagore’s plays were “unbearable”.

Catalysed by the rising incidence of intolerance, Karnad’s activism had intensified towards his end years, soldiering on even while wearing a nose cannula to facilitate breathing, both at rallies and for his on-screen appearances.

On another note, for a video interview for a documentary on Shyam Benegal he had made it clear that his statements should not be censored. They weren’t. He clarified that the script of Manthan was extensively rewritten by him although the National Award for the Best Screenplay was presented to Vijay Tendulkar. Amrish Puri, he felt was grossly miscast as the abductor of Smita Patil in Bhumika, and the script of Kalyug had to be refashioned to be in sync with the approaching corporate ethos of “all’s fair in deceit and business”.

Benegal, on his part, had pointed out that it was Karnad, who during his brief tenure as the director of the Film and Television Institute of India, Pune (1974-75), had first noticed the potential of Naseeruddin Shah. “Girish had recommended Naseer for Manthan,” the filmmaker had recalled. “He had warned me that he was a pain in the neck on the campus but that he was a brilliant actor.”

As an actor, Karnad had no delusions of grandeur although he excelled as a guilt-ridden Brahmin in Samskara. As a timid schoolteacher in Nishant, however, he appeared to be ill-at-ease. A demanding scene requiring an outburst had to be abbreviated. As the male lead, he was gallant and honest enough to play second fiddle to the heroines, be it Smita Patil Nutan (Meri Jung), Hema Malini (Ratnadeep), Shabana Azmi (Swami) or Smita Patil (Umbartha). The transition to character roles – as a kindly father, cricket coach, inspector, or the RAW officer in Ek Tha Tiger and Tiger Zinda Hai – was so much water off a duck’s back, his fluency in Hindi and understated dialogue delivery pitch aiding him consistently.

While Vamsa Vriksha and Godhuli helmed by him have stayed in the memory files, his attempt to direct the period pageant Utsav, hasn’t. “I think Girish feels so guilty that it didn’t do well,” the film’s actor-producer Shashi Kapoor would laugh, “that he has never met me again or sent me a Christmas card! I’d love to hear from him and his wife some time.”

Karnad and his wife Saraswathy moved from their Bandra seafront apartment to Bengalaru, where they were cut off from the Bollywood bustle. His was a late marriage at the age of 42. ‘Saras’ as he called her is as gregarious and socially-concerned as him. Of their children Radha and Raghu, the latter is a journalist.

To return to the evening at the Filmfare Awards, Karnad was soon joined by Dev Anand and Tina Munim. To their Professor Higgins and Eliza Doolittle he was playing Colonel Hugh Pickering in Man Pasand, an adaptation of My Fair Lady. Crushing his cigarette under his sandal’s sole, he had said, “I hope Dev saab doesn’t scold me for not wearing a suit.”

He didn’t need to. After all, Girish Karnad was a suitable mind for all seasons.



His was a late marriage at the age of 42. ‘Saras’ as he called her is as gregarious and socially-concerned as him; Catalysed by the rising incidence of intolerance, Karnad’s activism had intensified towards his end years; Shyam Benegal had pointed out that it was Karnad who had first noticed the potential of Naseeruddin Shah

As told to Roshmila Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; January 7, 2017)

This is a great loss for cinema and a personal loss too. A chapter has ended. We last met a few months ago and on Wednesday we chatted on the phone and agreed to meet on Friday. He was to come over, before lunch. Instead, I get the news that he’s gone.

I remember his blood-curdling scream from my 1980 film, Aakrosh, after the chilling silence throughout. Both Vijay Tendulkar, who scripted it, and I concluded that this was the only way to end a story of human rights violation perpetrated against a victim not educated or empowered to challenge the culprit. This was the oppressed peasant Lahanya Bhiku’s way of raising his voice against grave injustice. An expression of repressed rage and helplessness, it rents the air after he axes his sister to save her from the foreman’s lust and a fate that drove his wife to suicide.

By the time this scene was shot in Alibaug, Om empathised with Bhiku completely. I just told him I did not want his expression to be either neutral or over-emotional and then left it to him. His screams touched me, like they did every viewer. My reaction was simultaneously a heartfelt ‘wow’ and the dispassionate ‘correct’ of a cinematographer-director. They didn’t leave Om untouched either.

Ardh Satya in 1983, also scripted by Vijay Tendulkar, traces the life of a reluctant cop pushed into the force by his tyrant father and then betrayed by the system that makes a mockery of the law. Even before the murder of goon-turned-politician Rama Shetty (Sadashiv Amrapurkar) which sounds the death knell for Anant Welankar, there are two incidents of police brutality in custody that build up to the horrific climax.

In the first instance, three of Shetty’s henchmen are roughed up by Anant. The sub-inspector only escapes suspension due to the machinations of a middleman. In the second instance, in an alcoholic trance, he gives a prisoner accused of a petty theft the third degree.

The latter was filmed in a classroom in St. Columbus High School near Gamdevi in a few hours. We didn’t have an action director and I told Om, “Josh me ek do laga dena.” I then told the prisoner, played by my assistant, Raju Parsekar, “Sambhal lena.” Raju silently took a lot of beating, with Om profusely apologising after every shot.

Veteran theatre actor Sulabha Deshpande dies at 79.
Dilip Prabhavalkar (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 5, 2016)

Sulabha Deshpande was senior to me. It's shocking to know that she is no more with us, this is a great loss to theatre and film industry. I was aware that she was suffering from cancer and she was operated two years ago for spine injury, knowing that we were really not prepared to say goodbye to Sulabha Tai, we used to calling her with love and affection.

She was a great actress. She never carried any stamp on her acting, though she was working with Vijaya Mehta, her acting was not influenced by anybody's particular style. She evolved her own style — natural, simple, spontaneous and realistic. Beyond that, as a person, she was very kind. She nurtured many junior artists. She was mild-mannered, easily approachable and always ready to help. Her continuation to Marathi and Hindi films, theatre and TV serials will always be remembered, mainly her contribution to amateur, experimental and professional theatre. She was associated with 'Rangayatan' till mid 60s. Rangayatan was origination where legendary like Vijay Tendulkar, Dr Shreeram Lagoo, Arvind Deshapande (Sulabha's husband) were also associated. When Rangayatan organisation broke Sulabha joined 'Avishkar' and 'Chabildas Movement'.

Sulabha had remarkable organisational skills. She was one of the leaders to run 'Chandrashala Children's Theatre' through which she produced and presented a music play with 60-70 children, named 'Durga Jhali Gauri'. The play was performed not only on national level but international level and credit goes to Sulabha Tai. Now some of the children have become seasoned actors.

From my point of view, I would say that Sulabha played an iconic role in Marathi theatre's history. The play was Vijay Tendulkar written 'Shantata Court Chalu Ahe' in which she played role of Leela Bennare. Bennare was cornered, targeted in the play and Sulabha Tai played it superbly!

Apart from theatre she played important roles in more than 60-70 films Hindi mainstream films. She has worked with a range of people from Shabana Azmi to Sridevi and Rekha. Her latest great movie was Ratnakar Matkari's Investment, which also bagged a national award for regional cinema.

She played my mom's role in well-known Chaukat Raja movie. I have so many warm memories of hers. Actually I was supposed to play role of Smita's husband and Paresh Rawal was supposed to play my role of mentally retarded boy. But at the last-minute Parel Rawal could not reach Kolhapur for shooting and producer-actress Smita Talwalkar was under pressure. Sulabha Tai suggested my name for casting and then Dilip Kulkarni played my role. I was later awarded state government award for this role. I also associated with many organisations later. I could do all this because of Sulabha Tai. We lost a great person today.

The film, produced by her husband, is an adaptation of the classic play, Shantata! Court Chalu Aahe, and hopes to court a wider audience than theatre.
Avinash Lohana (MUMBAI MIRROR; June 6, 2015)

Subodh Maskara, who set up an entertainment platform which is a cross between cinema and theatre, called CinePlay, has gone a step further with his forthcoming project, Khamosh! Adaalat Jaari Hai, a 95-minute feature film. Subodh has bought the rights of six of the late Vijay Tendulkar's plays and Khamosh! Adaalat Jaari Hai, the Hindi adaptation of the Marathi play, Shantata! Court Chalu Aahe, will be the first film in the series to roll. The makers will build a set and plan to wrap the film in one start-to-finish schedule.

Helmed by Ritesh Menon, who had earlier directed Crazy Cukkad Family, the film is set in the '70s and features Nandita Das, Saurabh Shukla and Swanand Kirkire. Saurabh plays the lawyer Sukhatme, Swanand essays the role of Gopal Ponkshe while Nandita is Leela Benare, the liberal schoolteacher who questions everything in society.

Subodh, who is Nandita's husband, admits that it's a difficult role to pull off because despite the satirical humour, Tendulkar's plays have a lot of depth. "Everybody felt that Nandita would do justice to the role. Leela Benare is a strong, free-spirited woman, she does not get cowed down by societal norms and speaks her mind, characteristics Nandita shares," says Subodh.

Quiz him on why he chose Khamosh! Adaalat Jaari Hai as the first out of the six plays and Subodh says, "It's one of those pieces that reach out to a very wide audience and is relevant. Every one of Vijay Tendulkar's plays is dark but this one tackles the dark subject in a light way at the beginning. The idea is to take classic plays to the widest audience possible and ensure that they appreciate it."

Shantata! Court Chalu Aahe is a social satire that follows the mock trial of Leela Benare, a school teacher who is accused of being pregnant with the illegitimate child of a married man.

Sonali Kulkarni, who essays a character inspired by Geeta Dutt in an upcoming play, on the role theatre plays in her life
Reema Gehi (MUMBAI MIRROR; January 4, 2015)

The last few years have been particularly exciting for Sonali Kulkarni. The 40-year-old actress, who made her film debut in Girish Karnad-starrer, Cheluvi (1992) was part of a National award-winning Marathi film, Deool (2011), the record-breaking Singham (2011) and Gyan Correa's The Good Road (2013) which was India's entry to the Oscars. In fact, currently, her Marathi-film, Dr Prakash Baba Amte: The Real Hero is running to houseful shows in cinema halls. "So, as an actor," she says, "I am deeply satisfied."

As she settles into a chair at a coffee shop in Khar, she reflects, "I was naive when I started off. But I feel my naivety has paid off. After my breakthrough in Hindi cinema, I never thought that now since I am a commercial star, I mustn't act in regional films or not go back to theatre. For me, the role was always more important, irrespective of the medium."

But theatre holds a special place in her heart. And she's only too happy to get back on stage with Saif Hyder Hasan's upcoming play, Gardish Mein Taare, which opens at the 1,100-seater Jamshed Bhabha Auditorium, NCPA, on January 26.

The play traces the paths of the two protagonists, Devdutt Bose (played by Arif Zakaria) and Bhavana, essayed by Kulkarni, inspired by the lives of the cinema genius Guru Dutt and his songstress wife, Geeta Dutt. The play, she adds, is a tribute to the creatively volatile period of Hindi cinema in the 1950s.

"What I appreciate most about this play is that the director is not trying to classify the characters as good, bad or ugly. He's seeing them as creative beings," says Kulkarni. "It's important for the aam janta to understand what creative souls go through, because they have passions and pursuits that don't match regular, mundane lives."

As far as her creative pursuits go, "I have never had a plan," she admits. "My calling is instinctive."

Kulkarni, who launched her theatre production, Sokul, in 2013, with a Marathi play, White Lily Ani Night Rider, is largely drawing her attention to the stagecraft.

She says she is perplexed by the quick, seamless transitions most of her actor colleagues are making across different entertainment mediums. "I have been slow in comparison," she says. When she participated in a reality dance competition in 2007, she dedicated six months to learning dance. "I am not the sort to make swift jumps," she says.

For Kulkarni, theatre is equal to revisiting ground zero. "It helps me understand my own pace and lets me find my own breath and balance."

In fact, while shooting for Dil Chahta Hai, Kulkarni was a part of Makarand Deshpande's theatre production Basant Ka Teesra Yauvan. She had the shoot dates adjusted to accommodate the show.

Kulkarni credits her intense involvement and dedication to the craft to late thespian, Satyadev Dubey. She was 16 when she first met Dubey, at a workshop he conducted in her hometown, Pune. She calls herself "a beautiful bag of complexes," until she met Dubey."I believed that I wasn't good, pretty, fair or rich enough. It was Dubeyji who told me that until I don't accept and like myself, people will have doubts about me. Theatre is a full-shot, not a close-up, he said," she narrates.

She calls his workshops "unique". Balancing an iPad on her head, she says, "It was commonplace for Dubeyji to make actors place light chairs on their heads to teach them how to walk straight, hold a pencil in their mouths and speak and scream when they'd ask nonsensical questions."

One such query she asked was what one must do if they don't like their voice. It took some courage, she says. "Dubeyji made me repeat the same question a 100 times. I broke into a sweat and trembled, but kept asking and he didn't let me complete the sentence because he kept insisting to ask in my 'own' voice. At one point, I took a deep breath, and determined to finish it, I screamed, 'agar kissiko apni awaaz acchi nahi lagti hai, toh woh kya karein?'. He then said that's my voice and made me realise that if I speak in my pitch and breath, I'd able to convey what I have to say truthfully."

Kulkarni clings on to this influence Dubey's workshops made on her young mind. "I will not put up a fight to claim my share in my parents' estate, but I'll fight to be considered Dubeyji's prodigy," she laughs.

Playwright Vijay Tendulkar was another maverick who made an impression. "I got to know him because my brother Sandesh dramatised some of his newspaper columns into a play. He was someone who reinforced fearlessness in me," she says, fondly.

"He urged me to stop being a good girl. He told me to open the cage and learn to fly. He allowed people to dream," she says.

By her own admission, "No other theatre school could reinforce the lessons these two geniuses taught me."

Director Govind Nihalani remembers his 1983 film Ardh Satya’s Rama Shetty
Shaheen Parkar (MID-DAY; November 4, 2014)

Sadashiv Amrapukar’s last Bollywood outing was Bombay Talkies last year. The actor featured in the Dibakar Banerjee directed segment titled Star. Interestingly, Amrapukar had no clue who Dibakar was when he was approached till his daughter told him that he was a much-acclaimed director.

The actor passed away yesterday after battling a lung infection for which he was hospitalised. He was 64. In the last few years, Amrapukar, who had his heydays in the ’80s and ’90s, had steered clear of Bollywood tired of doing repetitive roles of being the bad guy or the funny guy. He was more inclined towards Marathi theatre, his first step into the world of acting.

He lived a life without any starry trappings. When the stage beckoned, he would travel to the interiors of the state for his shows or keep himself busy reading. Every evening he would take a walk at a park near his Panch Marg residence in Versova. He would be recognised as “that actor who did villain’s roles.” Govind Nihalani cast him in his 1983 film Ardh Satya on the late playwright Vijay Tendulkar’s recommendation.

Amrapukar essayed the character of the underworld don Rama Shetty in Ardh Satya with such aplomb that it is still considered as one of Hindi film’s landmark villainous roles. Says Nihalani, “Vijay Tendulkar had written the script of Ardh Satya and when we were casting, I had decided to take a new face. Tendulkar took me to see his play Hands Up. It was a comedy with Bhakti Barve as his co-actor. Sadashiv was playing the role of a cop. I saw him as a cop, but cast him as a don. His sense of timing was impeccable and he could display the nuances of the character through his penetrating eyes. My decision was right as it went on to be his most remembered film.” In his first Marathi film titled 22 June 1897, he essayed the character of Bal Gangadhar Tilak. Apart from Ardh Satya, he is best remembered for his role of a eunuch (Maharani) in Mahesh Bhatt’s Sadak in 1991.

Though he had proved his versatility, he was still waiting as an actor for that perfect role.