Last year, when the Film Heritage Foundation (FHF) organised a screening of the restored print of Guide, Waheeda Rehman wondered, “But will people come to watch a film that was made 60 years ago?” To her utter surprise, not only was the screening a houseful one, the audience watched the entire film in rapt attention. Six months later, the veteran actress invited FHF archivists to her home to donate some of her precious memories, tracing her journey in cinema, so that the foundation could preserve them for posterity.

Among the items she handed over to the foundation was the saree she wore to her first film, CID’s (1956) premiere, some trophies, and photo albums documenting all the behind-the-scenes action from her memorable films like Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959), Chaudhvin Ka Chand (1960) and Bees Saal Baad (1962).

Speaking to us about Waheeda Rehman’s priceless donations, Shivendra Singh Dungarpur, Founder and Director of the Film Heritage Foundation, said, “It was a very emotional moment for me when she donated her precious personal memorabilia to the Film Heritage Foundation and entrusted us with its care and preservation for posterity. I am so proud that she chose us as her memory keepers. I hope that it will inspire others from the film fraternity to recognise the importance of our film heritage and donate their material to be preserved for posterity.”

When we met the veteran actress at her sea-facing abode in Mumbai, she was in a nostalgic frame of mind. Sifting through a stack of albums, Waheeda Rehman shares, “Maine mehsoos kiya ke jab hum personal photographs rakhte hain, woh kharab ho jati hain phir bada afsos hota hai. Maine socha FHF photos safely rahenge museum mein. Apne se lagaav aur obsession hota hai toh rakh lete hain magar uski dekh-bhaal nahi kar paate hain, aata bhi nahi hai. We don’t know how to preserve pictures. But now these photos will be safe. People who love films may like to visit and look at these albums sometime. When they grow up, I want my grandchildren to visit the museum and look at these photos of my films.”

As for how she acquired these photos, she said, “I used to request directors to give me working stills – the behind-the-scenes shots. I wanted them to share the shots in which the director is directing. Main kehti thi ‘woh sab leke dijiye aap’. There are so many albums. Sixty years have passed, but I have kept them safe. Sometimes, when I get into the mood, I clean the albums and dust them off.”

Waheeda Rehman has always been interested in photography. She shares she likes taking photos of birds, animals, landscapes, and people. About her safari sojourns, the actress says, “Mujhe photography ka bahut shauq hai. Our group is made up of like-minded people who love photography. Most of them are professional photographers. I have been going on these trips for 10 years now. I capture a lot of candid moments. I have visited almost all jungle safari destinations in India – only Gir is left. I have also travelled abroad for safari trips. One of my favourite places is Namibia – it was so beautiful, with sand dunes touching the Mediterranean Sea and waves”

Waheeda Rehman says, “It’s great to look glamorous, depending upon the character and situation. But just to reveal (your skin) for no reason, I don’t like it. People who do it, if they are comfortable and like it, it’s fine. But personally, I don’t like it. In Amrapali (1966), what Vyjayanthimala was wearing, that’s what people used to wear 2,500 years back. There used to be no top per se – it was all covered with pearls. I was always shy and particular about what I would wear and how I would wear it. There is a scene in Kala Bazar (1960) where Dev (Anand) goes to get flowers for me, and he slips of a cliff and I take out my saree and use it as a rope to save him when no one hears me calling for help. Maine Vijay Anand ko kaha, ‘Yeh toh main nahi karungi. Woh bhi outdoor mein!’ Toh woh bole, ‘Yahan maqsad figure dikhane ka nahi hai, yahan kisi ki jaan bachane ka hai.’ Mera kehne ka matlab hai ki jo marzi costume pehen lijiye – bikini pehen lijiye, swimming costume pehen lijiye magar dikhane ke liye matt peheniye.”

And how did directors during that era react to her views on costumes for her characters? She says, “With time, as I spent more years in the industry and became a top heroine, I managed to convince the directors, and they used to say, ‘Yes, you have a point.’”

Last year, during the 100 years of Dev Anand celebration, Waheeda Rehman attended the screening of Guide. She said, “Tajjub bhi hota hai ki itni purani filmein log itni dilchaspi ke saath chupchaap dhyaan se dekhte hain; toh lagta hai kahin kuch achha hi kiya hai. What I really liked was that all those people in the cinema hall were silently watching the film. Kabhi beech mein gaane aate thay toh maine bahut saari taaliyaan bhi suni. Mujhe achha laga.”

However, the actress shares she has seen a few of her films in theatres. She adds, “Meri apni film maine kabhi theatre mein jakar nahi dekhi. Abhi bahut barson ke baad main Guide ki screening mein gayi thi aur meri beti Kashvi bhi mere saath thi to maine kaha usko, ‘Beta, aapko nahi dekhne ka dil karta hai toh aap keh do, hum chale jayenge. She was like, ‘What are you talking?’” (Laughs).

“I really like it when women directors approach me. Two girls once came looking for me for the film Skater Girl (2021). It was a small role. I thought both these girls are struggling, and it’s not a big contribution, so I should do it. Now, there are so many female directors, which is wonderful. I feel sometimes, the sensitivity with which a female director perceives a scene, that’s something only a female director can do. Like in English Vinglish, the way her husband talks to her – it’s not mean, but jaise biwi ko jhadak diya – woh sab auratein zyada behtar samajh paati hain. Aaj kal kaafi achhe directors hain jaise Gauri Shinde. I also like Farah Khan’s films – in commercial cinema, the masala Manmohan Desai type films she makes. Commercial success toh bahut zaroori hai. Then there’s Zoya Akhtar and Kiran Rao.”

It's a classic real-life story of an eternal romance. Saira Banu and Dilip Kumar tied the knot on October 11, 1966, and 57 years later, she is as much in love with him as she was when they started out as a couple. India’s most eligible bachelor at the time, he initially maintained a respectful distance on and off the screen given their massive (20-year) age difference before eventually falling for her enchanting beauty, innocence, and devotion for him. Unlike today’s high-profile destination weddings, the legend of Indian cinema, Dilip Kumar, married a young Saira Banu in a homely ceremony in Mumbai. “So many gatecrashed our wedding that we ran out of food,” chuckles the actress. On her wedding anniversary, she looks back at her real-life fairytale. Excerpts…

I wanted two things in life. I wanted to marry the man of my dreams and I wanted to be a film star like my mother Naseem Banu. Both my dreams were fulfilled. I couldn’t have asked for more. My mother wanted me to study further and become a lawyer, as she couldn’t do that. She never wanted me to be an actor, but I wanted to be like her. As far as Dilip sahib is concerned, I was obsessed with him as a teenager ever since I saw his film ‘Aan’ (1952) in London. I studied there at the time. I fancied men like James Dean, Rock Hudson and Elvis Presley. I had their photos on my wall. Calling Dilip sahib a crush would be wrong. I was head over heels in love with him. I was smitten to the point that I envied Vyjayanthimala because one of the promotional stills of Madhumati (1958) had Dilip sahib almost kissing her forehead. That pose was way too intimate and bold for those times. I remember taking a pair of scissors and cutting her out from that photo (laughs). I became a fan of hers later. I call her akka (elder sister) and she calls me an angel. We got closer over the years. She was pleasantly amused when I recounted this incident to her.

Our families knew each other and had common interests like music. His younger sister was close to my mother so we would often have these get-togethers. I returned from London and met him for the first time at a dinner party hosted by the legendary filmmaker Mehboob Khan (known for ‘Mother India’) and his wife, who I fondly called Akhtar aunty. He was dressed in a plain white shirt and trousers. He was so simple and humble despite the fame. There was this luminous aura around him. A girl like me, who was shy and introverted, would retire to my room as soon as someone knocked on our door, something changed. As soon as I saw him, I went up to him and blurted, “Aap mere saath kaam kijiye.” He had seen me as a little girl, so showing me his grey strands, he replied with a smile, “Kya tumne mere grey baal dekhe hai?” I told him they make him look distinguished. At the dinner table he added, “I eat like a pig.” He refused to work with me even after Junglee (1961) became a hit, as he was conscious of the age gap. The part played by Mumtaz in Ram Aur Shyam (1967) was initially offered to me, but he said she is too young to work with me. I kept saying, “I am big enough to work with you.” That’s when he realized I was serious about him.

The day was August 23, 1966, and it changed my life. My mother had invited him for my birthday at our new Pali Hill residence. He was shooting in Chennai for Ram Aur Shyam and flew all the way back just for my birthday. ‘You have grown into a beautiful girl,’ he said that evening. I was dying to hear those words for years! The man was finally attracted to me. For the next few days, he travelled from Madras to Bombay every other night and had dinner with me. At the end of 10-11 days, he said, ‘I am constantly flying in and out. Will you consider one thing? Will you marry me?’ Thrilled but a bit surprised, I asked, ‘How many girls have you said this to!’ He was the most eligible bachelor of that time, and I had barely acted in films for four years. When he approached my grandmother and asked for my hand, I knew he was serious. The media and public were equally puzzled, I guess.

Not at all. It’s a real-life Cinderella story. It felt like sharing a throne. I got Dilip Kumar! I would have married him in rags if need be. Uss Zamane mein tailor hua karte the. My bridal outfit was simply stitched. No fancy jewellery either as we planned the wedding in 3 days. Security was not so high as it is today so there were gatecrashers. We ran out of food on our wedding day, so people had to go fetch more.

Ours was a great love story. We would exchange notes through the air hostesses when he would be obliged to go sit with someone else for some time. I wrote to him that I missed him and wanted him back beside me. If he was away for a week, I would leave 7 notes under his folded shirts in the bag so he could wake up to that each day. He was a gracious man who never spoke ill of anyone including the ones who wronged him. He wasn’t judgmental and always spoke the truth. He encouraged me to see the good in people. The age gap didn’t matter because I learnt so much from him. We loved sports… Tennis, Golf, football. He was extremely fit.

I never gave credence to these girlfriend theories. I was the wife. He never spoke about his past girlfriends. I never asked either. Unki merese shaadi ho gayi. Mujhe duniya mil gayi. I didn’t care about the linkup stories as the media can be irresponsible. I was also linked to a dashing cricketer, who was the Indian captain. I won’t take names, but I had never seen the guy in my life. The first time we saw him was at Wimbledon.

I hope your generation gets to see what he was like as a person. I made my Instagram debut for this purpose. Koi bhi shaadi ya relationship mein, ‘Sabar aur adab’ (patience and respect) ki bohot zaroorat hai. If sahib and I had an argument, it wouldn’t last for more than ten minutes. You must communicate. He was the one who never raised his voice but his silence was unbearable. I, with my own choice, would be the first to apologize. He wasn’t the man who had ego or would throw his weight around. To me, marriage is a perfect union based on love, faith and immense unspoken understanding. If you make a mistake, you should have no shame in saying sorry.

Lata Mangeshkar was groomed in the art of playback singing—diction, pronunciation, voice modulation and breath control—by Master Ghulam Haider, Anil Biswas and Naushad Ali. She went on to team up with composers as varied as C. Ramchandra, Shankar-Jaikishan, S D Burman, R D Burman and A R Rahman, and found favour even with purists like Madan Mohan, Roshan, Khayyam, Sajjad Hussain, Jaidev, Vasant Desai, Salil Chowdhary, and Hridayanath whose creations were steeped in Indian ragas.

The appeal partly lay in her incredible vocal range—it extended beyond three octaves, allowing collaborators to experiment with form and content. Anil Biswas would say she inspired them to work on innovative musical phrases. “Hindi cinema was looking for a pan-Indian voice to suit female leads of varying extracts—Vyjayanthimala and Hema Malini came from south, Sharmila Tagore and Raakhee from Bengal, while Nutan was a Maharashtrian. Mangeshkar answered the need,” said film chronicler Veerchand Dharamsey.

Pointing out that her 1947 debut coincided with Partition, Prakash Joshi, a musicophile with a collection of 4,000 Lata songs, said her songs helped heal the wounds of communal frenzy. “‘Hawa mein udta jaaye’ (from Barsaat) was enough to put a smile on India’s lips, replacing horror with hope,” he said.

Born in Indore on September 28, 1929, to Deenanath and Shevanti Mangeshkar, she was trained in classical music by her father, an actor-singer from Goa, who owned a drama company. Eldest among five siblings, her passion for singing was evident as early as age four.

Master Deenanath’s death in 1945 altered her life’s course. She joined Prafulla Pictures, a film company helmed by producer-actor Master Vinayak Karnataki and became the family’s sole breadwinner at 14. Hindi film composer Ghulam Haider, a Lahore migrant, was quick to spot her potential. When producer S. Mukherjee, whose ‘Shaheed’ was on the floors, rejected the thin voice which, he said, wouldn’t suit the female lead, an angry Haider stormed out of Mukherjee’s Filmistan studio in Goregaon with Lata in tow, but not before warning the movie moghul that his protegee would become a superstar.

“That afternoon Master-ji and I trekked to Goregaon railway station. Master-ji said he would find me an opening in Bombay Talkies. The platform was deserted. We sat on a wooden seat. Tapping lightly on his 555 cigarette tin, he taught me a song,” Mangeshkar told TOI in a 1998 interview. ‘Dil mera tora,’ from ‘Majboor’ brought instant success, and was followed by ‘Aayega aanewala’ from Mahal (1949). As the 78 rpm record sleeve of Mahal didn’t carry her name, radio stations were flooded with calls from admirers eager to know the singer’s identity. Between 1947 and 1951, her popularity soared. This phase coincided with singing star Noorjahan’s migration to Pakistan and the gradual fading away of Suraiya.

A moment of glory came when she was invited to a midnight congregation at Shivaji Park on May 1, 1960 to mark the formation of the state of Maharashtra with a Marathi prayer song. Three years later, her voice rang out at a rally in Delhi to raise funds for families of soldiers who died in the Indo-China war. Jawaharlal Nehru fought back tears as he heard ‘Ae mere watan ke logon.’ After the event he met her and said, ‘Beti, aaj tumne mujhe rula diya” (You brought tears to my eyes today).’

Mangeshkar reigned in the 1970s-’80s despite drastic changes in taste. Languorousilting tunes gave way to heavy orchestration and fast beats. She was quick to adapt, crooning for composers half her age (Rajesh Roshan, Bhappie Lahiri, Jatin Lalit, Raam Laxman), as also with GenNext singers S. P. Balasubramaniam, Sonu Nigam, Suresh Wadkar.

Though she cut down on assignments, her ‘Dil deewana bin sajna ke’ from Maine Pyaar Kiya set the mood for the vibrant 1990s. She took Youngistan by storm with ‘Tu mere saamne’ (Darr), ‘Gori hai kalaiyaan ‘ (Aaj Ka Arjun), ‘Yaara sili sili’ (Lekin), ‘Didi tera dewar (Hum Aapke Hain Kaun), ‘Chhai chhappa chhai’ (Hu Tu Tu). Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge became a cult, post-globalisation film, reviving romance with frothy numbers like ‘Mere, khwabon mein jo aaye’, ‘Mehndi laga ke rakhna’ (the Lata-Udit Narayan duet is played at wedding receptions even today) and ‘Tujhe dekha toh yeh’ (with Kumar Sanu). ‘Luka chuppi’, a moving piece, from Rang De Basanti, is considered her swan song, a sort of grand finale to an epic life.

Dilip Kumar and Vyjayantimala, who worked together in films like, Devdas (1955), Madhumati (1958), Naya Daur (1957) and Ganga Jumna (1961), will go down in history as one of the most iconic screen couples. Stories of alleged ego clashes between the two superstars made headlines for a while, but what stayed after and real was an undying mutual respect and admiration. Not to forget a collective body of work that will be cherished by cinephiles for generations.

Talking to Bombay Times, the legendary actress remembered the doyen of Indian cinema, who passed away in Mumbai yesterday at 98. Unable to control her tears as she spoke over the phone from Chennai, she said, “I am absolutely shattered. I have no words. I feel honoured that I got to work with a legend like him, my most favourite actor and wonderful costar. We made several successful films together. As Saira ji always tells me, ‘Akka, you and saab made the best films.’ As actors, we understood each other. While it’s a great loss for the film industry, it’s a personal loss for me. I knew him and Saira ji so well. Whenever I came to Mumbai, I would go to their house and chat for hours. Over the years, my angel as I call her, Saira ji took over the role of a mother to him and she dedicated her life for his care. I admire her with all my heart. As soon as I can move around, I will go and see her.”

Dilip Kumar’s method acting and dedication to his craft was widely admired. Vyjayantimala shared, “I was in awe of him when I came to Mumbai. He was a superstar and a rage across the country. I was then just a dancing queen or a dancing star as they called me. I became an overnight success right after my first Hindi film Bahar (1951) because of my dance.”

Vyjayanthimala Bali, who was cast opposite the thespian in four of his landmark films – Devdas, Madhumati, Naya Daur and Ganga Jumna – says working with him was an education and an experience that forged a lifelong association.

“When Bimal da asked me to play Chandramukhi (for Devdas), I was in awe because I would be acting with the Tragedy King. But he made it very comfortable,” says Vyjayanthimala, who at 86 continues to pursue her passion for Bharatanatyam.

The first scene she enacted with him was simple enough. “The line was ‘Aur mat piyo Devdas’ (Don’t drink anymore, Devdas). I had to say it when Devdas walked in drunk. The camera was to capture Devdas and then follow him and turn its focus on me when I spoke that line with an expression of anguish and helplessness.”

She thought it would be easy. “As the technicians announced readiness to shoot and Bimal da looked at me to know if I was ready, I realised Dilip sahab was not on the sets. An assistant told me he was taking brisk rounds of the studio to get that tired, weary look and he had instructed them to start the camera when he would stagger in with beads of real sweat on his brow and a look of exhaustion.” 

Vyjayanthimala says that was the precise moment when she began to panic. “Here was an actor who took so much trouble to endow realism and here was me who had not done any preparation and was all set to face the camera. When it started and I saw the incredible perfection of Dilip sahab’s performance, all I could do was helplessly speak the line: ‘Aur mat piyo, Devdas’. The helpless look on my face was what Bimal da wanted.”

In ‘Madhumati’, he hears a voice and goes in search. A girl’s face emerges from the fog and he asks: “Who are you?” She replies, “Madhumati.” The scene was brilliant in the way it was conceived and performed, recalls Vyjayanthimala. “Dilip sahab always used his voice effectively, modulating it to the situation and the best moments in ‘Madhumati’ showed how well he used the texture of his soft voice to enhance the suspense and mystery.”

For him, she says, it was all about timing. “He said interaction is more important than action, ie, the way you react to the other character. And that the timing of any gesture – even a nod of the head – matters. I was able to do it because my Bharatanatyam foundation helped me emote and have quick reflexes,” she says.

Vyjayanthimala left the industry, but continued to share a bond with Saira Banu. She remembers the time when she met them in 2017. “I went to Mumbai with my son Suchindra to receive an award. Saira sent a car, and I visited Dilip sahab. He had attendants around him and Saira tried to coax him awake, saying, “See who has come, Dhanno (Vyjayanthimala’s character in ‘Ganga Jamuna’) has come. He opened his eyes, it was just a flicker. Saira asked me how he looked, and I said he looks as good as he did in ‘Madhumati’. I met them again in 2019 but he was very quiet.”

(Includes excerpts from Dilip Kumar: The Substance and The Shadow by Udaya Tara Nayar)

Veteran actress Vyjayanthimala, 79, who is based in Chennai, has taken to classical singing and later this month, will sing solo for the first time at a cultural event. She talks to Bombay Times about treading a different path, her contemporaries and how her life has changed over the years.

On singing solo for the first time
It's a new beginning for me. I have never sang solo before. I used to sing with my group at cultural festivals before, but I drifted away from music. I also had the fortune of being trained by DK Pattammal for a while, who was the doyen of Carnatic music. I'll be singing after a very long time, later this month in Chennai. The songs will be classical and a form of an offering for my guru. I won't sing for commercial reasons. My teachers are hoping that I don't scream (laughs)!

Not fascinated by cinema anymore
I got married to my husband (Chamanlal Bali) in 1968 and gave up films 47 years ago. I've never looked back as I wasn't tempted to act anymore. Today, I have nothing to do with cinema. Even when I was acting, I didn't allow it to come close to my classical dancing. There are so many different things to do in life. I was always inclined to traditional dance forms and sports more. I love playing golf today, thanks to my husband. I used to play tennis and badminton. I've won prizes for horse-riding. I am learning even at this age. There's nothing that one cannot do.“

On passion for dancing
Classical dance has been sacred to me. I bring forward old forgotten temple dance forms for today's audience. I've never performed on my film songs on stage. They are two different mediums. I wonder how some do it. I've planned to do a special performance in mid February, proceeds of which will go to the rehabilitation causes post the Chennai floods. My heart is grieving. The city suffered a lot, I was stuck in Bangalore at that time. Saira (Banu) is like a dear sister to me. She calls me akka. She was worried for me. I called her back and told her that I was fine. The people of Chennai have been strong.

On dance in films today
I don't watch films much but of what I see, the kind of dance you see in them today, is different from what we used to do. Changes are bound to happen but some are undesirable.

On Asha Parekh reportedly lobbying for Padma Bhushan
I heard about it. Asha is a very nice girl. I find the news a bit suspicious. The minister should not have disclosed it. She felt that she deserved it. Having said that, one shouldn't ask for an award. I have never used 'Padma Shri' before my name, was not keen on getting the Padma Bhushan either. By the grace of God, I've people's love and appreciation. That means much more.

On Sadhana
I didn't know her too well as she came much later. As an actress, she was very talented and spontaneous.

Given how the Indian male psyche is pretty much a global star currently thanks to things like the BBC documentary and the German professor refusing an Indian student, we decided to dissect the one that personifies the discourse - the Stalker. He never goes out of the news. In fact, just a month ago, a particularly juicy one was hogging the headlines because his stalking of two women in Australia was pardoned by a judge since Bollywood taught him that it was 'romantic'. His defence argued that he was fed on a diet of filmi heroes doggedly pursuing women which eventually caused them to relent, and that it was “quite normal behaviour“ for Indian men to “obsessively target women“. He did not realise his conduct was criminal, and the judge probably dismissed him as a desi bumpkin.

So, the act of pursuing a woman till she gets fed up and falls in love has been stamped as 'Indian culture'. Our movie-worship is a well-known fact, and maybe that judge thought we're all too dim to know better. But we do know better. That's why 'should Bollywood take responsibility for glorifying stalking' is a debate that takes no time to kick off when there's a high-profile incident. Stalker-staples like Darr, Anjaam, Tere Naam and Raanjhanaa are cited as examples of Bollywood's stalker obsession, even as others rush to their defence as being portrayals of the extreme, and of course no one will actually abduct kill harass because someone made a film. Because no films should then be made about bank robberies, murders, etc, too, and conversely, why don't people then get 'inspired' to do all the good stuff shown in films?

Yes, we're not so stupid (hopefully), and no, movies can't be blamed for all our ills. Particularly the aforementioned kind, because these films clearly recognise the protagonist's behaviour as deranged at best and villainous at worst. None of their stories ends well. Maybe they're not the problem. What if the problem was the 'normal' kind of protagonist, the non-deranged, non-I-will-kill-anyone-who-comes-near-you kind? The perfectly sweet heartthrob of millions?

NOT DERANGED LOVER, BUT REGULAR FILMI SWEETHEART THE PROBLEM?
Bollywood's formula of romance is so simple, there's been no need to change it in half a century. Boy sees girl, decides she's the one (who needs to ask?), and then on, does whatever is in his power to have the epiphany appear to her too. Follow. Sing and dance. Besiege existence. Embarrass in public, be a drama queen. Gently (or not) threaten with suicide. And whatever else is the truth of the universe, `no' does not mean 'no'. And soon, Cupid strikes her too, because love rewards the dude who tries the hardest or borderline harasses you, not the guy who respects your decision and leaves you alone.

WOOING OR HARASSING?
Girls walking in a huff, boy strolls behind, singing, dancing, or, if he's Shammi Kapoor, just being Shammi Kapoor. She looks back, pouts, and turns around with a flounce. You could dress them up in decade-appropriate clothing and replace Rafi with Kumar Sanu, but the template of the 'wooing song' remains unbroken. Hindi film romance has survived on the serenade, the shadowing of a lady as you open your soul to her in song ­ while she appears to not give a s**t. That's essentially what Shammi Kapoor did in his hits ­ show up everywhere and shake it, and not let the lady shake you off, whether it was Kashmir or Paris.

Shammi fans might be bunching up their fists, but hear us out. Yes, serenading is not the same as stalking, and which heart wouldn't melt at the sweet, sweet persistence of those blue eyes? (That's another problem that needs to be addressed, that nice girls have to do some itrana before saying yes). But the moral is clear ­ persist, and you shall have it. The lyrics of many classics sound from mild besharmi to a full-blown creep-fest when removed from the angelic faces they were coming from. Maana janaab ne pukaara nahin, kya mera saath bhi gawaara nahin ­ yes, I'm uninvited, but can't you put up with me? Aaja aaja, main hoon pyar tera, Allah Allah, inkaar teraaa, ho ­ oh come my sweet, your refusal is a mere technicality . Badan pe sitaare lapete hue....zara paas aao, toh chain aa jaaye. Ugh. Imagine that from a roadside perve.

FIRST NO, THEN YES
Give chase. If the words didn't say it, the videos did. Raj Kapoor's insistent 'bol Radha bol sangam hoga ki nahi' finally gets a tired Vyjayanthimala to say 'yes! Now leave me alone'. Shammi Kapoor's brand was to chase the angry heroine across expensive locales to 'akele akele kahaan jaa rahe ho', being told off by a piqued 'ja, ja!' at his attempts at 'pyar ka sabak sikhlane', but in the end hanging from all those helicopters and ski lifts paid off because the 'ja ja!' turned into a 'haan haan'.

The 'naa mein haan' philosophy basically screwed up generation after generation's comprehension of the whole battle of the sexes thing. 'Tera peechha naa main chhodunga soniye' is a very twisted declaration of eternal love, but we suspect no woman was offended because they were all in love with Dharmendra at the time. 'Koi haseena jab rooth jaati hai toh aur bhi haseen ho jaati hai', 'Hum toh tere aashik hain sadiyon purane, chahe tu maane, chahe na maane' ­ here, bullying someone into having feelings for you was the height of romantic. In other places, it would get you arrested (Dharmendra gave a subtle nod to that possibility when he sang 'bhej de chahe jail mein, tera peechha na...').

THANK GOD, THE 90s ARE OVER
And with Rafi, Sultanpuri and Co passing on the baton, it got pretty bad in the 80s and 90s. The 'jaan-e-tamanna' and 'janaab' gave way to 'laal dupatte wali'. The loving gaze and five-foot distance between girl and prancing guy was replaced by pretty semi-mauling stuff ­ pulling her dupatta, spinning her around, dropping her to the ground, hauling, pushing, and basically lots of manhandling. The (embarrassing) 90s college capers were one big lesson in treating women like inanimate objects to win their affection ('khud ko kya samajhti hai, kitna akadti hai', 'khambe jaisi khadi hai', to the erudite 'a aa eee, o, o, oh. Mera dil na todo').

In Deewana, Shah Rukh Khan grabs weeping widow Divya Bharti at very possible 'intense' moment and forcibly colours her on Holi. Raja Babu has Govinda camp outside Karisma's house for seven days. The 80s-90s how-to-get-a-girl formula was sorted ­ stand outside her house, stalk her as she walks to college. While at it, sing a song about how arrogant she is for saying no. After all, kab tak roothegi cheekhegi chillaegi? Ek din haseena maan jaaegi.

THE NOUGHTIES GOT BETTER, TILL ALL THOSE REMAKES!
The noughties got a little better because the real-life dating game finally showed up on screen, but with our 90sSouth remake obsession, the hero's back to being a semi-lech and the heroines are back to it being their thing. So Shahid Kapoor wants to do gandi baat with Sonakshi Sinha, while in Mat Maari, as she rains abuses like 'kutta' on him, bizarrely , they're only leading him on (next time you tell a guy to FO, maybe that's why he was smiling), and even more bizarrely, his resolve becomes a turn-on for her. Chulbul Pandey thinks it's perfectly all right to tell a girl to 'pyar se le lo warna thappad se bhi de sakte hain', while Phata Poster warns ki 'tera peechha karoon toh rokne ka nai'.

A smoking scene comes with a dozen warnings, but 50 years of selling a singular idea of romance have so embedded this, we don't even realize it's dangerous. It's a prototype, one that countless Janardans like Ranbir Kapoor try to use a la Rockstar.

Bollywood, time to give the girls a say.