Dilip Kumar: The Substance and the Shadow

by Dilip Kumar

  To come back to the shaadi (marriage), I spent the busy morning in an atmosphere that seemed to be electrified with excitement; my little cabin had the hustle and bustle created by Noor Sahab and Nasir, who as the evening proceeded, ceremoniously placed the Peshawari kulla (topee) on my head and tied the gorgeous silken saafa (a long piece of cloth) around it with great love and pride, which were visible in their eyes. Their brother Yousuf was a dulha (bridegroom) at last!

  My own luxurious limousine was gorgeously bedecked with tons of flowers to take me to Saira’s house, and bring my bride home with me, but lo and behold! Lalay Noor and Nasir disclosed to me that they and Sakina Aapa wanted me to ride a ghodi (a mare) and take the baraat (marriage procession) to Saira’s home. ‘Heavens,’ I tried to tell them, ‘me on a mare!’ I also told them that I would go in my car and pointed out to them that, down the road towards the bride’s gate, there was a steep slope. I was apprehensive that the mare would slip and fall and, god forbid, I would too! It would be such a sorry spectacle!

  My argument, however, was in vain and as I hesitatingly sat astride my magnificently decorated ‘sawari’ I never imagined that the distance of just two minutes to Saira’s house from my own home would take an hour. We had thought that about 500 guests would turn up for the marriage, but goodness, the multitude of fans and friends was legion.

  As my mare was happily led by Prithvirajji, Shashi Kapoor and Nasir, I could feel the enormous push of the people behind and around us and, to make the proceedings all the more alarming, each step of the way there would be an unceremonious ‘thud’ on my kulla- and saafa-bound head from the oriental, zari-*studded umbrella, which auspiciously ‘protected’ the bridegroom astride his mare! My head reeled with the impact each time!

  To make matters worse, the poor mare, in all its finery and well-manicured hooves and naal (horseshoe) kept religiously sliding and slipping on the polished and cemented slope. It was a miracle that I survived the ‘dhab, dhab’ on my head and the ‘grrrh, grrrh’ of the slippery slope!

  As the gate of the bride’s house opened in full splendour to admit me and my entourage, lo and behold! Thousands of people who just could not be held back by any security on earth barged in! I could get a glimpse of dear friend and colleague, producer-director Nasir Hussain, who was dangerously perched on top of a van with his unit, photographing the entire proceedings. It was such a wonderful and loving gesture from a friend. In the rush of the enthusiastic crowd, he and his team were almost thrown to the ground. Thank God that no one was injured.

  Our marriage was a surprise to all those who knew me. Naushad Sahab was the only one among my close friends who had the forthrightness to ask me if I wasn’t making a mistake. ‘How can you think of marrying a girl who is more than twenty years younger to you?’ he asked me with the authority he always had as a friend and well-wisher. I had no hesitation in telling him that I had considered the step I was taking with serious introspection and I knew Saira was the girl Amma and Aghaji would have approved had they been alive.

  As already noted, Naushad Sahab knew my parents well and he was specially very attentive towards Aghaji when he visited our home in Bandra. Aghaji, too, liked talking to Naushad Sahab and they spent time making easy, casual conversation whenever he dropped in. Aghaji had almost stopped going to Crawford Market due to failing health and he enjoyed the company of friends when they called on him at home. Now that they were no more there, Naushad Sahab was justified in wondering and asking me: ‘What about you? Are your sisters and brothers happy about your decision?’ I answered that the least I could expect from my family was a warm, good-natured welcome to Saira. There was no pressure on Saira to marry me and there was no pressure on me to marry her. It was the will of God that was bringing us together. Her mother, Naseem Aapa, had told me in her own dignified manner that Saira was beside herself with joy, celebrating the granting of a long-cherished wish by Allah. As for me, I was more than sure that the Coimbatore astrologer’s words (mentioned earlier) were coming true and I was being blessed with a loving and adoring wife.

  Naushad Sahab did not attend our nikah. His absence was compensated by the presence of all my other friends who went all out to make the occasion one of the happiest of my life, whose memories I still cherish.

  Raj Kapoor had joked once in a media interview that the day I would marry he would walk into my house on his knees. So, when Raj arrived at 48, Pali Hill, he was promptly reminded of his jovial declaration. He instantly went down on his knees to everybody’s surprise. My eldest sister, Sakina Aapa, was in the balcony and she called out to him, bidding him to get up on his feet at once. Raj was as close to me as any of my brothers and Sakina Aapa knew it.

  I was overwhelmed by the warmth and the affection I received from all my relatives and friends who thronged the house. As already mentioned, it took an hour for the baraat to reach Saira’s house. Saira was not overdressed as brides usually are. Her mother, who always had a say in her make-up and fashioned her wardrobe, had kept the finery to the minimum to let her daughter’s genetically gifted grace and beauty stand out in the simple elegance of her bridal attire. Both our wedding attires were quickly put together as there was hardly any time.

  Eventually, Nasir and Sultan managed to instil some order into the melee and successfully cordoned off the areas meant for the media and the invitees from the gatecrashers who had flooded the garden and the surroundings! Later, I got to know that Sultan and his aides had scattered a dozen men in an attempt to get more food from all the restaurants around so that they could feed even the gatecrashers.

  The nikah was beautiful – all my loved and dear ones were by my side, General Shahnawaz, Raj Kapoor, Nasir, Sultan, Mukri, Satish Bhalla and everyone whom I held important in my life. Pran had braved a storm in Srinagar and yet flown in to Bombay for my marriage.

  The wedding function. (L to R): Qazi Murghey, Ahsan, me, Raj Kapoor, Mukri and Nasir.

  As required, Saira and I signed the nikahnama (marrige document) and individually said ‘qubool hai’ (I/we accept the marriage) in reply to the question asked by Qazi Murghey a smiling, saintly, benevolent and holy maulana (a religious scholar). Then Raj escorted me to the bride, who waited to see me first in an aaina musaf (mirror) ritual, in which the bride and groom first see each other through a reflection.

  After that, Raj asked for a bowl of milk and dipped the wedding rings in it before we exchanged them and became man and wife.

  The next evening was the walima (marriage feast) at my home, where all our dear family friends gathered, headed by the chief minister of Maharashtra, Vasantrao Naik, for a wonderful celebration.

  Saira and I spent the walima night in my own little outhouse in the garden. Initially, I felt a little awkward to tell Saira that I wanted us both to stay in this small, segregated part of my bungalow, which had become my frequent domain. It had its own independent entry from the road. Here I needed to be alone at times, to be given my own space when I worked on the scripts of my films, ensuring that the people who came to see me regarding my work did not intrude into the privacy of the women in my family. Much to my relief, Saira showed no dismay; her eyes eloquently expressed her contentment and happiness to do as I had said. In later years, as she shared my life with me, this one quality to happily fall in line with what I said was the essence of the success of our marriage. I will talk of this in detail in later chapters.

  The day of the marriage. With Naseem Banuji and Saira.

  Early next morning, we were to leave for Madras. I had to finish the patchwork on Ram Aur Shyam and Saira was to spend a day or two with me and proceed to Darjeeling (a hill station in West Bengal) to shoot and finish Jhuk Gaya Aasmaan.

  Saira was ready and eager to travel with me and we felt we were going to be left alone at last in each other’s company away from the ceaseless bustle of Bombay. Madras had become second home for me and I was already making arrangements to purchase a house in a quiet and exclusive locality.

  Arriving at the
Madras airport for the shooting of Ram Aur Shyam, along with Pran, Baby Farida, Nagi Reddy (behind Farida), Saira, Nirupa Roy and A. Chakrapani

  When we arrived at the Meenambakkam airport there was a marvellous surprise awaiting us. There were red rose petals strewn from the tarmac to the arrival area and there was Nagi Reddy himself with the cast and crew of the film waiting with garlands and wide grins to greet us on the tarmac. We were told that huge crowds had gathered outside the airport and so we would have to leave quietly.

  On reaching Nagi Reddy’s studio, he told us that there were even bigger surprises for us. My suite at the Oceanic Hotel was decorated fabulously and a large, ornate bed had replaced my old single bed. Tons of fragrant mogras (jasmine blossoms) covered every nook and corner of the room and the bed, too, was decorated with mogra garlands. When the airconditioner was switched on, the heady fragrance of the milky white blossoms filled the entire room and gave us the feeling of being in a distant world.

  I had once jokingly told Reddy Sahab’s son Prasad, who had become a dear friend, that I liked the incredibly large size of a bed and its brass knobs and ornate bedsteads that gave it an antique look. Prasad had jokingly replied that he would gift me the bed when I married. Since at that time there was no bride on the horizon, he had humorously said that his offer of the bed as a gift should be taken as an incentive for me to look around for a suitable bride at the earliest. That was strangely prophetic because, soon enough, I found myself seeking the hand of the beautiful girl I began to love and wanted to marry.

  Silken bed linen had taken the place of the cotton sheets that covered my bed earlier. It was as if the room had been readied not for Mr and Mrs Dilip Kumar but for an emperor and empress. Candidly speaking, the surprise was most welcome. What I wanted to offer to Saira in my own house and I couldn’t due to shortage of time was here in full splendour before my eyes. In more ways than one, Saira and I began our lives together as husband and wife in the most erudite and culturally wealthy city of India, enjoying peaceful mornings with breakfast served in the garden followed by hectic work on the sets, with breaks for tiffin and coffee and ending with a quiet dinner in the room.

  Everything was idyllic and, since we both loved the delicacies served by first-rate South Indian cooks, we hardly missed the food we relished at home in Bombay. In fact, Saira became a permanent fan of idlis, dosas and medhu vadas.

  Whenever I packed up early from the shooting, we used the time we got to drive through the city, taking in the sight of cycle rickshaws jostling with cars and buses fearlessly on busy streets lined with flower stalls that displayed strands of jasmine and multihued flowers ready to be sold to women for the adornment of their long, flowing braids.

  I became aware that Saira was not one to make friends with anyone instantly. Even so, I found her amiable and friendly towards my co-stars in Ram Aur Shyam. We spent most evenings after the day’s work meeting the unit members and having interesting interactions. I noticed that she was shy and a trifle reserved by nature but was making an effort to come out of the shell. I could understand her attitude because I was aware that hers was a close-knit family of four members. For Saira, her mother, grandmother and her elder brother, Sultan, was the world she grew up to know, understand and love. I felt she needed to have friends of her own age and meet more people from all walks of life. In subsequent years, she did just that and her sprightly personality began to emerge.

  *Fine gold thread work.

  20

  COLLEAGUES AND FRIENDS

  Kohinoor [1960] will remain etched in my mind for the efforts I made to learn to play the sitar. It was another chance for me to test my flair for the comedy genre in acting …. I enjoyed the making of Kohinoor also for the camaraderie that grew between me and Meena Kumari after Azaad as we, who were known for our forte with emotional drama and tragedy, came together for another light-hearted film.

  RAM AUR SHYAM WAS COMPLETED AHEAD OF SCHEDULE. Its work was a jolly experience for all of us. I was working with my friend Pran in Ram Aur Shyam and Aadmi at the same time. Pran and I were friends in the real sense of the term. We met at the work place and we met informally as often as we could either at his house or mine since we lived in the same locality: Bandra. At work, we were invariably pitted against each other – our characters were always caught in a conflict over something or the other. It used to be very amusing for onlookers to watch the change that would come over him when he faced the camera with me in the frame after all the friendliness and affection they had seen a while ago between us. Well, that’s the challenge we actors face all the time. To become what we in reality are not and to assume the character and persona of an unfamiliar chap who has no resemblance whatsoever to our real self is not as easy as it appears.

  For Pran one could say it must have not been easy at all when he plunged into those wily, indecent and deceitful characters in the films that made him famous as a first-rate villain. It must have taken quite some effort for him to keep the goodness, gentlemanliness and honesty in his real nature subdued and hidden under the ferocious sneer and fiery looks he adopted for that transient moment before the camera.

  We had enjoyed being together during the shooting of Bimal Roy’s Madhumati (1958) in the forest location where almost everybody else spoke in Bengali while we conversed heartily in Punjabi. He loved the evenings we spent sitting around a bonfire reciting exquisite poetry. We had some wonderful times in Madras when we were shooting for Ram Aur Shyam and Aadmi. We had just completed Dil Diya Dard Liya (1966) and the joke on the sets in Madras was that Pran aap ka peecha hi nahin chodta (Pran does not stop pursuing you). It was fine with me and fine with him because we liked each other’s company and respected each other as artistes and co-stars.

  The most memorable demonstration of his care and affection for me was when he braved a storm in Srinagar, from where he determinedly took a flight to Delhi, when all other passengers had wisely decided not to board the flight, and then a flight to Bombay to reach my house before the baraat left for Saira’s house. He hugged me again and again without uttering a word.

  Pran had made yet another contribution to the solidarity of our friendship when I was shooting for Azaad (1955). I was doing full-fledged comedy in that film and it was a step I had taken against the advice of some of my well-wishers and close friends who thought I should not depart from the position I had acquired as a tragedian. After the first schedule, Pran came up to me and told me with utmost sincerity that I was going to give a wonderful surprise to all those who thought I was making a wrong career move. He said the picture would run to full houses and people would want to see me in more films with comedy content. As forecast by Pran, Azaad turned out to be a blockbuster and its acceptance by the masses proved to my detractors that my fans were ready to accept me in a performance that made them laugh as much as they accepted me in performances that made them shed tears. Pran was very happy that in Ram Aur Shyam I would be having some truly funny scenes and it gave him great delight to watch my rehearsals and finally tell me which of my innovations was the best. Once again he and I (in Ram Aur Shyam) were pitted against each other. As the timid Ram, I was to cringe before the despotic and cruel Thakur Gajendra and, as the flamboyant Shyam, I was to give him a taste of his own medicine by overpowering him with whip lashes in a scene that is now part of Indian cinema history.

  With Manoj Kumar in Aadmi (1968).

  In that scene, Shyam seizes the whip from his cruel brother-in-law’s hands and starts whipping him. For a quick rehearsal I took the whip and gently touched Pran’s back with its tip. The camera unit was waiting for Pran to give the shocked expression he was supposed to in that situation. Instead of giving the shocked look, Pran started laughing and running away from me. There was surprise and shock because nobody knew why he was running away. I went after Pran with the whip to find out what was happening, unintentionally pointing the whip towards him, and, to my bewilderment, he was laughing uncontrollably. The entire unit was now laughing.

/>   ‘I have a problem Lalay [as he affectionately addressed me]. Mujhe gudgudi bahut jaldi hoti hai. I get tickled very fast.’ We had to shoot without a rehearsal and, going by the expressions Pran gave as I ‘lashed’ him with the whip, I think he made it one of the most gripping scenes in the film.

  Ram Aur Shyam also featured another friend who was very dear to me. Mukri was my school mate at Anjuman Islam and he had become an actor before I joined Bombay Talkies. So that gave him the leverage to tell me at times when I ticked him off about something that he was senior to me. At school I hardly knew him and it was during the production of Pratima (1945) at Bombay Talkies that I got to know him as an old school mate. By then Mukri had worked in a couple of pictures and he was very friendly with my brother Nasir.

  After Pratima we found ourselves greeting each other again on the sets of Anokha Pyar (1948). This time we spent considerable time together and we became friends despite there being little in common between us. In my view, it is not mandatory that the friends one makes along one’s journey in life should be of the same temperament and nature. Mukri was fun loving and happy-go-lucky and he often took liberties with me, which occasionally embarrassed me. I must digress slightly here to narrate an amusing and awkward episode involving Mukri and Nadira during the shooting of Mehboob Khan’s Aan (1952) at Igatpuri (in Maharashtra).