Written by Salim-Javed: The Story of Hindi Cinema’s Greatest Screenwriters
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DIPTAKIRTI CHAUDHURI
WRITTEN BY SALIM–JAVED
The Story of Hindi Cinema’s Greatest Screenwriters
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
Introduction: How My Salim–Javed Story Started a.k.a. Main Majboor Tha
Prologue: The Tale of Two Zanjeers
PART I: FLASHBACK
Salim Khan: A Man on a Filmi Mission
Enter Javed Akhtar
The Start of a Dream Team
PART II: THE PARTNERSHIP
Andaz
Haathi Mere Saathi
Seeta Aur Geeta
Zanjeer
Yaadon Ki Baaraat
Haath Ki Safai
Majboor
Deewaar
Aakhri Daao
Sholay
Immaan Dharam
Chacha Bhatija
Trishul
Don
Kaala Patthar
Dostana
Shaan
Kranti
Shakti
PART III: SPLIT WIDE OPEN
Personal Lives
The Split
Interim Films: Zamana and Mr India
Salim Khan: After the Split
Javed Akhtar: Going Solo
PART IV: THEMES AND MESSAGES
The Angry Young Man
Angry Young Man Redux
Villains
Gabbar Singh: A Villain, They Wrote
Violence of the Mind
A Political Awakening of Filmi Proportions
Women of Substance
Missing Father, Iconic Mother
Dialoguebaazi
God in the Details
Breaking up the Films
PART V: IMPACT AND LEGACY
A Brief History of Hindi Screenwriting
Larger than Life
Strengths and Weaknesses
The Salim–Javed Ripple Effect
The Dynasties of Salim–Javed
Epilogue: Will They Meet Again?
Footnotes
Introduction
Enter Javed Akhtar
The Start of a Dream Team
Haathi Mere Saathi
Seeta Aur Geeta
Zanjeer
Yaadon Ki Baaraat
Majboor
Deewaar
Sholay
Immaan Dharam
Don
Kaala Patthar
Personal Lives
Interim Films: Zamana and Mr India
Salim Khan: After the Split
Javed Akhtar: Going Solo
Angry Young Man Redux
Villains
Gabbar Singh: A Villain, They Wrote
Violence of the Mind
A Political Awakening of Filmi Proportions
Women of Substance
Dialoguebaazi
God in the Details
A Brief History of Hindi Screenwriting
Larger than Life
Strengths and Weaknesses
The Salim–Javed Ripple Effect
The Dynasties of Salim–Javed
Acknowledgements
Translations of Dialogues
Filmography of Salim–Javed
Sources
Copyright Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN BOOKS
WRITTEN BY SALIM–JAVED
Diptakirti Chaudhuri is a salesman by day and writer by night. This is his fourth book and the third on Hindi cinema. He lives in Bangalore with his wife, a son and a daughter.
A historic ad, probably the first one to exclusively promote the writers of a film, that announced the emergence of Salim–Javed.
Na mooh chhupake jiye hum, na sar jhukake jiye
Sitamgaro ki nazar se nazar milake jiye
Ab ek raat agar kam jiye toh hairat kyon
Ki jab talak jiye mashaale jalake jiye . . .
Sahir Ludhianvi
‘Kitnay aadmi thay? ’
‘Sardar, do aadmi thay.’
From Sholay
Introduction: How My Salim–Javed Story Started a.k.a. Main Majboor Tha
This story began one evening in the early 1980s.
This was a time when my Hindi film experiences were largely restricted to the Sunday evening fare doled out by Doordarshan. I was just shy of ten years and my taste in movies was dictated by a man called Amitabh Bachchan, and in his absence, I had learned to spot the word ‘Action’ (or ‘Thrills’) in the credits. If that existed, then one could look forward to some fisticuffs at the end of three hours of songs and tears—a big incentive for a young boy.
That evening, my mother (the certified movie buff in the family) and I took our positions in front of our black-and-white television set for our weekly Hindi movie fix. My father seldom watched the Sunday film, often preferring to go for a walk instead, but that day he was in the room as well. To my delight, the film—Majboor—starred Amitabh Bachchan, which sealed the deal for me. My father, on the other hand, shuffled in his seat and wondered aloud if the film would be worth it. A minute or two into the credits, he got excited and exclaimed, ‘Arre Salim–Javed, taholey toh dekhtei hobey!’ (‘A Salim–Javed film, have to watch it then!’) Apparently, these two gentlemen—Salim–Javed, as I learned then, was not one person, but a team of two—had written the story of the film and also the lines my hero would say.
After the film ended, I thought about this and was quite intrigued that there could be other highlights in a film apart from the actors and the fight director. My father remembered a film called Deewaar, which was written by Salim–Javed, and he said it was one of the best that he had watched. I asked him if it had fights and my father mentioned there was just one. I made a mental note to watch Deewaar one day but with just one fight, it was not a top priority.
Over the next couple of years, I started noticing this name—Salim–Javed—and was quite delighted to find that they had written many of my favourite films. Seeta Aur Geeta was their doing, as was Yaadon Ki Baaraat. Don had their name too, as did Haathi Mere Saathi. And wonder of wonders, my all-time favourite—Sholay—was also written by them. Long before I understood what film writing is all about or the difference between the screenplay and the story, I had added Salim–Javed to the list of names to watch out for in a film’s credits.
As I read more about writing for the screen, I correlated much of that to the films of Salim–Javed. Satyajit Ray, film writer par excellence, talked about the importance of detailing events, locations and characters in a script. He talked about real dialogues. He talked about backstories of characters, even if they were not shown in the film. Salim–Javed followed many of those principles, without being conscious of them. Watching Salim–Javed’s classic films—Deewaar, Trishul, Kaala Patthar, Shakti—when I grew older, I realized how good they really were.
When I met Salim sahib for an interview, he said, ‘One hit film, two hit films, even three hit films in a row can be a fluke. But ten or eleven hits1 in a row cannot be a fluke. If a stuntman leaps off a seven-storeyed building and lands on his feet, people would call it a miracle. Second time can also be called a miracle. But if he keeps doing it again and again, you’ll have to admit he has a technique.’
But almost in the same breath, he also said that as writers they had no conscious technique. They were not trying to make any social commentary with Deewaar and they were not inspired so much by Akira Kurosawa as by Sergio Leone.
That gave me the idea of writing their story in the signature Salim–Javed style—a lot of
interesting events that built to a crescendo, a bit of context to make sense, but not much of analysis.
I believe they brought a certain swagger to the profession of writing, long—probably still—considered to be a back-room job. There were more prolific writers, writers who had given a greater number of hits. But none of them had succeeded in changing the dynamics of an industry, notorious for being set in its ways. None of them raised their collars and advertised their success the way Salim–Javed did. They struck me as two extremely humble men personally, who were extremely proud professionally.
Strangely, there aren’t too many books on Hindi film writing. Books on Javed Akhtar and Gulzar largely focus on their careers as lyricists (and in Gulzar’s case, as a director). Actors, actresses, directors, music directors, lyricists have all got excellent biographies but not the people without whom the industry would have been just a blank sheet of paper.
Here, then, is the story of two heroes.
A story of a friendship that became a bitter rivalry and finally mellowed down to a cordial relationship. And of the philosophy with which they approached their work. In the process Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar ended up creating two film families that are doing many of the things that they were not able to do themselves.
In a way, my father—who was not a Bollywood fan at all—started this story, and also laid down the benchmark of a good film dialogue. He remembered only one, and when a non-fan remembers something, it is likely to be bloody good. For as long as he lived, any discussion on film dialogues with him began and ended with just one line: ‘Main aaj bhi phenke hue paise nahin uthata . . .’ i
It is not for nothing Deewaar is called the Perfect Hindi Film Screenplay.
Prologue: The Tale of Two Zanjeers
‘Whether it’s Zanjeer, Sholay or Seeta Aur Geeta, the fact that they keep coming back to old scripts proves there’s a scarcity of writing. So I am of the opinion that the original writers should be monetarily compensated’—Salim Khan
‘Salim sahib’s and my contract was with Prakash Mehra Productions (PMP) for our script to be made only in Hindi. The south Indian rights for Zanjeer were with us . . . The superhit Hindi films that are made into Telugu get up to Rs 3 crore. So we feel we also deserve a compensation of Rs 3 crore for the Zanjeer remake rights which we hold and have papers to prove it’—Javed Akhtar
W hen the remake of Zanjeer was chosen as Telugu superstar Ram Charan Teja’s Hindi film debut, there was considerable curiosity tempered with a fair bit of dismay. Curiosity because this was the film from which Amitabh Bachchan’s ascendance to superstardom began. And dismay because every remake in Hindi cinema till now had been very disappointing.
Apart from Ram Charan, the film also marked the debut of Prakash Mehra’s son Amit as producer. He ‘bought’ the rights to the remake Zanjeer from his brothers for Rs 4 crore.
When the film was announced in 2012, Salim–Javed contacted Amit Mehra about the monetary compensation they were entitled to as writers of the original. They informed him that the rights resided with them and were not for his family to sell. Initially, they wanted an amicable, out-of-court settlement, and by all reports their demand was not high. Apparently, Amit Mehra tried the schmoozing for which ‘old-school’ Bollywood was famous. He sweet-talked Javed Akhtar, addressing him as ‘uncle’ and went to his home with dry fruits. (We are not sure if peanuts were part of his gift!) After this, he chose to ignore their calls and sent them a legal letter stating the remake rights were with him.
Salim–Javed were extremely hurt, and they responded by complaining to the Film Writers’ Association (FWA) with documents supporting their claim of rights. This was when they firmed their demand of Rs 3 crore for the Telugu remake rights of Zanjeer and added another Rs 3 crore for the Hindi remake rights as well. They argued that the original script was sold to Prakash Mehra Productions for a film starring Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bhaduri and Pran. Since the cast had changed, the film was obviously a different one using out of the same script, and the writers ought to be paid for that too. At this point, they refused an out-of-court settlement (which the producers of the new Zanjeer offered) because they wanted to set a precedent with the case.
The disputes settlement committee of the Federation of Western India Cine Employees (FWICE) examined the documents presented by both parties and observed that Salim–Javed were indeed the rightful owners of the script, but since the committee did not have the authority to direct a legal settlement, the case went to the courts.
Salim–Javed filed to stay the film’s release until they were paid for the rights.
After hearing the arguments, the Bombay High Court, however, did not stay the release on the grounds that Salim–Javed delayed issuing the legal notice and that their actual objective was not to bring a stay, but to be adequately compensated for their work. While reserving judgement on the actual ownership of the rights, the court directed the two parties to arrive at an amicable out-of-court settlement. The lawyers for both the parties requested the matter to be taken in chamber, so the settlement amount would not be divulged to the public.
Insiders believe that the amount was reasonably close to what the duo had asked for originally. Even taking a conservative view, one can safely say that it made Salim–Javed the highest paid writers of Bollywood in 2013 as well.
For the two writers, this is typical of their relationship post their split. While they have been cordial when referring to each other, they have remained distant and are almost never seen together at public events. But whenever their rights have been threatened, they have put up a united front.
This also completes a circle that started in the late 1960s, when the duo first came together, writing brilliant scripts and asking for commensurate compensation. For them, credit was as important as—if not more than—the money. Their desire to be known as the writers of a film is probably best described by a story connected to the original Zanjeer.
After a lot of back-and-forth between heroes and producers, Zanjeer was eventually sold to Prakash Mehra for Rs 55,000. The sale was on the condition that Salim–Javed would be duly credited in all publicity material of the film. This was of paramount importance to the two, because they had already worked on scripts for three hit films before this and had received little or no credit for them.
As the release date neared, Salim–Javed eagerly waited to see their names on a billboard for the first time but when the posters went up they were heartbroken. Prakash Mehra—caught up in the rigmarole of his first production—had forgotten all about his promise.
What happened after this is indicative of the confidence and chutzpah that differentiated Salim–Javed from their peers. Sometimes, this was as important as their talent in establishing them as the only superstar writers of the Hindi film industry.
When they reminded Prakash Mehra of the deal, he was apologetic but helpless. The posters were already up and there was nothing he could do at that stage. He promised to rectify the oversight in the subsequent rounds of postering. With anybody else, the matter would have ended here but these two writers were on a different kind of mission.
Salim–Javed hired a poster painter. They gave him a stencil that said ‘Written by Salim–Javed’, and instructed him to paint it on all the posters of Zanjeer that he could find. The painter may have been drunk or in a hurry to complete this mammoth task; what he ended up doing was print the line pretty much anywhere on the poster instead of at the bottom, where credits usually appeared. On the morning of the release, Bombay woke up to find all posters of Zanjeer—from Juhu to Opera House—stamped with the name ‘Salim–Javed’. Be it Amitabh’s nose, Pran’s beard, or Jaya’s face, Salim–Javed was, quite literally, unmissable on the posters of Zanjeer.
Both Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar appear a little embarrassed when they recount this incident now. Embarrassed, but not apologetic. Their logic and raison d’être for being here was very clear, and it was not to be anonymous back-room boys. Their work did not end with wri
ting a story. They recommended actors, negotiated distribution deals, participated in the publicity, and even advertised themselves. They had come for the money and the fame. And if they did not get it, they were willing to fight for it.
What happened with the poster of the original Zanjeer repeated with the contract of the new one. The producers—two generations of them—had hoped to get away from honouring their commitments by sweet-talking the writers. After all, writers were creative types who could be cajoled with some persuasion.
But Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar were a different breed altogether. Their writing talent was matched by their business acumen, their showmanship and their demand for fair credit.
Many things have changed in the forty years since they got together—and then went their separate way—but their belief that content is king is not among them.
This is their story.
Part I:
FLASHBACK
Salim Khan: A Man on a Filmi Mission
‘I had the art of conception but not the art of projection’ —Salim Khan
One of Salim Khan’s abiding memories is from when he was four or five years old and had stolen a key-wound motorcycle from a toy cart. When he came home with it and his mother found out, she was livid and made him go back to the cart-owner to return the toy and apologize. When he did so, all his friends laughed. Many decades later, Salim Khan says he still hasn’t forgotten the cackle of their laughter. Nor has he forgotten the lessons an upright mother can impart on a child. This theme of honesty above all else would return to many of the films he wrote.
Born on 24 November 1935 in Indore, Salim Khan was the son of a police officer—fifth in a line of Pathans who had migrated from Afghanistan in search of a good education and a better life for their children. His great-great-grandfather Anwar Khan joined the British cavalry and was posted in the Central Provinces (present-day Madhya Pradesh). The family put a premium on education and culture, which led to most of its members joining government service. Salim Khan’s father—Abdul Rashid Khan—joined the police force and rose to become the DIG of Indore, the highest position allowed to Indians in British India.