This was retained even in their later films. In Dostana, Zeenat Aman’s cloying call to Amitabh Bachchan is met with a cocky arrogance that actually ends with the hero praising his own eyes instead of trying to look for stars in hers. He woos the lady with confidence, invites her on a date where he professes his love, deduces her affection like a police officer and they become a couple!
There are relatively fewer romantic interludes in Salim–Javed films and in most—Shakti, Zanjeer, Chacha Bhatija, Haath Ki Safai—romance happens over a series of ‘professional meetings’. Be it a serious interaction like Zanjeer (where Amitabh Bachchan meets Jaya Bhaduri to take her eyewitness account for a case) or a comic one like Haath Ki Safai (where Randhir Kapoor meets Hema Malini to act in a play for her theatre company), romance unfolds ‘on the job’.
Speaking for the Angry Young Man, Javed Akhtar explains the character’s reticence, ‘Vijay’s relationship with the Parveen Babi character in Deewaar, or his relationship with the Rakhee character in Trishul—it is very difficult for him to tell these women that he loves them . . . [It is as if] They [have created] a Deewaar between themselves and their emotions.’
Sometimes, it is easy for the characters to have sex and use physical intimacy as a stepping stone towards love and mental intimacy. And that brings out something quite unique. What Salim–Javed pioneered in their films was the non-judgemental, mature sexual relationship between two consenting adults. Mainstream Hindi cinema was always made for the ‘family audience’ and sex was always cloaked in (now laughable) symbols, and almost always associated with sin. Therefore, you had shots of flowers touching and songs shot in the rain to denote intimacy. Sex (including rape) was seen as a ‘loss of honour’ for the woman and usually ended with punishment in the form of widowhood or ostracization.38
In Trishul, Shanti (Waheeda Rehman) is shown as modern working woman of intelligence and integrity who approaches her relationship with R.K. Gupta (Sanjeev Kumar) without being the coy wallflower audiences were used to seeing in Hindi films. In a (sort of) romantic scene, the conversation between the two is worth paying attention to:
– ‘Lo, ab chai piyo.’
– ‘Tum kehti ho to chai pee leta hoon. Lekin chai peene ka baad mujhe bahut bure bure khayal aate hain.’
– ‘Tum ko sivai in baton ke kuch aata hai?’lxxiv
In their usual realistic style of dialogues, the writers conveyed that the couple have been having consensual sex for some time and Shanti is a willing partner. The subsequent scenes also establish the depth of her involvement with R.K. and that it is not merely a physical relationship she is in.
Much has been said about Sunita (Parveen Babi) in Deewaar—a ‘premium escort’ who is in the profession without any apparent justification. She has no brother to put through college or a mother suffering from tuberculosis. She seems to be a carefree, modern working woman approaching her job with a high degree of competence. (Her flirtatious conversation with Bachchan in the bar is masterfully written.) One could argue that her characterization glosses over the real horrors of a prostitute’s life but that was not the point of the story. Bachchan’s Vijay does not move around in circles where he will find a homely, middle-class girl anyway and the writers did not burden Sunita with homely, middle-class attributes. While the characters’ physical relationship is much discussed, their deepening bond is also clearly indicated in the lines Salim–Javed wrote. Sunita is the only person Vijay confides in about his terrible childhood and tormented life, which indicates a high level of trust between the two. Javed Akhtar articulates, ‘Heroes like Vijay have great respect for women. But they are too shy, too introverted to show their emotions. Or accept their emotions. The only way that people who have been hurt very badly save themselves is by hiding their emotions.’
Incidentally, the writers also broke the standard Hindi film trope of the unwed heroine getting pregnant on the first night she sings a song in the rain with the hero. Trishul ’s Shanti and Deewaar’s Sunita (as well as Shakti’s Roma) get pregnant during the course of an extended relationship and that seems absolutely normal.
And talking of normal women, working women were commonplace in Salim–Javed’s films. As more and more women started entering the workforce in the 1970s, both middle-of-the-road and art-house films started depicting middle-class working women. Salim–Javed’s were among the first mainstream Hindi films to have heroines in a variety of professions. In fact, nearly all their heroines had an occupation and seldom were they merely daughters of rich men. Sometimes, there was a quirky angle to their professions—Basanti the tangewali (Sholay) and Seema Sohni the undercover reporter (Mr India), for example. These women were usually shown to be good at their jobs and having strong moral values.
The duo’s first film—Andaz—has an unwed mother going about the business of raising her child without a fuss and becoming a working woman almost immediately after her fiancé’s death. Where Andaz’s Sheetal (Hema Malini) differs from a more famous unwed mother—Sharmila Tagore of Aradhana—is that there is no air of sacrifice. Incidentally, her first appearance in the film is when she arrives as a teacher in Ravi’s (Shammi Kapoor) daughter’s school. Her own son and, thus, her single-mother status are revealed later, thereby making her a professional and not an object of sympathy or scorn (which are usually the emotions attached to unwed mothers in Hindi films).
Two very strong women characters appear in Trishul—Geeta (Rakhee), R.K. Gupta’s secretary (who was instrumental in running his empire), and Sheetal Verma (Hema Malini), the general manager of a large corporation. While Trishul is the story of Three Faces of Man, both these female characters are excellent foils to the heroes even though they aren’t central to the story. There were some very interesting throwaway lines to sketch these two characters. Geeta is also called ‘Computer’ as she seems to know everything about her boss’ empire and is portrayed as an honest, upright professional who does not compromise her ethics even in the face of heavy monetary inducement. Sheetal, on the other hand, is the modern woman who plays tennis and golf to keep fit and is not coy about accepting lunch invitations from flirting rakes.
Hema Malini’s most famous working-woman act is obviously as the batty tangewali in Sholay, who knows exactly how to earn her daily bread, keep unwanted suitors at bay, and when to get married and retire to a life of comfort. And she has a ready answer to explain her stand on women’s equality: ‘Dhanno ghodi hoke agar tanga kheench sakti hai toh Basanti ladki hoke tanga kyon nahin chala sakti hai?’lxxv
Kaala Patthar again has two idealistic working women. Dr Sudha Sen (Rakhee) is the lady doctor who gives up a more lucrative city practice in order to work in a clinic meant exclusively for hapless coal miners. Quite tellingly, she takes over charge from a male doctor (Sanjeev Kumar) who is frustrated with the job and leaves after a very short stint. Anita (Parveen Babi) is an investigative journalist who reports on the malpractices by the mine owners and faces the wrath of Dhanraj Puri, whose guest she is. She stands up to him with an indignant righteousness and refuses to toe the official line, thus becoming a worthy partner to Shashi Kapoor’s idealistic engineer. Neither character wears their beliefs on their sleeve and is quite happy to go about their business quietly, taking only short breaks for romantic interludes.
Not all women were perfect but they seemed to listen to their conscience better than the men. Zanjeer’s Mala (Jaya Bhaduri) is a single working woman who manages to keep the wolves at bay with a mix of aggression and street smarts. When offered a large sum of money for not testifying against a criminal, she initially accepts it but after a while, the murder of innocent children—the crime to which she was an eyewitness—is too much to bear and she returns to testify. Her justification for her unethical wavering as well as her return to honesty are both very normal.
Don’s Roma (Zeenat Aman) infiltrates a gang of international criminals to take avenge her brother’s murder. In Hindi films, where any women in the villains’ dens were restricted to molls, holding a g
lass of wine or dancing a cabaret, Roma is completely different from that ornamental variety. She becomes a gangster herself. She trains to become a karate expert and is a pro at handling firearms, not to mention that she has the energy of a ‘junglee billi ’.
Talking about unusual professions, we must now talk of Seeta Aur Geeta—Salim–Javed’s only heroine-oriented film and one of the most rollicking performances given by an Indian film actress. Hema Malini owned this film from the get-go, playing a feisty acrobat by day and a docile (quasi-) housewife also by day. It forever changed her position in the film industry as in this film she did all the things normally reserved for the hero—comedy, action, romance, dialoguebaazi—along with all the things usually assigned to the heroine.
Bollywood buff Carla Miriam Levy (aka @filmigeek) says, ‘I think there is a good feminist reading of the movie, or at least of some of its elements. For example, Sanjeev Kumar’s character *thinks* he wants a seedhi-saadhi Hindustani ladki, until he meets and interacts with a real woman who has some real energy, and then his mind is changed about what kind of woman he wants.’
However, Javed Akhtar has an interesting counterpoint to the ‘feminist narrative’ of the film. He says, ‘If I were to write a script today, my women characters would be even more mature, more independent, more liberated because my perspective on the question [women’s status in society] has become slightly clearer. When I see Seeta Aur Geeta, there’s a scene that makes me cringe. Geeta, who’s actually Seeta, has started cooking extremely well and sews clothes. So everyone thinks she’s become a model girl as a result. Today, I’d write her character very differently. The way I wrote the Seeta character then wasn’t intentional, but it came from my understanding at that time.’
This is a remarkable admission by the writer about the regressive undertones in their work. A more overt depiction of regressive values happens in Chacha Bhatija, in which the main characters yearn for a male child, wives are docile to the point of being servile and the husband is set on a pedestal and worshipped. In Dostana, matters worsen, and the victim of an instance of sexual harassment is blamed. When Sheetal (Zeenat Aman, flaunting her gorgeous figure in a stunning bikini-sarong outfit) is teased by a roadside Romeo, she catches him and brings him to the police station. Police officer Vijay promptly arrests the guy but offers a rather old-fashioned view to a modern woman and criticizes her choice of clothes as too provocative.
– ‘Kuch farz ladkiyon ka bhi hai . . . Agar aise kapde pehen kar aap bahar sadak pe niklengi to gundo ki seeti nahin bajegi to kya mandir ki ghanti bajegi? ’
– ‘Kya kharabi hai in kapdon mein? ’
– ‘Bahut kam hai.’lxxvi
The woman being a doormat and the modern woman shamed for her lifestyle were both common elements of society and Hindi cinema of the 1970s, but one cannot help but feel a tinge of regret that Salim–Javed—otherwise known for remarkable women in their scripts—did not do better.
When asked if Salim–Javed’s notions of a strong woman were dated, Carla Miriam Levy says, ‘Perhaps they are, but only in the sense that they were written to be relevant in their time, and this time is not that time. I don’t think they are any more or less dated than Vijay, the Angry Young Man they created. He had particular relevance and resonance in the time of the Emergency—today’s heroes have little of that anger and anti-establishment force to them—and yet he continues to be a moving and engaging character.’
Missing Father, Iconic Mother
‘Aur khush kismati se woh meri maa hain’ lxxvii—Inspector Ravi Verma in Deewaar
Salim Khan lost his mother to tuberculosis when he was nine; Javed Akhtar to an autoimmune disease when he was eight. Due to the nature of their work, both their fathers had been somewhat distant even before their mothers died. As a police officer in a problematic region of Madhya Pradesh (which included dacoit-infested areas), Salim’s father had to travel a lot. Javed’s father had to remain underground for extended periods of time because of his affiliation with the Communist Party, which had been declared unlawful by the British government.
Both mothers—in the short time they had with their sons—left indelible marks on them. Salim still recalls his mother’s strict lessons in honesty on one hand and how, on the other, she was not able to be with her children due to her illness. Salim’s father also passed away within a few years of his mother’s death, just as he was beginning to forge a relationship with his youngest son. Thereafter, it was Salim’s elder brothers (and faithful family retainers) who took care of him till he became an adult.
Javed’s mother Safia was a poet and a college teacher, and held very progressive values. After her death he was sent to live with relatives. Javed was upset with his father for being absent during his childhood. The friction between the two increased when he arrived in Bombay after his graduation to stay with his father. Jan Nisar Akhtar had remarried by then and Javed was unable to live with his father and stepmother for more than a week. He explains that his past baggage was also responsible for him exiting the household, ‘I was nineteen when I came to Bombay. I couldn’t get along with my father. Perhaps because we had lived so much apart and there were so many unresolved misunderstandings and hurts.’ Javed stayed on in Bombay, continuing to work for pitifully small amounts but he never let people know he was famous lyricist Jan Nisar Akhtar’s son.
Having spent their childhoods without parental guidance and protection, both men came to depend heavily on their circle of friends for physical and mental sustenance, some of them even becoming mentors for brief periods of time. And many of the duo’s experiences found their way into their films.
Deewaar opens with the two sons hero-worshipping their idealist father. The turning point of this traditional relationship comes when, unable to bear the burden of his professional ignominy, the father deserts his family. Vijay—having borne the brunt of the wrath intended for the father—turns away from him and becomes silently resentful of his behaviour. This concept of the ‘missing father’ was not unique to Deewaar (though, admittedly, it was portrayed the best in that film).
Each one of Salim–Javed’s films—without exception—has a missing father. Some reviewers have interpreted this as a symbol of the state that was increasingly missing in action, leaving hapless citizens to fend for themselves in burgeoning inflation, corruption and criminalization. But a more direct reason could be the two writers’ own traumatic childhood experiences. Salim Khan says, ‘I did not lack any material comfort when I was growing up but I cannot call my childhood happy because I did not get the love of my parents.’ Salim left his inheritance in Indore and came to Bombay facing an uncertain future—much like the young Shankar (Dharmendra) of Chacha Bhatija, who leaves his elder brother’s house after his beloved bhabhi is evicted.
The lead characters in Salim–Javed’s films have fathers who were either killed (Zanjeer, Yaadon Ki Baaraat, Kranti) or who died early, leaving the hero to fend for himself (Haathi Mere Saathi, Seeta Aur Geeta, Haath Ki Safai, Majboor). However, the most memorable films were the ones in which the father was alive but had an adversarial relationship with the son.
In Deewaar, the father (Satyen Kappu) abandons his son. In Chacha Bhatija and Trishul, he (Rehman and Sanjeev Kumar respectively) deserts the wife, thus depriving the son of his identity. In Kaala Patthar, the father (Iftekhar) takes a principled stand and refuses to accept his disgraced son. And, in the most contentious relationship of all, in Shakti, the father (Dilip Kumar) puts his duty as a police officer above his son and alienates him for life. Even when his son is an adult, he shows little respect for his abilities, though he loves him. The relationship ends with the policeman father putting duty first once again.
Even in their later films (after separation), the father continued to be a missing character. The two brothers in Naam have to fend for themselves and their widowed mother. Though the father is physically present in Arjun, he is unable to protect his son against both internal (stepmother) and external attacks (the loca
l dadas). As the hero grows in strength, the father just vanishes from the scene.
The exact antithesis of the father—missing or antagonistic—was the iconic mother, an epitome of virtue and strength. Whenever the father was missing, the mother also faced great difficulties but she never turned away from her husband. When his co-workers are bullying Anand Verma’s sons, they are also taunting his wife Sumitra Devi, but she does not waver from her devotion. When the younger son speaks about his father’s cowardice, the mother reacts violently at first and then explains, ‘Unhone jo kuch kiya, hamare liye kiya. Taki hum zinda reh sake, jee sake.’lxxviii Obviously, she understands that her husband was under duress and puts him on a pedestal.
It would be interesting to note here how Javed recalls his mother projecting his father to him. ‘While my father was alive she never let us feel abandoned by him. She always made us proud of our father who was a great poet, a communist. She explained that he wasn’t at home because of this great cause. We used to hero-worship him, but after she died and we started living with our maternal relatives, I did feel let down by him. And that created a kind of resentment in me, an anger and a who-cares attitude.’ The feelings Javed had for his father seem to mirror those Deewaar’s Vijay has about his father.
The mother in Shakti is very similar to the mother in Deewaar—in terms of the balance they have between the love for their sons and their moral sense. In addition, she is the bridge between the two men in her life—both of whom open up to her but never to each other. She dutifully represents both sides and loves both of them equally, taking sides only when her son crosses over to the dark side. Film critic Sukanya Verma feels Sheetal (Rakhee) in Shakti probably leaned too much towards her husband. ‘I wish her commitment to her husband wasn’t so unquestioning. She could have bridged the gap of growing resentment and lack of communication between her husband and son long ago and saved their lives from irreversible catastrophe.’ The ultimate tragedy of this character is that father and son finally open up while weeping uncontrollably at her funeral, but even that is not enough to form a lasting bridge between the two.
Written by Salim-Javed: The Story of Hindi Cinema’s Greatest Screenwriters Page 21