The silence of the night was broken by sobs. Krishan, our neighbour’s son in the city of Sirsa, northern India, was being walloped again for sneaking away to watch the movie Junglee. It was 1961. Despite having already seen the movie eight times, he had returned home around 1am after watching the final screening for the night. But his father, Dyan Chand, was waiting with a cane to beat the movie bug out of his son.
In 2008, I saw a large man in the reception room of a dental clinic in Mumbai. His face seemed familiar. It was Shammi Kapoor, the star of Junglee. Besides being the cause of Krishan’s canings, he could create traffic jams with his sheer presence in the 1960s. I spoke to him of his family’s days in Peshawar, Pakistan, and his face brightened. Later I reflected on the fact that a man who was once a national idol was all alone when he had a toothache five decades later. Such is the fickleness of fame.
Youngsters in the 1950s and 1960s were often forbidden to watch movies, as they were supposed to corrupt their values. In a tradition-bound society where boys and girls were not even supposed to talk to each other, film actors held hands, danced around trees, defied their parents and married across caste and community. Movies were considered a waste of time, so a visit to a cinema was always a clandestine venture.
In Lahore, movies were popular but not the rage when I saw my first film, Yamla Jat, in 1942. Actors like Prithviraj Kapoor, Noor Jahan, Leela Chitnis, K L Saigal and Pran were admired but did not have the demigod status many actors now enjoy.
Many of today’s stars fought anonymity and rejection. Dilip Kumar started life as a fruit seller named Yusuf Khan. Amitabh Bachchan did not have a home in Mumbai, so the comedian Mehmood offered him a room. These men kept going with faith in themselves and the burning desire to succeed.
Hollywood, too, abounds with sagas of struggles. Gene Hackman and Dustin Hoffman were voted as “the least likely to succeed” by their class in 1956. Nevertheless they were determined. Hackman was nominated for five Academy Awards. He won two, including best actor in The French Connection. Hoffman did odd jobs for a decade and struggled to get roles. Eventually, he was nominated for seven Oscars, winning two.
Successful actors gauge audience moods and adapt. Indian actor and director Raj Kapoor, who modelled many of his roles on Charlie Chaplin’s “tramp” character, became an integral part of every family. Realising that music throbs in every heart, he teamed up with Shankar Jaikishan and Mukesh to produce some memorable melodies.
Many stars are flabbergasted by their success. Superstar Rajesh Khanna held undisputed sway over Indian hearts for many years. Every eye in India wept in the movie Aradhana at the woes that befall him. Girls signed proposal letters to him with blood. As Jatin Khanna (his real name), he was perplexed by the phenomenon that he had become.
Movies are a window to the world. The likes of High Noon, Citizen Kane, Gone with the Wind, Casablanca, Lawrence of Arabia, Dr Zhivago, Gandhi and Schindler’s List expose us to a wide range of human emotions and experiences.
As director Ingmar Bergman wrote in his autobiography: “No art passes our conscience in the way film does and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls.”
India now produces about 3,000 films a year, and there has been steady decline in quality and content. Box-office considerations have replaced the art of etching characters in realistic detail. Stories have been replaced by sensationalism. Emotions have given way to bizarre stunts. With a blow, the hero sends the villain cartwheeling into the skies. Lyrics in songs have been replaced by wacky sound-effects to ensure songs play at nightclubs.
Movies can be a vibrant medium of positive social change. They can spread messages about the treatment of women, hygiene and productivity. However, for movies to become agents of change in developing societies like India, melodrama will have to give way to sensible scripts.
Now with satellite TV and internet streaming, movies have become an integral part of the lives of youngsters. I wonder what Dyan Chand, who considered films a corroding influence in 1961, would have to say.
Hari Chand Aneja is an 93-year-old former corporate executive who keeps busy with charity work
