The Hindu Business Line : Remembering Hrishida

Newspaper offices were shut on Sunday when Hrishida died in Mumbai and the TV channels had no heart for the director, as they could not get bytes from a dead man.

HRISHIKESH MUKHERJEE

"Babumoshaii," in Anand of Hrishikesh Mukherjee; "Are wo kaaliya, kitne ko mare," Gabbar Singh in Sholay. The twin, forever dialogues could form a comprehensive first step in any study of Indian cinema, art and commercial. Many may not endorse the choice being restricted to Hindi films as there could be similar power-point displays in the cinema of other Indian languages.

One has seen quite a few Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Malayalam and Marathi films of the arty and non-arty type but no dialogue or moment stick in the head as much; possibly the rather grouchy films made by Ray, Ghatak, Shyam Benegal, Adoor Gopalakrishnan (does this man suffer from indigestion?) do not offer any such fresh and catchy conversations. "Mogambo khush hua," delivered with a leery smile by Amrish Puri in Mr. India could be the third strand of Hindi filmy dialogue, which could always be talked about at a bar or at a tea shop.

In many ways, "Babumoshaii" stands for the many decent, cheery pictures made by Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Sai Paranjape and Basu Chatterjee, while the Sholay script became the template for years of `dishum-dishum' films with Ram Gopal Verma taking over from Sippy.

Sholay is not just a violent film; it puts on screen a society turning hostile with the gun and bomb deciding economic and political debates, demanding a share of wealth.

Is there not a sure likeness between the swagger of Amjad Khan as Gabbar and our politicians across parties? Amjad knows to kill, employs gangs to do his bidding, all again like our political class who will not accept any dissent. They bristle when people protest.

Rajesh Khanna in setting out on the "Babumoshaii" lines refers to times when there was less of mobile-induced stress, people chatted at street corners and laughed at each other. Living was not all violence.

Hrishida alone could have put on the screen a Chupke Chupke (1975) or an Anand (1970) or a Guddi (1971) as he never even thought it any worth mimicking the "intellectual directors". Possibly he did not care a drop for them having got the initial training under Bimal Roy.

A rather nimble story line with lots of fun and Hrishida could be behind the camera making a film with top line actors like Rajesh Khanna, Dharmendra, Amitabh and Jaya Bahaduri. Perhaps, Hrishida would have enjoyed Iqbal released last year with Naseeruddin Shah in a cricketer's role.

In the 1970s, parts of India were torn up by the Naxal revolt, which got Mrinal Sen to capture the political mood of the young. Sippy trapped it in Hindi filmi style with Sholay more true even today to the events in Bihar and Uttar Pradesh.

In the 70s, this writer was young and in the then Bombay walking from one theatre to another on holidays to gaze with stars in the eyes at the screen in front.

On drinks, one practised the flourish of an Amitabh in Deewar and Zanjeer, and kept secret for a long time a wish to be an important extra or a supporting actor. One was cut out to see films and not earn public plaudits for a screen shot.

I recall seeing Amar Prem over three shows at the same theatre on the same day. One bought a ticket for the matinee show and when it was over, stood at the ticket counter to buy a ticket for the evening and night shows. That night one did not sleep. Rajesh, Sharmila, the Howrah Bridge and the songs of Kishore kept one awake.

Newspaper offices were shut on Sunday when Hrishida died in Mumbai and the TV channels had no heart for the director, as they could not get bytes from a dead man.

Mrinal Sen, in a short piece in The Times of India, brings back the days when he, Ritwik Ghatak, Salil Chaudhuri, Tapas Sen and Hrishi met regularly at Paradise Café on Hazra Road in the then Calcutta.

"We would all dream of success - of flying, soaring in the sky," Sen writes. All of them made it, each his own way and for me Hrishida was the most satisfying.

At the office, one badly missed Dhimant Bhatt for his enormous, Hindi film know-how. That man can tell you everything about any Hindi film: director, hero, heroine, villain, comedian and music.

In the afternoon, when Dhimant, Amit and this writer used to go for a cup of tea near Air India, he would croon some of the best lines in Hindi and Urdu poetry.

"College mein film nahin chhodtha tha (In college I never missed films)," he used to tell us.

On Sunday, Dhimant was busy with the Ganesh festival as otherwise he would have gone on and on, like some poet with spare thoughts in his pocket, over Hrishida.

Amit, another film-mad type, amply makes up for Dhimant. "At Vizag, I used to see every film. Language did not matter.

In Mumbai, it is costly with a ticket in a multiplex costing about Rs 200," he told me as we sipped cups of tea.

He is one Bengali gentleman who does not have the putting off airs of a Kolkatan Bengali nor does he like Kolkata much. Like Bijoy Ghosh in Chennai speaking Tamil, Amit drools in Telugu over Vizag. "Granted, Hrishida may not be among the greats but he will be remembered by many for the fine hours of viewing. You came out of the theatre with an urge to go back to see the film again. Not like these days when guns and bombs do all the acting and films do not need directors," Amit added.

P. Devarajan

More Stories on : People | Reflections | Cinema

Article E-Mail :: Comment :: Syndication :: Printer Friendly Page

Stories in this Section
Modular kitchen showroom in Kochi

Sudoku

India to be promoted as global healthcare hub

Remembering Hrishida