Throwing away the mould

Family-endorsed biographies start with a basic handicap. They tend to lack objectivity, becoming an exercise in hero worship. Fortunately, Akshay Manwani’s biography of Nasir Husain, Music Masti Modernity: The Cinema of Nasir Husain , steers away from the predictable. It uses to its advantage a lovely foreword by Aamir Khan, some rare photographs and interviews shared by the family members, but, at the same time, avoids getting trapped in painting Husain a superhero. The book does not carry the tag of an official biography. But, given the extremely hard-to-get interviews (for instance, one of Asha Parekh, which is as comprehensive as it could be) featured here, one is tempted to label it as such.

From the outset, however, Manwani clarifies that the book is not a biography. This is true to some extent; the book has enough material to be labelled a traditional biography, but it actually goes far beyond that. It talks about the various facets of Husain’s life in a delightful, non-chronological narrative.

Broadly classified, Music Masti Modernity is a collection of essays — stand-alone, yet closely knit, highlighting Husain’s career, leitmotifs, musical sensibilities, lost-and-found formulae, efforts at neo-realism, failure, heartbreak, and resurgence. A chapter each is dedicated to Shammi Kapoor and RD Burman, two of the most important personalities who shaped the Husain insignia. The book is extensively researched. Manwani has made an effort to watch (multiple times) not only the films which Husain directed, wrote or produced, but also films related to his subjects and genre, assemble the imports, interview — extensively — a major chunk of people, including technicians and musicians, associated with Husain, augment the research with inputs from fellow writers, teachers, bloggers, and compile the same into chapters, both comprehensible and enjoyable.

Manwani makes a very important observation. Nobody considered Husain’s work serious or socially relevant in the context of Indian cinema. On deeper analysis, Husain actually emerges as a harbinger of change. His heroes were not people who languished in love. They were not nation builders, but they contributed to society in their own, exultant way. They did not feel shy romancing girls and breaking into a rhythmic, fast-paced song, when most men of the era felt obliged to strive by the tenets of Nehruvian socialism. The ‘renegade’ tag was not reserved for the hyper-active romantic who ended up at the wrong end of the firing squad. He could be a happy-go-lucky kid, amiable and altruistic, without the baggage of Gandhian principles. Husain actually outlined the average young working Indian male, who, like the character Leon in Ninotchka (1939), would rather have an alert mind, a fit body, an appeased landlord, and a more-than-happy girlfriend. In hindsight, it was probably more realistic than the make-believe seriousness of Raj Kapoor and Guru Dutt.

Likewise, Manwani has also discussed how Husain helped the leading lady morph from the roti - dhoti - sanskari - bharatiya - nari with a two-feet pallu into a chic, westernised, rebellious woman who has no problem entertaining friends with liquor (however, she would stop short of consuming spirits herself). Modern-day Kangana Ranaut characters in films like Queen (2015) and Tanu Weds Manu (2011) can consider Husain’s characters their spiritual ancestors.

The book mentions that while the leading characters were different from the industry stereotype, the act of rebellion had a Lakshman- rekha . The heroes were not anti-heroes. They were not Machiavellian. They did not go against the law (with exceptions like Shankar in Yaadon ki Baaraat [1973]). The heroines were not nymphomaniacs. They did not romance multiple men. They had a point of view, which, given the circumstances, could be different from what their parents had in mind.

There’s quite a bit of discussion on how music plays a stellar role in Husain’s films. From Aamir to Mansoor Khan, a lot of the interviewees discuss Husain’s role in shaping the music in his films, and how he had the magical ability to earmark the tune he wanted after sifting through a whole bunch played to him by the composer. The best part is the manner in which Manwani has assembled the chapters. The synthesis is logical and organic. He avoids clichés. Academic discussions are kept to a minimum. This is a serious work, but the book is actually a light read.

Minor nitpicking: I wish Manwani had exorcised flab. The book should have been at least 30 pages thinner. The reliance on bloggers and teachers to repeatedly supplement something already proven is tantamount to padding.

Given that the book has more than 400 pages, Manwani does not go into the details of the films which were called off (except Zabardast ). Though he tries to get interviews corroborated, he does not use his own counsel to establish facts. Barring such minor quibbles, this remains a superlative book. Music Masti Modernity is sincere, and the finest book about an Indian filmmaker I have read in a long, long time.

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