Date – June, 1954.

Related Category – Hindi Film Industry

Caption – The fair charmer holds her handsome admirer spell-bound by her dance – Suraiya and C.H. Atma in Meena Movies’ “BilwaMangal.”

Suraiya and C.H. Atma on the sets of Bilwamangal (1954).

Date – June, 1954.

Related Category – Hindi Film Industry

Caption – Expounding the intricacies of the law to his colleagues at the bar is Dilip Kumar (right), starring with Madhubala and Nimi in Mehboob Productions’ “Amar”.

Dilip Kumar and others on the sets of Amar (1954).

Year – 1962

Language – Hindi

Country – India

Producer – Mehboob Production

Director – Mehboob

Music Director – Naushad

Box-Office Status –

Cast – Kumkum, Kamaljeet, Jayant Kumar, Kanhaiyalal, Simmi, Lilian, Sulochana, Mukri, Sajid, Murad, Bakhtawar

Miscellaneous Information –

THE awe inspired by the imposing credits and spectacular opening scenes of “Son of India” gives way to a feeling of confusion as the film progresses, and the confusion in turn becomes bewilderment by the time the film ends, as to what it is all about.

The “son” is a precocious eight-year old who forsakes his home to look for his father who five years ago fell victim to a nefarious gang. The youngster takes gods and gangsters in his stride. And certainly his stride is big, for he merrily undertakes almost a walking tour of India in the course of his search. Patriotic speeches, tirades against the evils of drink and exposes of blackmarketeering and electioneering rackets are interspersed through the film’s heavy footage. Characters pop up from nowhere and disappear. The exigencies of time and place are brushed aside so that the overall effect is sometimes of a dream, and sometimes of a nightmare, sequence.

The sequences by themselves are plausible and dramatic, but they have not been knit into an acceptable screenplay. This is “Son of India’s” basic shortcoming.

Considering that the film’s main burden falls on young Sajid’s slender shoulders, he acquits himself creditably indeed. If sometimes he sounds like Father India, the fault is certainly not his. He is made to match his wits against the smooth, gum-chewing, suave, dyed-in-the-wool blackguard J. B., played with such commendable restraint by Jayant that our so-called “villains” with their gnashing teeth and rolling eyes appear merely amateurs in comparison.

Kamaljeet has expressive eyes and a dramatic profile which will stand him in good stead once he has mastered the technique of diction and acquired ease and confidence before the camera. In this film he has been rather let down by a screenplay which so often at crucial moments gives him nothing to say so that he has to stand about looking futile. Kum Kum as the mother impresses by her dancing. Bakhtawar with her simple and Simi with her sophisticated charm contribute to the visual appeal. Kanhaiyalal as a drunkard and Kumar as the grandfather are other victims of the screenplay. Young Shaheed gives a winsome performance.

Naushad’s music while remaining in the background yet makes an effective contribution. This reviewer has always maintained that Naushad is perhaps alone among our music directors in his comprehension of the true purpose and significance of background music. He has in this particular case received excellent support from lyricist Shakeel Badayuni in the songs “Aaj ki taza khabar” and “Insan tha pahele bandar” and in the gazal picturised on Kamaljeet and rendered by Mohammed Rafi.

The dance ensembles which are as spectacular as in any film from Hollywood, the elaborate color sets and stupendous locations combine with the magnificent sweep of Faredoon Irani’s camera to impart to the film a quality of grandeur. But then, grandeur is not greatness.

You may find it unbelievable, but it was a tiny potato that spoilt an entire evening of mine.

Some three years ago, when I had just made my debut as a star, I was invited to a formal dinner at one of Bombay’s leading restaurants.

I dread formal dinners. I knew I would not know many of the invitees at this one.

My mother did her best to put me at ease, but I was trembling throughout the drive to the restaurant. “Oh, Mummy, let’s go back,” I said. “How can I eat and speak at the same time and show no sign of nervousness?”

“You have to come out of your shell one day,” said my mother. “Besides, you may have to attend a lot of important functions from now on.”

Luckily I was seated in front of the chief guest and not next to him. I was getting along smoothly, and I thought the guests were quite impressed by me and so was my mother who was looking at me appreciatively.

I finished my soup sooner than the chief guest, who was eating little and talking a lot. The next course—Russian salad—was served to me. It had tiny potatoes in it. I had by now gained some confidence. My knees were no longer shaking and I had started enjoying my dinner.

“Do you like Bombay?” I asked the guest of honor (he was not a Bombay man) and absent-mindedly drove my fork into a potato. To my horror, the potato slipped from under the prongs of my fork, flew from my plate and landed in the chief guest’s soup, splashing some on his expensive suit.

He did not answer my question. He just stared at me. I was so embarrassed I could not even apologise. The only thing I managed to blurt out was, “It was my potato.” What a confession! Of course, every one knew that it was mine. And I worst of all.

Date – November, 1953.

Related Category – Hindi Film Industry

Caption – The seeming show of temperament on the sets is merely director S.U. Sunny demonstrating to South India’s Surya Kumari, co-starring with Nimmi and Dilip Kumar in “Udan Khatola,” just how an angry lass should let herself go – and Surya, it’s evident, has already got the idea.

Actress Surya Kumari and director S.U. Sunny on the sets of Udan Khatola (1953), released in 1955.

Year – 1961

Language – Urdu

Country – Pakistan

Producer – Kh.Riaz Akhter

Director – Kh.Riaz Akhter

Music Director – Bakshi Wazir

Box-Office Status – Flop

Cast – Nasreen, Sultan, Ajmal, Zareef

Miscellaneous Information –

A few words my mother wrote on my autograph book when I was a little girl have made me what I am today. They were words of wisdom.

“Always keep away from three things – Jealousy, dissatisfaction and complexes, and you will be happy all your life,” she wrote.

And I have all along striven to keep away from these three “evils”.

For seven years I was the only child in the family and my grandmother’s pet. But, although I spent most of my time with her, I was more attached to my mother, who comforted me in my little troubles. I never kept anything back from my mother. Even today she is my best friend and my confidante.

I remember when I was four years old a friend of my mother remarked after taking a long and disapproving look at me, “Honestly, Shobhana what an ugly child you have!”

I did not quite understand what had been said, but I knew instinctively that it concerned me – and not too favorably. When I asked my mother later what her friend had said and she told me, I was very hurt. But Mummy comforted me and said, “You should take that as a compliment. An ugly duckling grows into a beautiful swan.”

That satisfied me, and whenever anyone remarked on my looks, I would say to them, “Just you wait and see. When I grow up I shall be as pretty as Mummy.”

I meant it, because I believed what my mother had told me.

I was and still am, my mother’s most ardent admirer. I used to watch her while she applied make-up. In the morning before leaving for the studio. After she had left, I would examine my face in the mirror, wishing I could be as beautiful as she.

But such thoughts didn’t give me a feeling of inferiority because I had the patience to wait until I grew up.

Now my fans say I have a pretty face, but the praise has not given me a feeling of superiority either, for I am aware of my drawbacks. I am still an ugly duckling compared to the beautiful swans.

I am not being modest in saying so – I am only frank. I have always had a clear conscience. I admit my mistakes at the first opportunity, because I believe one can get away from others but not from oneself.

I have certain principles in life from which I will not budge an inch under any circumstances.

I do not want to achieve anything at the cost of self-respect. I am therefore called proud. But there is a difference between being proud and being reserved. I mix with people who have the same principles as I. What is more important is that they are of the same age as I.

Of course, one cannot have friends always. And sometimes one has to associate with people whose thoughts and ideas are different. I take such situations as an experience, because it is most interesting to study people and their ways of thinking. This study helps me a great deal in my screen work.

I also watch passers-by in the street, trying to make out from their expressions what they might be thinking, what they might be like, and so on. It is a fascinating pastime.

Once when I was out driving, I saw the owner-driver of another car in fits of laughter all by himself. I knew immediately that he must have thought of something amusing and couldn’t contain himself. And laughter is so infectious that for the rest of the way I was overtaken by a fit of laughing. People, puzzled and amused, looked at me.

I have always been very sensitive, and the least thing hurts me. I hate to hurt others, but sometimes I do so unconsciously, and when I realize what I have done, I do not think anyone can feel more sorry and disgusted with me than I am myself.

When I am roused, I do not flare up in a temper. I just sulk. The members of my family know the symptoms only too well.

Whenever I am in such a mood, or feeling sad, I lie in bed. My numerous pets are then a consolation to me. One licks my face while another comes wagging his tail as if to say, “Come, get busy, pet me. You’ll forget everything.” The rest sit and stare, waiting for me to play with them. I cannot resist fondling them and I say goodbye to my “bad mood.”

I have a sort of sixth sense, a premonition of events – good as well as bad. But I am not superstitious. I am guided by my own feelings and they have always led me along the right path. I usually follow the advice, “When in doubt follow your heart and not your mind.” Whenever I fail to do so, I find I have cause to regret my action later.

Sometimes ago, I used to think I was very clever. But when I met more experienced people, I realized where I stood – at the foot of a mountain, whose peaked reached to the stars and whose reflection in the lake below went deeper than I could imagine. Now I know that the knowledge I have gathered is as insignificant as a grain of sand in a vast desert. I have much to learn…. (This interview was conducted in September, 1956).

Date – January, 1963.

Related Category – Hindi Film Industry

Caption – Dilip Kumar, music-directors Shanker, Naushad and Jaikishen and Raj Kapoor at the Samar Sangeet organized by the Cine Music Directors’ Association in aid of the National Defence Fund. Music-directors S.D. Burman, C. Ramchandra, Ghulam Mohammad, Vasant Desai, N. Dutta, Nashad (Shaukat Dehalvi), Batish and Usha Khanna were among those who took part in the programme.

Date – July, 1957.

Related Category – Hindi Film Industry

Caption – A star who is very much a stay-at-home, Kalpana Kartik is seeing playing with her little son Suneel Anand.

“RATNA DEEP” brought to theatre-fronts in many parts of the country a star name not so well known outside Bengal. The name was Anubha Gupta’s and the success of the film brought her national fame.

The consummate skill with which Anubha put over her emotional role as the bahurani earned unstinted praise from the critics, for. with a genius which is her very own, she revealed the soul of the Indian woman in this film role.

Entering films in 1946. Anubha Gupta rapidly worked her way to the top among Bengal’s film stars. Within six short years – not very long time to have been in films – she has completed a total of twenty-four appearances on the screen and, to each one of the roles she has portrayed, she has brought a depth of understanding, feeling and subtlety which are within the power of only the great artist. Her interpretation and emotional intensity in “Ratna Deep” bespeak the supreme tragedienne.

One can, of course, link the manner in which Anubha gives expression to her talents with her training as an artist. Shantiniketan and its influence helped to mould her, for to this great centre of the learning her father, an official in the Railways with frequent changes of head-quarters, sent her as a child. She had early displayed the greatest fondness for singing and dancing and at Shantiniketan, she re arts and received her initiation in the modes of artistic expression.

This sound training has been the foundation of her success both as a singer, and film actress. When she left Shantiniketan, Anubha — young, accomplished and dynamic—looked for a field where she could put her talents and training to use. Her gifts as a singer brought her to notice and Robin Chatterjee, the well-known music director, introduced her to films as a playback singer. Cinegoers marveled at the new voice they heard and, while they wondered who the newcomer might be, the producers, from their acquaintance with the singer in person, considered her youthful beauty and charm additional ,assets to the screen. Thus Anubha soon made her debut as an actress, playing opposite Kamal Mitra in “Samarpan”.

Followed a number of pictures with emotional roles in which she was outstanding and parts, not so rewarding, in which she yet contrived to shine. The first big break of her career came with Debaki Bose’s “Kavi”, in which film her performance elevated her from assignments as a character- player to the status of a star.

Anubha Gupta’s chance in “Kavi” came about in an unusual way. She had borrowed Tarasankar Bannerjee’s book “Kavi” and became absorbed in the story and its principal character, Thakurjee. The idea of playing this part in a film appealed strongly to her and, by the strangest of coincidences, she obtained her wish soon. Director Debaki Bose one day sent for her and laid before her a passage from the book relating to Thakurjee.

Anubha did not have to read the book or the screenplay, and her instinctive knowledge of the requirements of the characterization made Bose offer her the film role without hesitation. Her faithful portrayal of Thakurjee on the screen justified his choice of her.

Between “Kavi” and “Ratna Deep” Anubha Gupta has acquitted herself with credit in a variety of roles, playing parts so widely different as that of a frivolous girl and the characterization of a deeply emotional woman. In “Jaban Sandi” she played the part of a coquette searching for love outside the matrimonial bonds, with tears lurking behind her gaiety and the tragedy of her entire life revealed only at the end of her story. Anubha’s performance was superb.

Equally distinguished was her role in “Abhijatya”, in which film she played the simple village maid pining for her lover. The character she portrayed in “Aristocracy” was again different, but she was equal to it. Then as Ghasette Begum in “Siraj-Ud-Doula”; Nalini, the fashionable girl fresh from college, in “Palli Samaj”; and the woman poet in “Kavi Chandrabati,” she turned out further memorable performances.

About the time Anubha Gupta commenced working in films, she met Anil De, the well-known football player and captain of the Mohun Bhagan team. Herself a lover of sports and an ardent football and boxing fan, she shared his enthusiasm for the game and their common interest led to marriage. She is still very much a games enthusiast and plays cricket, badminton and table-tennis with gusto.

During the International Film Festival held last year in Calcutta, she scored the highest number of points in the field events in which film personalities took part, and in the cricket-match she was the top-scorer, batting for more than one hour.

Typically a girl fond of outdoor activities and glowing with health, Anubha is essentially feminine. She loves to look after her home, is simple and modest, and there is in her no trace of the sophistication one might expect in a woman whose work is in films. On a first meeting. one is immediately struck by these qualities (Interviewed by Beharilal Aggarwal in 1953).

Real Name – Rama Sharma

Profession – Actress

Active Years – 1950s

Nationality – Indian

Religion – Hindu

Ethnicity –

Date of Birth –

Date of Death –

Debut Film – Nau Bahaar (1952)

Last Film –

Significant others in the Film Industry –

Miscellaneous Info – Rama Sharma who made her screen debut in “Nau Bahar” in a tiny but charming role, was a petite beauty culled after a national hunt from the Republic’s capital, Delhi. Gifted with rare talent as a dancer, trained in the classic dance techniques, well educated and of a good family, Rama showed considerable promise as an actress.

Other notable film to her credit include Firdaus (1953), where she played the part of abused and maltreated wife with confidence.

Filmographies might not be 100% accurate or complete because of various reasons including artistes with similar names

Photo Caption – On the sets of Mukesh Films’ “Anuraag” with director Madhusudan (right) rehearsing Mridula and Baby Shashi. Producer Mukesh, who plays hero, looks on. (Picture taken in 1953).

Year – 1956

Language – Hindi

Country – India

Producer – Mukesh Films

Director – Madhusudan

Music Director – Mukesh

Box-Office Status –

Cast – Pratima Devi, Mridula, Mukesh, Usha Kiran, Shivraj, Uma Devi

Miscellaneous Information –

Photo Caption – The convalescent in the hospital bed is Karan Dewan and doctoring him is M. Siddiqui, with the youthful Jabeen (leading lady), Baby Naaz (just visible) and Paro watching anxiously. A scene from Aina Pictures’ “Guzaara” which S.M. Yusuf, facing the actors, directs (Picture taken in 1953).

Year – 1954

Language – Hindi

Country – India

Producer – Aina Pictures

Director – S. M. Yusuf

Music Director – Ghulam Mohammed

Box-Office Status –

Cast – Karan Dewan, Naaz, Jabeen Jalil, Paro

Miscellaneous Information – Debut film of actress Jabeen Jali.

To be a success in life one should be diplomatic and should not fall shy of flattering the boss when occasion arises. This is the tip which Anwar Hussain, one of the well-known character artistes in Bombay, offered in the course of a frank talk with me the other day. “You may have talent and you may work hard for winning recognition but if you are blunt and straightforward and do not possess the special knack of pleasing your employer, you can never be in his good books and material success will elude you forever and ever. This is my experience during the last twenty-six years of my film career”.

With an uncanny talent for keeping audiences amused, undisputed histrionic ability and capacity for strenuous work, Anwar Hussain should be in the top, as an established artiste, but today, in spite of his good connections with the industry, he is just one of the struggling artistes, completely uncertain of what the morrow has in store for him. “That is because,” Anwar Hussain explained, “I have been independent and frightfully outspoken without currying favor. And so I am struggling and am not making any progress. It requires wits not talent, to win success in this land of make-believe.”

Continuing, Anwar Hussain said that it was his deep regard for his self-respect that made him take up an “independent” outlook. “Being the elder brother of the top star Nargis,” he pointed out, “I could gain certain things but I do not wish to take advantage of my position. It was this same ‘independent’ attitude that was responsible for my rustication from the school when I was eighteen years old.” Anwar Hussain thereupon disclosed that he was the second son of the late Jadanbai and Mohanlal (the first is Akhtar Hussain while the third is Nargis) and was born in Banaras on March 20th, 1920. He had his education in Calcutta and Bombay, where he studied up to matriculation, when an “unfortunate” incident culminating in his rustication from the school put an end to his studies.

Anwar Hussain made his acting debut when he was eleven years old in a picture called ‘Raja Gopichand’. Then he appeared in a number of juvenile roles in the pictures made by his parents like “Talash-e-Haq”, “Madam Fashion”, “Moti ka Haar” and “Call of the Soul”. He started earning an income when he commenced working as a commission agent and general supplier in Bhopal State in 1939, Migrating to Bombay, he learnt automobile engineering but when an opportunity came his way, he joined the Bombay Station of A.I.R. as an artiste, in which capacity he worked for three years.

Anwar Hussain had his big break in films when producer-director A.R. Kardar discovered his talent at a lavish party, in which he had produced and directed a play for the amusement of the guests. He thus played his first major role in Kardar’s ‘Sanjog’. That was in 1941. With its success Anwar landed a hero role in his next vehicle ‘Jeevan’, which again proved to be a hit. The picture that followed, ‘Pahele Aap’, brought him to the forefront as one of the leading artistes. A new phase in his career opened up when he started playing character roles from the production of his brother’s film ‘Romeo Juliet’. He has so far appeared in about fifty films, memorable among them being ‘Hum Log’, ‘Awaaz’, ‘Naya Aadmi’, ‘Baarish’, ‘Footpath’ and ‘Capt. Kishore’. He is now featured in A.V.M’s ‘Char Bhai’, (Hindi version of ‘Kuladeivam’), ‘Khazanchi’, ‘Police’ and ‘Yahudi Ki Ladki’. Happily married he has four sons and a daughter. In the field of sport, he is good at cricket, hockey and table tennis. (Interviewed by T.M. Ramachandran, contributed by Sudarshan Talwar).

Photo Caption – Meena Shorey in London, broadcasting a women’s talk in Hindi on the B.B.C (1951).

She is today the acknowledged top comedienne of the Indian screen and ranks second only to Raj Kapoor in the hierarchy of comedy artistes.

Meena was born in Ferozepore on September 13, 1926. Her father owned a considerable piece of land and a dyeing factory. Meena had two brothers and a sister. She was the naughtiest of the lot. Her father put her to school but she ran away saying : “I have no interest in study — the teacher is not good-looking”. She befriended the street-waifs and stalked the streets with them, playing pranks on the neighbors. It was only natural that she often got a thrashing.

Acting coursed through Meena’s blood and she longed for a life on the stage. So she frequently slipped away from home to visit a theatre situated nearby. She was 12 when she was caught acting on the stage. With the help of a friend she had secured the role of Leila, legendary love-swain of Persia, in a public performance, and, without knowing her father was one of the audience, moved forward dramatically from the wings into the glare of the footlights. “Farewell, my love”, Meena cried aloud to her stage lover waving her hands (“Ruksat mere pyar”–was the Urdu sentence).

Her outraged papa leapt on to the stage, caught and dragged her down by the hair. As they struggled out of the hall she wiped away her tears and turning to the stunned audience waved her arms to repeat “Farewell, my love”, and in a more natural fashion than she had done on the stage. But it was not farewell, only “au revoir”. A few years later she returned to her first love, the stage, as a full-fledged artiste in a theatrical company in Calcutta and on a monthly salary sufficient to support her ageing parents.

The morning after her father awoke to a realization of Meena’s attachment to the stage the family left the city, fearing that she would bring disgrace to their fair name. But as if to warn, from that moment misfortune began to dog the head of the house. Before he left Ferozepore with his two wives and children the family lost all their belongings in a theft. They moved to Lahore and then to Calcutta, but their troubles kept pace with them and kept on increasing. Then came the offer of a leading role in a theatre in Calcutta on a monthly salary of Rs. 350, which was quite a princely sum in those days for the 13-year-old girl Meena was. Her father was first bitterly opposed to the proposal but later reconciled himself to it on taking into account that his daughter’s earnings would considerably ease his financial straits and help in the education of Meena’s brothers and sisters.

Meena was a roaring success from the day the curtains first rose on her. She was a gifted artiste and was possessed of a voice that enraptured or tugged at the audience’s heart-strings. She was ably assisted by Nurjehan, Ramola, Mubarak and Jagdish Sethi, stage stars of the day, all of whom became famous later on the screen.

But success was short-lived as Meena had to leave the footlights when her family moved back to Lahore. To add to her personal tribulations her father wanted her to marry. Meena refused, saying that she would only wed the man of her choice. She had faith in her judgment — judgment that was to serve her ill in her later life for she was thrice confronted with matrimonial disaster.

After some months in Lahore, she left to call on Sohrab Modi in Bombay. She went to the muhurat of his film “Sikandar”. The movie mogul was struck by her winsome personality. He invited her for a screen test the next day and satisfied that she had the makings of a popular star engaged her on a monthly salary of Rs. 650 on a three-year contract. She acted an important role in “Sikandar”, played the lead in Modi’s next three films, “Phir Milenge”, “Pathroan ka Saudagar” and “Prithvi Vallabh” to win a position in the front rank of Bombay’s film artistes.

But she had signed the contract without knowing what it meant for she could neither read nor write. It gave rise to a bitter legal dispute when Meena left Minerva Movietone after four years. She then starred in “Shehr Se Dur”, “Patjhar”, “Arsi”, “Chaman”, “Ek Thi Larki”, “Raaj Rani”, “Dukhiayri”, “Kali Badal”, “Zevrat”, “Dholak” and “Actress”. Five of these films were jubilee hits.

While working in “Ek Teri Nishani” in Lahore, she met Roop K. Shorey, then a well-known film director and producer in the Punjab. They had many opportunities of meeting and Shorey was charmed by her naive simplicity and exotic beauty. They were married in Calcutta in December, 1949 and spent their honeymoon in Simla among the snow-clad mountains. Her success story is incomplete. The years have left her beauty unblemished and she is still excitingly photogenic with those large blue eyes and an intriguing dimple. At 26 she is the top comedienne of the screen.

Working almost exclusively for her director-producer husband Roop Shorey, she finds leisure and opportunity to indulge in the social graces—but she doesn’t. A quiet home life shared with her two adopted sons and a collection of rare and expensive dolls from all over the world is her idea of happiness. Sober and serious at home, she presents a sharp contrast to the giggling, laughing, howling Meena on the screen.

Yet Meena is nothing if not versatile. At a reception given to the Chinese Cultural Delegation at the Central Studios, Bombay, the organizers ran short of a musician to provide the music for a Punjabi song. Meena immediately volunteered to play the dholak and thrilled the audience with her performance. When giving a stage show for Indian troops in Kashmir, a storm swept over the Valley and the rain poured down in torrents. But the soldiers insisted that the show must go on and Meena acquiesced. “It was one of the best stage shows I ever participated in”, she says reflectively.
Meena will soon have her first Technicolor role in Roop Shorey’s next film “Abdullah”. When asked about her reactions she answered in her characteristic way : “Do I need Technicolor to look charming?”

She is beautiful and she knows it. (This interview was conducted in 1952)

Year – 1956

Language – Hindi

Country – India

Producer – Nagina Films

Director – Ravindra Dave

Music Director – Sardul Kwarta

Box-Office Status –

Cast – Altaf, Jalil, Jabeen, Nasir Khan, Helen, Bhagwan

Miscellaneous Information –

Miscellaneous Information –

“There are only two kinds of people,” said a cynic. “Those who live, and those who write diaries.” I never kept a diary and at this stage of my life there seems scarcely any likelihood of my doing so . Memory, of course, is a substitute, but a poor one, because when it casts its nets, the catch inevitably assumes a roseate hue.

In recollecting the past, one runs the risk of romanticizing it. The mind colors everything. And, being in a profession which makes one temperamental, moody and even hypersensitive, I realize that I am prone to this error more than other people.

The tendency to color everything, which is undeniably an aesthetic experience, frequently obscures reality and so overdresses an account of it that the substance is rendered meaningless.

So the writer cuts, chops and shapes his raw material to give it dramatic form. Whether this is permissible in writing a diary from memory is a moot point.

There are events in my life which on the surface seem to be mere trifles. But they stand out so vividly and so sharply that I must recount them here. Others have made deep wounds. They have left their marks. To think of them nearly makes my hair stand on end.

I am a small boy. I had gone to fetch milk for the house. I am walking home leisurely on the hot dusty street, lined with sprawling shops and crowded with people. Suddenly there is a commotion. There are shrieks and shouts. People are running in every direction—some stumble and fall. A mad dog is in the street. I panic and turn to run. The dog rushes out of the confused crowd and springs at me. I feel a sharp pain in my right arm. I drop the milk can and run home, crying. Blood is streaming from the bite just above my elbow.

I have the mark of that wound to this day… It is nothing serious. Other boys have been bitten by dogs. Yet I could color it any way I desire—say that I can still feel its effects. I am moody and variable. In the midst of laughter and gaiety I am lonely. I am disgusted for no apparent reason. Sudden, extreme happiness pervades me unaccountably, only to throw me as swiftly into despondency and despair. Why?

Well, that is color!

Moharram. It is the most awesome of religious festivals. Wailing and praying and beating their chests, masses of mourning humanity work themselves into a frenzy. Above this din and wailing rises the cry of a woman with her personal sorrow. Her four strapping sons have been killed in a lorry smash-up. Relations are mourning for them up there in her house. I sneak in. The four gruesomely mangled bodies are laid on the ground. Beating of chests above, beating of chests below, and the shrieking throng turns the night into a pandemonium of grief.

It is a harrowing experience, etched deep into my child-consciousness.

It is a sunny winter morning. A cold, sharp wind on my body, every nerve tingling, I feel exhilarated. I am happy, intensely, inexplicably happy as I come to the railway-tracks on my way to school.

There is a man working on the tracks. He is bare-bodied. He has only a loin-cloth. I am shocked. Why is he bare-bodied in this cold? The sun’s rays break into a million sparkling emeralds on the leaves, and a chill, inconstant breeze caresses me.

I am very happy to see the man. I don’t know him, but I shout a salutation to him and he responds with a smile.

In how many colors can this picture be painted? But the colors would all be misleading. I say it here because the picture itself is vivid, and comes back to me in moments of extreme happiness.

Nana, our elderly mali, is a great pal of mine. I sit for hours with him, listening as he talks in Marathi of his mother, his village, while our buffaloes graze in the field.

One day Nana’s back is turned to me. His box of “bidis” is lying near where I sit. I take a “bidi” from the box and light it, thinking it will evoke from him some exclamation, surprise or annoyance.

Nana turns to sit again. I put the “bidi” to my lips, inhale and puff out a thick cloud of smoke. Now! He will say something!

Nana was in mid-sentence when he sat down and he goes on talking. He has taken no notice of my smoking. To him, it is nothing untoward, so he says nothing. What is to me a big joke falls flat on him, and I like him all the more. I think he is very generous and lovable.

One day Nana’s hut was burned down. It was mid-afternoon, and there was an unearthly stillness in the fields. Nana was rushing in and out of the burning hut, rescuing his family, trying to salvage what belongings he could.

There were occasions when I saw Nana being very tender to his wife and occasions when he thrashed her. I never saw a more devoted couple.

I am six or seven years of age.

I am on my way home from my uncle’s shop at the Kabul Gate. There is a great commotion in the streets. I see uniformed figures with rifles scurrying everywhere, some on the roofs of shops.

Before I recover from the shock, British soldiers arrive and start firing at the people. I take refuge under a low roof on the roadside, watching everything with fear-filled eyes. Suddenly a policeman pulls me out by the scruff of my neck and slaps me very hard. I fall, then pick myself up and run blindly home, shots and cries ringing in my ears.

News reached us later that an armoured car was used to spray bullets from machine- guns. Many were killed, until someone managed to get under the armoured car and set fire to it

And in Bombay too, during the 1942 agitation, many people were beaten at Shivaji Park. I was in college then. The police used tear-gas on us. It is difficult to say whether it was patriotism that took us there, or whether we just wanted to join the crowd. Independence Day comes to my mind, too.

I cannot help saying that I approached those events with a feeling of detachment. Perhaps it was curiosity. Those events were to be appreciated objectively. There was no personal involvement in any of them.

My reactions to them may seem peculiar. At any rate they are inexplicable. Perhaps I should feel some embarrassment in admitting that my memories of Nana’s “bidi” and of going to school on that winter morning are more vivid and more important to me than these big events and issues. But that is how it has always been.

I was saved once from drowning. Twice my face was burned. Once a scorpion bit me. Those accidents also crowd into my mind.

My “Dadi” (grandmother) is very religious. She prays all the time. While she is praying she sometimes sees a human form which tells her something but she is not able to grasp it.

When she comes from Peshawar to visit us at Deolali we are forbidden to play the gramophone lest we disturb her at her prayers. The gramophone is put away under her bed.. But I get under her bed after school in the afternoon and play my favorite records stealthily, holding the needle in my hand!

If you’ve ever tried that, you’ll know that this way you can hear the music very faintly.

Dadi sits in her bed and recites verses aloud. She complains to mother that she hears odd sounds which disturb her prayers and her sleep!

I take a wicked delight in worrying her, and feel relieved when she goes back to Peshawar!

The passing of the trains behind our house at Deolali is another vivid memory picture.

The shrill, piercing whistle rending the silence, dying in a wail … the growling chug- chug of the wheels corning closer, louder, louder … and then a burst of sound and fury racing past, away and dying in the distance.

We boys used to run to the fence on hearing the approaching trains, wave to them and watch them thunder past. We had to run through a deserted graveyard where Turkish prisoners of World -War I had been buried. People said there was a ghost there which went about holding its head in its hands. Thought of the ghost used to make us run all the faster.

Kulsum is young and very beautiful. She is the daughter of a Turkish prisoner and a Deccani Muslim woman named Halima. Her father died long ago. She and her mother live in a hut near our house.

Many men want to marry her. Two of them are very fond of her. One is a young hakim from Lucknow whom my father has brought to Deolali to treat my brother Ayub who has been ill for a long time. As far as Kulsum is concerned, he is wasting his time!

The other, a handsome young man, is a ticket-collector at the Deolali railway station. He is a Christian but he becomes a Muslim and marries her.

My mother frequently helps Kulsum and her mother. She and I go out to mind her flock of goats.

She teaches me to climb trees and pluck mangoes. We are great friends.

Some years ago I went to Deolali to perform a ceremony (my mother is buried there). I ran into Kulsum and her husband. She had four or five children, had become very fat, and her pearl-white teeth had been ruined by years of paan-chewing…

Talking of girls, I began to feel romantic about them when I came to Bombay to go to college!

In the manner of college boys, many silent attachments for many girls were formed in my heart, and ended there!

One day, a girl whom I admired secretly was crossing the football ground with a boy, a Gujerati lad who was obviously more plucky than I!

I was the Sports Secretary and I had put up a notice on the board asking students not to make the football ground a short-cut to college.

I watched them coming towards the ground and grew more annoyed every moment, both because they were ignoring the notice and because the young man was with her.!

When they got to the rope cordon, I told them to go back and come round by the road. The boy was amenable to reason, but the girl challenged me to stop her. I threatened to stop her with the stick I had in my hand, but she only laughed and stooped under the rope to cross my barrier.

I touched her lightly on the head with the stick. She turned and faced me. Instead of feeling triumphant, I felt humiliated.

There was another girl who came and sat beside me when I played the Inter-Class Chess Final against a senior student. She was quiet and serene-looking. I could never muster enough courage to talk to her.

I was so overcome by her presence that I lost the final! I couldn’t concentrate on the game.

I am a good football player. I find to my dismay that the girls go in hordes to watch cricket matches, but never turn up at football matches.

I wasn’t the only one in college who was too nervous to talk to the girls and make friends with them. There were several others. We formed a league to run down the bolder boys. We were jealous, but we said those other boys had no self-respect because they “trailed the chickens”. That was the phrase we used.

When I joined films and on the very first day had to run some distance to prevent the heroine (in “Jwar Bhata”) from committing suicide, and then hold her in my arms and whisper tender words to her, I found myself in a most embarrassing and difficult predicament!

The heroine was quite calm. Although she was a newcomer like me, she had a smile on her face. But I had the jitters! All through that first picture she was confident, while I was ill at ease. I thought the clever footballer had strayed into the wrong field.

I find myself in surroundings of which I know little, and from which there is no escape.

I walk into the Bombay Talkies Studio one morning. Devika Rani receives me with an affectionate smile. She is the boss of the show and has helped me to secure this fateful entry into films. She is very kind, encouraging and considerate.

But I am so awkward in my manner that, instead of responding to her smile and greeting her, I stare at her blankly, panic-stricken, not knowing what to say, how to talk. So I turn round—and fly.

I come out of my shell. I am desperately in love. The void, the vacuum in which I have lived all along, without knowing the meaning of life, is filled with warmth and an exhilarating happiness.

A friendly hand is extended to me. It leads me from a jungle of doubt, fear and ignorance towards bright sunshine and confidence.

This is the richest episode of my vaguely troubled existence. It gives me a sense of completeness and a new awareness.

Life is not the same any more.

But I must not speak about that glorious experience….

Years have passed since then. “It is the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy.” So I, I ask myself: “Is this enveloped by that subtle beautifying hue which comes with time? Have I slipped into romanticizing?”

The answer is “no.” It is still an understatement which merely indicates the truth without fully reflecting it….

There are heartbreaks, hardships—and the income-tax! Time marches on. Dilip Kumar, the star, goes from one film to another. He wants a great many things. I, his usual self, try to keep a check on him. He is a bit of a poet. He wants to distort things, beautify them. Sometimes he fools me, but I don’t take my eyes off him. I keep telling him to restrain himself, and to stop fooling!

There is no lack of kind people, but the only ones who really matter are those you meet at the right time. And what do you learn? You learn to rely on yourself alone. Reliance, not through smug self-satisfaction but from a true appreciation of things, values and people.

But enough of the abstract!

The scene requires of me to smile at the leading lady, to tell her in a deep monotone: “My soul yearns for you. Without you, life is a hell of raging fire.”

The camera is ready. There are distinguished visitors on the set who have come to watch this realistic make-believe.

I feel sluggish and inadequate. I’d like to get away from it all. I’d like to give a piece of my mind to—.

“Come down to earth!” the heroine tells me, tugging at my sleeves.

I “come down.”

While I do the scene, I can see pity in her eyes. I know she does not understand me.

I sit and stretch myself in a chair in front of a table fan. It is very warm. I wish I was in Switzerland with my sister.

“What do you think of me?” I ask the heroine. She twists the sleeve of her choli, looks straight into my eyes and says: “I think you’re in a mess.”

Our unit is camped at Bhowali, near Naini Tal. People come here from Ramgarh and Mukteshwar, bringing apples and apricots for sale. The fruits are sent to Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta. Fourteen years ago I, too, came here to buy apples for the family business. The hotel where I once stayed (a room costing two rupees a day) is still there.

Beneath a large tree on our location site a veteran political worker sits meditating, his eyes shut. He has lived a rich and varied life, been in and out of jails, and now has only one single orchard to sustain him.

I got into conversation with him and in the course of our talk he remarked: “The best thing for anyone to win in life is peaceful sleep.” He had simplified his life to the extreme after many intense experiences.

Shobha, the sister of a friend who has been very helpful to us, tells me that she falls asleep within two minutes of going to bed. Kamalji, a school teacher at Bhowali, takes half an hour. But, I take two hours! I must say here that I have met people who are better off than I….

Resolutions for all my tomorrows: To keep to the Truth, because Truth is simple. To work and spend myself in a manner which gives a night’s rest without brooding, without regret..

For the third time I stepped on the dais to receive the “Filmfare” Award. As the President handed it to me with a smile, I stretched out my hand to receive it—a tired man, with only gratitude in my heart to God and to people.

Here I am reminded of what Will Durant says somewhere: “So much of our lives is meaningless, a self-cancelling vacillation and futility: we strive with the chaos about us and within; but we would believe all the while that there is something vital and significant in us, could we but discipline our own souls.”

I have come a long way from Nana and my first bidi, from Kulsum and her goats. As we grow, our problems grow. The perspective becomes diffused with multiple angles. Trains still pass behind a certain bunglow in Deolali, but now I sit back in my car thinking of other things….

This is a commercial age. So many people market so many things. There is nothing wrong in that. But there are some who sell their conscience. They become insensitive to goodness and beauty. They are insensitive to everything except the things that please them, and the things that hurt them.

They change their yardstick from person to person. They pull and push you, expecting you to play their game.

The other day I said “No!” to them. I held my ground and refused to budge. They flung mud at me. They yelled and cursed me.

Beware of the kindness which leads to folly. No man or woman can love you, be honest with you, if you cannot love others and be honest with them.

Love without honesty is an ailment, a curse. But honesty comes from simplifying issues, not burying them under layers of one’s own appetites and vanities.

Long ago I determined to put all my honesty and love into my work. It paid, but not without taking its toll.

Many people say many things about me, but nobody can say I have ever been insincere in my work. The fact of the matter is that I am still trying to grow up (This interview was conducted in 1957).

Like others, Nimmi too was awed by thespian Dilip Kumar’s acting skills. “He internalized a scene. That’s why his shot looked natural. He had scholarly knowledge on all subjects. He could express things beautifully. He’s a miracle of nature.” The duo did five films together in the ’50s, Aan, Amar, Deedar, Daag and Uran Khatola. While their ill-fated love on screen wowed audiences, off-screen too there were rumors linking them up. She explains the ‘attractiveness of his personality’, “God has blessed Dilip saab with a maqnatis (magnet). Everyone got pulled towards him. In fact, one maharani was willing to leave her all to be with him. I will not deny that I was also pulled towards him. Mujhe bhi woh bahut pasand the. Unke aashiq hum bhi the. I was his fan too,” she gushes. “Beautiful women – like Madhubala and others were in love with him. How could I ever be at par with them? I’d have been left heartbroken had I desired something unattainable. I stayed away from any such thought.”

She elaborates, “Once we were shooting a scene for Aan where I, seated on a horse, had to throw a sword to Dilip saab. The tip of the sword hurt him. I was apologetic. But in his poetic style he said, ‘Hum sochenge zindagi mein ek chot aur khayee (I’ll consider it as yet another wound in life)’. On hearing this any girl would have been floored. That night I too kept thinking about it. I’m not an angel, I’m human after all. But I collected myself thinking ‘how can he ever like me. I’m so ordinary’.” Her realistic stance, she insists, is the reason that she enjoys a ‘beautiful friendship with Saira Banu and him’ today.