ALI'S NOTES

WHO WILL EXPLAIN THESE MIRACLES?
How do some men and women refuse to age? How do some men and women stay young, as young as ever, even at sixty, seventy and seventy-five? What keeps them lively, vibrant and vivacious at seventy-seven? What makes them think young, feel young, dress young, so young that they give a major complex to men and women less than half their age? Why do they hate looking back and why do they keep looking ahead, moving, rather running with the times, running so fast, running so well that they even leave time baffled, confused? How come time has not been able to catch up with them, catch them, trap them, threaten them?

How does the eighty-seven year old Naushad still talk about working to keep the sur and taal of great Indian music alive?

How does the eighty-seven year old P Jairaj who has been around, active for the last sixty-six years, still not miss any function which has something to do with cinema?

How does the eighty-seven year-old Jankidas still write a column in a trade magazine, week after week for years, write about the burning topics of today, topics that can grow into torches if not tamed in time?

How does the seventy-eight year old Pran who has just recovered after a major heart surgery still talk about some very good films and some very good directors he wants to work with?

How does the seventy-five year old Dilip Kumar say he still feels like “a new born baby” who has an entire life-time of work ahead?

How does the seventy-six but forever young Dev Anand make one film and start another before he can release the first? How can he fly from country to country, looking for new adventures, new ideas to inspire him, change him? How can he vibe with the generation of today more than the generation of his time?

How does the seventy-year old Chandrashekhar still keep track of everything, every new development in the cinema worker’s movement all over the world?

How does the sixty-eight year old Lata Mangeshkar still sing Dil to pagal hai, dil deewana hai and make sixteen-year-old girls sway?

How does the sixty-seven year old Sunil Dutt stride across the country like a panther hungrily looking for causes? How does the sixty-four year old Asha Bhosle sing Jaanam samjha karo and another song with one of the pop singers of today and win all the awards which are meant for singers less than half her age? How can this grandmother sing love songs to inspire kids who are in love? How does the sixty-eight year old Anand Bakshi with a heart problem and pace-maker fitted in write love songs which are much more intense and interesting than they were when he was thirty? How do these miracles happen? How will we explain these miracles to the generations to come? Will we have such extraordinary miracles again? Ever? I doubt it. I very much doubt it. And like I always say I am an optimist. And to think of it, isn’t optimism the spirit of the forever young?

ANUPAM LIVES AGAIN
They kept flogging my amazing faith in the man. They made fun of my tremendous faith in his talent, almost like the unflinching living faith of the father in his favourite son. They told me I had lost him to big money, to mammon. They said Anupam Kher, the good actor who Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor praised to the skies, had died a long time ago. But I still had faith in the talent of the actor, the talent I have been a witness to ever since he first came to Mumbai and dazzled me with his million watt brilliance in a play called Desire Under The Elms. And then that mind-exploding performance in Mahesh Bhatt’s Saaransh which woke up three or four whole generations to the birth of a great actor, the kind of character Hindi cinema had rarely seen.

I was also a witness to the insecurity of the actor who never knew where his next meal would come from, his insecurity getting the better of him. He signed films by the dozens and was good even in some of the worst films. I saw Dilip Kumar losing faith in him. I saw many others joining Dilip Kumar in losing faith in him. A time came when some of his most ardent admirers saw their admiration for Anupam stagger. The worst happened when he started Media Entertainment Company and neglected his mission as an actor to establish himself as a corporate chief. He stopped signing films. The films stopped coming to him and people everywhere lost faith in the actor in Anupam.

And then only last week came Salaakhen and Anupam broke all the bars (salaakhen) which had imprisoned him in all these years and emerged with his talent intact, with his will to win hearts very much active, with the real actor in him resurrected and raring to go. ‘Brilliant’, ‘Fantastic’, ‘Superb’ — the critics raved after a very long time. It almost seemed like the first time Anupam had rocked me and Dattu, his Man Friday. And Danny and Damodar and Digambar and Vikram and Fernandes and Ghosh and Choksi and Bootwala and Rego and D’Souza and Charu in Saaransh. Anupam in Salaakhen proved that a fascinating actor can never die, he cannot ever fade away. He will come back one day, some day and conquer again. Anupam has done that and reinforced my faith in him. I can face and fight all those who flayed Anupam for years now. Anupam’s talent has fortified my faith. Thank you, Anupam.

A SON SHINES, A FATHER REJOICES
I am talking of a time fifteen years ago. Jeetendra was shooting for his umpteenth film being made in the South. The place was Rajahmundhry. He was busy doing one of those handi dances with Sridevi and suddenly during a break in the shooting he thought of his children Tushar and Ekta. His success in the South and kept him away from them for months. Shobha, his wife, brought them to wherever he was whenever they had their holidays but Jeetendra felt that was not enough. He knew he was guilty of not paying enough interest to his children. There were times when he told friends that he didn’t know which class his children were studying in. But he was sure they had an ideal mother. He was sure she would take all the trouble, all the pains to bring up their children in the best possible way. “Whatever my children will be tomorrow all the credit will go to my wife Shobha. I have seen her influence on them and it is very strong. I only hope it grows stronger,” Jeetendra said during that break in Rajahmundry.

Today, fifteen years later, Jeetendra can see his dream coming true. Ekta has joined hands with her mother Shobha and started Balaji Telefilms and they are busy building a little empire of their own, all on their own. And what gives Jeetendra greater pleasure is his brilliant son, Tushar. There were tears of joy in his eyes the other night when he told me the family (Shobha, Ekta and he himself) were flying to Detroit to be present at Tushar’s convocation ceremony. He had got a first class in his BBM (Bachelor of Business Management). He has also planned to take his Masters in Business Management in Detroit. “I find it very difficult to believe what has happened but I know whatever has happened is because of Shobha,” a boyish Jeetu said before he left for Detroit.

MAY 3, MAY 7
May 3, 1998. I am sitting alone outside a church and I am thinking of May 3, 1981, the day Padmashri Mrs Nargis Dutt died, seventeen years ago. A dark cloud of memories of that day and the days before that when she fought a losing battle with cancer, a war very few mortals have won to date. One of the most powerful memories is the memory of her last wish. Within a matter of days it would be May 7, the day when her only son Sanjay’s first film Rocky would be premiered. Mrs Dutt wanted to be at the first premiere of her son. She had pleaded with her husband, Sunil Dutt, who had stood by her side throughout (“Like no husband ever had or ever will,” a nurse who was on duty had said). It was impossible, only a miracle could make it happen. “Take me on a stretcher if possible but take me to Sanju’s premiere,” she pleaded again and again and Dutt promised her he would try his best like he had tried his best in everything to do with her ailment, with his family passing through its greatest crisis. He went against the doctors’ orders. He went against his own conscience. He broke every tradition, every law and made arrangements to take Sanju’s mother to Sanju’s premiere. But destiny had other devilish plans. It was constantly revelling in making plans to ruin the Dutts’ big day. The premiere was marked for May 7. Mrs Dutt died on May 3 leaving behind a crowd of memories and her greatest wish unfulfilled. The day Sanju’s mother died Sanju was high on drugs. He was not aware of what death had done to his father, to him, to Priya and Namrata, to millions of her fans. That is one day he will regret all his life — and we will remember.