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Regional Cinema

151 – “He was and still is, by all means, my hero”

My parents, Tarun Coomar & Indira Bhaduri. Bhopal, Central Province (now Madhya Pradesh). Circa 1940

My parents, Tarun Coomar & Indira Bhaduri. Bhopal, Central Province (now Madhya Pradesh). Circa 1940

Image and Text contributed by Jaya Bachchan, Mumbai

This photograph of my parents Taroon Coomar Bhaduri and Indira Bhaduri is by far one of my most favourite images of all, and while I have asked myself the reason so very many times, I am still not sure why. I had looked at and thought about it so often, that a few years ago my mother simply gave it to me as a gift.

I think this photograph was taken right after their marriage. My mother whom I call Ma was 14 and my father, Baba was 20. One of the most striking parts of this photograph is Ma’s black Georgette saree. I have wondered about that too. Georgette & Chiffons were expensive materials, meant only for the rich. We came from a middle-class income family, and affording Georgette would have been out of the question. But I think Baba had a role to play in that; he was very broad- minded and seemed to have kept in touch with the latest elegant fashions of the time. It must have made him very happy seeing a visionary image of himself and his family, even if the opportunities were far and few.

I also remember another story within the family- when he went to Calcutta (now Kolkata) to buy his sister’s wedding trousseau and insisted that his sister get married in a beautiful white saree. The family was aghast. Hindu women never got married in white, but red. The outcry against tradition was met with no avail, and it was to be his will or nothing. The family later complied and my aunt did get married in a beautiful white Banarsi Saree.

Baba’s family came from Krishnanagar, West Bengal and Ma’s from Danapur, Bihar. I always found it fascinating that he would spell his middle name ‘Kumar’ as ‘Coomar’; perhaps he was armed with the knowledge that he set himself apart with that spelling, which was unheard of and a rather individualistic attitude for the time. Baba’s jobs and associations had us move quite a few times within North India – to Jabalpur, Nagpur, and later Bhopal. In Nagpur, he became Chief Reporter of the Nagpur Times and remained in that position for several years. He eventually received a great offer from The Statesman and relocated as its correspondent to Bhopal in the mid-1960s.

The 60s were also the time when Dacoits (bandits) were a menace in Chambal (confluence of three states Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan) and one of the biggest urban legends of India. As a fiery and resourceful correspondent, Baba’s influence and mannerisms won the confidence of all dacoits in Chambal, with whom he lived for some time documenting their lives and deeds. In the late 60s, he authored a Bengali travelogue/semi-fictional novel based on his experiences titled “Abhishapath Chambal,” (also titled Abar Abhishapta Chambal) which was later translated into English as “Chambal: the Valley of Terror”. The Book and Baba were both an overnight success.

We are three sisters, Rita, Neeta and I, Jaya. I am the eldest. Baba was our best friend; our confidante, our mentor and he understood us very well. He was deeply interested in educating & empowering all his daughters and encouraged all three of us to make our lives more worthwhile, interesting and different from others. He wrote several books, he was a phenomenal journalist & writer and in time his intellect and visionary opinions won him great respect, many friends, and acquaintances in esteemed intellectual and political circles.

Baba’s quest to create great work, his individualistic and unique attitude most certainly had an impact on my own personality. When I was around 13, I remember my sisters and I returned home after watching a popular, run-of-the-mill formula based film and told him about it. He got extremely upset and snapped, “Why do you watch such trash?!”. That remark left an impression on me, and later perhaps even led me to make informed choices in the films I worked on as a female actor.

Around the same time as his remark, Satyajit Ray, the well-known filmmaker was looking for a supporting lead in his film Mahanagar, and offered the role to me. I was only a teenager and unsure whether acting was what I really wanted to do. The recent Sino-India war (Indo-China) of 1962 had changed the landscape of our country yet again and life felt a bit unsettled. Baba’s response to my reluctance was, “This opportunity might never come again.” After some consideration, I decided to try for the part and got it. Baba was very proud of me. When I was due for further education, he agreed to let me study at the Film & Television Institute of India (FTII) in Pune and the rest as most know is history.

When Baba passed away in 1996, I lost my best friend, and a big part of myself. Needless to say, I am proud to be the daughter of an incredible man who left an impactful legacy to the field of journalism, penmanship and his family. He made me who I am. He was and still is, by all means, my hero.


145 – “The most amusing thing about the movie was that we had no script”

Amitabh and I. On the sets of 'Mr. Natwarlal'. Bombay, Maharashtra. 1979

Amitabh and I. On the sets of ‘Insaniyat’. Bombay, Maharashtra. 1990

 

Image and Text contributed by Tony Juneja, Mumbai

My name is Ramanjit Singh Juneja, however family and friends affectionately call me Tony, and now everyone knows me as Tony Juneja. I was born in 1954 in Patiala, Punjab, and my father worked as a liquor supplier to the Army Canteen stores and Indian Army Troops.

Even as a child I was attracted to cinema. While studying at Bishop Cottons in Simla, Himachal Pradesh, I would passionately read every edition of the ‘Picture Post’, a now forgotten english magazine about hindi films – even during class.

Our family used to own bonded warehouses for liquor in Nagaland, so we would travel and live in the region often. Once we grew up, my elder brother Kushaljeet (known as Tito) took a leap and began producing Assamese Films in Dimapur and Guwahati.  I too, would visit Guwahati often during summer vacations and watch them shoot and so the interest only heightened. I remember in 1972, the film we were shooting was called Mukta (later it received the President’s Award). And I joined my brother as a Production Boy. That was my first job in films. My role was to wake up early in the morning and ensure that the unit travels to the shooting location and then post the shoot, bring them back. Tito, my brother, went on to establish himself as a distributor of Indian motion pictures for the West Bengal territory and I moved to Calcutta (now Kolkata) with him.

After a year or so my brother decided to move to Bombay, where all the mainstream movies were being made and I decided to join him. In Bombay, we rented a bunglow in Juhu and would travel everyday to Roop Tara studios in Dadar west, to work.

We got into film production in a full-fledged manner only after working on our first Hindi film, Do Anjane directed by Dulal Guha. Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Rekha, Prem Chopra and Mithun Chakraborty it was made under our banner ‘Navjeevan Films’. At the time Amitabh, Rekha and Mithun were all relatively unknown, but promising actors. Dulal Guha on the other hand was an established star director. The film released in 1976 and it went on to become a major and critical success.

Over time, I got friendly with director Rakesh Kumar whom I had met through Amitabh. Rakesh was already an established director, and Amitabh had recommended that we should work together, so we did. I had co-produced many films before with my brother Tito, but my first film as an independent producer was Mr. Natwarlal in 1979, a movie inspired by the famous con man Mithilesh Kumar Srivastava, better known as Natwarlal. His life inspired several TV dramas and movies after. Starring Amitabh Bachchan, Rekha, Ajit and Amjad Khan the film was mainly shot in Kashmir.

The most amusing thing about making Mr. Natwarlal was that we had no script. We wanted to make a film purely for entertainment, and didn’t think it was wrong to begin shooting without a script in place. All we had were a few sequences that sounded fun and entertaining, and for us it was good enough to begin shooting with. Piece by piece, somehow we managed to knit and complete a script while shooting the film. In those days, emotional attachments and teamwork were far more important to people than scripts and contracts. Scripts were (and are) important, but we all trusted that the script would eventually be in place. And that trust usually paid off.

The film was written by – Kader Khan and Gyan Dev Agnihotri. Kader Bhai too had just begun his career in films. The music was composed by Rajesh Roshan and the lyrics were penned by Anand Bakshi. Everyday we would shoot from 7 am to 9 am R K studios in Chembur and Mohan studios in Andheri. Amitabh and Rekha would come daily to shoot for two hours, for a month and our film was finished in time.

The highlight of the film was the song ‘Mere paas aao mere doston ek kissa suno’, the first playback song ever sung by Amitabh Bachchan. It was Anand Bakshi who recommended we ask Amitabh to sing, as it would suit his character and the situation. Moreover, an actor singing his own song had not been done in a long while. It took a bit of persuasion, but once Amitabh understood why we need him to sing the song, he gracefully accepted. The recording took very little time because Amitabh came very well prepared and delivered a beautifully sung song. None of us had expected it to be that good. He indeed is a sincere professional and, a genuine artist.

The most challenging thing about the movie was transporting the large number of animals we needed for the shoot in Srinagar, Kashmir. The Tigers came from Madras (now Chennai), the Snakes from Delhi and the Horses from Bombay, and the funniest thing that happened during shoot was that a horse bit me! When I tell people that, no one believes me.

Prior to its release, when the distributors watched Mr. Natwarlal, they felt very disappointed and claimed that there was no story and that the film will not run. Reluctantly they went along and released the film, and were proven wrong, because the film as we all know, went on to become a box office success.

In the 1980s, I also began to assist director Vijay Anand, fondly called Goldie. I was the head of Production for Ram Balram, and later became the co-producer on the film. My job was to literally wake him up in the morning, take him to the shoot and then bring him back, and often even put him to sleep. I thought of him to be a very cool man. He was known for his excellent framing and song picturisation. He was an excellent technician.

When I directed Mr. Bachchan in Insaniyat, I must have been around 30 and I was the youngest director to have directed Mr Bachchan. The film began production in 1989 and was originally set for release in 1991. But when two of the film’s stars Vinod Mehra and Nutan passed away, the schedules went haywire, and the release was delayed until 1994. It was the last released film of Amitabh Bachchan who then temporarily retired from films in 1992 after a near-fatal accident. It was tough time for many of us in the industry.

Some of the films we made were Do Anjane, Mr. Natwarlal, Unnees Bees, Ram Balram, Ek Aur Sikander, Teri Kasam, Johny I Love You, Aasman, Babu, Abhimanyu, Ithihas, Ram Tera Desh, Insaniyat, Out of Control. And I cannot complain. I have had a really worthwhile and wonderful time as a film professional.

The best memories I have come from my children, my two sons Rohan and Gaurav, who are twins. The days and years I remember most fondly are when I would take them to Otters Club in Bandra and watch them play Squash. They were both excellent players, and have won many prestigious tournaments. My wife Meenu (real name Jasmine) is my life mate, soul mate and an excellent travel mate. We have travelled a lot together. I love my family as I love my God. When my grand children grow up, and if they were to ever want to watch any of my films, I would wish that they watch Mr. Natwarlal. Maybe even with me. It was truly a fun film and especially for children.


137 – The only valuable he saved while fleeing to India in 1947

My father, Anand Prakash Bakshi as a child with his parents. Rawalpindi. (now Pakistan). Circa 1930

My father, Anand Prakash Bakshi as a child with his parents. Rawalpindi. (now Pakistan). Circa 1935

Image and Text contributed by Rakesh Anand Bakshi, Mumbai

On October 2, 1947, during partition, my father Anand Bakshi’s family was informed that within an hour or two their Mohalla- Qutabdeen in Chityian Hattian, Rawalpindi (now Pakistan) was going to be attacked by rioters and marauders belonging to another community. My father Anand, then 17 years old, his grandparents, father, step mother & step siblings, had only minutes to grab whatever money, clothes, personal effects, they could possibly carry with them. Hundreds of others and they fled from their homes, overnight. From Rawalpindi, the family travelled to Delhi via a small Dakota Air plane, (the plane was a bonus, because my great grandfather was at the time, the Superintendent of Police of Punjab Prisons in Rawalpindi.)

When the overnight displaced family reached Delhi in India, homeless and with only few valuables on them, my grandfather took stock of what everyone had managed to carry across the border. Upon seeing what my father had carried, in those moments of life threatening crisis, my grandfather was livid. Angrily he asked my father – ‘Why did you not carry valuables!? What useless things have you carried with you? How can we survive without our valuables? You should have carried some valuables!’  My father had carried what he had thought were valuables, a few family photographs; and particularly those of his mother.
He had lost his mother, Sumitra Bali, when he around 9 years old due to pregnancy related complications. On being yelled at, my father said to my grandfather – “Money we can earn when we find work, but if these photos of her were lost, no amount of money could ever bring them back for me. Pictures of her are all I have to live with, my entire life!”

The photograph above is one from the few my father had managed to save. This framed photograph found a place of immense pride on our home walls, in every house we shifted to and however big and fancy the houses got over the years with my father’s growing success.

At the time my father’s family fled, he had been serving the Royal Indian Navy for nearly three years, since the age of 14, as rank ‘Boy 1’ and he was registered as Anand Prakash. He served on board the ships H.M.I.S. Dilawar and H.M.I.S. Bahadur until 1946 and was dismissed from the Royal Indian Navy because of his participation in the revolt that took place at Karachi port against the British Empire. Post India and Pakistan partition, he joined the Indian army Corps of Signals, rank ‘Signal Man’, at Jubbulpore (now Jabalpur) and served for nearly six years.

On March 25, 1950 a poem of his was published in the Army publication ‘Sainik Samachar’. A published poem gave him the confidence to try his luck as a lyrics writer in Hindi films. After he qualified as a Switch Board Operator Class II, he resigned from the Army in April 1950, and traveled to Bombay in quest of his dreams. But with no breaks or opportunities forthcoming, he ran out of money. He returned to the army and enlisted with the E.M.E. – (The Corps of Electrical and Mechanical Engineers), in February 1951, with the rank of “Ex-Boy”, and this time he registered as Anand Prakash Bakhshi. He qualified as “Electrician Class III” based at Jubbulpore and Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh. In 1954, he got married to my mother, Kamla.

But yet again, after serving a total of seven years in the army, he took a voluntary discharge in 1956 and returned to Bombay, this time armed with 60 poems to find work. He also qualified himself as a motor vehicle driver as his ‘Plan B’ in case he didn’t succeed in finding a job as a song writer; he could always drive a taxi or work as a motor mechanic. History repeated itself, and within a few months in 1956, he ran out of money again and lost hope of ever making it as a song writer and despite the Plan B, he instead decided to return to his army job.

While sitting at the platform of Marine Lines station to take the train back home, a ticket inspector named Chitramal Swaroop caught my father without a valid ticket and asked him to pay a fine. My father had no money. Chitramal then asked him if he had eaten, bought him some food and asked him what he is doing in Bombay. My father told him of all that had happened and that he had lost all hope of becoming a lyrics writer and had decided to return to his army job, and his wife. A patient Chitramal then asked Anand to narrate a few of his poems. After hearing his works, an impressed Chitramal picked up my father’s tin suitcase and told him to follow him home. He led him to his Western Railway Quarters at Borivali, and allowed him to live there a few weeks until he found work. With only a few poems that he had heard, Chitramal had come to believe, and rightly so, that my father Anand was an exceptionally talented man.

Weeks became years and my father lived at Chitramal’s house at Borivali for nearly three years. Chitramal would even give him a pocket money of Rs. Two to eat and travel daily to meet producers and directors for work. I believe, my father Anand had two mothers, one who gave him birth, Sumitra Bali, and the other was Chitramal Swaroop; had he not stopped Anand Bakshi that day at Marine Lines station from returning to the army, the world of hindi cinema may never have discovered his poetry and lyrics.

By the end of 1956 he got his first break in a hindi film by Bhagwan Dada, a well known actor and film director. My father while sitting outside his office, overheard that a lyricist had not turned up, causing much stress to Dada. So my father walk into his office and told him he was a song writer, and he was immediately put on the job. But my father only got established by 1964, when the film Jab Jab Phool Khile became a huge hit. The songs were hugely popular across demographics and across the nation. After that, he found another big success with Milan in 1967; post that, he never lacked work until he lived. He wrote for the top most film producers and directors, several times for two generations of actors, producers and directors, until he passed away on March 30, 2002. He had by then written nearly 3300 Hindi song lyrics, for nearly 630 films. Some of his top songs, like the exceptionally famous “Dum Maro Dum” found cult status, and have been remixed and sampled by many other contemporary artists.

Looking at his work I am sure that the loss of and longing for his mother inspired him to write incredibly amazing and emotional lyrics. At least that is what he told us when he would get nostalgic and emotional, which was very often.  Sometimes I even wonder what made my father survive the loss of his mother, the loss of his land of birth, youth, and an impoverished life because of partition for nearly two decades. The secret may lie in what he always said – “There is something inside of me superior to my circumstances, stronger than every situation of life.”

The contributor is now writing a biography about his father.