In 1986-87, I was directing and producing two long series of TV programmes called ‘Movie Mahal’ for Channel 4 TV, in the U.K. The series was the first of its kind on Indian cinema for British TV. ‘Movie Mahal’ included profiles of many film practitioners whose interviews were edited together with the relevant film clips — we must remember this was years before YouTube and so, for viewers in the U.K., to see their favourite scenes or songs was a special delight. Extracted here are four ‘Movie Mahal’ interviews, these aimed to chronicle the stories and views of much adored Hindi cinema folk, many of whom have sadly passed away. We begin with Nadira who was born in 1932 in Baghdad and whose real name was Farhat Ezekiel. The interview was filmed when she was around 55 years old and was living alone in a flat on Peddar Road in Bombay. We filmed on 16mm film on the afternoon of September 9, 1987. Nadira was generous and lively and welcomed us warmly into her home. She seemed pleased enough to talk about her life.
How did you come to be in films back in the early 1950s?
Oh how nostalgic. It reminds me of the most beautiful moments of my life. I belong to the Jewish faith and my parents were very orthodox. Well, I happened to attend a wedding of an assistant director who was staying in the same neighbourhood where we lived. There was a galaxy of film people who had spotted me at the wedding, and after that I got an onslaught of offers and frantic calls: “Who is this girl? We want her in our films.”
My mother was livid. She said to me: “No, no, nothing doing. My girl will not work in films. This is not a respectable job and which Jewish man is going to marry you? How will you go to the synagogue?” And I replied: “Mummy, for God’s sake, will you please stop worrying about my marriage? Right now we are worried about our next meal.”
You see my mother had to stop working. She was in the Royal Air Force and the Second World War was over, so she no longer had a job. We were starving. We lived alone and did not have enough fees for my studies — I wanted so much to be a doctor. We were really worried about our next meal, and then there was this big beautiful offer that came to me — to work in Aan . I did not value the opportunity enough at that time because I did not know who Mr. Mehboob Khan, or Dilip Kumar or Nimmi, Premnath, Naushad Saab, or Khalla (Mrs. Sardar Akhtar Khan) were.
I finally convinced my mother and she said: “Ok.” This picture that you see on my table is the first photograph taken of me in December 1949, as far back as that. I did everything for the first time in Aan — riding a horse, driving a Mercedes, swimming, getting my eyelashes burned in a fire sequence — just name it and I did it.
I have to talk about that very great man, my mentor Mr. Mehboob, God bless his soul. You’ll be surprised to hear but my only education in acting was when I asked him: “Mr. Mehboob, you have been keeping me away from all these journalists, but supposing someone from the press comes and asks me, ‘Well, Nadira, what do you know of acting?’ What shall I say?”
Mr. Mehboob slapped his forehead in irritation and said: “ Meri ma , I don’t know enough about direction, let me learn something about direction first, then I can tell you about acting. But I can say this about acting: “ Yeh toh dariya hai, is mein jitna jaaogi utna paaogi .” (Acting is a river, the deeper you go, the more you will gain/ discover.)
That was my first and last lesson in acting and I think I have done my community proud. Mr. Mehboob was a very, very beautiful man to work for. He was THE Mehboob Khan and he was a God. He was a giant of a man and yet had such tremendous humility. I had everything on a silver platter.
Three years after the release of Aan in 1952, which was a huge Technicolor success, you were cast as Maya, the crooked and cynical socialite in Raj Kapoor’s Shree 420 (1955). You gave a terrific performance in the film and you will always be remembered for the Shailendra song ‘Mud mud ke na dekh,’ beautifully sung by Asha Bhosle and Manna Dey.
Yes, let’s talk about Shree 420 . ‘Mud mud ke na dekh’ was not in the original script — was there a script? (Laughs) I don’t think there was a script. Actually, I used to get into these mad moods, wanting to prove my versatility. Raj Kapoor was already a very well known name, so I wanted to work in his film.
It took me three days to learn how to use that long cigarette holder, and I know a lot of people still swear that I smoke because I held it so perfectly. I remember the first time I held it Raj Kapoor said: “Who do you think you are? You’ve got to do it gracefully.”
The story behind ‘Mud mud ke na dekh’ was kind of silly. We had this one-hour lunch break and I walked into the music room where Nargisji was sitting and little Ritu, Raj Saab’s daughter, who was playing the piano. I just got up and started dancing. I saw something on Nargisji’s face, she ran down and she brought up the composer Jaikishanji. They saw me dance and whispered something to each other. Three or four days later I heard a song called ‘Mud mud ke na dekh’. And that was actually how it evolved — it wasn’t in the film at all. I think Nargisji and Jaikishanji had this coup between Raj saab and said: “Let’s make a cabaret dancer, and instead of having another lady doing the cabaret, let’s have her doing it,” and so that’s how I did the song.
I feel quite flattered, even today when I walk out on the road, people cry out: ‘Mud mud ke na dekh’. It’s very embarrassing. But that film really was my Waterloo because after that I kept getting cast as a vamp.
Could you tell me about the problems of being typecast?
After Shree 420 , for a year or so I was literally jobless because I refused to do vamp roles. I explained that I had just done the Shree 420 role for the heck of it.
But after that I didn’t get any leading lady roles. And till today, I am doing all kinds of negative, black, dark roles. They are so ill conceived. I’m very uncomfortable.
I’ve had these phases in my career. In Aan , I was the haughty princess. Then came Shree 420 and I was smoking and dancing the cabaret and all that. For years I did that. Then I became a ‘ Baiji ’ (‘Madam’) in Pakeezah , the film was of course sophisticated. I remember a scene between Meena Kumari and me. In the film, she is refusing to sing and I am sitting near her with a hand fan.
I think that was the only time I heard Mr. Kamal Amrohi say: “ Wah ,” (Wonderful/ well done).
He was not generous with his compliments, so I felt very flattered because for an actress as devoted and dedicated as I am and I would always want to be, to hear a “ Wah ” from a director is the thing. Nothing greater can happen to you.
The first of a short series of interviews with veteran filmmakers, actors and technicians that were recorded by writer-filmmaker Nasreen Munni Kabir for Channel 4/ BBC TV.
