The loss of a loved one prematurely, especially when in their prime and with the promise of a resplendent future, leaves a gaping, painful wound. There is heaviness in the heart and a lump in the throat that can never be swallowed. Only the unaffected can afford to console you with the cliché ‘time heals’. It was heartrending the other night to watch Anant Nag, agitated and animated, trying hard to suppress his grief and express the vacuum that his younger brother Shankar’s death has left him with. It is 25 years since that bundle of nervous energy departed, like always in a hurry. Anant has written a touching book about him but the grief has just grown.
Shankar was a meteor who soared and disappeared but not before leaving a bright, indelible mark in the cinematic skies. He made his acting debut in Girish Karnad’s humble homage to Kurosawa, ‘Ondanondhu Kaladalli’. It was as if the role was written for him. Playing a local Samurai of sorts, Shankar with his lithe movements, sinewy frame, gravelly voice and twinkling eyes was very impressive. His second film ‘Seeta Ramu’ was a pot-boiler, a bizarre tale about brain transplant that set the box-office on fire and heralded the entry of a star. He was soon sucked into the quagmire of kitsch. With Puttanna Kanagal in the twilight of his career, Kannada films were either lurid or languid. Shankar had worked as Sai Paranjape’s understudy and his creative instincts were being rekindled. His maiden directorial effort, ‘Minchina Ota’ about crime and redemption was critically acclaimed and bagged awards but did well only in Bangalore. Ironically probably, Shankar’s image turned into his enemy. He went on a signing spree to quench his creative thirst. For me his ‘Accident’ was truly ahead of its time. The failure of his directorial ventures did not deter him. He wanted to distribute meaningful films, get the best technical facilities to Bangalore and branched out into TV when budgets were a pittance. Money was never the motivating factor for Shankar.
Hotel Palmgrove in Chennai has played host to a cross-section of cinema personalities from Satyajit Ray and Mrinal Sen to ‘Kokila’ Mohan, Arjun Sarja and Shankar Nag. I bumped into Shankar there one morning, a couple of years before his untimely demise and was invited to a far flung studio. I was recording the interview and a studio hand was snoring loudly stretched on a bench. Shankar did not shake him awake and send him scampering. He caressed him gently, just enough for the sound to subside. “He was working the whole night and must be dead tired,” said the star with an indulgent look in his eyes. Fact was that he had worked too. These are tiny things that leave a lasting impression.
He was an interviewer’s delight, honest to the core. He confessed he’d failed to break Raj Kumar’s image in ‘Ondu Muttina Kathe’. “People refused to accept him as an illiterate who could not count beyond four. They didn’t like his attire,” Shankar had said. But why try and tamper with the star system? “Well, you have to keep on making an effort. If I fall into the same rut and give him a typical role the cause would have been lost. I know the film has flopped but I’m satisfied that an effort was made,” he had said. He added that Raj was extremely co-operative.
I wondered if commercial success didn’t matter to him. “I’ve never tasted commercial success as a director. We’ve scraped through or lost a lot of money. You can’t attribute it to a single factor. We’ve been making slightly more intelligent films you can say. Try as we did, we could not stoop to making crude commercial films,” he had explained. He made up for that by appearing in pea-brained ventures like ‘Lorry Driver’ which raked it in. Shankar was full of praise for Manmohan Desai. “I don’t think I’ve made a film to satiate a labourer who’s slogged all day and wants to escape into a dream. It’s infinitely more difficult to make such a film,” he had said.
Shankar was disappointed that people who earned fortunes from the film industry did not plough it back in. “It’s only in Karnataka that this has happened. Elsewhere in the south, film personalities have invested in technology.”
Shankar had just returned from London after confabulations about a co-production.
“It’s an Indo-Dutch venture. It’s about a Dutch traveller called Haafner who came to India in 1762. It’s a true story. He marries a Devadasi. It’s about how he was affected by Indian culture. It’s very dramatic. It’s an English film with an Indian heroine,” he had described with a restless twinkle in his eyes.
What else was he working on?
“I’m planning a ropeway at Nandi hills” - the most unexpected answer from a film star.
He had signed off by predicting that makers like Ray and Adoor will enjoy a wider audience with economic growth. “You can’t expect these directors to flourish where sixty percent of the people are illiterate and eighty two percent are in an economic morass. In 20-25 years we’ll not only be making the highest number of films but also the best,” he had said finally.
If he had been alive he’d have definitely contributed to the quality, especially in Kannada cinema.
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