Trust Bengaluru to remember and celebrate a terrific actress and a woman of substance even though she’s not a Kannadiga. It reiterates the fact that we are the most secular of cineastes applauding quality and talent with language never being an obstacle. Good films are watched with the same fervour as the ones starring personal favourites. It’s the only city where a ‘Mirch Masala’ will do nearly as well at the box-office as ‘Mr. India’ and a Smita Patil is admired as much as a Sridevi is drooled over.
When people express envy at my access to film personalities I advise them not to try and meet their idols. Exalted expectations are bound to be crushed diluting the admiration and smudging the shining image. I’ve seldom been wrong but Smita Patil was a rare and refreshing exception. Ever so often you encounter a person you wish you had met earlier and Smita was one such. It’s a long time but memories of the week I spent interacting with her are vivid and never fail to evoke a smile.
Kundagol, a small dusty village (the Kannada speaking crew called it ‘Dhoolgol’) near Hubli was the location where TS Ranga’s ‘Gidh’, a film about the Devadasi cult was being shot. Smita was playing an aging Devadasi trying to prevent the young in the tribe from succumbing to tradition and ending up in the brothels in Bombay. Om Puri and a host of names associated with parallel cinema formed the cast as also a young Marathi actor called Nana Patekar who Smita had raved about. The cast and crew were treated to Nana’s lip smacking culinary skills. Everyone stayed dormitory style at a bungalow while Smita and Om were housed at the dilapidated Woodlands hotel in Hubli. Smita had to shuttle between Bombay and Hubli because ‘Aaj Ki Awaaz’ was in the finishing stages.
There had been a spate of interviews with Smita in nearly every publication thanks to her brilliant performance in ‘Subah’. As I had no intention of interviewing her, I kept a distance. I was aware that she had enquired about me but was surprised when on the second day she sat beside me and said, “I’m Smita Patil and I know your name.” Before I could respond, “I liked your interview with Om (Puri). I recently had to write an interview with myself for a senior journalist. He was so bad. So when are you going to interview me, huh?” And I always thought I would never meet a film star as forthright and charming as Dev Anand. I’m not an extrovert and understandably wary of stars but I felt I’d always known her. We had casual conversations but I still regret the fact that I never interviewed her. She would do things like tapping me on the head and hiding by way of greeting in the morning. She never demanded special treatment nor did she seek solitude once the shot was over. Not once did she grumble about the tacky bus we travelled in to Soundatti, the grime, crowds or the unearthly hours. Shooting would go on till the wee hours and Smita would doze off leaning against a co-star between shots, but a gentle pat and she’d freshen up and emote effortlessly. She was a frugal eater thanks to a sensitive stomach but never demanded a different or separate menu. There were times when she suffered bouts of uncontrollable stomach pain. She’d double up and squat on the ground but never even wince. Her mood reflected her health. If she was unwell she wouldn’t even smile.
She was capable of tremendous affection and nothing pretentious about her. After pack-up one night, she introduced me to the editor of a film monthly, a friend from Bombay. During the conversation he said he was wrapping up a cover story on Kamal. Smita poked me in the ribs and with a twinkle in her eyes told him, “Why don’t you ask Shiva to write a profile? He knows Kamal well.” For the next couple of days she teased me. “Write a good piece, okay? I don’t want him to blame me later.”
According to her make-up man Mukesh, Smita was not friendly with everyone. “She’s quite capable of treating people as if they did not exist,” he said to my surprise. Mukesh was all praise for Smita though. “I was working for Amitabh but left after a misunderstanding. Now I’m very happy. Madam is capable of getting violent but that’s rarely and she’ll apologise profusely afterwards.”
There was something ethereal about her performances. She was sore when critics raved about Shabana’s performance in ‘Arth’. I felt comfortable enough to ask if she suffered a Shabana complex. “No way. It’s good as long as the rivalry is healthy but I feel cheated when I learn that roles are being snatched from me by sheer manipulation,” she said earnestly. “I’m acting in ‘Gidh’ because it will enlighten people about the plight of the Devadasis.” She was actively involved in ‘Women’s Centre’ an organisation against the oppression of women.
The lines between parallel and mainstream cinema may have blurred but her performances in both are priceless. Time to watch ‘Bhumika’ and ‘Mirch Masala’ again. I may not meet her again, but she lives.
sshivu@yahoo.com
