Conversations with Waheeda Rehman (10 page)

So you can imagine what a shock Guruduttji’s death was for his family, for me and for all the people who worked closely with him.

We must, however, think of the amazing respect he has in the world today. No other Indian director after Satyajit Ray has, I
believe, that kind of international recognition and admiration.

NMK:
That is true. It is ironic that Guru Dutt’s fame spread after his death—something he predicted in
Pyaasa
as being the fate of some artists. But few Indian film-makers have as enduring a power as he has.

I also believe if popular Indian cinema had been better known in the West in the 1950s, Guru Dutt would have most certainly been counted among world cinema’s finest directors. He had such a singular voice and vision.

WR:
I am lucky to have worked in his films. I don’t believe they will ever be forgotten.

NMK:
You have contributed to many classics and I can imagine it is satisfying to have such a substantial legacy. I am not sure how many Indian actors will leave behind as many memorable films. I’d like to ask you about another important film in your career—
Mujhe Jeene Do
. Set in the Chambal Valley of Madhya Pradesh, this tale about a dacoit and a dancer was among the highest-earning films in 1963.

What made Sunil Dutt decide to produce a dacoit story?

WR:
From the early 1960s, Vinoba Bhave and Jayaprakash Narayan encouraged the Chambal River Valley dacoits to surrender. It was around the same time that the story of dacoits became a popular subject in Hindi cinema. The trend started in
1960 with Raj Kapoor’s
Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai
. In 1961 came
Gunga Jumna
with Dilip Saab and in 1963 Sunil Dutt released
Mujhe Jeene Do
, directed by Moni Bhattacharjee who had worked as Bimal Roy’s assistant on the classic films
Do Bigha Zamin
and
Madhumati
.

You could say even
Sholay
was about a dacoit, Gabbar Singh. And Sunil Dutt himself had played a good son turned dacoit in
Mother India
. When we were shooting
Mujhe Jeene Do
, Sunilji told me about an incident that took place during the making of
Mother India
. He had to play an emotional scene and, to get the emotion right, Mehboob Saab asked him to lie face down on the ground. He then stood on Sunilji’s back and twisted his arm. When he screamed in pain, Mehboob Saab said: ‘I want you to cry out just like that in the shot!’ I told Sunilji I hoped he had no intention of doing that to me.
[we laugh]

NMK:
I read an article by Deepak Mahan [
The Hindu
, 13 May 2010] in which he interviewed several former outlaws who believed
Mujhe Jeene Do
had the most authentic depiction of dacoit life while they felt that films like
Sholay
were glamorized figments of imagination that bore no connection to reality.

WR:
Sunil Dutt’s intention was to show the reality of dacoits, and that was the interesting thing about the film—eighty-five per cent of the story was based on real-life incidents, including those involving the notorious ‘daaku’ Maan Singh.

We had police protection while we were shooting the film
in the ravines of Bhind–Morena. I remember hearing about a woman who had been kidnapped and who later became a dacoit. One of her hands had been cut off and so she had to fire her gun with one hand. I have forgotten her name, but it is a true story. Her daughter came to see me during the filming of
Mujhe Jeene Do
and, when she saw our costumes, she said: ‘My mother never wore a
ghagra-choli
, she wore pants.’

A day off during the filming of Sunil Dutt’s
Mujhe Jeene Do
. Chambal Valley, circa 1962.

NMK:
So much for the costume department!

You play the prostitute Chamelijaan in the film. She is a woman who is abducted by the dacoit Jarnail Singh [Sunil Dutt] who falls in love with her when he sees her dancing at a wedding. What kind of person is Chameli?

WR:
She has a defiant nature and although she is at Jarnail Singh’s mercy, she refuses to dance for him and tells him: ‘I dance at happy occasions—at weddings or when children are born. But your hands are stained with blood. Because of you, women become widows and children are orphaned. What right do you have to tell me to dance?’ I thought that was a good scene.

Portraying Chamelijaan was a challenge because her character goes through many transformations—from dancing girl to wife, wife to protective mother—I needed to express a range of emotions.

A character touches me if I believe the events in the film could actually happen to someone in real life. Then I can perform better. When the characters and storylines are too unreal, my
work isn’t very good. My heart isn’t in it. But great actors like Dilip Saab, Amitabh or Naseeruddin Shah can perform well even when the character, or the dramatic situations they need to bring alive, seem artificial. I can’t do that.

NMK:
Mujhe Jeene Do
has your exquisite song ‘Raat bhi hai kuch bheegi bheegi’ by Jaidev and Sahir. You perform the dance in the wedding scene where Jarnail Singh and his band of dacoits see you for the first time.

WR:
I liked that song very much. Lachhu Maharaj choreographed it so beautifully. His mudras and bhavas were very delicate. The facial expressions were soft and Lata Mangeshkar sang the song with such sensitivity that she made it easy for me to convey the right tone and mood.

The dance itself was not difficult. However, the way it was filmed was technically complicated. I danced on a large mirror that had been painted black, but the mirror reflected everything and so lighting the set was tricky. The end result, however, created a mysterious and interesting effect.

NMK:
Have you noticed how often Hindi films, particularly the older ones, have a song performed for an audience within the story? The heroine is dancing and the hero sits among the onlookers. Or the hero is singing and the heroine, looking embarrassed and awkward, is a guest at a party. We could call it a performance within a performance.

I have always wondered if the popularity of this setting is a harking back to cinema’s theatre origins by recreating a performance and an audience.

WR:
I have no idea why this kind of setting became popular. There are many examples—the hero plays the piano and sings a sad song. Or the heroine is dancing while the hero mingles among the party guests and watches her dance.

I know that distributors used to worry if a film only had five songs, and so film-makers would be more or less obliged to add a few more songs. Perhaps the party scene was an easy scene to add.

NMK:
I suppose it could fit into any story and so we see it in all sorts of films.

You have worked in the black-and-white and the colour film eras. Did the switch affect the way you worked?

WR:
When we started shooting colour films—and I was told this later—the film speed, the emulsion’s sensitivity to light, was not very high. As a result, they needed hard lights and reflectors, and these were very harsh on our skin and eyes. It was uncomfortable for us actors.

When colour-film speed increased, the lighting became softer. That helped a lot.

NMK:
Is it true that black-and-white photography required you
to wear colours like yellow or red to enhance the contrast?

WR:
Yes, it is true. Strong and dark colours helped to increase the contrast and we were particularly asked not to wear pure white in black-and-white films. They said it reflected light. We mostly wore pastel blues, off-whites and pale greens.

NMK:
Colour photography took over Indian cinema very late, as compared to Hollywood. So you have both black-and-white and colour films being produced side by side till the late 1960s. When colour photography did take over, one can honestly say the films were not sophisticatedly lit through the 1970s and ’80s. The lighting wasn’t very good, the zoom lens didn’t help and even the make-up, especially for male actors, exaggerated the problem. Faces were powdered white while you could see the hands and neck of the actor were his natural colour.

I remember visiting a film set in the early 1980s and hearing the camera assistant cry out: ‘Full light!’ And all the lights went on and every inch of the set was lit with the same intensity. No shading, no pools of darkness to create atmosphere.

WR:
You’re right. It took time for Indian films to be photographed properly in colour. For colour to work well, the lighting has to be subdued and soft. In the early days they wanted to show as many colours as possible—everything had to been bold and brash. It was to show they were making a film in colour rather than making the story work.
[we laugh]

Many years after I had more or less stopped working, I returned to the sets for Karan Johar’s
Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham
. When I saw the set, I wondered where all the lights had gone because the lighting was so soft. I was told they now use reflected light.

I don’t know if you know this, but I was supposed to play Amitabh’s mother in Karan’s film. I shot for a day, but on that same day my husband fell very ill and had to be admitted to hospital. So I pulled out of
K3G
.

NMK:
I didn’t realize you were cast in the film. That would have been interesting.

Coming back to film photography,
K3G
and most Indian movies are now beautifully shot in colour. But I think it’s a real shame that young audiences are just not attracted to black-and-white films any more. They’re happy to see old song clips on television, but would they go to the cinema to see an old classic on the big screen? This is more or less true of young audiences around the world.

I am sure you will agree with me that the black-and-white film has a more textured and cinematic mood. It also evokes nostalgia and the past.

WR:
Things have to change. I like films in colour, but I agree black-and-white films had a more textured atmosphere. Dramatic moments could also be brought out in a far more interesting way.

That said, Dwarka Divecha who photographed
Dil Diya Dard Liya
, and Fali Mistry who shot
Guide
did a great job despite the technical limitations of their era. I was lucky to have worked with them and other gifted cinematographers like V.K. Murthy, Jal Mistry, Faredoon A. Irani and Subrata Mitra in
Teesri Kasam
. They were all excellent and worked well in black and white and colour.

NMK:
It is clear that you are very aware of how films are made. Have you ever considered directing?

WR:
I had an offer from the Barjatyas once. Some time ago they were planning to ask artists of our generation to direct a film. I said no because I thought it would be hard work. It wasn’t that I was scared of hard work—I still am not. But perhaps I wasn’t confident of doing justice to a film.

I did start to have a better understanding of film-making once I had made my third or fourth film—I knew about frame compositions, camera movements and angles, the different kinds of shots, etc. But all this took time to understand. I think I have a good story sense, and can make constructive suggestions. I know more or less what works and how to make some scenes better. My problem is that I am too logical and Hindi cinema does not bother much about logic.

I remember asking my film directors: ‘How is this scene possible? How can this character do this?’ I always got the same answer: ‘We have to exaggerate and elaborate. If we stick to logic, the film won’t be interesting and it will not run.’