Dilip Kumar: The Substance and the Shadow Page 8

  Ours was a predominantly Muslim locality but Aghaji had Hindu and Christian friends who had their offices and shops in nearby places such as Bhendi Bazaar, Mohammad Ali Road, Masjid Bunder and Pydhonie market.

  There was one good Parsi friend of Aghaji who had a shop in the vicinity of Crawford Market from where he purchased crockery for the house as well as for our relatives in Peshawar. He was a genial, good-humoured man who enjoyed Aghaji’s company and was a frequent visitor at our house on days when the market was closed.

  There was also another kind friend who had a shop where kites of all sizes and colours were sold. He gave the boys in the locality the liberty to bargain and pick up kites at throwaway prices. He had other shops and other businesses and was quite prosperous.

  January was the month in which the new kites arrived in his shop and we never wasted time in forming our kite-flying groups. It was a sport I enjoyed very much. The terraces would be full of enthusiastic kite-fliers in the evenings and it was always great fun to be a participant in the aerial combats of kites. There was a tingling sense of achievement when my kite sailed past that of an adversary and, after a stiff test of manoeuvring skills, succeeded in sending the competitor’s kite to the ground. Each time I was hailed for my victory, I felt buoyant and ecstatic.

  My love for kites and kite-flying continued even after I had become busy as an actor and the family moved to a house in Bandra (a locality in west Bombay). Among the many big trunks in the basement of our house is one that contains the exquisite kites I had purchased from small towns in Gujarat, Rajasthan, Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh.

  At Khalsa College, I had very few friends. Raj Kapoor became a close pal and he used to take me to his house in Matunga where his father Prithvirajji and his demure wife kept the doors of the house open all the time as the sons as well as Prithvirajji’s brothers and her brothers kept coming and going constantly. Prithvirajji’s imposing personality and his warm, agreeable nature made him a popular resident of the locality. In fact, I felt completely relaxed with Raj’s family. The liberal and infectiously friendly Kapoors had no hesitation whatsoever in sharing their heartiness with whoever was willing to absorb it. I would find myself voluntarily participating in the feasting and merriment among the young uncles and nephews without a trace of my shyness. As in all good Indian families, the respect Prithvirajji commanded as the head of the family was never lessened by the freedom he gave to his sons and brothers to be their own selves. He did not want them to pretend to be what he wished them to be. He obviously believed in letting his sons grow up as individuals with their individual personality intact.

  I have gone into all this detailing for a specific purpose. It is meant to inform those readers, who may have been misled into imagining that Raj Kapoor and I only professed friendship while a deep professional rivalry brewed between us, that ours was not merely a friendship of two individuals in the same profession but a bonding that grew from well-placed trust and respect.

  Raj’s younger brothers, Shammi and Shashi, were in school then. Raj had only that much interest in soccer as most others in the college. The majority of my college friends were interested in cricket and Raj, too, was more a keen cricket player than a soccer player. But he played soccer too, and was very encouraging when he noticed my dedication and enthusiasm. With his handsome appearance and the twinkle in his blue eyes, he had made friends with many girls and he played with unusual élan when the girls cheered him. He was a born extrovert and charmer.

  When he introduced me to the girls from the college and from his class, I spoke less and preferred to let them talk. I always admired the ease with which Raj conducted himself in their company while I hesitated to be in their midst for too long.

  I remember an occasion when Raj tested my guts by telling me that a beautiful girl studying in the college wanted to be introduced to me and he pointed to one standing some distance away. He urged me to go and speak to her. There were quite a few boys and girls around us and Raj kept on urging me to walk up to her. I was extremely embarrassed and I told him I could not do that with so many eyes staring at me. He then said: ‘Okay, let us go to the canteen.’ He signalled to the girl to come to the canteen and, to my dismay, she was right there at the table that Raj was leading me to. I had to speak to her and I think she realized she would be wasting her time if she chose me to be her friend. She just got up and left after a few minutes.

  With Raj Kapoor – lifetime friends.

  Raj was determined to rid me of my shyness. One evening he came over to my house and insisted on going to Colaba for a walk on the promenade opposite the Taj Mahal Hotel. I readily agreed. When we alighted from the bus near the Gateway of India, he said: ‘Let us take a tonga ride.’ I agreed. We boarded a tonga and just when the tongawala was about to prod the horse to get going, Raj stopped him. He noticed two Parsi girls standing on the footpath. They were wearing short frocks and giggling about something. Raj craned his neck and addressed them in the Gujarati that the Parsis speak. The girls turned to him. Very chivalrously and politely he asked them if he could drop them somewhere. They must have thought he was a Parsi, his fair complexion and good looks being such. They said they would appreciate a lift to the nearby Radio Club. He asked them to hop in. I was holding my breath in suspense not knowing what he was up to.

  The two girls got in and one of them sat next to Raj while the other sat next to me in the opposite seat. I made ample space for the girl to sit comfortably while Raj did nothing of the sort. He had the girl sitting very close to him and, after a minute, they were talking like long-lost friends. Raj had his hand around the girl’s shoulder and she was not in the least bothered. While I began to squirm with embarrassment, Raj was chatting away merrily.

  They alighted at the Radio Club and I heaved a sigh of relief. It was Raj’s way of getting me to feel relaxed in the company of women. He was a natural charmer and he was anything but shy. Yet he was not disrespectful or uncouth. He was plain mischievous.

  As Prithvirajji’s son he had an aura around him and was popular in the college campus. He knew he was heading for a profession in which there was no room for reticence or shyness. I did not have a clue about what was in store for me. All I wanted then was to become the country’s best soccer player.

  Playing cricket with Mohammad Umar Mukri as the wicketkeeper.

  I was indeed very serious about preparing for a sports career. Every evening after college, it became a routine for me to go to the grounds behind Metro Cinema (where the Home Guards Division now has its headquarters) and play football with others who were also equally serious about pursuing a career in the sport. There was a shop near Metro from where I purchased my sports shoes and my first cricket bat. Although soccer was my first love, I played cricket too with passion. The athletic side of me was also strong when I participated in school and college athletics. I emerged victorious in every 200 metres race.

  Aghaji was proud of my interest in sports and he patted me on my back whenever I brought home a trophy or a certificate for my achievements in that field. He was fine with all that but his dream was to see me in a profession like law or in the civil services.

  I personally felt it was premature for me to disclose to Aghaji that I had a desire to become either a soccer champion or a cricketer. I was aware of his dreams for me. I thought maybe I could try my hand at business. In a small way I always tried to help Aghaji in keeping records of the inflow and outflow of revenues. It was not known to me then, as it is with all mortals, that a destiny was being carved for me by the Almighty.

  6

  THE POONA INTERLUDE

  As I sat alone in my room that night, I kept hearing the jailor’s words in my subconscious and a sense of pride built up within me that I had spent a night in jail with Gandhiji’s followers and, even if it was for a few fleeting moments, I was unafraid of expressing my pride about my country and my compatriots.

  I DON’T REMEMBER WHEN EXACTLY BUT I WAS IN MY TEENS WHEN I impulsively set out fo
r Poona (now Pune) from Bombay after a mild disagreement with Aghaji. We did not exchange harsh words or any such thing. He lost his temper over some trivial matter and I still do not know what got into me at that moment. None of us dared to look into his eyes when he was angry and, on that fateful day, I decided to leave home quietly with more hurt and humiliation in my heart than anger or spite.

  The Second World War was raging and the family was going through a crisis caused by diminishing income from the fruit business, which was becoming difficult to maintain as the supply from the North West Frontier had dwindled due to strict wartime curbs on trade and transport of non-essential commodities. This was because the train bogies were being used for carrying ammunition and soldiers. All our orchards were in Peshawar and we had no land here that we could call our own. I could sense the insecurity Aghaji was feeling about the future. We were a large family comprising a large brood of daughters and sons. My sweet and kind-hearted Amma was ailing already with symptoms of asthma and my brother Ayub Sahab was being treated for the bone dislocation he had suffered when he fell off a horse while looking around for fresh supplies of apples in Kashmir and had been bedridden ever since. Also, two aunts from Aghaji’s side had become permanent fixtures in our home in Bombay as well. They continued to wallow in comfort here, too, as they did in Peshawar while Amma slogged in the kitchen.

  I wished to be of some help to Aghaji by generating substantial income but I had no idea how I could do so. My elder sister, Sakina Aapa, was of marriageable age and it was a constant worry to Amma that she lacked the feminine softness that made young women attractive to prospective parents looking for brides for their sons. Sakina Aapa was literally the ruler of the house and had perhaps inherited the despotic ways of my Dadi (paternal grandmother). She argued endlessly with Amma over silly matters, only to have her way and emerge triumphant.

  I could see that Aghaji was carrying the burden of an uncertain future in his mind and I should have not behaved the way I did on that morning. I left home with just forty rupees in my pocket, boarding a train to Poona from Bori Bunder station. I found myself seated amidst all sorts of men and women in a crowded third-class compartment. I had never before travelled third class and I hoped no one known to Aghaji had seen me at the railway terminal boarding that compartment because he was always one to give his sons the best in everything and all of us had first-class passes for our local travel. I chose to travel by third class that morning because I had to conserve the limited money I had with me till I found myself gainful employment.

  When I alighted at the Poona railway station, I was still hurting inside and was at a loss to figure out why Aghaji had got angry with me the way he did. Had the hurt lessened during the journey, may be I would have bought myself another ticket and returned to the comfort of my home and to my dear Amma who I knew would go crazy with worry over my disappearance.

  As Destiny would have it, I was determined to prove to Aghaji that I could survive away from the security of our home and the easy life he had provided us with. Strangely, my elder brother, Noor Sahab, never felt the way I did. He took it for granted that Aghaji would be there always to give him money. It did not bother him at all how hard it was for Aghaji to make the kind of money that was needed to keep us all in comfort. He was of the opinion that the girls in the family did not have to go to school and college. He tried to convince me that I was wrong when I endorsed Aghaji’s decision to send our sisters to school and later college to study the subjects they were interested in.

  In retrospect, I think I was really adventurous to leave home and head for a city where I knew no one and had no idea of the employment opportunities there. In Poona, I went first to an Iranian café, where I ordered tea and crisp khari (salty) biscuits. I was feeling happy that I had chosen a city far away from home where I would be anonymous and could seek any kind of employment. In Bombay, I could not have done that as people would have known me as Sarwar Khan Sahab’s son and it would have hurt Aghaji’s pride if I had taken up a job not befitting our social status.

  I spoke to the Iranian owner of the café in Persian, which made him very happy. I gingerly asked him if he knew anybody who wanted a shop assistant or something. He told me to go to a restaurant that was not far from his café and meet the owners, an Anglo-Indian couple.

  It was a beautiful winter morning and the sun was shining through the clouds that seemed to move with haste as if they had to get somewhere urgently. I paused outside the Iranian café to take in the beauty of the day, warming up to the city’s bustle, which was of course nothing compared to what we see now in the happening second metropolis of Maharashtra.

  It was my habit to walk briskly, so I reached the restaurant in no time. It was a quaint restaurant with its doors open for people who came there regularly, I guessed, for a good English breakfast. The tables were not too close to each other and were covered with clean cloth. There was only one waiter who bustled from one table to another, carrying omelettes and slices of bread. Being an ardent omelette lover even at that young age, the aroma was inviting but I decided to pursue my objective first. I spotted the couple having an animated conversation at the cash counter. I walked up to them but for a few minutes they did not notice me. They were talking about a regular customer who hadn’t shown up for some days and I could guess they were talking about a soldier of the British Army.

  When they noticed me, I quickly introduced myself without revealing much. I referred to the Iranian café owner who had directed me to them. The lady was plump and matronly. She smiled hesitatingly through the dimples in her freckled cheeks and nudged her tall sturdy husband saying: ‘The boy speaks good English. Send him to the canteen contractor.’

  Mr Welsely, as I understood his name was, looked at me carefully, paying scant attention to his wife’s recommendation, and asked me if I hailed from the North West Frontier Province. When I murmured in the affirmative, he told me that he knew the army canteen contractor who was a native of Peshawar and had settled down in Poona and was a much respected person. This was something I was dreading. Anyone from Peshawar would know Aghaji and that would lead to trouble for me as the news would reach him about my job hunting in Poona. Brushing aside all the wild thoughts crowding my mind, I told Mr Welsely I would be grateful if he could put in a word for me. He agreed and the next thing on my agenda was to find a place to stay, a room may be in a hotel that could give me decent comforts like a clean bed and a bathroom with hot water. I asked Mr Welsely if he could suggest such a hotel. He sent me to one that had the amenities I had mentioned.

  Alone in my room that night, I felt the first pang of separation from my parents, especially from Amma. I could imagine her simmering grief and her helplessness. I knew she felt Aghaji shouldn’t have got so furious with me but it was not in her nature to question him or oppose him. I never ever saw them exchanging endearments or sitting close to each other. Theirs was a relationship that had layers of implicit understanding, trust, respect and love. Much of what they wished to tell each other about immediate concerns – be it about the financial needs for running the kitchen of a home, which had its doors open all day for visitors who enjoyed Aghaji’s company and his hospitality or the social interactions of Noor Sahab – remained unspoken.

  I could not sleep for a long time because I was feeling sorry for Amma and missing the soft lullaby she sang for me when I could not fall asleep easily. However, my determination to stand on my feet and earn a good income was foremost in my mind and that sense of purpose helped to dispel all my sadness. Before long I fell asleep.

  The next morning, I walked to the office of the canteen contractor with a prayer that he should not recognize me. Lo and behold! I found myself standing in front of the younger brother of Aghaji’s friend from Peshawar. He was polite and he asked me to be seated. The gentleman in front of me was Taj Mohammad Khan and his elder brother was Fateh Mohammad Khan OBE (Order of the British Empire). There was no sign of recognition when I introduced myself rather vaguely as
a job seeker from Bombay. I was fully aware of his background since Aghaji had often mentioned his name in conversations with friends who came from Poona to visit him.