Romance Lost

The legendary Marlon Brando defined stardom as something counter to great acting. “They demand different and contradictory attributes. An actor’s most priceless gift is range. A star’s, an identifiable niche in the public mind; an image, persona to which the audience can forever relate. Thus, an actor-star is in a constant conflict, a two-front war. As the actor stretches, the star retracts.”

Rajesh Khanna had no problem with this definition, because, basically, he defied, challenged and rose above everything in the book. At a time when charisma and established reputation (Dilip Kumar-Dev Anand-Raj Kapoor) ruled and the hero was mostly North-Indian, fair tall, handsome and well-built (Shammi Kapoor, Rajendra Kumar, Dharmendra, Manoj Kumar, Feroz Khan), this nothing-from-nowhere, unsung and unheralded, short, pimply-faced, non-entity whose only claim to fame was as a winner of United Producers Talent Hunt contest, did nothing to catch fire. Sure, critics — the discerning ones anyway — noted a certain brooding quality as early as Aakhri Khat, but neither that non-starter, nor the subsequent Raaz and Baharon ke Sapne gave anyone, any indication of what was to come.

As everyone and his cock-eyed aunt must know, it was the sleeper hit, Shakti Samanta’s Aradhana that struck in tsunami fashion, rocketing him to a different stratosphere. Suddenly, almost overnight, every other hero, save Garam Dharam, went flying out of the window, with every major leading man role from every leading banner first offered to him, before going to someone else. As Mahesh Bhatt rightly stated “For those few years, he was god and his fans and producers, his devotees!”

Frankly, India of the late 1960s was totally unprepared for Rajesh Khanna. The film industry, blown out of its mind, christened him Superstar. Stardust, the new iconoclastic, irreverent and deliciously chatpata new film magazine on the block, baptized him the Phenomenon and sold out its maiden issue within days just via banners enquiring whether Rajesh will/has married his girlfriend (at that time) Anju Mahendru?

As a starting out journalist, a card-carrying Bollywood junkie and one who enjoyed a ringside seat to the goings-on in the film industry, I can only say that one had to experience the Rajesh-wave to understand its impact. It was truly unbelievable. No Dilip, Raj, Dev, Shammi, Rajendra, or later Amitabh Bachchan or the Khans, can ever hope to match it for the sheer passion and intensity that powered it. It was mass-hysteria on a continuous over-drive, associated normally with rock-stars of the iconic stature of Elvis, Beatles, Rolling Stones and Michael Jackson.

In his golden time in the early 1970s it would’ve been a joy to be any one of his cars, because they were unfailingly smeared with lipstick imprints. His photographs were good enough for tons of infatuated female fans to marry. Letters, written in blood, comprised a part of his fan-mail. Every single day, every single studio in Mumbai had hordes of fans hoping to catch a glimpse of their beloved Kaka. It was hungama and hulchul all the way, the likes of which Shahrukh Khan or Salman Khan can never ever hope to match.

So, what was the secret of this Superstar, who, partnering with RD Burman, Lakshmikant Pyarelal and Kishore Kumar rolled out a record-breaking 15 consecutive hits, swung so seductively with Mumtaz and Sharmila Tagore — his most popular pairings — as also, Hema Malini, Shabana Azmi, Rekha?

Co-star Shabana Azmi thinks it’s that amazing blend of “Super-star distancing, moods, eccentricities and attitude with total groundedness, accessibility and warmth, especially to his fans. It created a persona and aura that was seductively enigmatic and certainly worked superbly for him. Personally, however, I found him a wonderful, charming and co-operative leading man. And yes … everything you hear about the mass-hysteria is right. I’ve seen it in action.”

Media commentator and founding editor of Stardust, Shobha De believes he was an idea whose time had come. “The oldies were fading. The other guys weren’t doing anything spectacular. Rajesh, with his winsome smile, nodding head, blinking eyes, innocent sweet charm and completely non-threatening, non-macho looks brilliantly epitomized unadulterated romance. He was unlike most of the other heroes, someone you wanted as a son, brother, lover, husband; someone you could happily take home to meet mom. This was a whole new number!”

Others believe he was a true game-changer, playing out the middle-class dream — love, loyalty, family values, bonding — in an age of slowly dying out innocence. Rajesh, they insist, represented, the last, final dazzle before lights-out time arrived with Amitabh Bachchan’s 1973 September Zanjeer. That marked the beginning of the end of romance — and the king who sat on that throne with such grace and confidence.

India was changing. Audience tastes were changing but alas, Rajesh wasn’t, couldn’t, didn’t. Sure, he had a few modest hits along the way and even shone as a character actor in films like Avtaar, but the phenomenon and superstar who gave us Sapno ki Rani and Yeh Jo Mohabbat Hai was irrevocably out. In a loveless world where fists did the talking, women were props or glamorous playthings and toilet humor of the Shakti-Kadar brand had the audiences in splits, where was the space for a die-hard romantic, created for love, soft, gentle and sensitive, fun-loving, mischievous and innocent, who believed with all his idealistic heart, “Babumoshai, zindagi badi honi chahiye, lambi nahin?” (Life should be big, not long).

Amitabh Bachchan never tires of telling how his celebrity status really started when he signed Anand with the superstar and how everyone would always badger him with questions about Rajesh. Every single hero or heroine today has grown up on his legend and held him in awe. To the 1960s, 1970s, even 1980s generation, he was Mr. Romance all the way.

“He peered deeper inside a woman’s heart than any male star before and made the notion of romance more real. He honored the woman and celebrated romance as something emotionally joyous shared by two, not an individualistic, exhibitionistic posturing of an idea hidden in song or dialogue baazi,” explains social commentator, Santosh Desai. Be it the Guru shirt or the belt over the kurta, he turned the ordinary — clothing, song, dialogue, interaction — into something magical. Imagine serenading a girl, with a herd of elephants — Haathi Mere Saathi — and converting both the song and the movie into super-duper hits,

Along with romance, he was also brilliant in dramatic emotional roles — Ittefaq Safar, Anand, Khamoshi, Aavishkar, Aap ki Kasam, Daag, Amar Prem. But he seldom received recognition for them, because of his overpowering and overwhelming star-glow. No wonder, the response to his death at age 69, marked the end of an era for all who were privileged to witness the man and the magic …

Like a meteor, lyric poetry or even the fabled Icarus, a phenomenon is destined to be short-lived with an impact that is everlasting. The Pasha of passion, raja of Rromance and emperor of emotions who acted in 163 films, won 3 Filmfare awards was neither an Adonis nor Hercules but yet managed to woo us with his inimitable, flamboyant song … Zindagi ek safar hai suhana, yahan kal kya ho kisne jaana (Life is a wonderful journey, what happens tomorrow, who knows).