By Kohinoor Dasgupta
(originally published in 2010 on draupadiarjun.blog.co.in, hosted by "Indiayogi")
MEENA KUMARI was born Mahjabeen Baksh in Bombay on August 1, 1932. She was six when she started helping her family by working in movies. From then on till her death at age thirty-nine on March 31, 1972 she earned her own living.
Her life unraveled in the last eight years or so, impoverishing her steadily and damaging her legacy. Her small world suddenly turned derisive and overly familiar. Alcohol addiction flayed her body and exacerbated her tendency to indulge in self pity and trust without good reason.
What happened to her in those years shows up the sick hypocrisy of our society. Consider this paradox: on screen Meena was creating the type of meek, self-sacrificing woman that people supposedly idolised – a woman who is no trouble, gullible and needy for affection and approval. In the films everyone eventually acknowledged how good she was and were sorry for the wrong they had done her. In real life Meena was rewarded neither for exhibiting the same vulnerability nor for her occasional rebellion against choices thrust on her. No one steered her to a happy ending. Instead, the carrion birds swooped down to pick her apart. A couple of lines by Majrooh Sultanpuri that she lip-synched in Ek Hi Raasta (1956) come to mind:
Beqas ki abroo ko nilaam kar ke chhoda
Akhir teri jahaan ne badnaam kar ke chhoda
Before all that happened, there was a girl who was as smart as she was lovely. Whose dream of having a formal education remained unfulfilled but who more than made up for it by picking up every skill that would make her a star entertainer at nineteen and keep her going through ups and downs over twenty more years. She learnt to pitch her beautiful voice such that words sparked and bloomed at its whim. Over time she gained the confidence to define her character with her whole screen presence, often choosing a plain sari and dressing her hair in the everyday way of a pretty woman’s. She fetched up depth and meaning for her eyes. She became a watchable dancer herself, without the benefit of a lot of training. Most roles did not begin to tax her, but those that were interesting saw her take the plunge with such artful intuition that directors had no worries about emotional continuity. Just one example here: Meena spent most of her time in Bimal Roy’s Yahudi (1958) just being innocent and pretty, but watch her in the last scene, where she is so brilliant that she quite eclipses the formidable Dilip Kumar.
Today’s women find it hard to sit through many Meena Kumari films because the women she played in them were so self-effacing, so stereotypical. But just as we don’t think any less of Amitabh Bachchan’s gift because he acted in a whole lot of potboilers, we shouldn’t judge Meena Kumari by the victim roles written for her. Moviegoers of any given time get the type of entertainment they endorse by making it popular. Very few entertainers get to set the norm like Amir Khan is able to do today.
In any case, in the rest of this piece I would like to showcase Meena Kumari in a way that takes her out of the difficult contextual memories of her martyr roles, her alcoholism, her parasitic boyfriends and her premature end. Let’s just look at her in a few songs and enjoy her magic.
1. Bachpan ki mohabbat ko dil se na juda karna (Baiju Bawra, 1952)
Baiju Bawra was Meena Kumari’s breakout film, although she had worked in twenty-odd movies already when she played Gauri (remember she used to be a child actor). She won the inaugural Filmfare Best Actress Award for her performance, the first of four. She was twenty years old. (She married Kamal Amrohi in 1952, which means all of her enormous success through the 1950s and early 1960s came when she was not single.) A twenty-three-year-old Lata Mangeshkar sang this song, written by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad. Together, the two young women, Meena and Lata, create a mood of poignant innocence. Watch Meena’s uncluttered acting style when the cinematic moment so demanded. You also see the Gretchen Mol eyes and the mobile face, which reminds me of the Tamil actress Shobha (1962-1980).
2. Gore gore hathon mein (Parineeta, 1953)
Bimal Roy’s adaptation of Sarat Chandra Chatterjee’s novel Parineeta, starring Ashok Kumar and Meena Kumari, was very successful. In this song, Meena’s Lalita has just experienced a turning point in her young life. She does not sing the song, but looks on as another young woman (played by Manju with warmth and verve) sings it for a group of enchanting little girls marrying off a pair of dolls. The song was written by Bharat Vyas and composed in a vigorous folk style by Arun Kumar Mukharji. Asha Bhosle’s spirited rendition is matched by the turbulent happiness Lalita can barely contain.
3. Kaisa jadoo dala re (Foot Path, 1953)
In his piece ‘Remembering Zia Sarhadi’ (September 2008) the late Pakistani journalist and writer Khalid Hasan wrote: ‘Meena Kumari once said, “Zia Sarhady taught me how to act.”’ This lilting song, written by Majrooh Sultanpuri, composed by Khayyam and sung by Asha Bhosle, was used in Sarhadi’s Foot Path. It is a strangely appealing song, Meena Kumari perfectly bringing out the dreamy, innocent hopefulness of first love even when a girl has to contend with hunger and humiliation on a daily basis.
4 & 5. Kitni jawan hai raat & Kitna haseen hai mausam (Azaad, 1955)
Both these songs are from Azaad, directed by S.M. Sriramulu Naidu. The film was a remake of Naidu’s Tamil superhit Malaikallan (1954) starring MGR and Bhanumathi. The songs in Azaad were written by Rajendra Krishan and scored by C. Ramchandra. Kitni jawan hai raat has the twenty-three-year-old Meena twirling in a moonlit garden, her dark garments, ornaments and make–up creating hypnotic chiaroscuro effects. Joy radiates from her, as it does from Lata Mangeshkar’s voice. Expressions flit across her face, no two the same.
Kitna haseen hai mausam is a nice duet. Mangeshkar and C. Ramchandra sing the song, the latter’s voice as new-minted as this day shared by Shobha and Azaad/Kumar seems to be. Filmed on location near Coimbatore, the song features a scenic horseback ride (that was one handsome horse!). Meena Kumari is slim, light-footed and carefree, Dilip Kumar dashing and romantic. It’s a perfectly enacted duet, the two superstars harmoniously and dignifiedly creating a frabjous day.
6. Kacchi hai umariya kori hai chunariya (Char Dil Char Rahen, 1959)
If you note Chavli’s brisk sringar just before this Meena Kapoor song, you will appreciate the contrast it makes with the elaborate grooming that takes place during the song Piya aiso jiya mein in Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam, as also the versatility of the actress who could carry off both scenes with aplomb. K.A. Abbas’ Char Dil Char Rahen had Meena Kumari wearing Pandhari Juker’s make-up, transformed thus into an earthy, dusky woman. Anil Biswas set Sahir Ludhianvi’s lyrics to music and a sad-eyed Meena Kumari danced to the rhythmic folk number on a sultry Holi night in the basti.
7 & 8. Do sitaron ka zameen par & Chalenge teer jab dil par (Kohinoor, 1960)
Do sitaron ka zameen par from S.U. Sunny’s Kohinoor features Dilip Kumar and Meena Kumari as a prince and a princess meeting as who they are for the first time. The song, written by Shakeel Badayuni and composed by Naushad, is regal in tone. The formal air of the rendezvous, the gracious language, the grand orchestration, the embroidered silks and jewelry all construct an elaborate joke in the context of what came immediately before (the beard!) and what will come after (the abduction and rescue). But how sweet, grand and melodious the joke is! Mohammad Rafi and Lata Mangeshkar sing this song for the stars. After they manage to end up beneath the same tree at song’s end, there is a moment of silence when they look at each other. I must say Dilip Kumar wins this staring contest. Of course the laughter concealed in his deep glance comes from the fact that he’s seen her before -- whereas Chandramukhi thinks this is their very first meeting and so Meena does not allow her gaze to compete. In the other song, Chalenge teer, also wonderfully sung by Rafi and Mangeshkar, both actors try to be funny. They are entertaining, (Meena suitably restrained as the recently revived Chandramukhi and Dilip Kumar over the top) as are Mukri and Jeevan in the background.
9. Ajeeb dastaan hain yeh (Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayi, 1960)
This is one of the most well-liked Lata Mangeshkar-Meena Kumari songs. It was written by Shailendra and composed by Shankar-Jaikishan for one of those films of the time that flirted with an interesting theme only to come to several predicted conclusions. It is perhaps easier for women today to like the dangerous Kusum (Nadira) than the goddess Karuna! But this song sequence, fortunately, was nicely done by director Kishore Sahu. The boat on the dark river, the newly weds, the watching nurses, and the woman who’s lost a dream create a sense of transience and secrets. Meena Kumari’s enigmatic expression fits Karuna’s mood that night. She looks edgy, as though she’s at a moment when she may do something out of character. How could the scriptwriters and directors of the time see Meena Kumari’s work and not explore the outreach of her talent? Imagine her in a role like Elizabeth Taylor’s in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Or of Katherine Hepburn’s in Suddenly, One Summer. What she got instead was phial after phial of glycerin and one repressive script after another. Took our women back one hundred years.
10 & 11. Kabhi to milegi & Ab kya misaal doon (Aarti, 1962)
These are two exquisite songs written by Majrooh Sultanpuri and composed by Roshan. Phani Majumdar’s Aarti won Meena Kumari a Bombay Film Journalists Association award. She did not win the Filmfare Award for it because she was competing against her own Chhoti Babu in Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam. Maybe Dr. Aarti’s was a role close to Meena Kumari’s heart. It is said that as a child, more than anything she had craved an education; she had wanted to be a doctor. The character’s idealism and simplicity perhaps touched her heart. The beachfront song, kabhi to milegi, blends with the serenity of the night. Meena Kumari’s work here incorporates both the gathering gloom of the night and the steady beacon of Aarti’s hopes. The second song, one of Mohammad Rafi’s gems, is a paean to Aarti’s beauty and sweet, harmonious personality. Pradeep Kumar and Meena Kumari do this song in an adult way, thank goodness. His glance shows respect as well as love; she takes nothing for granted, is happy, somewhat abashed by his praise, and waits eagerly for the next metaphor. You see what a natural actress she was by the way she waits to hear what’s next, and by the way she receives each new image as a gift rather than an entitlement.
12. Har aas ashqbar hai (Kinare Kinare, 1963)
Meena Kumari does justice to this quiet song written by Nyaya Sharma and composed by Jaidev, who would later pick up three national awards for music direction. Meena Kumari looks younger and trimmer in this song than she had a year ago. She was thirty-one when this film, co-starring the Anand brothers, Dev and Chetan, was released. There is no theatricality in her acting in this sequence. She lets the lyrics and music do their work and seems cocooned in sadness and longing.
13. Meri mehboob kahin aur mila kar mujh se (Gazal, 1964)
Gazal was a film about two poets in love (the setting is Agra). This perfect song was written by Sahir Ludhianvi and composed by Madan Mohan. Mohammad Rafi sings it with such delicacy and passion that every word, every note smites your heart. Sunil Dutt’s manly forthrightness is very effective here, and Meena Kumari is just brilliant. We mostly see only her perfect profile, but we know she is listening, it is important in the context of the movie. They don’t know each other very well yet, and this song will decide what turn the fledging romance takes. Everyone knows Meena Kumari was a far better actress than she was a poet, but she did love words. This song, beautifully conceived by directors Ved-Madan, is like a conversation between Ejaz and Naaz: we hear him; we hear her reaction through her eloquent expressions.
14. Sansar se bhaage phirte ho (Chitralekha 1964)
Kidar Sharma’s Chitralekha was based on Bhagwati Charan Verma’s acclaimed 1935 novel. This song, written by Sahir Ludhianvi and composed by Sharma’s friend Roshan, encapsulates the conflict that the novel examines. Lata Mangeshkar and Meena Kumari had been complementing each other’s art ever since Baiju Bawra. In 1964, Meena Kumari was thirty-two and Mangeshkar, thirty-five. Mangeshkar would continue to be a stellar artiste for two more decades, but Meena’s sun would set in the latter half of the 1960s. So it is nice to see her in top form in this song, scathing in her contempt for all that Yogi Kumargiri stands for. Her performance is mature beyond her years; she is in command of her art. She looks the part, a beautiful, sinful, proud voluptuary trained to captivate through music and dance. Chitralekha expects to be admired and is not a little hurt by Kumargiri’s preachy disdain.
15 & 16. Thare rahiyo o banke yaar & Aaj hum apni duaon ka asar (Pakeezah, 1972)
Pakeezah having been so long in the making, has Meena Kumari both in her ravishing youthful days as well as in the last years of her life, when she was very sick. It’s a very special movie, lovingly wrapped with the imagination, talents and industry of many. While the movie waited for Meena Kumari and Kamal Amrohi to work together once more, the composer of those beautiful songs, Ghulam Mohammad, passed away in penury. Thare rahiyo was written by Majrooh Sultanpuri and features a resplendent Meena Kumari. Though the sadness never quite leaves Meena’s Sahibjan, she still smiles and acts the performer everyone pays to see.
In the piquant Aaj hum apni duaon ka asar written by Kaif Bhopali, it is almost our very last meeting with Meena Kumari but her screen presence still pulls us into her story. For a fleeting moment, the familiar mischievous smile transforms her face as she almost taunts the ineffectual-looking Salim (Raaj Kumar).
Ironically, for all the browbeaten-woman roles she played, most all her life Meena herself broke stereotypes: she was a working woman; she was the first female superstar; she did not let her marriage kill her professional life. But all her hard work and success did not earn her the peace and happiness she should have enjoyed in her mature years. A few years of bad mistakes blotted the memory of all that she had achieved. * Even today people get read for their salacious Meena stories. Poor them! If only they were as famous as she was, people would tell stories about them.
* N.B. I wrote this piece in 2010, scouring the internet for information about Meena Kumari. Apart from the balanced Wikipedia entry, I came across several pieces providing salacious anecdotal accounts about Meenaji's last years.
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