Madhubala on a postal stamp

Posted By indiatime On March 19, 2008

After a credit sequence accompanied by a charming light-classical song of the rainy season (Garajta barasta saavana aayo re, “Oh friend, the thundering rains have come [but my beloved has not returned]”), the story opens with the struggling poet Aman Hyderabadi (Bharat Bhushan, i.e., “Bhooshan” in the credits) temporarily lodging with Mubarak Ali of Gulbarga, a qawwali maestro and his two performing daughters.  The younger, Shabab (“youth”) is a mischievous flirt, but the elder, Shama (her name means “candle” and refers to the standard moth-and-flame trope in Urdu love poetry) is deeply in love with the young boarder.  Their father’s musical career has suffered a setback because of a defeat in a qawwali “duel” with the party of the legendary Daulat Khan, and Mubarak Ali beseeches Aman’s poetic help in winning a rematch.  But his own straightened circumstances compel the young man to first return to his home city of Hyderabad to seek his fortune composing ghazals for the local All India Radio station.

While roaming the countryside looking for inspiration for his first commission, Aman takes shelter from a nocturnal monsoon downpour on the verandah of a blacksmith’s cottage, and is soon joined there by a radiant young woman who has been drenched by the storm; a lightning flash causes her to involuntarily clutch his chest, their eyes meet, and then….he lights a cigarette and she departs.  She is soon identified (to us) as Shabnam (Madhubala), the spirited elder daughter of the city’s Police Commissioner (K. N. Singh), and an ardent lover of poetry—especially the ghazals of Aman Hyderabadi, whose divan or book of odes she keeps at her bedside.  Naturally, she is excited when the radio announces that he will himself now perform a new one, and so begins the film’s remarkable title song (listed on the menu by its opening phrase, as is standard practice; Zindagi bhar nahin), in which the poet soulfully recounts his chance meeting with a beautiful girl during a thunderstorm.

In all my life I’ll never forget that rainy night,
For I encountered a lovely girl that rainy night…

 

As the verses unfold, their artful rendition of the details of the meeting makes the delighted Shabnam gradually realize that the man she recently met was indeed her beloved poet.

Students of cultural studies should likewise be delighted with this sequence (and others to follow), in which the (then-still-proliferating) technology of radio serves as romantic go-between and love-medium: as Aman sighs into his studio microphone, Shabnam responsively swoons over her stylish console.

Events soon bring the two together again when Aman surreptitiously sings to Shabnam during a poetic function, (Maine shaayad tumhen, “Perhaps I have seen you somewhere before”), and then is hired to tutor Shabnam’s precocious kid sister.  But their budding love cannot be concealed, and it arouses the ire of Shabnam’s stern policeman father, who despises poets and moreover has plans to marry his daughter to one Aftab, the son of a judge-crony in Lucknow.  When he banishes Aman from the house, Shabnam escapes to join her lover, and their flight is assisted by the blacksmith at whose home they first met.  But before they can arrange a marriage ceremony (and needless to say, they chastely sleep apart while this is pending), Shabnam is recaptured by her father’s minions and brought back to Hyderabad.

The unfolding plot now alternates between Aman’s quest to recover his beloved, and his old friend Mubarak Ali’s similar efforts to regain his lost reputation as the greatest of qawwals.  Along the way there are splendid songs like Mayus to hun (“Despondent am I [at your faithlessness]”), sung by Aman to the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer.  The two narratives come together when Aman—who has followed Shabnam’s family to Lucknow—listlessly agrees to help a pretentious, third-rate poet compose fresh songs for the Hyderabadi singer Chand Khan, whose qawwali party will face Mubarak Ali’s in a competition.

This leads to the first of the three infectiously energetic qawwali numbers, Nigahen naaz ke (“[What will happen to those struck by] our proud glances?”), in which the heavily-adorned sisters Shama and Shabab boast (with good reason!) of their coquettish beauty—yet lose to Aman’s superior lyrics; and in the process the perky Shabab loses her heart to the handsome young singer Chand Khan (the feeling is mutual).  A rematch is arranged, and this time Aman rallies to the aid of his old friend, and the song Pahechanta hoon khoob (“I know very well [your intentions]”) leads Chand Khan to defeat (and to a not-undesired marriage to his young conqueror Shabab).

Mubarak Ali still needs to best the famed Daulat Khan, and for this purpose his party, accompanied by Aman, proceeds to the famed Sufi shrine of Ajmer Sharif, the tomb of the great saint Muinnuddin Chishti and the mecca of all qawwals, especially at the time of the annual urs or death-anniversary of the saint.  Coincidentally, the Hyderabad P. C.’s family goes on pilgrimage there too, to seek the saint’s healing blessings for the soon-to-be-married Shabnam, who is pining away (as we know, from love sickness for Aman).  Her suffering is soon matched by that of Mubarak Ali’s elder daughter Shama when she discovers that her beloved Aman has given his heart to another.  The life-lines of all these young sufferers come together in a brilliant knot during the final qawwali-duel at the shrine, Na to carvan ki talash (“I seek neither a caravan [nor a traveling companion]”), a musical, emotional, and cinematographic tour-de-force that builds to a crescendo proclaiming the supreme power of ishq or passionate, self-effacing love.

Legends: Madhubala

by Ravi on March 27, 2008

Last week, the gorgeous Madhubala was immortalized, when the Indian government released a stamp in her name.

Her youngest sister, Madhur Bhushan (whose real name is Zahida) gave a closer insight – to the media – about Madhubala’s life, her romance with Dilip Kumar, her unhappy marriage to Kishore Kumar, and her illness. Here’s the complete interview, in her own words:

# On Madhubala’s entry into films:

My father, Ataullah Khan, was working in the Imperial Tobacco Company in Peshawar, Pakistan, when he lost his job and decided to come to Mumbai. Madhubala was seven at that time. Her real name was Mumtaz Begum. We called her Mazliappa, as she was the fifth child.

My father started looking for a job. He also took Madhubala to film studios. She got work in Basant (1942) at the age of nine. The leading lady’s name was Mumtaz Shanti, so Madhubala was called Baby Mumtaz, when she was a child actress.

She got her first break in Kirdar Sharma‘s Neel Kamal. Kirdar’s wife was supposed to play the lead role but she passed away. As Madhubala knew the dialogues, she became a heroine at the age of 13. From this film onwards, she was credited as Madhubala. The film did not do well, but her work was appreciated.

Madhubala shot to fame in 1949 with Mahal. She was 16. At that time, no one realised that she was sick, not even my father. Madhubala was a healthy child, and very bubbly.

# On Madhubala’s illness:

Madhubala first vomited blood, when she was in Chennai shooting for S S Vassan’s Bahut Din Huwe (1954). She was treated, and she resumed shooting. Nobody thought she was sick, until she fainted on J K Nanda’s sets while shooting with Raj Kapoor on Chalack (1957). The film never got completed. That’s when, the doctor said that, she had a hole in her heart. She was 24 then.

She was advised bed rest for three months, but after a month of rest, Madhubala resumed work. Looking at her, one would not say that she was sick. She, herself, was not ready to believe, that she was sick.

Her last film was Mughal-E-Azam, which released in 1960. People think that she worked after that too, but that’s not true. She had completed all her films,, in the 10 years that it took for Mughal-E-Azam to be made!

Some movies released after she was bedridden, but she was in no condition to work after Mughal-E-Azam. In fact, in some of the scenes, you will notice that she looks pale and sick.

# On her family:

People say that, my family knew she was ill but we did not treat her; that we hid this fact from producers to get work. But there was no technology back then to check, whether she had a hole in a heart, so how would any of us know? We came to know only in 1957. After three years, she went to London for treatment. But it was too late. Madhubala died after nine years.

Everybody blamed my father. But he was protective about his daughters, since his sons had died at the ages of five and six. He was an uneducated man, but he was like Madhubala’s manager. He took care of her work, but never interfered on what films she should take up.

He never allowed Madhubala to attend movie premieres, because he felt overexposure would kill her career. He always wanted fans to crave for her.

# On her romance with Dilip Kumar:

The reason, Madhubala broke up with Dilip Kumar, was B R Chopra‘s film Naya Daur, not my father.

Madhubala had shot a part of the film, when the makers decided to go for an outdoor shoot to Gwalior. The place was known for dacoits, so my father asked them to change the location. They disagreed, because they wanted a hilly terrain. So my father asked her to quit the film. He was ready to pay the deficit.

Chopra asked Dilip Kumar for help. Dilipsaab and Madhubala were engaged then. Dilipsaab tried to mediate but Madhubala refused to disobey her father.

Chopra’s production filed a case against her, which went on for a year. But this did not spoil their relationship.

Dilipsaab told her to forget movies and get married to him. She said she would marry him, provided he apologised to her father. He refused, so Madhubala left him. That one ‘sorry’ could have changed her life.

She loved Dilipsaab till the day she died.

# On Madhubala’s marriage to Kishore Kumar:

When Madhubala fell sick and was planning to go to London for treatment, Kishore Kumar proposed marriage.

My father wanted her to wait and get a clean chit from the London doctors first. But Madhubala married Kishore Kumar out of stubbornness, and anger towards Dilipsaab. They got married in 1960. She was 27 years old.

Once the doctor gave his verdict – that she would not live for long – Kishorebhai brought her a house in Mumbai’s Carter Road and dumped her there alone, with a nurse and a driver. He would come once in about four months to see her. He did not take her phone calls. Kishorebhai was madly in love with Madhubala but once she returned from London, he dumped her. He was not a good husband.

Madhubala was very depressed, because no one came to meet her. Once upon a time, she was hot property in the industry. But when she was bedridden and dying, not a single person met her. Also, she could no longer dress up. She was in night gowns most of the time. She died at the age of 36.

May her soul rest in peace….

Cinema goers have been so dazzled by Madhubala’s looks that they often fail to appreciate her immense talent.

Years ago, when interviewing actor Dev Anand at Mehboob Studios in Mumbai, I asked him about his co-star, Madhubala. “Statuesque is the word I would use for her,” came the instant reply. I found the compliment highly inadequate. For one thing, her beauty was not fully described. Dev Anand failed to mention the innocence and vulnerability in her looks. He didn’t allude to her attractive complexion and highly chiselled features, nor to her scintillating smile. He also made no mention of her histrionic abilities.

Cinema goers and critics have been so dazzled by Madhubala’s looks that they often fail to appreciate her immense talent. She had a perfect sense of timing which made her click in lighter roles. A case in point is Chalti Ka Naam Gaadi where she dominates over the three Kumar brothers, Ashok, Kishore and Anoop.

There was also a rare spontaneity about her which manifested itself in movies like Tarana and, at the same time, intense poignancy which found expression in the role of the ill-fated Anarkali in Mughal-i-Azam. In both these films she co-starred with the only man she loved, Dilip Kumar. But their romance was doomed like the one they portrayed in K. Asif’s magnum opus, Mughal-i-Azam.

Dilip Kumar has always been very cagey about his love affair with the Venus of the Indian Screen and declines to talk about her. Full marks then to Khatija Akbar, the author of ‘I want to live’: The Story of Madhubala, whose perseverance is rewarded and she is able to make the legendary actor talk about different facets of Madhubala’s winsome personality. The man, who has always been very careful in expressing his views on people, is more than once caught in unguarded moments. This makes the biography highly absorbing. But that’s not all. Akbar speaks to many people who knew Madhubala, some of them at close quarters. She also delves deep into all that is available in print. The biography is indeed Akbar’s labour of love.

Two of Madhubala’s qualities that were reflected in many of her deeds were honesty and dedication. In an industry where the top stars were almost always unpunctual, Madhubala reached the studios on time, sometimes even dragging her co-stars and producers with her. Once when Bombay was deluged with heavy rains, she reached the flooded studio early in the morning only to find the gates locked. “From the very start, this was an unusual young girl, whose rare sense of values and responsibility towards her commitments, whose discipline and devotion to work marked her apart,” writes Akbar.

The book also discloses Madhubala’s innate sense of charity, which was not well known because she helped people and causes quietly. In 1950, when barely 17, she gave Rs 50,000, a colossal figure in those days, for the rehabilitation of refugees from what was then East Pakistan. She was generous in more sense than one and never forgot the people who stood by her in difficult moments.

The 1933-born Madhubala started her career as Baby Mumtaz in Basant, when she was merely eight years old. Her last film, Mughal-i-Azam, was released when she was 27 and she died when she was 36 from a congenital heart disease. Ironically, the surgical cure for a hole in the heart became a success shortly after her death.

Madhubala worked hard despite her failing health and paid a heavy price for it. Hastening her death was her marriage to the eccentric Kishore Kumar, whom she married on the rebound after the tragic end to her love affair with Yusuf Khan, the actor known to the world as Dilip Kumar. While he too wanted to marry Madhubala, her father played the villain. Madhubala was the sole bread earner of a large family, which included her five sisters. Dilip Kumar, on the other hand, insisted on her giving up her film career. She was caught between two Pathans, her overprotective father, Ataullah Khan, and the love of her life, Yusuf Khan.

Once, her biographer was informed by Om Prakash, in whose film Madhubala was working at that point, Dilip Kumar came to her makeup room and said that a Qazi was waiting to perform the nikah. But there was no wedlock, there was only deadlock. Madhubala could not leave her family in the lurch. Commitment took precedence over love, much to the chagrin of her proposer.

The most delectable screen couple appeared only in four films, which included R.C. Talwar’s Sangdil, based on Jane Eyre¸ and Mehboob Khan’s Amar, a mature movie made before its time.

Akbar examines, in depth, Madhubala’s acting, the characters she brought to life on the screen and her interaction with her co-performers. The biographer rightly points out that though most of the 60-plus films Madhubala worked on were nothing much to write home about, her own performance was always laudable.

The chapter on the making of Mughal-e-Azam is highly informative. Akbar recalls events and reveals facts which even many well informed filmgoers are unaware of. The film has been an all time favourite of movie buffs of different age groups. When novelist and columnist Shobhaa De took her daughters to a show of the digitally and painstakingly coloured version of the movie, she feared they would sulk and protest. Instead they responded “with moist eyes and lumps in their throat”. “Madhubala can send Madhuri and Aishwarya packing,” was their unanimous opinion.

Some rare pictures in the volume and a DVD of songs filmed on her, attached to the book, make the package all the more invaluable.

The reviewer is the author of Mehdi Hasan: The Man and His Music

‘I Want to Live’: The Story of Madhubala
(BIOGRAPHY)
By Khatija Akbar
Hay House Publishers, New Delhi
ISBN 978-93-80480-81-7
264pp. Indian Rs399