Title:
Actually… I Met Them: A Memoir
Author:
Gulzar
Publisher:
Penguin Random House (2021)
Genre:
Non-Fiction, Autobiography
ISBN:
978-0670096077
Pages:
176
In his memoir, Actually… I Met Them, Gulzar Saab recollects hauntingly beautiful memories of his people ─ mentors, peers, and colleagues who have left an impact on his soul.
‘The artistic landscape is made up of diversity of talents. There will always be those who are nomads, radiant with talent, and transient like comets. We must learn to accept such people on their own terms.’
Basically, this memoir-ish book is a collection of 18 articles. Each chapter is a celebration itself. It begins with Bimal Roy, his first mentor who eventually becomes a father-figure to him.
Gulzar Saab initiates this chapter by describing his love for Bengali language and how it paves his path into the cinema world, ‘I had a separate personal interest in Bimal Roy’s works. Since most of his films were adaptations of Bengali literature and I was a literature nerd through and through.’
He goes on to talk about his Bengali friends, who tempted him to start learning the language. Twist came when he was sent off to Bombay, where his elder brother used to live and ‘it was perhaps to ensure I learnt how to make living and not waste my life away on trivialities’ writes Gulzar. Things were not as they seemed, and he moved out of his brother’s place.
Gulzar Saab illumines about the pivotal moment when he was offered work in films and he refused, but after meeting with Bimal Da, he took a chance. He takes us along on a journey through his experiences. He writes about the first sight of Bimal Da, ‘Such a decidedly simple and unassuming man that for a moment my heart did not know how to react’.
‘He worked on every such sequence with so much attention to detail that they become exemplary. He was a man whose life revolved around cinema, he lived and breathed films,’ he added.
The moment that moves me the most is when he revisits the last days of Bimal Da, ‘Few days of fever, a few days of being unwell, and then it was as if someone had plunged a dagger into our hearts.’
‘Bimal Da seemed to have shrunk, gotten smaller, like a cushion on sofa, I was not a hero, I could not stand seeing him that way…
…8 January 1966, with his passing, all the pain that I had stowed away for my father seemed for find closure, it was the day of the ritual bath of Purna Kumbh.’
I am in awe of words and images that he has picked to depict these real life characters. The second chapter is on Salil Chowdhury, a member of the communist party of India, and a music composer, ‘The kind of intoxication and energy that bursts forth when you shake and uncork a bottle of champagne – Salil Da was that kind of a person.’
Gulzar Saab observed tiniest details that shows his deep affection towards him, ‘I realized that he was extremely indolent. He loved playing carom, could always be found busy around the ping pong table, always ready to do anything except his own work. But then he touched a piano or a harmonium and music would spill over like nectar! Oh! Such a genius, yet how could he live like that?’
Hemant Da was a singer, a composer and a film producer as well. Emotion is what oozes through pages while reading about him. The imprints of his memories seem still fresh, ‘Bimal Roy passed away, leaving us, his boys, to fend for ourselves like orphans. And Hemanta Da stepped onto the scene, with that gigantic heart of his that was so full of courage, generosity and love.’
If memories are brushstrokes, then Gulzar Saab paints a canvas full of longing. He shares a resounding memory, ‘You take this tune, Gullu. No one else will take it, they won’t understand it.’ This dialogue is taken from the chapter on Pancham, and the song is Chhoti si kahani se baarishon ke paani se..’
Rahul Dev Burman, who was famous for making music out of Pawan Chakkis and running trains, ‘Anything different would attract him. If there’s such a thing with Pancham’s gharana then perhaps it would comprise his experimental works.’
Gulzar Saab holds the wealth of memories of Pancham Da, and he gladly submerges into them, ‘Anger, sorrow, dejection, hurt feelings, a sharp break in creativity – where could one expect to find Pancham during such times? The kitchen.’
The first time Gulzar worked with Pancham was in Parichay. The first song was Musafir Hoon Yaaron, ‘Silent communication existed between us, is that what they call chemistry?’
Gulzar Saab captures few hilarious anecdotes in bits and pieces, for instance, while creating Mera Kuch Samaan, Pancham said ‘Gullu, tomorrow you’ll ask me to set the morning newspaper to music’ but he composed the song, and the rest is history.
‘Pancham
left us way too soon, didn’t he? Of course, he used to always be in hurry. He
would pour water into the cup of tea to cool it and drink that while tinkering
with a tune on the harmonium.’
He secured a place in my heart by telling about his kinship with Pancham Da in such dignified manner. I underlined pages and pages, It would be so comforting to revisit them someday.
The way this memoir is presented to readers, it seemed more like reading a gripping fiction. Each chapter contains information but with definite structure and stunning prose, just like a short story which engulfs you with its beginning, middle and comforting end.
In the next article, he speaks about Kishore Da, ‘A mad genius – a person evoking feelings of irritation while simultaneously also commanding respect.’
Did you know that Kishore Da was all set to play the protagonist in Anand? It didn’t work out though. This chapter is full of giggles and tender moments. Gulzar Saab ends this piece with a pristine thought on him, ‘Perhaps he used to believe fairy tales were real, magic carpets too. And he wished to live his life by those very truths.’
Reading this memoir opens a window to understand Gulzar as a person. What really stuns me is his gentle way of showing gratitude towards artists. These reflections need to be savoured rather than analyzed.
Gulzar Saab also includes Sanjeev Kumar, Mahasweta Devi, Suchitra Sen, Sharmila Tagore, Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Pandit Ravi Shankar, Samaresh Basu, Ritwick ghatak and more. I wanted to cover all personalities as it would kill the charm of exploring this journey. Though, I would like to mention the piece on Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, It touched me the most and filled me with possibilities and hope ‘the speciality of his voice, what we call timbre, was exquisite.’
This memoir is not about filmmaking tools or his formulae of lyrics writing but an honest documentation of reminisces as if Gulzar Saab is speaking to a friend on an evening walk.
Honestly, I am too wrecked to write about such treasure, it surely deserves long-length discussion with G-mitra (A group created by Pavan Jha, for those friends who meditated on Gulzar’s words).
Here, I would like to mention that Gulzar Saab shared these recollections with Sanchari Mukherjee for a Bengali newspaper. The compilations of those narratives, was first published as ‘Panta Bhate’ in Bengali. Now it has been translated from the Bangla to English by Maharghya Chakraborty, in the first person narrated by Gulzar.
‘It seems like a dream when I revisit my memories of such great gurus and colleagues, and I feel overwhelmed that I have really interacted with them. I have to pinch myself on realizing that actually . . . I met them.'
P.S. Actually… I Met Them was published by Penguin Random House and I can’t be grateful enough to Gulzar Saab and Pavan Jha (Da) for this gifted copy.
