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.’
Gulzar
Saab firmly believes that you are nothing without your memories. The anecdote
he shared from Khamoshi had me in thrall – Hamne Dekhi Hai In Aankhon Ki
Mehakti Khushboo – I wrote the song, and Hemant Da composed an exquisite tune
for it, and then dropped a bomb as he declared, ‘Lata will sing the song’ ‘the
song is about a man’s emotion, how can it be sung by a woman?’ He includes
‘that is the magic of Hemanta Da’s music and his powers of observation.’
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.
______________
This review is written by Ankita Chauhan and edited by Priyadarshini Sharma.
