Anita Khosla talks about father Raj Khosla
Emma Powell Even the most hardnosed realist cannot remain immune to the romantic overtures of Lag jaa gale in Woh Kaun Thi. Or remain unmoved by the finality of separation in Shayad phir iss janam mein mulaqat ho na ho... In fact, the timeless ’60s number was ingeniously woven in Tigmanshu Dhulia’s neo-age Sahib Biwi Aur Gangster. More recently, the retro melody was also part of a TV commercial. Director Raj Khosla, apart from an eye for technique, had an ear for melody and verse. He popularised the neo-noir style with thrillers like C.I.D and Kala Pani in the ’50s and straddled whodunits (Mera Saaya, Anita), women-oriented musicals (Do Badan, Chirag, Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki) and dramas (Mera Gaon Mera Desh, Dostana) with panache. Situational song picturisations and stylish shot taking have ticked him as a textbook in filmmaking. Daughter Anita Khosla Puri, who among five sisters, is the one drawn towards cinema, says she’s discovering facets of her father’s genius each day. While she’s still trying to decipher the layered mind, she recalls his life and times in a way only a daughter can - in all his frailties, with all his contradictions, in all his ability to love and give... And though a devastated Khosla during the eve of his life is known to have said, “It’s a losing game. There are no winners here,” he’s a winner alright. Through his films, through his music, he continues to funnel those who have jumped into the fray. In Anita’s words...
Raj Khosla's daughter Anita Khosla
THE DAD I LOVED
He was not a normal dad, his profession not being a regular one either. Dad was a man of many moods. Mercurial and temperamental! But at all times emotional. I don’t remember much of the ’60s as I was young then. But I do remember his influence in our lives as I grew older. We lived in Marina Apartments in Bandra (later bought over by Aamir Khan). Including me, we are five sisters Uma, Sunita, Reena and Sonia. We were a handful for my mother Usha. Dad had a soft corner for Reena and pampered her. But mujhe bas daantte hi rehte the (he kept scolding me). I was the rebellious one. I wanted my way. It was always ‘you can’t do this’ and ‘you can’t do that’ with me. But he didn’t want me to be away from him either. When I went to college, I began understanding his clout. Of all his children, I was attracted to cinema. In fact, my grades in the Mass Media course (Sophia College,
Mumbai) suggested I take filmmaking. But conservative as he was, he’d have none of it. Even if he found me on his set, he’d ask, “When did you come? Go home!” According to him, girls had to get married and settle down. He had a set image about women. We could never wear trousers or step out without a dupatta. We had to include ‘please’, ‘thank you’ in our conversations, knock before coming in and never give the feeling that we were ‘a rich man’s daughter’. We were never encouraged to splurge. What if we married a man from a humble background! The car was available for us. We could go out to the club. That was it. Also, we never visited a theatre. We watched trial shows of his films at Sunil Dutt’s Ajanta Theatre. Yet in many ways he was indulgent. Like I wanted to do my graduation in Chandigarh but he was against it. After I had left, he sent me a cheque. He wanted me to get myself woollens. He used to write lovely letters to me because I’d get homesick. Once I was shaken after I watched a crude movie during my Mass Media course. He took me out for dinner to get my mind off it. I also remember the time he took me for the premiere of Feroz Khan’s Qurbani (1980) and bought me new clothes for that. Nazia Hasan was singing Aap jaisa koi live there. It was spectacular! At one point I was under tremendous pressure to get married. Seeing me troubled he just whisked us for a holiday to Kashmir saying, ‘Let’s give her a break!’ I also recall the family outings at the Sea Rock, Gazebo, Otters’ Club and those trips to Mahableshwar and Khandala. I remember being mesmerised by Rekha when I went on the set of Daasi (1981). She was looking resplendent in red and green saree. I was dark complexioned as compared to my sisters and felt conscious of it. Just to cheer me up dad would say, “I’ll put make-up for you and you’ll look like Rekha.” He made me feel beautiful. Once he picked two gorgeous sarees for me from Kashmir – one was tourquoise with embroidery and another burnt orange. “They’ll suit your skin tone,” he said. He gave me a fabulous wedding. My trousseau and that of Haji Mastan’s daughter’s were prepared by the same designer.
THE PERSON HE WAS
Apart from films, dad enjoyed cricket and horses. He loved the charged atmosphere at the Mahalaxmi racecourse. Also, he played chess, in fact a lot with Hrishikesh Mukherjee during his last years. His love for music touched our lives too. He’d sometimes be playing the harmonium, sometimes humming a tune. KL Saigal was his favourite singer and Ek bangla bane nyaara (President, 1937) was forever on his lips. In fact, it was even played in his blockbuster Do Raaste (1969). At times he sang Gore gore chaand se mukh par (Anita, 1967) for my eldest sister Uma who was fair. The phrase lak tunu tunu in the song Yaari hogayee yaar se (Do Chor, 1972) was his brainwave. A lover of Urdu, he had a LP collection of Jagjit Singh’s ghazals. We even attended a private mehfil of Ghulam Ali. Faiz Ahmed Faiz was his favourite poet. Once I saw he had underlined the lines Teri aankhon ke siva in a book of Faiz’s poems in his library. The lines were used in Chirag (1969) with Majrooh saab (Sultanpuri) elaborating on them. Dad encouraged me to learn Urdu from writer Dr Rahi Masoom Raza. He forcibly made me read William Shakespeare. When I happened to quote the poet, he was ecstatic. Sunil Dutt was one of his closest friends, along with Manoj Kumar, Vijay Anand and Johnny Baskhi. Incidentally, dad helped out with the direction of Rocky (1981) when Nargisji fell ill and Dutt saab had to be with her in the USA.
THE FILMMAKER
As a filmmaker, he always reinvented himself. He did thrillers, CID (1956), Kala Pani and Solva Saal (both in 1958) when he was in his 20s. The way he spoke about CID and Solva Saal, with so much passion and emotion, one realised how deep an impact Guru Dutt had on him. I remember asking him whether Guru Dutt had committed suicide. He didn’t want to answer. Perhaps, there was more to it. Later he did mysteries, melodramas, actioners... everything… but with an emotional tint. His actors were in awe of him. (Laughs) Contrary to rumours, he never flirted with his heroines. He had great respect for women. He could charm a woman from 18 to 80. His heroines never wore shorts or swimsuits. His movies could be watched with the
family. Because he saw life like that. He admired a woman’s grace – be it his wife, mother, sister or heroine. He was romantic and emotional. Sadhana asks Manoj Kumar ‘Aap kyon roye’ in Woh Kaun Thi. It hinted at his own emotional nature. In all his relationships, he gave more than he received. Dad was good friends with Sadhana. Her husband (the late RK Nayyar) was a foodie and we were invited for dinner at their house in Landmark often. While they were shooting for Teri Maang Sitaron Se Bhardoon (1982), Nutan would come way before him on the set. Funnily, she’d apologise for coming ‘early’ instead. When he took on Dostana (1982), he was clear that Zeenat Aman, known for her Western image, would only wear sarees. He also asked Amitji (Bachchan), who was known for his punctuality and would reach the set at sharp 9.30 am, not to come so early as he was a late riser. He found Rajesh Khanna ‘temperamental’ even though he worked with him in Do Raaste (1969) and Prem Kahani (1975). With Dharmendra, he had a blast, he being easygoing. When Raj Kapoor passed away (1988), the newspapers carried a beautiful picture of his. He threw away the paper saying, ‘I can’t see it’. A great admirer of Raj saab, he was distressed by his death.
THE DOWNSIDE
“It’s a hit!” he’d come home and say when his movies clicked at the box-office. And hits were something routine for years. Then suddenly began his bad phase in the ’80s. Barring Dostana, he had five flops in a row – Daasi, Teri Maang Sitaron Se Bhar Doon, Meraa Dost Meraa Dushman, Maati Maange Khoon and Naqab. We could see he was tired. But he refused to slow down. He’d say, ‘Maybe the next one will work! I can still do it!’ His ego refused to accept that what you were in your 30s you can’t be in your 60s. He’d run from one set to another. But soon depression set in. He began keeping to himself. He’d confine himself to his room, would keep on reading and refused to interact much. Had he taken a break things would have improved. We even suggested changing our home and moving to our sea facing apartment at Carter Road. We believed the moving sea would bring the right vibe and movement in his life. But he did not leave Marina apartments. As for the alleged alcoholism, he drank as much as he always did. Contrary to what was said, shootings were not cancelled because he drank on the set but because he couldn’t get up in the mornings after a late night. Fortunately, the downfall didn’t touch us. We were never big spenders.
THE FINAL ACT
Towards the end he developed jaundice. He was admitted to Jaslok Hospital. Nobody imagined he’d be gone so soon. He was alert till the last. He was perturbed by Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination on May 21, 1991, a few days before his demise. The day he passed away (June 9, 1991), it was pouring in Mumbai. I couldn’t fly down from Delhi as flights were cancelled. They couldn’t bring the body home for three days as it was raining non-stop. His death was a quiet affair because things were already quiet on the career front. My mother passed away two years after dad. I couldn’t bear to hear music for almost seven years. Because music was him. I have inherited his love for music, poetry and films. What’s special is that I inherited the reels of his films when his property was divided amongst us. The rights of his films have been given to Doordarshan and satellite television for 10 years. Dad lives on in his songs, in his films... Today, I appreciate his genius. But he never encouraged anyone to enter films. He’d say, “There are many more talented people than me who have not made it. I am just lucky.”
Raj Khosla - 1925-1991
Began his career as Guru Dutt’s assistant.
His thriller C.I.D. (1956), produced by Guru Dutt, brought him recognition followed by Kala Pani (1958).
His musical Ek Musafir Ek Hasina (1962) had seven songs composed by OP Nayyar.
He later created the ‘suspense’ trilogy - Woh Kaun Thi (1964), Mera Saaya (1966) and Anita (1967) – all with Sadhana. It conferred the title ‘mystery girl’ on her.
The melodrama Do Badan (1966) brought recognition to Asha Parekh as ‘a serious actress’ and also won Simi Garewal the Filmfare Best Supporting Actress Award.
He was compared to Hollywood’s George Cukor (of My Fair Lady fame) for being a woman’s director.
Do Raaste (1969) furthered Rajesh Khanna’s stardom and also made Mumtaz a top heroine.
His dacoit drama Mera Gaon Mera Desh (1971) supposedly inspired the epic Sholay (1975).
Main Tulsi Tere Aangan Ki (1978), a compassionate take on the mistress, won him the Filmfare Best Movie Award and Nutan the Filmfare Best Actress Award. The theme of a man torn between two devoted women recurred in Daasi (1981) and Sunny (1984).
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