The tragedy of Smita Patil can never find closure. Because it was about incomplete dreams, incomplete conversations and an incomplete journey… Someone who in just a decade long career had a retrospective of her films beamed in Paris, someone who rode the crest of parallel cinema in the ’70s, succumbed to an arbitrary medical complication two weeks after childbirth. And in that she left yet another thwarted saga… of unrealised motherhood. Close friend and filmmaker Aruna Raje, who was privy to the untold side of the ill-fated actress, says that while the world hankered after her, hers was just ‘a middle-class dream – of a doting husband, loving children’. Perhaps, the song from Jabbar Patel’s Subah – Hum dono hum dono dono hum… filmed on Girish Karnad and Smita fictionalised her fantasy to the hilt.
The recent demise of Smita’s mother, Vidyatai Patil (whom Aruna also addressed as Maa), in March this year, triggered a flashback in Aruna. Vidyatai, who cradled grandson Prateik when she was way past 55 herself, could never put her grief to rest. The tears were just a memory away. Paradoxically, it was this very rage that fuelled Vidyatai beyond her years... In Aruna’s words...

Naseer and Smita look on as Aruna Raje and ex-husband Vikas Desai enact the scene on the set of Situm

Soul sisters

The first time I saw Smita was at our Worli residence, where I lived with my ex-husband/filmmaker Vikas Desai. She was sitting on a carved sofa. Vikas and I were directing Shaque (1976), our debut film, with Vinod Khanna and Shabana Azmi those days. Our assistant, Arun Khopkar, an FTII graduate, wanted to make a diploma film (Teevra Madhyam) with a newcomer.
He had zeroed in on Smita and introduced her to us. I saw her and there was an instant connect. Our friendship began in the early ’70s and only grew thicker... till of course, she passed away. Smita and I were soulmates. We shared the same maiden surname – Patil - and called ourselves Patil sisters. We shared the same birthday, October 17, which numerically adds to numeral 8 – a number that implies great highs and lows in life. We were both dusky and were endearingly called ‘Kali’ or its appendages like ‘Kaloba’, ‘Kaluli’ by our mothers. Our mothers were rock solid women. Our fathers were in politics and both became Ministers. We had a Pune connection, in that we grew up there.

Free spirit
In the early years, Smita was a carefree soul. She was bindaas and bohemian. She’d smoke chup chup ke. Hers was a magnetic personality. Once Vikas threw a surprise birthday party for me on a boat. Smita came along with Vinod Khanna wearing a one-shoulder dress. She looked fabulous. She loved going for long drives. The minute pack-up would be announced, she’d pull me in her car and we’d zip off. Once we reached Pune and stopped to stay at a middle-class hotel. There was no car parking available. We picked up a bike stationed there, dumped it somewhere else and parked our vehicle instead. That crazy we were!

As actors, she and Shabana Azmi were different. Shabana knew her grammar well. As an artiste, she could use her tools and execute perfectly. She knew her craft. Smita  was all emotion. In fact, she was an emotional fool. And she did pay a price for that in her personal life. But in her work that very emotion, that passion helped her excel. It gave her an edge and a high of another kind. Being sensitive, she would be hurt by rivalry and role grabbing, by comparisons and unsavoury things written about her. Few know that Smita wanted to be a director. In fact, she had wanted to assist me for Rihaee (1988), a film where she was also to play the heroine.  After she passed away, I didn’t want to make the film. Finally, we took Hema Malini (1988). I rewrote the script to suit her.

Raj Babbar with Smita Patil in Jawab

The ‘other’ woman
In 1982, my nine-year-old daughter Gaagi fell ill with cancer. Smita was a regular at home those days. She used to do comic things – a side few know – to make Gaagi laugh. She’d impersonate Donald Duck. That image of Smita, pouting her lips like a duck, remains with me. At that point, life put us in contradictory situations. Vikas, who was then my husband, got involved with my friend (Tejashree Shantaram). Gaagi passed away in 1983. The day after she passed away, Vikas asked for a divorce. Of course, I was broken then. On the other hand, Smita was involved with Raj Babbar, a much married man.

Maa (Vidyatai), an upright lady, would ask me, “Tu kaise bardasht karti hai issko (How do you tolerate her)? Yeh doosri aurat banker Nadira (Babbar) ka ghar barbaad kar rahi hai (As the ‘other’ woman she’s destroying Nadira’s home). And here, you are suffering because of another woman.” I told Maa, “Yes, I am suffering but Smita is also suffering. We are two sides of the same coin. The wife and the other woman both suffer.” I explained to her that beyond a point it’s in no one’s hands.

Feminist gone frail
We were representing two facets of a painful situation. And we could heart each other. She was miserable. She really loved the man. Sometimes love goes beyond logic, reasoning and understanding. You become helpless. For Maa it was difficult to accept her daughter’s doing. But I want to throw a question to society. Men have always played the field. Why is a man never held accountable? Why are women always blamed?

I’m often asked how a feminist like Smita betrayed this kind of vulnerability. But do you know what her ultimate dream was? To have a simple, middle-class home, husband, children... She didn’t care about being glamorous or famous. My relationship was not about advising her. Anyway she was being advised by all to stay away from a married man. Our equation was just about being supportive of what the other had chosen to do. With me she could be herself. She was not judged.

Vidyatai Patil and Smita. Prateik with grandmother, the late Vidyatai

Death wish
Then Smita became pregnant. Smita enjoyed her pregnancy and was looking forward to her child. But she was deeply unhappy with the things around her. Whenever upset, she’d call me and from the way she cried “Arunaaa!” over the phone I’d understand. I’d rush to her in a cab from Worli to Bandra. The truth was she loved Raj intensely. In fact, she had observed the Karva Chauth vrat even though she was pregnant, inspite of people discouraging her.

Smita gave birth to Prateik on November 28, 1986 and was naturally ecstatic. But within two weeks, she developed a complication and had fever. When I came to know that she had been admitted to Jaslok hospital, I rushed there. She was lying on the hospital bed... almost over... People had started gathering outside. It was December 13, 1986.
The shock was immense for all of us. Maa, who was herself devastated, told me, “You’ve lost your Gaagi all over again!” Gaagi left us in ’83 and Smita in ’86. It was a double sorrow. In retrospect, somewhere, Smita was fed up. She did have a death wish... and that’s why perhaps she gave up. Or else being the fighter she was, she would have fought back the infection. When things went wrong she’d often say, “Mala nako (I don’t want this)!” In fact, during the shooting of Situm (1984), an expert, who happened to read her handwriting had said, “She won’t live long!” Raj and Smita had written a lot of letters to each other, which Maa asked me to keep with me for a while after her demise. I kept them for a year or two. Once I happened to go through a few – they were loving notes to each other. Her use of language was beautiful. Later, I handed them over to her sister Anita.

Prateik and Maa
Sure, Maa had a tough time bringing up Prateik. She would keep saying, “Mazya var sodun geli! Look she’s left him and gone. He doesn’t listen...”   Though Maa was strong she expressed her pain, her sadness in her anger towards the unfairness of it all. She’d point to the beautiful sea facing house Smita had bought saying, “Yeh sab kiya, kya fayda (she did all this but what’s the use?).” Just like my nine-year-old Gaagi would say, “There’s no justice in the world. Why am I suffering?”

I could understand Maa’s emotions. As a kid, Prateik was attached to me. He called me Aruna maushi. I remember we took him to Bangalore for the mundan (shaving off the head ceremony). While he was growing up, he was sent off to boarding school - Mayo College in Ajmer. From there he wrote to me, “Aruna maushi get me out of here. Please tell Maa. Only you can convince her.” Finally, he was called back home. Then, when I was heading Whistling Woods, Prateik was brought in as a student.

Through the years Maa continued being a support to me as well. I was the trustee of her NGO - Stree Bal Shakti. She was suffering from breathing problems since quite some time. Three days before she passed away, on March 5, the family had organised a get together where Smita’s father spoke about Maa’s strong presence in their lives. She passed away on March 8. Her time was up. But her love will continue to protect Prateik. 

(clockwise) In Jait Re Jait, With Amitabh Bachchan in Namak Halal, With Om Puri in Ardh Satya and With Shabana Azmi in Mandi

Too much too soon

Smita’s father Shivajirao Patil is a politican and her mother Vidyatai Patil was a social-worker/nurse.

Her first brush with the camera was as a television newsreader.

Smita’s career took off after Shyam Benegal cast her in the children’s film Charandas Chor and in a small role in Nishant both in 1975.

She came into the limelight with Benegal’s Manthan (1977). She played a villager, who leads a revolt against the milk mafia.

At 22, she starred in Benegal’s Bhumika, a fictionalised biography of actress Hansa Wadkar and won the National Award.

She did films with new wave directors like Muzaffar Ali (Gaman, 1979) and Dharamraj (Chakra, 1981). The latter won her a Filmfare and a National Award.

With Govind Nihalani she worked in Aakrosh (1980), where she played a tribal woman who is raped and murdered.  Later she did his Ardh Satya (1982)

She worked in Satyajit Ray’s television film Sadgati (1981)

Smita ventured into the regional arena with the Marathi movie Jait Re Jait (1978), Mrinal Sen’s Bengali film Akaler Sandhaney (1980) and Ketan Mehta’s Gujarati classic Bhavni Bhavai (1980).

Jabbar Patel’s Umbartha (made in Hindi as Subah, 1983) won her a Filmfare and a National Award again. She regarded the role of a woman torn between her needs and those of her family’s as closest to her.

She did commercial fare like Namak Halal and Shakti in 1982 with Amitabh Bachchan

With Shabana Azmi, she did Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai (1980), Arth and Mandi (both 1983).

Through the ’80s, Smita paired with Raj Babbar in Jawaab, Aaj Ki Awaaz and Dehleez among others. In Pet Pyaar Aur Paap, she bears a child of a married truck driver (Raj Babbar) and dies leaving the child behind.

Smita played the feisty Sonbai in Ketan Mehta’s Mirch Masala (1987) a film released after her death.

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