How Rekha made Amitabh Bachchan, the angry young man, desirable

Salim-Javed created the angry young man. But if there is a desirability component in the persona called Amitabh Bachchan, the credit for its creation goes entirely to another icon — Rekha.

We all know that the angry young man fulfilled the need of the nation in the seventies. His ‘wronged’ and ‘deprived’ origins mirrored the state of the entire populace. The repressed violence in his struggles to rise from those origins spoke for the voiceless. The actor became an inspiring leader-figure for Indian youth (mostly men and children). The star embodied valour and heroism, but frankly, not much sex-appeal. The messiah superstar. Missing from this stardom was the crazed female fan following of the earlier phenomenon — Rajesh Khanna. The adulation that Indians offered to Bachchan was also lacking in the love that would be showered by women of all ages, upon the next superstar — Shah Rukh Khan.

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The one saving gaze came from a kajal-lined pair of most beautiful eyes. Of a woman who was easy to emulate, for two reasons. One, because her style did not require fancy designer outfits – every one of her saree borders, every ‘pallu’ could be copied into less expensive versions, the pompadours had made way for what Indian women always had — long black hair — washed and left to its own devices, or in a non-romantic mood tied into a hurried (sometimes even oily) the great Indian jooda bun. Her beauty, too, had a story. She did not come into films because she was what Indians considered pretty — fair and thin. The origins of her looks were like all of us. Her transformation from “an ugly duckling” into a diva was reiterated by the media. Yoga, and diets, and acquired subtlety in dress and make-up. Rekha became beautiful. In imitation of her, so could every Indian woman. And did the Indian woman while learning to deliberately smudge the end of her upper eyelid kajal line also adapt the diva’s nazar? The nazar, the gaze that was consistently fixed on only one object — Him. With a capital H.

In a world where gossip mills churn out rumours of ‘link-ups’ every pre-release week, one ‘love’ story that goes on for 50 years, yes, half a century, is awarded ‘eternal’ status. Like all legends, it is one of those stories that perpetuate themselves in the cause of creating that larger myth called Bollywood.

Does the kind of childhood a woman has had determine the kind of feelings she has, the relationships she gets into, and those that she imagines? I see so many similarities between how Rekha has described her family as, and how she has spoken about her relationship with Mr. Bachchan — in some interviews.

I am so lucky, she has said, that it is all in my head, because then, ‘you can go crazy with your fantasies’. Her life has already prepared her for this. Having worshipped an absent father from a distance. The heart-breaking description of how, as a little girl, she used to hide to catch a glimpse of the great actor Gemini Ganesan when he came to school to drop off his legitimate children. She never could, like a normal child, just run up to her father and meet him. She has never spoken to her father, she said. She has never had a real conversation or any personal association with Mr. Bachchan, Rekha has emphasised. When asked whether they met, she has answered she sometimes saw him at award functions. Is that it, Simi Grewal asked. That is a lot, Rekha answered. Such a ‘that’s a lot’ obviously means, for some women, that ‘it is enough; it has to be..’ As it had to be enough to see her father from a distance, it must be to attend separately, the same public function as a man rumoured to be her lover.

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The age difference of more than a decade lends itself to the effortless blurring of borders between the memory of filial affection felt by an abandoned daughter and essaying the story of an unrequited love. In 2003, Rekha became the youngest ever recipient of the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement award. In her acceptance speech, she thanked all her directors, many co-stars, her dance director even a costume designer. Fans must have noticed, maybe even be disappointed at the lack of acknowledgement of Mr. Bachchan’s role in her career. They had, after all, ten films together. But then this fan, revisited a video recording, and at the end, “Finally, I would like to dedicate this award to my Appa, my Dad, (and then, looking up now, for the first time in the entire speech, doing away with her notes, and the ‘Appa’ changing to just ‘Pa’) “Pa, you are everything I ever wanted to be, You are my Hero. You have given me the strength to last many lifetimes. You have taught me the meaning of love and life, even in your silences, (smiles) especially in your silences. I am whatever I am, because of you Pa, because of you, (pointing at the audience) only you, I simply am. I can never thank you enough. Never.”

Rekha loved watching Gemini Ganesan’s films. My Appa, she said, and that she would be so ‘thrilled’ to see him on screen. ‘Thrilled’ is the same word she uses when asked in that 2008 interview about what she feels about adoring someone who is oblivious to her feelings. “Thrilled…, and more than happy,” she adds. I have the honour of being associated with him, she says of the rumour. Praising him, and his (Jayaji has so much dignity, and so on). His professionalism, His talent, His ability to bear pain etc., etc. Any sensible viewer would cringe at this bare-it-all interview thing. Does she not have any self-respect, any dignity, we would ask. Especially since the other party does not even accord any Rekha-related questions with a complete response? When he is so dignified?

This talking about him is also a part of the myth-construction, I believe. It reminds me of a phenomenon that is not the same, but has the same reasons behind it. I used to witness this in some families as I assisted my mother in her small-town medical practice during vacations. “Wait till your father comes home.” “I am going to call your father and complain to him.” Or “Doctor, let’s wait for my husband to come home during the Ganapati holidays to make this important decision.”

All of 18-20 years, and in the feminism 101 stage, I expressed indignation at this. Remittance economy of the Konkan meant that many men worked either in the army or in the cotton mills in Mumbai. “These women are running their households single-handedly. Why do they stupidly threaten their children with punishment from their father, or wait for him to make a financial decision,” I would ask.

It was my mother who explained what these women were doing. “The father who came from the army posting or his mill job for a month with the family often found himself a stranger in his own house. The younger children would not even have recognised him. The month’s break would not have been enough to first strike a rapport with the kids, then manage to have conversations, or combined activities. But for one thing. The constant reminder of their father, the constant awareness that they had a father, and that he was part of the family and cared for the children” she told me.

“You just wait till your father comes home” or, in a nicer mood, “Father will be so proud of you when he hears of this achievement,” — this unique way the mother had thought of making sure the children never “forgot him”. And who better than my mother, widowed at 38, to see and understand this?

Rekha did something similar through the reiteration of her admiration for Bachchan in these interviews. Through the phase of his films not doing so well, his political failure, the national-level allegations and controversies, and always accompanying this, his ageing and naturally changes in his looks, there was one factor which did not allow us to forget, in fact made us see the ‘desirability’ and the attractiveness of the Amitabh Bachchan — the unabashed declarations of love by the most desirable female star — Rekha.

Aloof, shy, reticent, and restrained in all her behaviour, this was one aspect of herself she expressed repeatedly and loudly. Allowing herself a blush and a smile when Mr. Bachchan was mentioned, the references to ‘woh’, ‘that person’, ‘Him’ — yes, always, because she is a great actor, the actually audible in her speech, the capital H.

And the dance at award functions. The movements becoming slower as she aged, but staying graceful and the mood staying intact over the decades. Sensuous voice referencing from dialogue, dancing to (mostly) the songs they have done together. Showcasing beauty and love for all of us, her audiences, yes, but also bowing down in respect, a mujra for one man. Beautiful, trained steps. Classical, with the exception of one moment when she shrugged her shoulders, brought both her hands in front of her, and fleetingly imitated that very well-known dance style. Slightly stooping, a knee invisible under the heavy ghagra, but obviously bent (both strategies of a too-tall dancer), and a that mischievous most khoobsurat. A dance step that journeyed across popular culture from an actor called Bhagwan Dada to a certain Ganga Kinare waala to inspire, in all its variations, many future Bollywood song picturisations. The exquisite ada of Rekha transforms that street dance step, in a bejeweled, golden moment, into a classical mudra.

The most recent of these dances was performed recently at the IIFA awards. Some classics, some of her old songs but ending of course with the song from Mr. Natwarlal — ‘Pardesiya’. An amusing part of the performance is the sight of a dancer ‘standing-in’ for the great actor. Towards the end, at one point they touch hands. Immediately after this, one notices how the young dancer held one hand to his chest, in respect to the diva. Then, he exits. Leaves the stage. For she has to be alone at finale. When she stands alone, at the line “maine, (and then, pointing to the audience) tujhko dil de diya.”

Rekha’s performance at those award functions which mean so much to her, because that is the only time she sees him, extends beyond her stage appearances, the dances. Video recordings, over the years have tried hard to get them in one frame. In this part of the performance, she is ably supported by the other great actor. Of course, the tough parts are hers to carry out — the dance, the obligatory lowering of the gaze when the camera finds her when he gets an award and so on. She acts out an almost affected coquettishness to which he can react with dignified stoicism. His quiet, restrained non-acknowledgement of her presence. Never once, even accidentally, looking in her direction.

The attempts of lesser actors at creating ‘on-screen chemistry’ with love scenes, song sequences, and romantic dialogue fades in comparison to the magic light that emanates from these two people’s avoidances of each other!

The scene is after all, co-scripted by a conspiracy between two of our best actors.

By conspiracy, I certainly do not mean the usual negative connotation — plotting etc. And of course, I would never suggest anything as crude as they probably spoke to each other and decided to behave in a certain way. No! This is an unconscious collaboration. Such a flawless unison requires tracing the etymology of the word even beyond the Latin ‘Conspiratio’ to the original ‘Conspiro’ = con (with) + inspiro (breathe). I breathe with you.

And we cinephiles too inhale the mystery, the love story that through perceived ‘sacrifice’ becomes ideal, and has lasted for half a century. It would be presumptuous of us to let alone speculate, but even wonder about the veracity of this story. As we wish both the stars a long and healthy life on occasion of their birthdays, we wish the same for the story. That it goes on forever. As people who love Indian Cinema, that is what we wish for that the stories become richer, everlasting — both, the film stories as well as the mythology constructed around what some may see as a misnomer, but I think of as an endearment: Bollywood.

The accepted ending to the discussion around any story would be who won, who lost.

Are we, the consumers of this love story to believe that the one whose love is not returned, the one who keeps declaring that love even at the risk of ridicule, is the one who has lost all?

Not at all. The lady would not want to be pitied and albeit unknowingly, also gains from it.

Coming back to our story, I started by saying that while Salim-Javed created the ‘angry young man’ for the masses, the adulation of female fans was constructed by the fact that the most beautiful actress adored him. Just as the object of her affection gained the addition of ‘desirability’ to his constructed persona, Rekha’s ethereal, timeless image, has received the addition of ‘unattainability’. Unattainable because, in the collective imagination, she belongs to Him.

While speaking of her, when the discussion goes from her talent and beauty to her personal life, no mention is made of any other relationship — many of them failed (even tragically). We do not remember anything else except this one grand love story that is expansive enough to overshadow all rumours, all gossip. Both characters are granted gifts by the story. In love forever with the number one star, Rekha reigns supreme. Mr. Bachchan’s reign is even higher. Indians actually worship him. For this, the fans of the story would like to think, that in addition to his talent and personality, He is God because he is desired by a goddess. A goddess called Rekha.

Here, as we spoke of a story let me tell you an another one where two characters are a perfect match for each other. We all know about Narcissus and his curse. The Ovid also tells us of how he pushed away Echo as she rushed to embrace him, and she died, leaving behind only her voice. The great Oscar Wilde added a subplot, so to speak, to this story. Another love. The love felt by the pool, whose only function was to constantly reflect the beauty of Narcissus. A love that the forest creatures thought unrequited. This is how it goes.

Oscar Wilde wrote: “When Narcissus died, the pool changed from a cup of sweet waters into a cup of salt tears, and the Oreads came weeping through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it comfort. Oreads loosened the green tresses of their hair and said, ‘We do not wonder that you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus, so beautiful was he.’

‘But was Narcissus beautiful?’ said the surprised pool.

‘Who should know better than you?’ asked the Oreads.

‘…for in the mirror of your waters he would mirror his own beauty.’

And the pool answered, ‘But I loved Narcissus because as he looked down at me, in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever my own beauty mirrored.’”