Conversations with Waheeda Rehman

Dedication

Encounters with Waheeda Rehman

Conversations

Appendix: Filmography

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Copyright

This book is dedicated to my wonderful parents who taught me the meaning of compassion and integrity.

When I was researching the life of Guru Dutt—which ultimately resulted in two books and a documentary made in 1989 for Channel 4 TV, UK, called
In Search of Guru Dutt
—I was naturally very keen to meet Waheeda Rehman. No story about Guru Dutt would have been complete without her speaking of him. She is such a vital presence in his work that when you meet Guru Dutt’s fans, you realize that half are in love with him and the other half are in love with her.

Finding a way to meet Waheeda Rehman for my documentary was at the top of my list of priorities. Every time I came to Bombay from London in 1987, I’d try calling her. This was long before mobile phones existed, and getting to speak to a star meant going through a bevy of domestics who answered the phone, all sounding as though they had graduated from
the same charm school: ‘Madam is not here—call next week—madam is out.’

Out? Out of town?

‘Bahar gaon gayin hai’
[literally translates as ‘gone to a village abroad’].

Considering the many calls they take from total unknowns, brushing off yet another stranger must become second nature.

In the middle of 1988, I managed to speak to Waheeda Rehman at last. I explained the reason for my calls and she agreed that I could come and see her the next day, but why a documentary on Guru Dutt? For whom? What would it say? Her hesitation was to be expected because documentaries on Indian film practitioners were rare in those days, and certainly none I knew of were made for a British broadcaster.

The next day I made my way to her house on Bandstand in Bandra. Though her sprawling and gorgeous ground-floor apartment had been rented out, a large room was sectioned off where she stayed during her visits from Bangalore. When Waheeda Rehman opened the door, I was overwhelmed by images of her lifelike screen characters—Gulaabo, Shanti and Rosie. Waheeda Rehman has had such an emotional impact on us all that it took a few minutes for the sheer excitement to settle. Then I explained the purpose of my documentary was to gain insight into Guru Dutt’s life and films by recording all the people who had worked alongside him. At that first encounter, Waheedaji was gracious and attentive but not over-friendly—I later realized she is in essence a reserved person. At the end of
our hour-long meeting, she agreed to the film interview and we parted.

In Search of Guru Dutt
, the documentary, was made later than expected, but Waheeda Rehman had said yes, and, unlike many film stars who make promises they later break, she kept her word and arrived at a friend’s flat in Khar where the interview was shot. Waheeda Rehman spoke with life and enthusiasm about the days when she worked with Guru Dutt. She got so involved with that past time that, at one point, she even spoke of him in the present rather than the past tense. During the filmed interview (and in this book) she always referred to him as ‘Guruduttji’, in deference to his real name. His full name, Gurudutt Shivshanker Padukone, was in fact shortened to Guru Dutt, causing many to assume (and continue to assume) that, since his surname was Dutt, he must be a Bengali rather than a Bangalorean.

I met Waheedaji again in 1990 to film an interview on Lata Mangeshkar, who insisted that this fine actress be part of the documentary I was then making on this great playback singer.

Over the next fifteen years, I met Waheedaji occasionally and gradually got to know her. I found her personal story absorbing. Her father, Mohammed Abdur Rehman, a district commissioner, was from Tamil Nadu. As a young man, he broke with tradition by moving away from his landowning family, preferring to make his life as a bureaucrat rather than live as a rich zamindar. Though not formally educated, her mother, Mumtaz Begum, was by all accounts a woman way ahead of
her times. The youngest of four daughters, Waheeda Rehman was a sickly child, suffering from severe asthma. When she was thirteen, her father suddenly passed away and her mother had to somehow make ends meet. Young Waheeda and her sister Sayeeda, both trained in classical dance, performed on the stage, but they earned very little.

Then life changed dramatically for young Waheeda when she accepted a dancing role in the Telugu film,
Rojulu Marayi
. Her sparkling screen presence immediately caught the attention of the audience who instantly fell for her. Her success in the film ultimately led to a meeting with Guru Dutt in Hyderabad. Three months after their fortuitous meeting, in 1955, the seventeen-year-old Waheeda Rehman moved to Bombay where she signed a three-year contract with Guru Dutt Films. The release of
C.I.D
. and
Pyaasa
brought further fame and recognition and, by the end of the 1950s, she was counted among the leading stars of Hindi cinema.

Waheeda Rehman’s success was not limited to her performances in Guru Dutt’s films. Her subtle screen presence and exceptional dancing talent enchanted the audience. Her natural acting style and willingness to accept atypical roles soon brought her to the attention of India’s finest directors. She continued over the years to bring dignity to her characters and substance to her roles, evident in many key films, including
Mujhe Jeene Do
,
Abhijan
,
Guide
,
Teesri Kasam
,
Reshma Aur Shera
and
Khamoshi
. Even in less memorable productions, Waheeda Rehman made a lasting impression.

In 1974, she married actor Kamaljeet Rekhy. When they became parents to a son and a daughter, they chose to make Bangalore their home, living there on a farm for some sixteen years. Waheeda Rehman stayed away from films, only to return to the screen in the late 1980s, this time in mother roles. But her absence did not diminish the respect and admiration she has won from audiences across generations. Even today, the eyes of her admirers light up when speaking of her.

Besides her personal story, details of which aren’t widely known, there is so much cinema history linked to her life that I believed it was important to record her experiences. When I first asked her, sometime in 2005, about writing a book on her, she smilingly said no. Later she revealed to me that she has this habit of saying no at first, even when a film role was offered. Her initial reluctance to the idea of a book came from wondering why her story would interest anyone in the first place. She did not say this for effect. Her humility is genuine. In spite of her great fame, and the countless awards that she has won, including the prestigious Padma Bhushan in 2011, she remains a deeply modest person at heart. In fact she still does not believe that her enduring fame has anything to do with her natural talent, but attributes it all to just being lucky.

Despite her reluctance, I persisted, and made it a point to give her the books I did with others, including Lata Mangeshkar and Gulzar. I wanted her to see that the format of an in-depth conversation might work well and encourage a direct connection with the reader, as she would be sharing her story in her own
voice and words. I had almost given up persuading her when, in the summer of 2012, she came to London for a holiday with her friend Barota Malhotra and finally said yes during a meal we were having in Colbeh, a famous Iranian restaurant off Edgware Road.

Between December 2012 and November 2013, we met over twenty-five times in her Bandra home. Our conversations in Hindustani and English were recorded and later transcribed. As many of the film references and times relate to a period prior to 1995, when Bombay was renamed Mumbai, prior to 2001, when Calcutta became Kolkata, and before Madras became Chennai in 1996, I have used the original names of the cities for consistency.

Each of our sessions would last for about two hours. After a few weeks, a relaxed and easy routine set in. I’d ring the doorbell at Sahil, her home in Bombay, and a domestic would open the door and show me into an expansive living room that overlooked the sea—a most gorgeous room dominated by a striking portrait of Waheeda Rehman by M.R. Achrekar. From the living room, I was led to the dining area where I’d set up my MacBook Pro and digital recorder. A minute or two later, Waheedaji walked in, wearing a simple and elegant salwar kameez, smiled warmly, ordered me a nimbu-paani and then we settled down to talk. Her discipline and respect for work showed—she never took calls or sent text messages or allowed anything to interrupt the conversation. Her concentration and attention was total. When lunchtime approached, she would
invariably ask me to join her for lunch. Her
tehzeeb
and refined upbringing were always in evidence.

What I discovered about Waheeda Rehman was that she is a feisty lady and has always fought her corner, even from a young age. Besides her confidence and intuitive understanding of right and wrong, she also has a natural gift for storytelling. Admittedly, it takes her time and a sense of trust and ease to open up, but when she does, she comes alive. Her descriptions of the past and the people she knew have a once-upon-a-time feel to them—every event is told with a beginning, middle and end. She has a great memory and gets so involved in evoking the past that her eyes sparkle—it’s as though she were seeing actual images of that lived experience. In addition to her lively conversation, her insight into the craft of film-making shows a keen and alert intelligence, allowing this book to hopefully serve as an important chronicle of a great era in Indian cinema.

Getting to know the genuine person behind her illustrious reputation, great beauty and winning smile has been a wonderful privilege. Waheeda Rehman is truly as lovely in real life as she is on the screen.

Nasreen Munni Kabir

My thanks to Sohail Rekhy, Kashvi Rekhy, Arun Dutt, Peter Chappell, Shonali Gajwani, M.A. Mohan, Priya Kumar, Shameem Kabir, Anjelina Rodrigues, Subhash Chheda and the team at Penguin Books India.