Shammi's magic

by Vrinda Maheshwari | August 19, 2011

My father, one of the coolest persons I know, has always been a fan of Shammi Kapoor. I grew up hearing stories about how when he was a wee lad, he would go around loudly singing the strangely titled, “Meri Bhains Ko Danda Kyun Maaraa” and get into trouble. And this was my introduction to the wonderful and manic world of Shammi Kapoor, the most debonair actor Bollywood has ever produced. Perhaps my mental images of my father and the actor have gotten mixed up, and that is why I enjoy his films so much.

From the seminal “Yahoooooo!”, which made him famous as the eponymous Junglee (and which used to inexplicably break my heart with the line, “mujhe patthar toh na samjho, aakhir main bhi hoon ek insaan, mere seene, mein bhi dil hai, aakhir mere bhi hain kuchh armaan”) to the blue-eyed romance of “Tareef Karoon Kya Uski”, it would be hard to imagine a repertoire of films and songs more prone to setting hearts aflutter. I still find it hard to believe that in a generation that had Shammi Kapoor, women still went gaga over Dev Anand and Raj Kapoor, of all people. Maybe because of his risk-taking and edgy persona, he also had some of the most memorable songs in Bollywood picturised on him. And he pulled them off with such elan, that he deserves to live on in our memories as that vagabond with gay abandon.

An evening in Paris?

Image above (and on article thumbnail) is from uwdigitalcollections' photostream on Flickr here.

Evening in Paris has long been one of my favourite romantic films. It is fluffy, has exotic locales, has Sharmila Tagore in that seminal bikini scene, and a plot that keeps you on your toes (There’s Pran! There’s an evil lookalike! There’s a switcheroo! There are gambling debts! There’s a helicopter rescue over the Niagara Falls!), but most importantly there is the fantastic song, “Aasman se aaya farishta”. I challenge anyone to watch the dashing Shammi lean from the chopper, the bathing gown flapping riskily in the wind, demanding that the snooty Sharmila profess her love for him, and not to fall head over heels in love with him themselves. (Wow, that sentence had a lot of pronouns.) My adolescent self was convinced that that was the only way a girl should be wooed – the effect on my personal life was deleterious, to be sure.

Most people however, associate Shammi Kapoor with Teesri Manzil, that crazy Vijay Anand thriller. With his insouciant dancing to R.D. Burman’s foot-tapping music and Helen’s calisthenics, it’s not difficult to see why. Between the alliterative list of characters – Rocky, Roopa, Ramesh, Ruby – there is one murder to be solved, one cunning clue, and two identities; anything less would be a disappointment. The movie always brings back memories of sitting in front of the television, glued to Doordarshan, which used to take particular delight in airing this film over and over again. Surrounded by jostling cousins, the summer holidays stretching ahead of you, and a riveting film to watch – it was all that the heart desired. Many years down the line, the film still has one of the best OSTs of all time.

The actor, who despite a string of flops that would perhaps even equal Abhishek Bachchan’s, never gave up and was nothing if not graceful about his professional life. When he realised that he would not be playing lead roles anymore, he moved on to playing “character” roles – playing Amitabh’s and Vinod Khanna’s father in Parvarish, amongst others. And it is this grace that I found particularly appealing. One of his kin, Rishi Kapoor, went on romancing younger and younger actresses even as his paunch became bigger and bigger – Shammi Kapoor at least understood where to draw the line.

Which is not to say that he ever lost his enthusiasm and joie de vivre. About a year ago I joined the fascinating world of Twitter, and being all googly-eyed that I was, started following him. Even when he was going for dialysis treatments, he would regularly update his tweets, have conversations with fans, and generally be a bad-ass. I was always too shy to directly talk to him – what new and original fangirlism can I display that he has not seen before, I thought, and anyways he’s old now and it would be a bit creepy to gush about how much I like his films. Which is rather a pity – I really should have.

For some interesting and rare clips of the great entertainer, head over here.

Vrinda Maheshwari works with Rainmaker. She spends her days wishing she had more free time to watch more movies.