Actor-e-Azam: Meghnad Desai’s Tribute To Dilip Kumar, The King Of Indian Cinema

He had scored 98 and, as they say in Gujarati—one of the many languages he spoke fluently— 99 had set and was running. Then like his younger Mumbaikar friend Sachin Tendulkar, he got out. Dilip Kumar/Yusuf Khan is no more. We do not need to add amar rahe. He will live forever through his cinema, which decorated fifty years of modern Indian history. A colony of the British Empire, indeed a jewel in the crown in which he was born in the northwest, was torn apart in his youth but he stayed on in India where his father had chosen Crawford Market and Bombay as their workplace and home. Beginning in the 1940s, at the invitation of the Empress of Bombay Talkies, Devika Rani, he embarked upon a career that changed him, changed Indian cinema and many generations of young men and women.

From Jwar Bhata (1944) to Qila (1998) there are sixty-two films, including a small number where he made cameo appearances. A majority of them were silver and golden jubilee successes. Our lives in the ’40s, ’50s and ’60s were shaped by his hairstyle and the way he dressed. A fan wrote to Screen, the film weekly, that Paigham (1959) was the first time Dilip Kumar was filmed putting on a belt on his trousers! His hairstyle, the manner of his speaking, walking, were copied by younger aspirants arriving in Bombay cinema (Bollywood would come later); they even copied the Kumar suffix to their screen names. In a small episode in his film Jogan (1950) with Nargis as the co-star, young Rajendra Kumar is seen with Dilip Kumar with strikingly similar hairstyles. Kumar was to bec­ome a star in his own right a few years later.

For a man with such a long innings in life, it was thought necessary at first that he, or in some cases, the leading lady or both, had to die at the end. In his first decade in Hindi cinema, a film had to have a light first half and a heavy second half with death at the end, with a memorable hit song. Songs plus a tragic love story was the formula. So in Jugnu (1947 with Noor Jahan), Mela (1948 with Nargis), Nadia Ke Paar (1948 with Kamini Kaushal), Shaheed (1948 just himself), Andaaz (1949 with Nargis) death and hit songs defined Dilip Kumar.

By then India was independent and the climate was of hope and aspiration. He was getting seriously depressed. So, while in London for the premiere of the Mehboob Khan production Aan (1952), on the advice of Sir Laurence Olivier, he consulted a Harley Street specialist who told him to reject tragic stories and go for action-filled ones. Then came the swashbuckling Azaad (1955) and a new Dilip Kumar—comba­tive, laughing, mocking the villain and teasing the heroine—was born. From then onwards, except for a classic like Devdas (1955), he avoided death. His fans loved it and so did his producers. He bec­ame known as the first star to charge one lakh rupees (easily equivalent to a few crores today).

He became known as a serious actor who read and discussed the screenplay and his character and dialogues well in advance. He had met Nitin Bose early in his career in 1946 when he acted in the film version of Tagore’s novel Nauka Dubi. He told me many years later that for a scene in the film, Nitin Bose asked him to emote the role of the man reading a letter telling him his mother had died. He had to do it without speaking a word or moving from his seat. Nitin Bose again directed him in Deedar (1951). After that, he retained Nitin Bose as his personal acting coach. For a song-and-dance sequence Madhuban me Radhika Naache Re for the film Kohinoor (1960), he had to play the sarod while Kumkum danced. He eng­aged Ustad Vilayat Khan to teach him to play the sarod for six months before he was ready to film the scene.

For much of his first twenty-five years, he was seen as part of a trio with Raj Kapoor, his family friend from many years as both families had come from Peshawar, and Dev Anand. They were portrayed, whatever the truth, as rivals. But they had distinct styles. Raj Kapoor came from the theatre and film personality Prithviraj Kapoor’s tradition while Dev Anand sailed by on sheer charm. Raj Kapoor and Dilip Kumar made only one film together, Mehboob Khan’s Andaaz (1949) which was a mega hit. His sole film with Dev Anand was S.S. Vasan’s Insaniyat (1955), a total flop. It was also the first and last time Dev Anand tried a costume drama.

Raj Kapoor had a studio and his production company from late 1940’s onwards. He emerged as a producer and director in his own right. Dilip Kumar turned producer in the late 1950’s. Ganga Jamuna (1961) was directed by Nitin Bose and related the story of a peasant who turns into a dacoit as he faces injustice. At that time dacoits in the Chambal region were bec­oming notorious and Gandhian Vinoba Bhave was touring around to make them give up violence. Raj Kapoor had simultaneously made Jis Des Me Ganga Behati Hai (1960).

Ganga Jamuna was a hit, of course. It was also made largely in Bhojpuri which was an innovation. The hero Ganga dies in a temple as the gayatri mantra is being chanted—a perfect Hindu death. No one ever minded that Yusuf Khan aka Dilip Kumar rarely if ever played a Muslim character.

The only occasion he did play a Muslim, he was Prince Salim, son of Akbar in K. Asif’s mega blockbuster Mughal-e-Azam (1960). It had been a decade and more in the making, lavishly fin­anced by Shapoorji Pallonji, a buildings contractor. With Prithviraj Kapoor as Akbar and Madhubala as Anarkali (Durga Khote was Jodhabai) and with music by Naushad, lavish sets, beautiful dialogues by Wajahat Mirza and Kamal Amrohi, the film turned into the best costume, historical, Islamicate film of all time. It was a tough assignment—parrying Prithviraj Kapoor’s stage-theatrical talent with the almost ‘studio actor’ self-taught style of Dilip Kumar. Over the long period it took to film the story, his romance with Madhubala (the only one he had to admit to during a court case launched by B. R. Chopra, producer of Naya Daur) had cooled off and the best romantic scene—their liaison at  midnight—had to be filmed as a song played in the background, sung by Bade Ghulam Ali Khan impersonating Tansen. No dialogues indeed beautified the scene.

If you look carefully, the film has practically no conversation of any kind between Salim and Anarkali. She sings Hame kaash tumse muhabbat na hoti. She takes his farewell as he lies drugged after their pretended reunion. Only briefly after the qawwali contest with Bahar (Nigar Sultana) do the two exchange a line. Screenplay writers had to avoid awkward moments.

Of his many women co-stars, his films with Madhubala were the least successful at the box office. They were all tragedies—Tarana (1951), Sangdil (1952), and Amar (1954). This was bec­ause few directors realised that Madhubala was a much better comic actor than a tragic one. It was the genius of Guru Dutt to cast her in Mr and Mrs Fifty Five which launched Madhubala on a series of hits like Chalti Ka Naam Gadi.

It was said that if a film of his did less well than he expected, he promised the producer to do one more sure-fire hit. Thus, when Insaniyat flopped for S. S. Vasan, he did Paigham, where he played a trade union activist. It recouped Vasan’s money. Similarly Devdas (1955), Bimal Roy’s remake of Pramathesh Barua’s 1935 classic on which Bimal Roy had worked as a cameraman. For whatever reason, the film did not do as well at the box office as everyone had hoped. Dilip Kumar is said to have piloted Madhumati (1958) which was a ghost story with brilliant dancing by Vyjayantimala, hit music composed by Salil Chaudhuri and acting by Pran and Johnnie Walker that ran and ran. It was the one big hit Bimal Roy produced but a most un-Bimal Roy like story. His one film with Hrishikesh Mukherji, Musafir (1957), was the only one where he sang a classical-themed song Laagi Nahee Chhute with Lata Mangeshkar. When I asked him several years later whether he will sing again he seemed mildly surprised that I recalled that song. He never sang again. Even so, it is beautifully sung.

With the advent of the ’60s, the scene was changing. New faces, some cloning his style but younger and fresher men, were coming up. The brothers, Shashi and Shammi Kapoor, the three male actors from Mehboob Khan’s big blockbuster Mother India (1957)—Raj Kumar, Rajendra Kumar and Sunil Dutt. Plus Dharmendra, Manoj Kumar and Rajesh Khanna were already winning contracts. Dilip Kumar displayed new depths of his talent. In Ram Aur Shyam he played his first double role and displayed a comic talent even greater than what he had displayed in earlier films.

He began to shift gears gently during his own forties. He was taking on more films by south Indian studios—like Aadmi (1968) and Sangh­arsh (1968)—and was more willing to have co-stars share the burden of the story. He made his first Bengali film Paree (1967) and then the stunning Bengali classic with Tapan Sinha, Sagina Mahato (1970), playing a tribal political leader at sea in the treacherous world of modernity, in Bengali. It was remade in Hindi 1974.

By this time, his life had the luckiest break which though well-deserved was to prove his life’s elixir. He married Saira Banu, the beautiful and talented daughter of the 1940’s star and beauty queen Naseem Banu. It may be more accurate to say Saira Banu got what she had set her heart on. Their marriage in October, 1966 has proved happy and durable. Younger than most of his leading ladies until then, Saira became the happy partner and the fierce guardian of her famous husband’s health and well-being. A simple fact will prove the point. His contemporaries, Raj Kapoor and Dev Anand, married early. Raj Kapoor married Krishna at a young age. They had a family but along the way much else happened to try Krishna’s patience. Yet, she stood by him and nursed him in his last days as he died soon after winning the Dadasaheb Phalke Award. Dev Anand similarly married Mona (screen name Kalpana Kartik) but they were soon separated in the same house. I attended Dev Anand’s funeral in London. We were all surprised at the Christian ceremony, alongwith chanting of mantras by Hindu priests for the departed. We never knew Dev Anand had become Christian, as Mona was one. But they went a while ago. Dilip Kumar chose well or rather was chosen by a beautiful young woman who was determined to have him as her life-partner, and she meant life. We have to thank Sairaji for the longevity of our hero. As I got to know them both from the late 1990’s onwards, I can attest to the quality of care she bestowed on him.

After 1966, they made some films tog­ether. Sagina Mahato in Bengali and Sagina in Hindi were among them. But he had switched to senior roles, fighting for the country against unknown enemies and threats, leading the young—films like Kranti (1971), Vidhata (1982), Karma (1986). In Kanoon Apna Apna (1989) with Sanjay Dutt, he was fighting corruption.

The one noticeable film of this late period is Shakti (1982). It was a proper confrontation bet­ween the original hero and the new challenger who was to take his place, if anyone ever did. Acting sparks fly when Dilip Kumar, playing yet again the honest police officer has to confront his errant son played by Amitabh Bachchan. For me, the most delicious scene is when Smita Patil, the much-missed actor of those years, hesitantly enters her husband’s parents’ home. Knowing of the estr­angement of the son and the father, she halts at the door muttering “Jee, main...” Dilip Kumar spots her, takes the situation in and immediately summons his wife (Rakhee) and says, “Bahu aayi hai”. This is done with such grace and a smile that you say: this is what great acting is all about. As to the big confrontations, the honours were equally shared. Dilip Kumar, the character he played and the person he was, would not have wished any differently. It is said that Raj Kapoor was in Bangalore and saw Shakti there in a cinema. He called Dilip Kumar at the end and said, “Maan gaye. You are the greatest.”

At no time in his entire career did he play a crook, or even a young man driven to crime blaming circumstances, as Raj Kapoor or Dev Anand did. He was always the patriot, even more a Nehruvian secularist (Leader, 1964). He never played false with his public. He maintained his dignity and his sense of respect for others.

In a long career, he was often offered roles in Hollywood films. Most famously David Lean offered him a meaty role in Lawrence of Arabia. It was not the lead role but the one that eventually turned Omar Sharif into a Hollywood star. Dilip Kumar played the lead or nothing. That saved him from the hassles of playing second fiddle to foreign directors. He always reserved an old-fashioned anti-imperialist sentiment about England, as I can testify from talking with him during his visit in 2005 when I had the chance to interview him on the stage of the National Film Theatre.

The fact remains that he was still a giant of world cinema. Marlon Brando comes readily to mind for a similar range and a fierce commitment to justice for the downtrodden. Max Von Sydow of the Ingmar Bergman repertory and Toshiro Mifune, the star whom Akira Kurosawa brought to the world’s attention, would be in the same company. But there will never be another like Dilip Kumar ever. 

(This appeared in the print edition as "Actor-e-Azam")