United Colours Of Grey

One fine morning 11 years ago Madhav Shirolkar was stopped on his jogging tracks by a modelling impresario. Ever since, he has dazzled on the sets, with fortune and fame pouring in in fair measure. Sounds all too familiar? Here’s the twist in the tale: Shirolkar is a retired assistant commissioner of police and is 71 years old!

His modelling career took off when most of his colleagues had quietly settled into superannuation. The "60 saal ka javaan" of Zandu’s Kesri Jeevan is now a familiar face running up the stairs, giving the elevator a pass and putting many a youngster to shame.

Shirolkar’s not the lone "vanaprasth ashrami" in the glamour world. Ava Mukherjee, 74, who has faced the camera off and on for the past four decades, is now hitting big time as a clued-in grandmom in the Ayurvedic Concepts campaigns. Aloo Heerji, the busy seamstress in the Samsung washing machine ad, is 67 and got her first break in modelling when she was well past 45. Ditto for Bomi Kapadia (now 72), the punk principal in the Onida Candy ad. His wife Villoo, 67, got into the act less than five years ago and is recognised as one of the five naughty grannies scaring a young girl away in the Onida TV commercial.

What draws these people to the hectic life of cameras, greasepaint and blinding spotlights? To most it was a chance that came by and they just swam with the tide. They are active otherwise and, therefore, can do justice to their billing on the sets. Mukherjee, who belongs to a family of artistes, dubs and translates serials for TV besides modelling. Villoo has set up a travel agency only last year after 32 years as a manager at Alitalia. Heerji’s theatre group and a drama project for schools are barely two years old.

And they all agree modelling is decent and quick money. For Sunil Rege, 52, the doting dad in the Parker pens ad, it’s a great source of income for "a needy actor" from the cash-strapped Marathi stage. Heerji, who is calling it quits, admits modelling had stood her in good stead when she needed it. Even now most of them make about Rs 10,000 for a day’s shoot. "Some pin money when you have retired doesn’t hurt," quips Bomi Kapadia.

For some like Shirolkar, it fills their days with interesting activity. Parents can get a bit lonely once the children have gone their ways. Modelling, they feel, gives them the flexibility to work as much as they can handle while keeping their lives exciting. Shirolkar, for instance, says he hasn’t felt the vacuum even though he is alone today what with his three daughters married off and the death of his wife following his retirement. Shirolkar has now transformed his terrace into a swanky studio and likes to hold commercial shoots at home. The activity keeps him young.

The job can get tough, physically. But Shirolkar has been a sporty sort all along. After 18-hour days in his police career, this isn’t too tedious. He has shot, at times, from eight in the morning to midnight. Rege, too, can take the rough and tumble of it, having done stage shows for 30 consecutive days. Bomi, the ex-itc purchase manager and a English theatre veteran, frequents the gym to stay in shape.

At times, though, the demands of the job can get rough. Mukherjee, a diabetic, had a harrowing time on an outstation shoot. "It was no one’s fault," she says. But on two consecutive chilly winter days, her shots came late in the evenings. Then delayed flights left her stranded at an airport with no water-and insulin. She came home with swollen legs, high blood sugar and to a wild doctor who banned her shoots for the next two months.

Also, there are certain professional hazards-like poor treatment from the crew, rudeness, wranglings over pay, filthy toilets and tacky dressing rooms-that can’t be wished away. Heerji says she and her colleagues were treated rather roughly at a recent screen test. Yet, most of these people, for whom money isn’t the prime driver, flock to the sets to keep themselves engaged. "I have modelled for amounts varying from Rs 500 to Rs 50,000," says Shirolkar, who has a philosophical view of the whole exercise and doesn’t demand a price for his appearance in a commercial. Mukherjee has fixed a modest fee per ad but finds it embarrassing to negotiate rates. But Bomi, who has featured in 70 ads since 1992, doesn’t work "when the amount offered is absurdly low".

For these late-comers into the glamour world, modelling offers certain unique rewards. Most of them are local celebrities. Locals warmly greet Mukherjee when she is out shopping while her tailor expects her to solve his problem of greying hair. Shirolkar has little girls from the neighbourhood teasing him on the road! And Heerji’s five-year-old grand-daughter is a celeb among her peers by default.

For most regulars in the business, modelling is the stepping stone to television and films. But some of these oldies don’t seem too keen. Shirolkar finds serials too binding. He prefers to dabble instead in still photography, his latest interest, while not on shoot. Mukherjee, who has had several small screen offers, finds the exercise too exacting for her age. Others like Heerji have featured in a few episodes of serials but never on a regular basis. The Kapadias have worked in English films: Bomi appeared in The Perfect Murder and Bombay Blues while Villoo has played a minor role in The Last Viceroy, a bbc film.

In a profession where egos play havoc the oldies are a model of grace, feel film directors. Veena Bakshi, who runs Searchlight Productions, remarks: "I had apprehensions initially since they were as old as my parents. But they respect you as a professional; so, work moves smoothly." Ad film-maker Uday Bhandarkar finds the oldies more sincere. "There are no cellphones ringing and they are more concerned about getting their shots right rather than nursing their vanity."

And that urge to excel is what keeps these ‘superannuated’ men and women going. As one of them puts it: "The best is yet to come." So be it.