Yeh chirag bujh rahein hain,
Yeh chirag bujh rahein hain …
Mere saath jalte jalte…
Her lyrical longing in Pakeezah, in tandem with composer Ghulam Mohammed’s frenzied tabla, only to be silenced by a train whistling through the night, could well be the metaphor of Meena Kumari’s life … and perhaps death. Tragedienne on screen, mimic in real life. Poetess in pursuit of love or masochist celebrating pain? Mahjabeen to family, Manju to husband Kamal Amrohi and Meena Kumari to millions, the actress continues to remain an enigma.
‘Roses and handsome men could not take away her tragedies’
– SAWAN KUMAR TAK (filmmaker and ex-lover)
I was in my early 20s when I wrote the story of Gomti Ke Kinare. My filmmaker friend, B N Sharma, believed only Meena Kumari could do justice to it. She was a huge star but I dared to call her up. Her sister Khursheed Apa picked up the phone. I told her I had produced Naunihaal (1967) and the Maharashtra Government had conferred an award on it.
I was asked to come over. Meenaji was surprised to see a young boy narrating the story. She agreed to do the film on the condition that I would direct it.
She suggested I sign debutant Sameer Khan (brother of Sanjay Khan). I gave him Rs 101 as token. Meenaji spoke to Mumtaz for the female lead and she agreed. The song Aaj to meri hansi udaayi was recorded. I completed half the film within six months. Meenaji was very happy with the rushes. But after that she fell sick and everything collapsed. I started the film in 1968 and it was released in 1972. So you can imagine the delay!
But I had grown attached to her. One night she took me to her bedroom. She had the image of a tragedy queen but was in fact a great mimic. I couldn’t stop laughing at the stories she narrated. She then spread rose petals on her bed and went to sleep. I sat on the carpet and slept resting my head on the bed. When I came out of the room next morning, Khursheed Apa asked me satirically, “Did you sleep well?” It was natural for anybody to misconstrue.
After that I started buying her flowers every day. I was spending Rs 300 daily. She loved decorating the flowers in Ikebana style. The petals, she would strew on the bed. Her health was nevertheless deteriorating (she was suffering from cirrhosis of the liver). She would vomit blood. I would take it in my hands, wipe her face and put her to sleep. Her family would be fast asleep. My relationship with her had turned into unsiyat (worship). It had gone above romance and sex. It was a ruhani ishq (spiritual love). I was in my ’20s while she was in her late ’30s. But I did’nt feel the age difference. She was my world.
Once she looked at me intently and said, “You are the first person in whom I have seen God. You collect the blood I vomit in your hands. Not once do you show displeasure. Nobody has ever done this for me — neither my sisters, nor my friends nor those who loved me. My bedsheet would get stained; I would change it myself.”
I also asked her about her link-ups. She said, “They are like books on the shelf of my life. Those I found interesting I read again and again. Those I didn’t, I put back. You are the last book I am reading.”
I guess, Meenaji as a child felt neglected as Khursheed Apa was a star and all attention was showered on her. But when Baiju Bawra became a hit, there was no looking back. She met Kamal Amrohi, a successful filmmaker, and married him. Then some differences developed between them and she left him. But she never spoke against him. She would affectionately call him Chandan. Kamal sahab, Ashok Kumar, Rajendra Kumar and Dharmendra, would all come to see her during her illness.
Coming back to Gomti Ke Kinare, we had stopped shooting because of her poor health. One day I told her, “Because of the delay I have exhausted all the finances.” She said, ‘Don’t worry.” I needed one and half lakh rupees. After five to six days, she gave me the amount saying, “I am not giving you charity. You can return the money.” Later, I came to know that she had sold her bungalow in Bandra to Mumtaz to give me that money. She would keep insisting, “Shooting karo, I will go away.” We began shooting. I would hold her and duck down when the lights went on. When the last shot was canned, everybody clapped and threw flowers. We even celebrated her birthday on the set. We stopped her car at the gate and asked her to walk to the set. The path was strewn with flowers. We even got a cake. She was 41 but she blushed like a girl.
After Pakeezah released we went to see it at Regal cinema. She could hardly walk. I tried holding her but she said, “Don’t hold me, I can walk.” Soon she was hospitalised for the last time. She asked for me and said, “I first experienced love on the terrace of my home (referring to her first relationship). That was when life had just begun. Now when I am going, I have found love again. Do not stay away from me.”
But doctors would not allow me to see her. I once footed the bill of Rs 15,000. I sold my Standard car for this. She died a few weeks after that. I gave her kandha (shouldered her coffin). Meenaji faced much heartbreak in her life. Roses and handsome men could not take away her tragedies.