Behind the Scene
Sometime in the 1960s, acclaimed Hindi author Rahi Masoom Raza migrated from Ghazipur to Bombay to become a dialogue writer for films. In this slim, memorable novel, Raza combines his two identities, casting an acute eye on the 1970s’ film industry.
At one level, Scene 75 might be read as a fictional equivalent of Manto’s Stars From Another Sky: From lesbian affairs to a domestic help servicing both mother and daughter, there’s undeniably titillation
here. And yet, Raza isn’t quite a predecessor to Madhur Bhandarkar’s preachy filmic unmaskings. Scene 75’s tone is deadpan: “[E]veryone in the film world is a writer except for the writer himself. Never mind if they can’t even speak proper Hindi, they are all writers. From Dilip Kumar to Raaj Kumar, everyone loves to write.” Or: “The film got made but was never released because it didn’t have a rape scene, it didn’t have a fight between Shetty and the hero... there wasn’t even a Padma Khanna cabaret number.” But Raza’s focus isn’t filmdom as much as a cut-throat milieu that impels people to invent fake selves.
Bholanath Chopra earns Rs 192 as salary but inflates the figure to 1,092. His wife Rama frequents expensive sari shops, feigning the loss of a wallet at the final moment. Others have new selves thrust upon them: to work for Phandaji, “who was very secular but didn’t eat anything that had been touched by a Muslim”, the primary protagonist Ali Amjad becomes Gaurishankar Lal ‘Krantikari’.
In Poonam Saxena’s translation, Raza’s prose retains the quicksilver quality of the raconteur, with backstories looping into each other. So Bholanath’s quarrel with Rama sets us off on how the Chopras acquired their flat, which leads to Rama’s admirer Sarla Midha and how she went from “simple, innocent Sarla” to a wife who “liked other men’s wives”.
Such juicy digressions, however, do not blunt Raza’s sharpness, especially on the topic of communal feeling. “The [Chopras] were an educated family, and educated people know how to hide their bigotry,” he writes, before explaining why Rama Chopra, 12-anda-half when her family was forced to flee Pakistan in 1947, “believed she had every right to hate Muslims.” The selfreinforcing fact of ghettoisation was “why no one told Rama that Muslims in India had been killed, just like Hindus in Pakistan.” The clarity is even more devastating 40 years later.