Rishi Kapoor 1952-2020

Rishi Kapoor’s life may have been cut short, but his career had a longevity all actors dream of

It is almost impossible for me to come to terms with Rishi Kapoor’s passing so soon, but I do remember my earliest memory of him. I was eight when I went to see Bobby (1973) in a theatre. He was the ‘loverboy’ then, and that impression did abide for a while. All the memories that I have of him from that era are those of a good actor who mostly played happy-go-lucky characters. But one film that left a very, very deep impact on me was Prem Rog (1982), which saw him essay a very different role. Despite having been in Bombay for 30-odd years, and having met most legends at some party or another, I had, strangely, never met Rishiji. Once I had finished writing Mulk (2018), I knew I wanted him in the film, but we had no connection whatsoever. A friend then set up a meeting and I went to meet him, wanting to narrate the film. I knew I needed him to make Mulk. I had no other options, so I was very nervous. I was ready for a two-and-a-half-hour narration, and he looked at me and said, “Are you going to make me hear the whole thing?” What he wanted, he told me, was a 15-minute precis. “Directors just write what I have to do on set, aur hum wahin pe kar dete hain.” When I told him the story, he first reacted by saying, “There’s no hero here.” I said, “There’s you, me and a script.” At that point, he was playing important parts, yes, but in films that already had a male lead. The entire Mulk-making experience, for him, was a bizarre surprise. We shot the whole film in 28 days and, on the last day, I remember he called me to his van and said, “The film can’t possibly be done yet.” He insisted that he give me another 10 days from his schedule. He would then land up at my office and be what he was—a typical Punjabi bully. I had, of course, worked with his uncle, Shammi Kapoor, who was an even bigger bully, so I knew how to handle him. It is hard for me to Rishi Kapoor changed with the times. He never harked back to an older self, and was never afraid to break the mould describe the amount of fun we had. There are some people who age and then they don’t. He was someone who always changed with the times, and once you do that and don’t get stuck with a certain idea of success, you are able to adapt. Amitabh Bachchan can be a point of comparison. He just keeps reinventing himself, even in daily life. Rishi Kapoor, like him, was fearless. He never harked back to an older self, and was never afraid to break the mould. He wanted to try his hand at new things that excited him. That allowed him to live much longer. Other actors of his time did not have such a long life because they could not move on. Every time a new generation comes, they change the rules, but Chintuji knew how to play by them. He often divided people into two categories—good and bad. There was never any middle ground. He was always on the lookout for people with whom he could get along. For him, religious faiths never mattered, and that, if you come to think of it, is the basic idea of secularism. While being staunchly secular, Chintuji, I must add, was also very impulsive. For instance, he would tweet whatever came to his heart. If I were to go and ask him, “Kya Chintuji, kya likha hai aapne (Chintuji, what have you written?),” he would just shrug and say, “Aisa hi to hai, humne bas likh diya (it is what it is, I just wrote it).” His Twitter persona resembled his real-life personality. He didn’t waste time trying to fathom things; he just said what came to his heart. People like him are not easy to understand, but once you do, you find that they are so wonderful, transparent and honest. They are never playing games. Look at his Twitter timeline now. He was not trying to please or hurt anyone. It is what it is. He was who he was.