India’s first real ‘crossover star’ will be missed

dubai — Growing up, Bollywood was a no-no for us kids at home. So the first time I “saw” Shashi Kapoor was in the early 80s, when my brother, with the shy gawkiness of a 9-year-old boy, showed me a scrap of paper he had cut out of a paper bag (made out of a newspaper presumably); there was a photo of a very good-looking man. “Just look at him,” he said. “He’s so handsome. I believe his name is Shashi Kapoor, and he’s an actor.” My brother remained a “fan” till he entered his late teens — when he switched his affections to Arnold Schwarzenegger; he was, in fact, the first person I WhatsApped to say Shashi Kapoor is no more.

“When?” was his monosyllabic query.

“A few minutes ago,” I wrote back. He didn’t respond to that. Shashi Kapoor, India’s first real “crossover star” — who made a mark with international movies such as The Householder, In Custody, and Heat and Dust — had a strong association with the city I come from. Calcutta. It was here that he met the woman he went on to marry, when they were both theatre artistes; at a hotel called Fairlawn, on Sudder Street, sometime in the 1950s; they honeymooned at Fairlawn too, Suite No 17, and the quintessentially English — though a little shabby around the edges — hotel went on to become a touristy site for cine-philes.

As a Bollywood star, Shashi Kapoor took some time to come into his own; in global offerings, on the other hand, he was hailed a pioneer.

The Hindi film industry, in the 60s and 70s, somehow couldn’t come out with roles with enough finesse to suit his genteel nuances.

There were always unfair comparisons drawn between him and his elder brothers Raj Kapoor and Shammi Kapoors — who had

He had been suffering terribly for the past many years, and he had, since his beloved Jennifer died in 1984, let himself go; it was like he had already logged out of life

managed to hone their acting prowess to Bollywoodian needs to a T. Typecast, even in his (perhaps) most commercially successfully avatar — as Amitabh Bachchan’s brother in Deewar, where he secured Bollywood’s signature line, “Mera paas ma hain” — he was labelled this pleasant enough romantic hero who managed to look dashing.

From the late 70s, starting with Junoon, he evolved tremendously, and grew from strength to strength as a method actor with films such as Kalyug and Silsila, capping his mettle with Vijeta and then the stunning New Delhi Times.

Off-screen, he was supposed to be a very fine human being — even in the corridors of artificiality/superficiality that Bollywood is crammed with. Never a judgement drawn, never a bad word spoken.

At an intensely personal level, I was relieved to know Shashi Kapoor had passed on.

He had been suffering terribly for the past many years, and he had, since his beloved Jennifer died in 1984, let himself go; it was like he had already logged out of life. He was desperately searching for peace; now, elusive peace has finally come to him.

A friend of mine who lives in Calcutta — now Kolkata — told me she’s on her way to Fairlawn hotel… her way of paying her last respects to Shashi Kapoor.

“Suite No 17,” she reminded me.

“I’ll drop by next month when I’m in Calcutta,” I promised Shashi Kapoor silently.

sushmita@khaleejtimes.com