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Having been in celebrity writing for almost 25 years, penning and profiling the legendary achievers as a journalist, and subsequently, as a commissioning editor and publisher, one indisputable fact that has emerged as a constant refrain is that success is indeed hard earned. These individuals in their chosen fields have excelled primarily and essentially due to the stringent discipline they imposed on themselves, and unstinted dedication to their craft that chiselled their skills to perfection. And when I reflect and ponder over these encounters that comprised one-to-one interaction with an iconic performer, I realise how significant were those moments that gave amazing insights into the mind of this stupendous actor, Amrish Puri, who left a distinct, indelible imprint in his marked arena.
My mind goes back to the very first meeting in 1990, when I had approached Amrish Puri to profile him for Newstrack, the video newsmagazine of India Today, as its senior contributor. He took the call and told me point blank, “I don’t give television interviews. And if ever I do, I shall charge a handsome professional fee.” It was quite obvious that he wasn’t game and this rider about the fee would put me off. One did some quick thinking as he revealed that his maternal grandparents were Sabharwal. I played the trump saying, “Well the person who wants to interview you is a Sabharwal and this newsmagazine belongs to the Puris, so there is no reason for you to say ‘no’.” Yes, it had the desired effect, struck the chord and he lent his consent saying, “Please come with your crew tomorrow at the studio where I am shooting.” Watching him on the sets, one was simply struck by that stentorian voice, a perfect add-on to his chameleon act.
And his answers related to playing evil were absolutely scintillating. “Sure, there is a certain kind of responsibility towards society, and it might bring some kind of a distorted message to the youngsters. But then I also become a party to that exercise, accepting to do those roles and filling my coffers. So what do I do? I’m an actor, this is my profession, and I am not a social reformer anyway. I am earning my bread and butter. Sometimes, I do come across playing up wrong things. But once I accept it as part of the career package, I perform and play to the hilt. It doesn’t bother me so much, for eventually it is mere entertainment.”
Twelve years later, in 2002, when I approached him for documenting his life, now that one had moved to publishing, he made it very clear that he remembered me for the sole reason of having made an exception of that television interview. But wondered if his life was worthy of being documented. I countered, “Your rich, unparalleled repertoire in theatre and cinema would become a manual for aspiring actors.” Holding forth on what defines an actor, the personality, the voice, the diction, the modulation, the expression and deliberating on the litany of villains and character actors, it indeed turned out to be a treatise. We mutually agreed upon this title, The Act of Life, for the major thrust of his memoir was that close observations in life alone make for an outstanding actor and this is where the reel and the real converge.
Over these three years, there were sorties between Delhi and Mumbai. His totally uninhibited, intense involvement with the book was commendable and yet he was occasionally apprehensive about the outcome. “I’m wary of how the readers would react.” While this consciousness to be meticulous and reach out for nothing short of the excellent made him an actor that spelled class, his personal warmth, hospitality and humility made him as amenable. When I last spoke to him in December 2004, all he asked was, “Do I sound coherent in my autobiography?” We had sorted out all the chapters, the visuals, and he had even approved of the photographs picked for the cover. He often said, “I want to die with my boots on.” Now the words sounded so prophetic as he bid adieu a month later on January 12, 2005. He didn’t leave anything unfinished. We were heading for a delightful release, but he was not destined to see it through. The irony was even more pronounced, as he was a great believer in providence. Such are the vagaries of life. The very unpredictability! His spirit permeated these printed words. One hopes that right up there, when he must have seen the release of his biographical journey depicted in these pages, he would have felt gratified that the mission was well accomplished though he wasn’t around.
The actor was awesome — both in his persona and style. A theatre buff, who defined substance, also ranked high in his new guise on the big screen, switching characters as deftly with enviable swiftness. He straddled the genres of both art and commercial cinema adroitly, juxtaposing the negative and positive acts with equal élan. And when the tall, megalomaniac Mogambo just rolled his eyes and bellowed those immortal words in Mr India, Puri probably became Indian cinema’s most memorable malevolent character. At the end of it all, he must have had the last laugh on those who rejected his face as being ‘crude and harsh’. As he once stated, “This is a comparative terminology. It is how the viewer perceives you. Take Arnold Schwarzenegger, for instance. I think he has the hardest face on earth, yet he has been a very successful hero! The face takes its shape, contour, and the approval of people according to what you do. A successful face, whether handsome or not, would be watched by everyone. I would continue as long as I can take it as my test.” I witnessed that he could still pass the muster at seventy plus when during a shoot at Rohtang Pass in Manali, where he had invited me to watch him in action, he survived an almost fatal fall from the motorcycle in a scene with Sunny Deol.
And his peer group (comprising the stalwarts of Indian theatre and cinema) right from Ebrahim Alkazi, Satyadev Dubey, Vijay Tendulkar, Girish Karnad to Shyam Benegal, Govind Nihalani, Subhash Ghai and Steven Spielberg, they all testified and vouched for his unique talent. For, here was an actor, who not only changed the contours of villainy in Indian cinema, but all along he reinforced that his effort was to convert that creative spark into fire. “There are times when you hang around the fringes of stardom. And then comes a time when you enjoy the fringes of stardom. But I am still in search of that big flame. I hope this book serves or motivates my readers to some extent. I had to learn a lot about life the hard way, and if someone finds something that he can relate to and learn from my experiences, then I’d feel the purpose of this memoir has somewhat been achieved.”
In a way, this verse by a Tibetan painter, Tenzin Jamyang, seems to encapsulate the essence of Puri’s ethos:
The way to use life
Is to do nothing through acting.
The way to use life
Is to do everything through being.
And this philosophy is even echoed by the renowned filmmaker Jean-Luc Godard who said:
The cinema is not an art, which films life.
The cinema is something between art and life.
Caught between cinema and life, the book turned out to be an honest rendition of a thorough gentleman. As the actor in him never died, whether he played the baddie or the patriarch, he remained one of his kind. His sterling contribution has immortalised his work.
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