Why Raj Kapoor’s was a wonderful world: A tribute by Poonam Saxena

There is a gentleness to the lore around the legendary filmmaker, and such immense heart to his films. They really don’t make them like this anymore.

These may be our final tributes to him for a while.

Raj Kapoor and Nargis in the song Pyar Hua Ikrar Hua from Shree 420 (1955).

Raj Kapoor would have been 101 today. This marks the end of a widely celebrated centenary year. In addition to coverage across newspapers and online, there have been tributes such as Netflix’s Dining with the Kapoors, which was a pleasant watch, though it barely skimmed the surface of his persona.

It didn’t dwell very much, for instance, on the stories around the showman that are legion: his passion for the perfect shot, his obsession with his heroines, his love of food and whisky. My favourite stories about him include the one of his first meeting with Nargis.

“A fat blue-eyed pinkie” had come to her house, she told a friend. Then, while shooting Aag (1948), his directorial debut, she said to the same friend, “Pinkie has started getting fresh with me”. The two would fall in love, though it wasn’t meant to be. Kapoor was married; Nargis would go on to marry Sunil Dutt (after he famously rushed into a burning set to save her).

I have a particular fondness for Hindi-film lore from this era. Some of it is so eccentric, yet so gentle. Like Kapoor’s love for his Johnnie Walker, but only if it was bought in London. If it was sourced any other way, he became deeply suspicious and wouldn’t drink it.

He was also remarkably, well, grounded! He only slept on the floor. In hotels, he pulled the mattress off the bed before he slept on it. The Hilton in London fined him for doing this but he continued, paying a daily penalty each day that he stayed there.

Then there was his love for food. Kapoor went to the races in Bombay not to bet on the horses but to eat the sandwiches and chicken patties. He took the Deccan Queen to Pune only for the meals; he favoured their samosas, “railway cutlets”, kheema-pav and pastries.

His ultimate obsession, of course, was cinema. Though he directed just 10 films, he produced many more and acted in over 70.

Fans will tell you his best work was between 1948 and 1970 (he went on to direct until 1985), but the toss-up for the title of his greatest film has always been between just two: Awaara (1951) and Shree 420 (1955).

I love Awaara (who wouldn’t); but the Kapoor film I adore is Shree 420. It features that RK staple, the Chaplin-esque “little man”, in ragged trousers, torn shoes and shabby cap, carrying a little bundle at the end of a stick. He enters the big city of Bombay an innocent and is led astray by its seductive, deceptive charms, until he redeems himself by stepping back from a precipice and returning to the love of a good woman (played by Nargis).

Within this simple outline, Shree 420 holds layers of humour, emotion, beauty and insight. A jobless graduate from Allahabad (named Ranbir Raj, which was the filmmaker’s given name, incidentally) comes to Bombay hoping to make something of himself. He has no family, and no money. Yet he hides his poverty and despair behind a facade of good cheer.

This recurring motif would find its apogee in his magnum opus, the four-hour-15-minute Mera Naam Joker (1970), where the clown (played by Raj Kapoor) must be funny and jolly at all times, no matter what, even if his mother has just died. But the combination of pathos and humour got a bit heavy there. In Shree 420, the two are delicately, perfectly balanced. The immortal songs do a lot to help: Pyar Hua Ikrar Hua, Mud Mud Ke Na Dekh, Mera Joota Hai Japani.

There is a funny but telling anecdote behind the filming of Mera Joota Hai Japani. Kapoor wanted pretty clouds in the sky for the sequence, so he headed to Pune, but found it clear and cloudless. Determined, he kept going, chasing the clouds he had envisioned, until he and his team found themselves in Ooty, five days later – where they found clouds that were just right!

To me, there is something eternally heart-tugging about that other classic from the film: Pyar Hua Ikrar Hua. As the rain gently falls, Kapoor and Nargis stand under a black umbrella, with a pavement chaiwallah for company. Was there ever a more timeless tribute to romance and the city’s monsoon? (The song is shot on a set, as was the norm then, but art director MR Achrekar still created a magical aura. He even had a miniature train in the background, to give the impression of a local speeding by.)

While hugely entertaining, at its heart, Shree 420 is about optimism, idealism and social justice, emotions we seem to have forgotten today. That’s what the Raj Kapoor touch was all about. Revisit his films, if you can. They really don’t make them like this anymore.

(Email Poonam Saxena at poonamsaxena3555@ gmail.com. The views expressed are personal)