‘Forgotten Artists of Early Cinema and The Same Name Confusion’

Welcoming the ‘writer’ Arunkumar Deshmukh and his first book

‘Forgotten Artists of Early Cinema and The Same Name Confusion’
By Arunkumar Deshmukh & Prof Surjit Singh
Published by Professor Toofaanii Publishers

I want some information about Master Vitthal and Zubeida, the lead actors of the first talkie, ‘Alam Ara’, for writing my dissertation for my film course. Where can I get information about the early stars like Master Nissar and Jahanara Kajjan, and other actors, such as Mridula, Vasanti, Bhudo Advani etc? Did the hero Shyam of ‘Dillagi’ (1949) also sing his songs, such as the duets with Suraiya, ‘Tu mera chaand main teri chaandni’ or ‘Zaalim zamana mujhko tumse chhuda raha hai’? Is Rajkumari, who played the role of Chandramukhi in ‘Devdas’ (1935), the same as the famous singer Rajkumari who sang ‘Suno bairi balam kuchh bol’ in ‘Bawre Nain’ (1950)? Are Sitara Kanpuri and Sitara Devi the same person?

Until a few years ago such questions led to a dead-end. Now we know there is one person on this planet who can answer all such queries: Arunkumar Deshmukh. Arunji has written copiously about early cinema and its stars, and directors, producers, music directors, and singers on Atul Song A Day (ASAD) and other blogs, including SoY, and more than that, commented generously on various topics relating to early cinema, adding to our knowledge. He has earned renown all over the blogosphere among lovers of old films and music. Nevertheless, I welcome the writer Arunkumar Deshmukh and compliment him for his first book, brought out with the assistance of Prof. Surjit Singh.

We have all ‘known’ him for long. I know him without the quotation marks, having met him in Mumbai a couple of times. It is inevitable that while discussing the book I would discuss this amazing man who seems to know everything.

Arunkumar Deshmukh: The Man Who Knows Everything

When I first started reading articles and comments on SoY and other blogs by Arunkumar Deshmukh, I was certain this could not be a real person. This must be a phantom, a creation of some artificial intelligence project, which houses the software and a huge storage in the cloud. As soon as it sees anything like ‘Ask Arunji’ or ‘Arunji would know it’, it is activated and pulls out the relevant information instantly. Now that we know he is a mortal like us in flesh and blood, how does he do it?

We have all maintained scrapbooks in our school and college days, filling these with anything that caught our fancy: quotations, words, songs, interesting passages from classics, ghazals, general knowledge etc. As we grew up, moved on with life, got transferred to different places, these compilations got lost, and we forgot about them as adolescent fads. Arunji on the other hand maintained his notebooks meticulously, writing in them about films he saw – and he saw all kinds, because that was his passion. He filled up over 100 such notebooks, and in spite of some loss over time, a good deal remained intact which came in handy when the Internet era arrived.

But these still would not have seen the light of the day, because till the age of 70, i.e. till 2010, he was a complete computer-illiterate. And that is another amazing aspect of the man. I have rarely come across a person who strives to overcome this handicap at such an advanced age. I know any number who have reconciled themselves to living within this limitation, and rationalise that they are doing just fine. He learnt basic computer skills from his grandchildren, and came to speed quickly.

ASAD became his entry to the blogosphere, and his name and fame soon spread all over. The book covers a small fraction of what he has already written on different blogs. Therefore, I expect and hope that this is just the beginning of the ‘Writer Arunkumar Deshmukh’.

Arunji’s life is an open book. Those who follow him on social media know that he was born in 1940 in Nizam state of Hyderabad in a traditional family. He was schooled in Urdu, and thereafter Marathi medium. He also picked up Telugu and Kannada along the way. After his BSc (Agri) he joined Glaxo from where he retired as General Manager. Now he is on the board of a couple of pharmaceutical companies. He is also a Jyotish Praveen in astrology with over 40 years’ experience. If this is not enough to wow you, he is a Brown Belt holder in Judo.

Prof. Surjit Singh: The partner in the project

Arunji’s knowledge would have remained scattered on various blogs, and it would not have come in the shape of a book, but for the collaboration with Prof. Surjit Singh who provided technical support and entrepreneurship, and went over the raw articles several times to bring it up to publication standard. Most of the photographs in the book are from his collection.

Sujitji is an equally fascinating personality. He is a retired theoretical physicist, having published a number of scientific papers in refereed journals, and also written some books in his area of specialisation. In parallel, his interest and passion about old Hindi films and music has been equally deep, which is evident from his site (http://hindi-movies-songs.com/joomla/). It has some rare collection of songs and invaluable articles on early cinema. He has been watching Hindi movies since 1952, has been collecting Hindi songs, movies and magazines since 1969, and has been writing about these things since 1996. He has authored/co-authored five books on lesser known films and artists of early Hindi cinema, the latest being this collaboration with Arunji.

Surjitji’s life has a global imprint. Born in the mid-40s in Lahore where his father worked for a bank in Anarkali Baazar, he had schooling at various places in Haryana and Punjab. After doing MSc from Punjab University, he went to the US where he did PhD from the University of Pittsburgh (1975). He returned to India where he taught in Meghalaya and, subsequently, joined the Tata Institute of Fundamental Research as a scientist. After a few years there, he moved to Canada and the US where he worked as a post-doctoral fellow and a faculty at a number of universities. He is now settled in the US.

The book

I have mentioned the book contains a fraction of what Arunji has already written on different blogs, totalling about 700 articles in which he has given short stories of over 650 films and given information on over 400 artists. In comparison, the first part of the book gives life-sketch of 33 early era film personalities, and the second part contains clarification on 25 sets of persons having similar names which have been a source of perennial confusion.

Written in a simple, matter-of-fact style, the book is as unpretentious as the author himself. It does not claim to give a grand overview of the history of early cinema, but a perceptive reader can see a story, or several stories emerging out of these straightforward narrations. One thread that runs through these profiles is the role of fate in making or unmaking of a star. How else can we explain a craggy-faced Sheikh Mukhtar becoming a major star? Or a Mehboob Khan, born in a poor family, bereft of any formal education, having worked as extras in films – one of his early roles was as a thief in Alibaba Aur 40 Chor, sitting shut inside a drum – going on to become the greatest movie mogul of India?

The fate can be equally unkind. Master Nissar, the superstar of our early cinema, such as Shirin Farhad (1931), Laila Majnu (1931), Shakuntala (1931), Indrasabha (1932) etc, once was the first person in the industry reported to own a Rolls Royce. He was so crazily mobbed by people wherever he went that the Governor had to divert his car. And a time came when he spent his last days of life in penury and deprivation in a one-room tenement in Kamathipura chawl. Those familiar with early talkies would see some more significance in Master Nissar’s place in history. Madan Theatres of Calcutta with Shirin Farhad and Ardeshir Irani’s Imperial Movietone with Alam Ara were in an intense secret race to bring out the first talkies. This was a cloak and dagger game in which Shrin Farhad was beaten by a few weeks for that historical record. Indrasabha with 69 songs has the credit of having the most film songs ever in a film.

Not all riches to rags story can be attributed to fate; in most cases personal hubris, wayward lifestyle, gambling and drinking led to the doom of many. The cases of Chandramohan, Ratanbai, Khan Mastana, Bhagwan Dada, and Bharat Bhushan are well-known to the serious followers of cinema.

The early cinema was organised under what is called the studio system, here as well as in Hollywood. The book would have been greatly enhanced with an insightful overarching article on the early cinema by a film scholar, but even without that you get a feel of the Studio Era. A paid employment on a monthly salary gave a sense of security. The studios also groomed their employees that led to horizontal and vertical mobility: a choreographer Guru Dutt of Prabhat becoming a renowned director; a lab-technician Ashok Kumar of Bombay Talkies becoming a mega star; a canteen manager Amiya Chakravarty becoming a famous director, and so on.

But the studios could be quite vengeful, harsh and exploitative. Shanta Apte, Chandramohan (Prabhat/Rajkamal Kalamandir) and Uma Devi (Kardar) are sufferers of the studio system. A stark case is that of Sitara Kanpuri. A semi-literate person and unaware of the ways of the world, was shocked to realise, when she tried to seek work outside, that she had been bound to Shalimar Studios to a ten-year contract. The migration of Shalimar bosses to Pakistan post-1947 led to her fortuitous freedom from bondage, but it was too late to resume her career.

A friend of mine tells a joke in the backdrop of the spat between V Shantaram-Chandramohan, which some readers may consider a bit indelicate, for which I apologise in advance. But it is too funny and apt to the context to be left out. When Chandramohan asked Shantaram for a raise as he had given several superhits, the latter snubbed, Don’t you have any airs about yourself, Shantaram can produce a hundred Chandramohans. An incensed Chandramohan retorted, आप क्या चन्द्रमोहन पैदा करेंगे. मेरे बाप ने भी काफी कोशिश की एक और चन्द्रमोहन पैदा करने की, लेकिन वे भी सिर्फ एक बृजमोहन ही पैदा कर सके.

Another fascinating aspect of the book is the process of discovery of information. In many cases it has been a combination of a stroke of luck, perseverance and investigative acumen. One Ramesh Advani, who came to live in the same building as Arunji, turned out to be the son of Bhudo Advani, and gave detailed information on his actor father. The readers would remember him for his toothless smile in several films like Shree 420, Boot Polish (one of the baldies in the song Lapak jhapak tu aa re badarwa). A hereditary disorder caused the loss of all his teeth at a young age.

When Arunji referred to an early era singer-actor Parashuram in one of his articles on ASAD, a reader from Australia drew his attention to a comment on the YouTube by some New Zealand-based person claiming himself to be the grandson of Parasuram. That lead led to a trail reaching his extended family based in Mumbai. Thus we have a very comprehensive write-up on Parasuram, who became famous for his role as a beggar boy and his song Man saaf tera hai ki nahi in Prabhat’s Duniya Na Maane (1937), and later in their production Gopal Krishna (1938), for his role as a childhood friend of Krishna and leader of the gope children in Gokul. And for the trivia buffs, he was the person who had the privilege of Bhimsen Joshi giving him playback in Ketaki gulab juhi in Basant Bahar (1956). There are more of such interesting stories.

The second part of the book dealing with similar sets of names is pure social service because misattribution, confusion and mix-ups are quite common even among experts. When the grandmother of Saira Bano, named Shamshad Begum, died many years ago, many journals wrote the obituary of the famous singer Shamshad Begum when she was hale and hearty. Because of her steadfastly avoiding limelight, this erroneous information continued for quite some time, until she chose to go public.

Why at all should we care for such forgotten artists of early cinema? For the same reason as we care for our history and heritage sites. Hindi films and music are more integral to India’s popular culture than cinema anywhere in the world to that country. It is one of the defining features of our ethos ‘unity in diversity’. With our abysmal record of preservation – most of our early films and songs are lost for ever – such books are most welcome, and Arunji and Surjitji deserve all the accolades.

Let me end this post with a few songs which have some connection to Arunji’s work.

1. Marna bhi mohabbat mein kabhi kaam na aya by Raghunath Jadhav and chorus from Azaad (1955), lyrics Rajendra Krishna, music C Ramchnadra

My last post was on qawwalis of Roshan-Madan Mohan which led to some freewheeling discussion on the genre. Am I doing an overkill of qawwalis? No, I want you to spot Master Nissar, the yesteryear superstar I have mentioned above, as one of the main singers in this qawwali.

2. Aaj kyun humse parda hai by Rafi and Balbir from Sadhana (1958), lyrics Sahir Ludhiyanavi, music N Datta

Now a giveaway hint. Master Nissar again, the slim oval-faced singer with a cap is him. समय बड़ा बलवान.

3. Hath chakra Trishul Sadashiv alakh jagaate nagari mein by Abhram Bhagat (NFS bhajan, 1940)

Arunji’s write-up on this song had appeared on ASAD over five years ago. I was obviously unaware of the singer and the song till then. Apparently, he was a renowned singer of bhajans in Gujarat in the 1940s, and was invited to many countries such as the US, UK, Canada, and in East Africa and Europe for performance. Arunji had been fascinated with this bhajan from his childhood, but knew nothing about its singer or other details. Thus, one can imagine his excitement when he saw its first appearance on YT, posted by one Suresh Shandil, then based in Australia. He informed Arunji that he had obtained the song from Fiji Radio which played it almost every second day. Further search through well-known collectors and writers on early era films and stars, Harish Raghuvanshi and Rajnikumar Pandya, led to the discovery of a great deal of material on Abhram Bhagat, who was actually a Muslim by the name Ibrahim. Born in a poor family, an unfortunate accident led to amputation of his leg. For survival he started singing Krishna bhajans that made him so popular that acquiring the name Abhram Bhagat was a natural corollary. I have been equally fascinated by this bhajan from its first appearance.

Note: The book is available on Amazon, and Pothi.com where it is much cheaper. But Pothi.com is quite an unprofessional and consumer-unfriendly site. They don’t give any helpline number or email for contact. The site does not seem to have any feature for searching a book by the title or author’s name. Surjitji, becoming aware of the problems faced by the buyers, wrote to them a stern mail, but their wishy-washy response shows they have no intentions to improve. I consider myself lucky that I could struggle through Google to get the link of the book on their site, and I was able to place order and got it in the time mentioned by them.

I should also thank Arunji for acknowledging me and this blog in the book.