Conversations with Waheeda Rehman (2 page)

WR:
My father died in 1951 and for some years after that I saw my mother struggle to make ends meet. The social status, the cars and the houses had gone with his passing and we were left with nothing.

When I turned seventeen, my mother became worried about my future and thought if I were to get married, I might have a more secure life. I didn’t want to get married and preferred the idea of working. But what could I do? I didn’t have much of an education, so how was I supposed to find a job? It was around that time that the producer C.V. Ramakrishna Prasad, who had known my father, called out of the blue and offered me a dancing role in the Telugu film
Rojulu Marayi
. When I heard about his offer, I jumped with joy and told my mother: ‘It is God’s wish! Please let me do it.’

My mother immediately curbed my enthusiasm and said it was not a good idea. She thought I was just too young to work in films. She was probably afraid of what people might say, as there used to be a lot of social stigma attached to girls working in cinema in those days. When my father was alive, she could face any sort of criticism, but without his support how would she manage? So she refused Mr Prasad’s offer.

But Mr Prasad was a persuasive man. He called back and reassured her: ‘Mrs Rehman, I know you come from a decent family, but times have changed. Film acting is as honourable a profession as any other. Your daughter is like a daughter to me and I am producing this film. You can accompany her to the studios and need not leave her side. She has danced on the stage. Where’s the harm in her dancing in a film?’

My mother thought about it for a few days and finally agreed. We were living in Vijayawada and because the film was going to be made in Madras, we moved there.

NMK:
The dance and song you performed in the 1955 film
Rojulu Marayi
, ‘Eruvaka sagaro ranno chinnannaa’, became all the rage. I watched the song on YouTube. You have such natural elegance that it is not surprising everyone took notice of you.

WR:
I can’t tell you how people loved that song. Master Venu composed it and it had a lovely rhythm.

In those days, audiences were known to throw coins at the screen to show their appreciation and that’s what people did
when my dance started. We were told that when the film was over, people would ask the projectionist to run the song again. My mother couldn’t believe it and went to a cinema hall to see for herself—she discovered it was true.

Rojulu Marayi
means ‘days have changed’ and the title perfectly described that moment in my life.

NMK:
For a young girl who had no idea of film studios, or how films were made, what was it like facing the camera for the first time? Was the whole process of film-making daunting?

WR:
Akkineni Nageswara Rao, Nagarjuna’s father, and Shavukar Janaki were the lead stars of the film and I appeared in this one dance scene.

Everything was new to me. I didn’t know what to expect. The director Thapi Chanakya helped me get over my nervousness by saying: ‘When the assistant holds the clapperboard in front of you to announce the take, pay no attention to it. Don’t get nervous. People think they must do something when the take is announced and the camera is rolling—there’s nothing you need do. What you’re doing is fine.’ The director’s father was the famous Telugu writer Thapi Dharma Rao who wrote the dialogue for
Rojulu Marayi
.

I remember when I was dancing I kept looking down at my feet because I was very conscious of my uneven, funny-looking toes. People in the south use the term ‘Amma’ with affection and so Akkineni Nageswara Rao told me gently between takes:
‘Amma, don’t look down. Look at the camera. You don’t have a bad face.’

NMK:
Do you remember how long the song took to be completed?

WR:
I think it took four or five days. Did you know that a Bombay music director copied that
Rojulu Marayi
song? And guess who? S.D. Burman!

Sometime in the late 1950s, I got a call from Dada: ‘You know that Telugu song of yours? Well, sing it for me.’

‘Dada, how can I? I am not a singer.’

‘I am not going to record you. I know you’re not Lata Mangeshkar. Go on, sing!’

I sang it for Dada a couple of times and he composed a song with the same tune for
Bombai Ka Babu
.
[sings]
‘Dekhne mein bholaa hai dil ka salonaa, Bambai se aaya hai babu chinnannaa.’ Majrooh Sultanpuri wrote the lyrics and even used the word ‘
chinnannaa
’ from the original.

Some years later the composer Ravi asked me to sing him the same song because he wanted to rework the tune for a Hindi film as well—I don’t remember which film. I told him Burmanda had already used the tune, but Raviji insisted I sing it for him. He thought the song had a beautiful melody.

NMK:
The success of
Rojulu Marayi
led to your working in other films in the south. Can you remind us of which ones they were?

WR:
The next Telugu film I worked in was
Jayasimha
, in which I played a princess. N.T. Rama Rao was the hero of the film and he was a big star, but did not talk much. Anjali Devi, the heroine of
Jayasimha
, was very friendly with me and told me not to worry. She said he was a reserved man, that’s all.

We had to reshoot my ‘Eruvaka sagaro . . .’ song for the Tamil version of
Rojulu Marayi
, which was called
Kaalam Mari Pochu
and starred Gemini Ganesan. Then I had a dance scene in
Alibabavum 40
Thirudargalum
[Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves], a Tamil film with M.G. Ramachandran in the lead.

I was lucky to have worked with all the leading stars of south India, including M.G. Ramachandran, Gemini Ganesan and N.T. Rama Rao.

NMK:
What was it like making films in Madras in the 1950s?

WR:
Films were made in a very professional manner. If the call sheet had a start time of nine in the morning, all the actors were there on the dot. I remember there was an excellent Bengali make-up artist who was living in Madras, and the stars would go to his house at six in the morning, have their make-up done and then come to the set at nine, ready to shoot. South Indian actors had a tremendous sense of discipline.

The way of working was different there. If an actor did not behave professionally, or was continuously late for work, no matter how important he or she was—and I have seen this with my own eyes—producers like S.S. Vasan or B. Nagi Reddy
would throw them out. Not just from the film in which they were starring, but from the industry.

Aged fifteen. Madras, 1953. Photograph: M.A. Mohan.

NMK:
It sounds like the directors and producers had more clout than the stars.

WR:
Yes, they did. Most south Indian films were made within three or four months, and I believe still are, while it sometimes took years for a film to be completed in Bombay. Things have improved a lot. The younger generation of directors today finish a film within a year.

When I began working in Hindi cinema I found films were made in a relaxed—I’d say even slack—way, as compared to the south. In Bombay, the stars came to the set in their own sweet time. When I was shooting for my first Hindi film, I arrived at the studio at eight and was ready to shoot by 9.30. But then I had to sit and wait for Dev Anand who arrived at eleven.

Though I must tell you that if we needed to work late into the evening—because the set was going to be dismantled or something—Dev always agreed to work late. But he never came on time.

NMK:
The
Rojulu Marayi
song opened many doors for you and led to your meeting Guru Dutt.

WR:
That’s right. The film was such a big hit. The cast was invited all around Andhra to celebrate its success and at the end of the
tour we arrived in Hyderabad. That’s where I met Guruduttji for the first time.

I am a great believer in destiny. Even though Guruduttji did not have the faintest idea who I was, he asked to meet me—a newcomer. It felt like something out of the ordinary—it had to be destiny.

Many good things have happened to me. I never planned anything. Nor did I manipulate or calculate. Yet good things kept happening. Guruduttji happened to be in Hyderabad and I happened to be there too.

NMK:
How did he first hear of you?

WR:
He was sitting in a distributor’s office when they heard a commotion outside—the distributor’s name escapes me now—but I think he distributed
Mr & Mrs ’55
in Hyderabad. Guruduttji asked him if there was some trouble on the street and he was told the stars of a popular Telugu film were passing by and it was the excited fans that were making the commotion.

The distributor then added: ‘A new girl has performed a song in the film. It has caused a sensation. When the stars go on to the stage, the audience demands to see this young girl. Her name is Waheeda Rehman.’ Guruduttji was surprised: ‘Waheeda Rehman? That’s a Muslim name. Does she speak Urdu?’

‘I hear she also speaks Telugu and Tamil. She came wearing a
gharaara
and thanked the audience in Urdu at a function where they were celebrating the success of
Rojulu Marayi
.’

Following the success of
Rojulu Marayi
, Waheeda Rehman acted in three other south Indian productions. Aged seventeen. Madras, 1955. Photograph: M.A. Mohan.

That’s when Guruduttji told the distributor he would like to meet me because he was looking for new actors to cast in his next production.

The distributor then called Mr Prasad to set up a meeting. Mr Prasad had not heard of Guruduttji. Very few people in the south had heard of him in the mid-fifties. I think there weren’t many film magazines at the time and in any case no one in my family read them, so we were unaware of his name.

The distributor explained to Mr Prasad that his friend was a well-known Bombay director and had made a number of successful films. Then Mr Prasad called my mother and told us that Guruduttji wanted to meet me. My mother and I made our way to the distributor’s office the next day. I think the meeting lasted about half an hour. Guruduttji hardly spoke. He asked us a few questions in Hindi: where we were from, etc. That was it.

We went back to the hotel where we were staying in Hyderabad. When Mr Prasad asked about the meeting, my mother commented that Guruduttji said very little. Mr Prasad said some people were just made like that. We returned home to Madras a few days later.

NMK:
Before Guru Dutt met you, had he seen
Rojulu Marayi
?

I say this because I am sure he would have been struck by the sparkling impression you made on the screen.