Raj Kapoor@100: The Woman’s Director

Dinesh
Raheja
views
Raj
Kapoor’s
cinema
through
his
women,
while
celebrating
his
birth
centenary
on
December
14.

In
Raj
Kapoor’s
swan
song,

Ram
Teri
Ganga
Maili
(1985),
the
distraught
female
protagonist
Ganga
has
just
had
her
sari
torn
from
her
by
a
roomful
of
lecherous
men
and
been
forced
to
perform
the
title
song
when
the
room
is
rent
by
the
cries
of
her
baby.

Ganga
rushes
to
soothe
her
child
before
bitterly
resuming
the
song.
This
has
even
the
villains
casting
their
eyes
downwards
and
looking
shame-faced.

There’s
a
similar
scene
in
Kapoor’s
directorial
breakthrough,

Barsaat
(1949).
A
depressed
Kapoor
is
pushed
into
the
company
of
a
seductive
prostitute
by
his
rakish
friend
(Premnath).

His
angry
contempt
for
her
profession
is
met
with
stoicism
until
she
hears
her
child
wail
inside
her
hovel.
She
runs
to
the
ailing
baby,
and
a
remorseful
Kapoor
empties
his
wallet
next
to
her
feet,
which
he
touches
as
a
mark
of
respect.

The
above
two
films
in
Raj
Kapoor’s
oeuvre
are
35
years
apart,
but
Kapoor’s
cinema
consistently
commented
on
the
place
of
women
in
society
in
a
sensitive,
humanistic
manner.

Not
only
did
the
10
films
directed
by
Raj
Kapoor
have
great
roles
for
women,
but
they
also
portrayed
emotions
from
the
female
perspective.

Yes,
Kapoor’s
famously
male
gaze
often
projected
his
leading
ladies
as
sensuous
objects
of
desire,
particularly
in
the
way
Zeenat
Aman
and
Mandakini
were
outfitted
in

Satyam
Shivam
Sundaram
and

Ram
Teri
Ganga
Maili.

The
woman
below
a
waterfall
can
feel
like
an
all-too-familiar
visual
idiom
in
the
Kapoor
aesthetic.

However,
what
is
also
true
is
that
women
were
primarily
portrayed
in
his
films
as
human
beings
deserving
of
respect
and
sympathy.
Kapoor
approached
cinema
from
a
humanitarian
outlook
which
demanded
that
he
take
into
account
the
feminine
point
of
view
in
his
films’
themes.

And
the
director
sharpened
his
focus
as
the
times
grew
more
progressive.

Ram
Teri
Ganga
Maili
and

Barsaat
serve
as
effective
bookends
to
Kapoor’s
career
because
both
films
are
about
mountain
maids
losing
their
innocence,
but
the
film-maker’s
vision
had
evolved.

Barsaat
earned
Kapoor
a
place
on
the
table
alongside
the
great
directors
of
the
Golden
Age
of
Hindi
cinema.

To
be
sure,

Barsaat
pivots
around
its
two
leading
ladies
(Nargis
and
Nimmi)
who
play

pahadi
women
living
in
the
mountains
but
who
fall
in
love
with
rich
city
gents
(Raj
Kapoor
and
Premnath).

Significantly,
Shankar
Jaikishan’s
superhit
soundtrack
had
10
songs
of
which
an
incredible
nine
featured
Lata
Mangeshkar
and
seven
were
female
solos.

But
the
struggles
of
the
characters
played
by
Nargis
and
Nimmi
is
depicted
through
the
prism
of
their
times.

Ganga
(Mandakini)
is
much
more
proactive
against
her
travails.

Firstly,
Kapoor
shows
her
as
having
the
agency
to
propose
marriage
to
the
man
she
loves
(Rajiv
Kapoor),
and
to
boldly
declare
her
love
while
singing

Sun
Sahiba
Sun
by
asserting
‘Koi
Haseena
Kadam
Pehle
Badhati
Nahin,
Majboori
Dil
Se
Na
Ho‘.

And
later
an
intrepid
Ganga
symbolically
sets
out
on
a
thousand-mile
journey
across
India
to
locate
her
husband
and
obtain
her
son’s
legitimate
rights.

Kapoor’s
films
in
the
1970s
and
1980s
enforced
his
reputation
as
a
‘Woman’s
director’.
In

Prem
Rog
(1982),
the
director
defied
prevailing
beliefs
about
the
place
and
position
of
a
widow
in
our
society.

Son
Randhir
Kapoor
says
his
father
narrated
the
kernel
of
the
film’s
story
as
the
relationship
between
a
young
widow
and
the
patriarch
of
the
family
she
is
married
into.

Sure
enough,
the
film
centres
around
teenaged
Manorama
(Padmini
Kolhapure)
and
her
victimisation
by
outdated
practices
after
her
husband’s
death.

Rishi
Kapoor
is
the
silent
lover
who
battles
for
her
dignity.
And
Shammi
Kapoor
is
the
head
of
her
family
who
finally
re-evaluates
his
worldview
to
accommodate
a
more
progressive
stand
which
supports
Manorama’s
remarriage.

Whether
it
is

Prem
Rog‘s

Yeh
Galiyan
Yeh
Chaubara
or
the
title
songs
of

Ram
Teri
Ganga
Maili
and

Satyam
Shivam
Sundaram,
it
would
not
be
an
exaggeration
to
say
that
Lata
Mangeshkar’s
voice
articulated
the
soul
of
Kapoor’s
films.

She
represents
Kapoor’s
longest
collaboration
with
any
creative
entity,
male
or
female.
Lata’s
voice
is
absent
only
in

Mera
Naam
Joker
(1970)
because
the
two
dynamos
fell
out
over
Lata’s
displeasure
at
being
persuaded
to
sing

Sangam‘s
naughty
ditty,

Main
Kya
Karoon
Ram.

Lata’s
omnipresence
in
most
of
Kapoor’s
film
soundtracks
is
indicative
not
only
of
the
respect
he
accorded
the
singer
but
also
of
the
importance
he
gave
to
conveying
his
films’
keynote
concerns
through
musical
numbers
filmed
on
his
leading
ladies.

This
is
perhaps
never
more
evident
than
in

Satyam
Shivam
Sundaram
(1978)
in
which
Kapoor
employs
various
songs
to
capture
a
conventionally
disadvantaged
woman’s
search
for
her
romantic
idyll.

Roopa
(Zeenat
Aman)
is
rejected
by
her
husband
because
of
her
scarred
face
but
courted
by
him
when
she
covers
her
face
and
identity
and
sings
like
an
angel.

Though
only
partly
successful
creatively,
Kapoor
bravely
posited,
through
Roopa,
the
idea
that
romantic
love
is
based
on
forging
an
emotional
connect,
not
on
a
woman’s
physical
beauty.

The
many
vagaries
of
love
were
also
explored
by
Kapoor
in

Bobby
(1973),
which
boasted
of
the
leading
lady
playing
the
title
role.

When
Kapoor
was
casting
for

Bobby,
he
was
on
the
back
foot.

Mera
Naam
Joker
had
just
flopped
spectacularly
and
his
career
as
an
actor
was
over.

But
Kapoor’s
reputation
as
a
director
was
still
unassailable
and
then
superstar
Rajesh
Khanna
was
willing
to
headline
an
RK
film.

Instead,
Kapoor
chose
to
start

Bobby
and
cast
his
novice
son
Rishi
Kapoor
opposite
another
newcomer
Dimple
Kapadia
much
against
the
advice
of
close
associates.

But
Dimple
proved
to
be
a
diamond
in
the
rough,
adept
at
portraying
young
love
with
unusual
depth
and
intensity.
She
became
the
blockbuster
film’s
biggest
sensation.

Even
when
Kapoor
directed
himself
in
his
earlier
classics,
the
female
roles
were
always
central
to
the
story.

In

Sangam
(1964),
when
both
the
heroes
(Kapoor
and
Rajendra
Kumar)
seek
to
resolve
the
romantic
triangle
by
sacrificing
their
love,
the
furious
leading
lady
(Vyjayanthimala)
stands
up
for
herself
and
explodes:
‘Tumhein
kisne
haq
diya
hai
ke
tum
donon
milke
meri
zindagi
ka
faisla
karo?‘

A
strong
woman
with
unwavering
morals,
maybe
a
bit
over-idealised,
was
what
Nargis
also
played
so
effectively
in
both

Shri
420
(1955)
and

Awara
(1951).

Shri
420
was
but
a
battle
between
the
conflicting
influences
exerted
over
Kapoor’s
protagonist
by
two
women,
the
symbolically
named
Vidya
(Nargis)
and
the
tellingly
named
Maya
(Nadira)
by
whom
Kapoor
is
temporarily
dazzled.

In

Awara,
made
early
in
the
post-Independence
period,
proto-feminist
ideas
coloured
Kapoor’s
artistic
vision
when
he
presented
Nargis
as
Rita,
a
lawyer
who
defends
the
criminal
leading
man
Raj
(Kapoor)
in
court.

Ram
aspires
to
Rita’s
love
and
respect.
He
literally
ascends
up
a
flight
of
stairs
in
a
cloudy
sky
to
meet
her
in
the
song

Ghar
Aaya
Mere
Pardesi.

She
represents
his
dream,
she’s
the
centre
of
his
attraction,
his
guide,
his
directing
principle.

Perhaps
the
last
sentence
can
be
said
for
Kapoor’s
relationship
with
all
his
female
characters.
The
woman
was
the
pole
star
of
Raj
Kapoor’s
cinema.