Why You Must Watch Sangam!

Dinesh
Raheja
tips
his
hat
to
his
favourite
Raj
Kapoor
movie
as
we
continue
celebrating
the
legend’s
birth
centenary.

Raj
Kapoor
directed
only
10
films
in
a
career
spanning
five
decades
between
the
1940s
and
1980s.
But
the
auteur
has
built
such
an
illustrious
repertoire
that
it
is
difficult
to
choose
just
one
jewel
in
a
studded
crown.

All
of
Kapoor’s
directorial
ventures
garnered
accolades
and
adoration.
Labels
like
‘The
Great
Showman’
were
lavished
on
him
because
of
his
ability
to
present
thought-provoking
subjects
in
an
entertaining
format
without
compromising
his
artistic
vision.

He
was
only
23
when
his
directorial
debut

Aag
(1948)
was
released.
This
defiantly
expressionist
film
about
a
protagonist
with
a
scarred
face
and
wounded
psyche
is
a
minor
footnote
in
his
canon.

Kapoor’s
career
gained
traction
with

Barsaat
(1949)
a
romance
with
unruly
passion
and
poetic
angst.
I
saw
this
at
a
re-run
on
my
journey
to
cinema
literacy,
and
Kapoor
and
his
cinematic
muse
Nargis
perfumed
my
senses
with
their
portrayal
of
amour.

There
is
so
much
that
I
admire
in

Awara,
Raj
Kapoor’s
parable
of
human
aspiration
with
a
intersectional
socio-political
subtext.

He
imbues
his
embodiment
of
the
Everyman,
the
tramp,
with
lyrical
passion
that
tugs
at
my
heartstrings.
Raghu
Karmakar’s
noirish
camerawork
with
rain-washed
cobblestoned
streets
is
impressive.

Though
they
were
released
before
I
was
born,
a
foreboding
sense
of
urban
dystopia
is
evoked
within
me
by
RK
Films’
big
city
trinity:

Boot
Polish
(1954),

Shri
420
(1955)
and

Jagte
Raho
(1956).

I
am
dazzled
by
Kapoor’s
bravery
in
redefining
heroism
on
screen
with

Jis
Desh
Mein
Ganga
Behti
Hai
(1960).
Here,
he’s
not
an

awara
who
talks
with
fisticuffs
but
has
the
courage
to
raise
one
hand
to
his
shoulder
and
talk
conviction
to
ferocious
dacoits.

Sure,

Mera
Naam
Joker
(1970)
is
self-indulgent
but
I
can
glean
glittering
scenes
and
songs
from
it.
And
I
was
in
college
when

Bobby
(1973)
was
released
so
I
know
the
seismic
effect
it
had
on
film
culture,
and
on
me.

For
me,

Satyam
Shivam
Sundaram
is
elevated
by
the
climactic
flood
of
cosmic
retribution
and

Prem
Rog
by
its
reformist
zeal
and
the
performances.

Ram
Teri
Ganga
Maili,
a
symbol-heavy
paean
to
innocence
under
siege,
grabbed
my
attention
because,
like
all
his
films,
it
lit
up
aspects
of
the
human
condition.

But
for
its
insights
into
complex
humanity
and
messy
relationships,
I
would
cite
Kapoor’s
1964
blockbuster

Sangam
as
my
favourite
from
his
oeuvre.

This
may
be
considered
quite
a
contrarian
take
because
some
didn’t
appreciate
Kapoor’s
shift
with

Sangam
from
social
issues
to
an
intimate
examination
of
the
dynamics
of
relationships.

Sangam
was
Raj
Kapoor’s
first
film
to
be
shot
in
colour
and
certain
passages
are
sheer
visual
poetry,
with
leading
lady
Vyjayanthimala
clad
in
gorgeous
whites
and
the
vibrant
maximalism
of
the
Himalayan
and
European
locales
(it
set
the
trend!).

However,
it
doesn’t
seek
to
buy
success
with
big
budgets.
The
last
40
minutes
are
filmed
largely
indoors
as
an
interplay
between
three
tormented
characters,
yet
are
as
edge-of-the-seat
tense
as
a
suspense
thriller.

Sangam
adroitly
reveals
the
psychological
underpinnings
of
the
three
lead
characters
by
showing
them
first
as
children.

Sundar
has
built
a
mud
castle
for
Radha
but
the
uppity
miss
knocks
it
over
and
takes
Gopal
by
the
arm.
Even
though
Sundar
hits
Gopal
hard
enough
to
draw
blood,
his
rich
friend
doesn’t
rat
him
out.

That’s
a
lot
of
emotional
baggage
for
me
as
a
viewer
to
unpack
when
I
see
them
as
adults.

Each
of

Sangam‘s
eight
wonderful
songs
is
seamlessly
integrated
into
the
story.

We
first
see
Raj
Kapoor
(as
Sundar)
pointedly
asking
Radha
(Vyjayanthimala):

Bol
Radha
Bol
Sangam
Hoga
Ke
Nahin?

She
answers
in
no
uncertain
terms:

Nahin.
Kabhi
Nahin!

She
expresses
interest
in
their
common
best
friend
Gopal
(Rajendra
Kumar)
but
he
takes
the
Bro
Code
to
the
extreme
and
sings

Apni
Apni
Sab
Ne
Keh
Di,
Lekin
Hum
Chupchap
Rahe.

Sundar
just
can’t
read
the
room,
and
sends
a
proposal
for
Radha
through
Gopal.
This
characterisation
is
intriguing
—
is
he
delusional?
To
be
fair
to
Sundar,
he
thinks
the
letter
Radha
wrote
for
Gopal
was
meant
for
him.

Rejected
by
her
parents,
he
joins
the
air
force
and
while
on
a
mission,
is
declared
dead.
Gopal
and
Radha
finally
get
together
but
when
Sundar
returns
miraculously,
Gopal
plays
martyr
again.

A
hapless
Radha
marries
Sundar
and
they
embark
on
a
happy
honeymoon.
Her
secret
catches
up
though.
The
tipping
point
is
when
Sundar
discovers
Gopal’s
anonymously
written
love
letter.

A
desperate
Radha
keeps
up
a
stream
of
chatter
and
while
attending
a
phone
call
tears
the
letter.
But
he
refuses
to
be
distracted
and
pointedly
asks:
‘Ab
tak
kyon
sambhalke
rakha?‘

The
film
is
a
conversation
starter.
There’s
so
much
to
agree
and
argue
with
the
film.

What
I
like
most
perhaps
is
that
grey-shaded
nuances
are
baked
into
all
the
three
characters
but
unlike
much
of
cinema,
Kapoor
isn’t
occupied
with
judging
or
labelling
his
characters.
He
is
more
interested
in
exploring
their
mindscapes.

In
fact,
Kapoor
doesn’t
spell
out
many
of
their
motivations
and
leaves
it
to
our
cognitive
abilities
to
interpret.

Why
does
Radha
keep
the
love
letter
from
her
ex-lover
despite
being
in
a
happy
marriage?

Why
is
the
rich
Gopal
so
protective
of
the
poor
Sundar
from
childhood?
Shades
of

noblesse
oblige,
the
responsibility
of
the
rich?

Clues
of
this
patronising
are
proffered
when
Sundar
gets
to
know
of
his
sacrifice
and
explodes:
‘Phir
bhikhari
ki
jholi
mein
tukde
daalne
ka
andaaz!
Main
bhikhari
nahin,
dost
hoon.’

My
reading
is
that
this
is
the
fault
line
of
their
friendship.

Gopal
is
an
enabler
and
worse,
pushes
Radha
to
share
that
role
in
accommodating
the
big
blue-eyed
baby
in
their
midst.
He
even
writes
a
letter
to
Sundar
in
her
name!

I
am
guessing
a
psychologist
would
have
a
field
day
figuring
out
why
Sundar
is
so
oblivious
of
the
emotional
life
of
the
two
friends
he
loves
dearly.
It
hints
at
cognitive
dissonance,
if
not
narcissism.

Why
does
he
torture
Radha
with
that
accusing
sneer
despite
being
in
love
with
her
and
acknowledging
her
love
for
him? 

For
me,

Sangam
draws
its
power
from
these
seeming
contradictions
because
in
my
experience,
we
humans
often
don’t
behave
in
the
way
that
is
true
to
our
beliefs
but
are
guided
by
motivations,
admitted
not
even
to
the
self.

Our
emotional
truth
lies
not
in
what
we
say
or
believe
but
in
how
we
behave.

Fortunately,
Kapoor
has
a
distinctive
director’s
voice.
Even
if
his
characters
put
each
other
on
unsteady
pedestals,
he
does
not.
He
remains
clear-eyed
and
presents
them
as
humans:
Flawed
yet
deserving
of
our
empathy.

Kapoor
does
have
a
message
—
it’s
one
of
sympathy
and
the
transformative
power
of
love.
Now
that’s
a
message
I
can
always
get
behind.

Notably,
amidst

Sangam‘s
highly
dramatic
confrontation
scenes,
the
couple’s
love
for
each
other
has
not
died.

Sundar
stops
playing
the
accusatory

Dost
Dost
Na
Raha
when
Radha
asks
him
to,
and
also
prevents
her
from
leaving
their
home.

When
his
higher
self
loses
the
battle
to
his
demons,
he
hurts
as
he
cries:
‘Main
kya
karun?‘

Radha
lashes
out
at
Sundar
but
also
says:
‘Apna
dard
sah
bhi
loon,
uska
dard
nahin
saha
jaata.’

The
humanitarian
plea
for
understanding
runs
through
my
favourite
line
from
the
song

O
Mere
Sanam:
Yeh
Dharti
Hai
Insaanon
Ki,
Kuchh
Aur
Nahin
Insaan
Hai
Hum.

Sangam
has
three
knockout
central
performances
and
also
evidences
that
Kapoor
was
a
purveyor
of
quality
in
every
department
of
film-making.

For
his
unique
ability
to
commingle
popular
cinema
with
aesthetics
and
for
attaining
a
synergy
between
his
two
selves
as
an
actor
and
a
director,
Raj
Kapoor
is
justifiably
renowned
as
one
of
our
brightest
luminaries.