‘When Meena Kumari Died, I Became Hysterical’

‘My
mom
had
told
me
a
great
deal
about
Meena
Kumari
and
how
she
could
make
a
tear
drop
at
the
right
moment.’
‘A
legend
who
was
in
total
control.’
‘But
when
I
finally
met
her,
I
saw
a
frail,
shrivelled
and
petite
woman
—
just
a
bag
of
bones.’
‘Very
tiny.
She
was
dying.’

The
paths
of
two
renowned
actresses,

Rekha
and
Meena
Kumari,
crossed
briefly
but
memorably.

In
the
opening
years
of
the
1970s,
Meena
Kumari
was
seriously
ill
and
her
film
career
was
drawing
to
a
close.

Rekha,
on
the
other
hand,
had
just
made
a
major
splash
with
her
debut
hit

Sawan
Bhadon.
Still
a
teenager,
she
was
boisterous
and
eager
to
experience
life.

Yet,
an
unlikely
bond
was
forged.

We
reproduce
Rekha’s
reminiscences
of
the
time
she
spent
in
Meena
Kumari’s
company
and
the
life
lessons
she
learnt
from
the
senior
actress.

This
article
was
originally
published
in
1997,
the
25th
anniversary
of
Meena
Kumari’s
death
at
the
age
of
39
on
March
31.

“My
first
impression
of
Meena
Kumari
is
of
Amma.
When
I
was
a
child,
I
felt
Meena
Kumari
looked
no
different
from
my
mother
or
my

chhoti
mummy
(movie
legend
Savitri)
whom
I
adored.

“I
couldn’t
differentiate
between
any
of
their
movies
because
they
had
the
same
round
face,
similar
eyes
and
even
their
look
was
identical
—
wavy
long
hair,
a
load
of
bangles
and
a
huge
red

bindi.
And
they
all
wore
a
lot
of
white
which
is
why
subconsciously
I
got
very
influenced
by
them,”
Rekha
tells
then

Movie
magazine
Editor

Dinesh
Raheja.

I
first
met
Meena
Kumari
in
1970.

I
was
totally
distracted
then,
one
wild
kid.
With
Yogeeta
Bali
in
tow,
I
would
drop
in
very
often
at
her
Landmark
residence.

She
was
bedridden.

There
was
a
lot
of

ghusphus
about
her
drinking.

Incidentally,
I
had
heard
rumours
that
my

chhoti
mummy
also
went
that
way
because
she
had
fashioned
her
life
totally
on
Meena
Kumari.
Interestingly,
Meena
Kumari
did
the
Hindi
version
of

Miss
Mary
with
my
dad
(Gemini
Ganesan)
as
her
leading
man,
while
Savitri
ma
did
the
Telugu
and
Tamil
versions.

My
mom
had
told
me
a
great
deal
about
Meena
Kumari
and
how
she
could
make
a
tear
drop
at
the
right
moment.

A
legend
who
was
in
total
control.

But
when
I
finally
met
her,
I
saw
a
frail,
shrivelled
and
petite
woman
—
just
a
bag
of
bones.

Very
tiny.
She
was
dying.

She
was
in
bed
all
the
time.

Meena
Kumari
had
long
hair,

patli
si
choti
banati
thi,
just
like
Lata

bai.

I
remember
her
room
very
clearly.

Lakdi
ka
furniture

hua
karta
tha
—
a
coffee
table,
a
bed,
a
dressing
table,
all
in
off-white.

Behind
the
bed-stead,
there
was
a
major
collection
of
stones,
shells,
and
an
album
with
dried
leaves
from
different
locations.
I
could
identify
with
her
because
surprisingly
the
only
possession
I
was
proud
of
were
the
shells
I
had
collected.

Once
she
told
me,
‘Yogeeta
Bali

bahut
meethi
hai
par
tum
namkeen
ho.
Aur
namkeen
jyada
khaaya
jaata
hai.’

I
always
saw
her
scribbling
into
her
diary,
in
her
shaky
handwriting.
She
would
recite
this
high
funda
Urdu

shaiyri
and
it
used
to
go
full
toss
over
my
head.

I
would
plead
with
her,
‘Jaane
bhi
deejiye,
let
me
go
to
the
kitchen
and
eat

bhajiyas
and

jalebis.’

I
was
this
real
fat
baby
in
those
days.

But
subconsciously,
I
did
get
influenced.

Her
words,
‘There’s
no
friend
like
your

shaiyri,‘
still
echo
in
my
ears.

She
also
said,
‘A
woman
—
and
not
just
a
man
—
is
only
known
by
her
craft.’

She
believed,
‘Zindagi
mein
akela
chalna
padta
hai.’

Three
years
after
her
death,
I
realised
the
worth
of
her
words
during
the
recording
of
the

Do
Anjaane
song,

Koi
mere
saath
chale
ya
na
chale,
mujhe
koi
saathi
mile
ya
na
mile,
mujhe
jaana
hai
zaroor.

This
song
went
on
to
become
the
story
of
my
life.

I
remember
when
she
died,
I
became
hysterical.
My
mind
recalled
her
trembling
voice
reciting
a

sher
to
me
and
I
became
uncontrollable.
I
wept
copiously
and
let
out
a
long
piercing
shriek.
(Those
days
I
used
to
shriek
a
lot).

I
remember
I
was
making
a
racket
in
the
passage
of
the
hospital.

Nadiraji
popped
a
few
tranquillizers
into
my
mouth.

In
this
drugged
state,
I
was
taken
to
her
building,
Landmark,
and
by
the
time
I
woke
up,
there
was
only
a
garlanded
photograph
left.
I
cancelled
two
days
of
shooting.
In
those
days,
it
was
unheard
of.

Meena
was
just
39-40
when
she
died.
Can
you
believe
it?

But
she
looked
older
due
to
her
illness.

Let
me
tell
you,
despite
all
her
flaws
(she
looked
plump
at
times
and
often
ran
amok
with
her
eyeliner),
you
connected
to
her
on
screen.
If
I
was
even

naakhun
ke
barabar
to
her,
I
would
consider
myself
privileged.

I
would
love
to
do
Meena
Kumari’s
role
in

Sahib
Bibi
Aur
Ghulam.
Guru
Dutt’s
role
can
be
played
either
by
Aamir
Khan
or
Shah
Rukh
Khan.

Her
role
of
an
ideal
Indian
woman’s
predicament
is
the
greatest
challenge
for
an
actress.
One
of
the
best
roles
ever
written
for
a
woman.