Ghulam Arif Khan
AUTOBIOGRAPHIES of celebrated individuals often command a level of popularity that eclipses other literary genres. At times, a biography reads like an enthralling travelogue offering readers vivid snapshots of a life richly textured with triumphs, tribulations, and transformative moments. A compelling biography can evoke the same curiosity and intrigue that earlier generations might have found in poring over classified ads. A well-written autobiography, however, can deliver profound value to its audience. It broadens perspectives, unveils the strengths and frailties of a high achiever, and stirs the soul by spotlighting the resilience, determination, and creative genius woven into one’s life story.
Last November, the illustrious actor and director Amol Palekar unveiled his autobiography titled Aivaj in Marathi and translated into English as Viewfinder. A seasoned voyager in the boundless seas of art, drama, and cinema, Palekar lays bare the lustrous pearls of his personal treasury with finesse. Through this work, he recounts the vicissitudes of his life — the highs and lows, the frosty silences and fervent storms — with unmatched grace.
Why has this reviewer chosen Palekar’s memoir for commentary? Beyond evaluating the creative endeavours of an artist, this is a tribute to an essentially candid soul. The Indian film industry is navigating treacherous waters, awash with films that peddle hate while the OTT platforms brim with a flood of violence, sex and vulgarity. Even the audience’s sense of humour seems to lean increasingly towards the coarse and crude. In such a bleak cultural landscape, Viewfinder serves as a refreshing breeze, invoking nostalgia for the golden days of cinema.
What an epoch it was!
The 1970s and 80s marked a resplendent chapter in Indian cinema. On one hand, formula masala films ruled the roost; on the other, thought-provoking art films carved out a space for themselves. Bridging these two worlds was the rise of “middle cinema,” which delicately captured the poignant nuances of life. These films eschewed the razzle-dazzle of glamour, relying instead on heartfelt storytelling to portray the unadorned beauty of middle-class existence. Classics like Golmaal (1979) and Chhoti Si Baat (1976) epitomised this genre.
Amol Palekar was the face of these movies. His on-screen presence suggested that an ordinary young man from the neighbourhood had ascended to the rank of a silver-screen hero, stealing hearts with understated charm.
The Strength of Simplicity
Palekar’s performances eschewed melodramatic excess, opting instead for a naturalistic style that mirrored the rhythm of everyday life. His subtle facial expressions and unembellished dialogue delivery lent authenticity to his roles. While his contemporaries often embodied larger-than-life action heroes, Palekar masterfully enacted the dreams, dilemmas, and daily struggles of the common man as conceived by his directors, especially Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee.
Renowned for his romantic comedies, Palekar’s repertoire extended to serious roles in films like Rajnigandha, Gharonda, and Halla Ho. There is a quiet potency in his nuanced performances—a delicate balance of depth and restraint. His ability to infuse humour into his characters, often with a subtlety that elicited genuine laughter, remains unparalleled.
Palekar redefined the Bollywood hero archetype, proving that the unassuming simplicity of an everyman could leave an indelible mark on audiences. He showed us that there is beauty in the ordinary and that even the softest whispers can echo loudly in the heart.
The Power of Resistance
Amol Palekar dedicates his autobiography “to those who believe in the power of resistance,” a tribute to his unwavering adherence to principles and his fearless expression of dissent. He takes pride in the fact that he never bent under pressure or compromised his values. During the Emergency, Palekar and his peers staged resistance plays like Julus across multiple venues. During one of its performances at IIT Bombay, an electrified audience of 1,500 students spontaneously became part of the final scene which showed a procession, embodying the spirit of collective defiance.
One notable chapter of his resistance unfolded during the international screening of Akriet, a film he directed, based on the harrowing true story of teenage girls brutally murdered under the sway of witchcraft and superstition. When Information Minister Vasant Sathe imposed a ban on its overseas release, arguing it would tarnish India’s image, Palekar refused to back down. His protest reached the highest echelons, leading to Indira Gandhi herself intervening to lift the ban.
Palekar’s tenure as president of the Children’s Film Society exemplified his principled approach. He and his colleagues have to face bureaucratic apathy—a senior official bluntly dismissed their efforts, stating the government lacked interest. In response, Palekar resigned in protest, a bold move that saw the entire committee following suit. Even when Rajiv Gandhi personally entreated him to reconsider, offering direct access to resolve any roadblocks, Palekar declined. His polite yet pointed reply underscored a systemic flaw: if minor issues required the prime minister’s intervention, the machinery itself was fundamentally broken.
In 2019, Palekar’s unwavering stance was again on display when he was invited by the National Gallery of Modern Art to speak about painter Prabhakar Barve. Just days earlier, the government had curtailed space for new artists within the gallery, a move Palekar openly criticised during his speech. When a bureaucrat rudely interrupted him mid-address, he denounced the behaviour at a press conference the following day, forcing the government to revoke the contentious order.
Despite dedicating over five decades to the visual and performing arts, Palekar’s rebellious spirit has often left him overlooked for official honours. However, for different reasons, both the Congress and Shiv Sena offered him seats to represent Shivaji Park constituency. Palekar steadfastly refused, declaring that active participation in politics would undermine his freedom to critique the system.
His empathy extends to the marginalised, as evidenced by his vocal support for Dalits and his poignant inclusion of Bilkis Bano’s story in his autobiography. Even in the face of lucrative offers, such as directing a documentary on Savarkar, Palekar remained resolute, walking away when it became clear the project was meant to create “a biased, propaganda film”.
His sensitivity as an artist is equally evident in anecdotes like the filming of Bhumika. In one scene, director Shyam Benegal instructed Palekar to slap Smita Patil without forewarning her, aiming to capture her authentic reaction. Though Palekar complied, he was deeply disturbed by the ethical breach, a sentiment Smita herself later sought to assuage.
Creative Achievements
At the heart of Palekar’s artistic genius lies his foundation in painting. A student of the prestigious JJ School of Arts in Mumbai, Palekar honed his craft under the tutelage of accomplished masters, developing a signature style marked by vibrant colours and striking compositions. His passion for visual arts extended to his career in cinema and theatre, where he championed Marathi parallel cinema and gave voice to the silenced and the marginalised.
Palekar’s journey began on the Marathi stage with plays like Chup, Court Chalu Hai, followed by critically acclaimed performances in Hayavadan, Aadhe Adhure, Pagla Ghoda, Gochi, and Kusur. As a director, he demonstrated a rare ability to articulate the intricacies of complex emotions, paying meticulous attention to detail and crafting immersive visual and emotional narratives. His direction brought unparalleled depth to Marathi theatre and cinema, making his works timeless masterpieces.
Palekar’s autobiography offers a sensory-rich experience. There’s a novelty too; scattered with QR codes, the book invites readers to access videos of his iconic films and plays, blending the literary with the cinematic. A collage of nostalgic photographs and Palekar’s own colourful sketches by Narasimma Balaji, further enrich its pages, while thoughtfully placed poetic lines add a lyrical dimension. This is not merely a memoir but a tapestry of artistic brilliance and resistance, woven together with the vibrant threads of a creative life.
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Ghulam Arif Khan is a Mumbai-based public speaker and commentator on socio-economic political and cultural issues. He can be contacted at arif055@gmail.com / +91-8422971000.