On Mike's Request

This is taken from PFC. For original link Click Here

"I just read something priceless. An interview of Kishore Kumar by Pritish Nandy.Don’t you just wish we had ONE guy like him today?Not just his talent, but just the sheer personality he was……mad as a hatter playing the part to the hilt watching the effect it had on people around him…..his life seems like a private in joke!
Presenting a blast from the past - A MOTHER OF A TOTALLY SCREWED UP INTERVIEW(couldn’t think of a better compliment than this except maybe Booom Boom Chik Chik eeeeeeeee yadadadadadadadada thum thum thum Heee hee hee hee ……read the interview u will understand)PN: I understand you are quitting Bombay and going away to Khandwa…
KK: Who can live in this stupid, friendless city where everyone seeks toexploit you every moment of the day? Can you trust anyone out here?Is anyone trustworthy? Is anyone a friend you can count on?I am determined to get out of this futile rat race and live as I’vealways wanted to. In my native Khandwa, the land of my forefathers.Who wants to die in this ugly city?
PN: Why did you come here in the first place?
KK: I would come to visit my brother Ashok Kumar. He was such a bigstar in those days. I thought he could introduce me to KL Saigalwho was my greatest idol. People say he used to sing through hisnose. But so what? He was a great singer. Greater than anyone else.
PN: I believe you are planning to record an album of famous Saigalsongs….
KK: They asked me to. I refused. Why should I try to outsing him?Let him remain enshrined in our memory. Let his songs remainjust HIS songs. Let not even one person say that Kishore Kumarsang them better.
PN: If you didn’t like Bombay, why did you stay back? For fame?For money?
KK: I was conned into it. I only wanted to sing. Never to act. Butsomehow, thanks to peculiar circumstances, I was persuaded toact in the movies. I hated every moment of it and tried virtuallyevery trick to get out of it. I muffed my lines, pretended to becrazy, shaved my head off, played difficult, began yodelling inthe midst of tragic scenes, told Meena Kumari what I was supposedto tell Bina Rai in some other film - but they still wouldn’t letme go. I screamed, ranted, went cuckoo. But who cared? They werejust determined to make me a star.
PN: Why?
KK: Because I was Dadamoni’s brother. And he was a great hero.
PN: But you succeeded, after your fashion….
KK: Of course I did. I was the biggest draw after Dilip Kumar. Therewere so many films I was doing in those days that I had to runfrom one set to the other, changing on the way. Imagine me. Myshirts flying off, my trousers falling off, my wig coming offwhile I’m running from one set to the other. Very often I wouldmix up my lines and look angry in a romantic scene or romanticin the midst of a fierce battle. It was terrible and I hated it.It evoked nightmares of school. Directors were like schoolteachers.Do this. Do that. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. I dreaded it. That’swhy I would often escape.
PN: Well, you are notorious for the trouble you give your directorsand producers. Why is that?
KK: Nonsense. They give me trouble. You think they give a damn forme? I matter to them only because I sell. Who cared for me duringmy bad days? Who cares for anyone in this profession?
PN: Is that why you prefer to be a loner?
KK: Look, I don’t smoke, drink or socialise. I never go to parties.If that makes me a loner, fine. I am happy this way. I go to workand I come back straight home. To watch my horror movies, playwith my spooks, talk to my trees, sing. In this avariciousworld, every creative person is bound to be lonely. How can youdeny me that right?
PN: You don’t have many friends?
KK: None.
PN: That’s rather sweeping.
KK: People bore me. Film people particularly bore me. I prefer talkingto my trees.
PN: So you like nature?
KK: That’s why I want to get away to Khandwa. I have lost all touchwith nature out here. I tried to did a canal all around mybungalow out here, so that we could sail gondolas there. Themunicipality chap would sit and watch and nod his headdisapprovingly, while my men would dig and dig. But it didn’t work.One day someone found a hand - a skeletal hand- and some toes.After that no one wanted to dig anymore. Anoop, my second brother,came charging with Ganga water and started chanting mantras. Hethought this house was built on a graveyard. Perhaps it is. ButI lost the chance of making my home like Venice.
PN: People would have thought you crazy. In fact they already do.
KK: Who said I’m crazy. The world is crazy; not me.
PN: Why do you have this reputation for doing strange things?
KK: It all began with this girl who came to interview me. In thosedays I used to live alone. So she said: You must be very lonely.I said: No, let me introduce you to some of my friends. So Itook her to the garden and introduced her to some of the friendliertrees. Janardhan; Raghunandan; Gangadhar; Jagannath; Buddhuram;Jhatpatajhatpatpat. I said they were my closest friends in thiscruel world. She went and wrote this bizarre piece, saying thatI spent long evenings with my arms entwined around them. What’swrong with that, you tell me? What’s wrong making friends withtrees?
PN: Nothing.
KK: Then, there was this interior decorator-a suited, booted fellowwho came to see me in a three-piece woollen, Saville Row suitin the thick of summer- and began to lecture me about aesthetics,design, visual sense and all that. After listening to him for abouthalf an hour and trying to figure out what he was saying throughhis peculiar American accent, I told him that I wanted somethingvery simple for my living room. Just water-several feet deep- andlittle boats floating around, instead of large sofas. I told himthat the centre-piece should be anchored down so that the teaservice could be placed on it and all of us could row up to itin our boats and take sips from our cups. But the boats shouldbe properly balanced, I said, otherwise we might whizz past eachother and conversation would be difficult.He looked a bit alarmed but that alarm gave way to sheer horrorwhen I began to describe the wall decor. I told him that I wantedlive crows hanging from the walls instead of paintings-since Iliked nature so much. And, instead of fans, we could have monkeysfarting from the ceiling. That’s when he slowly backed out fromthe room with a strange look in his eyes. The last I saw of himwas him running out of the front gate, at a pace that would haveput an electric train to shame. What’s crazy about having a livingroom like that, you tell me? If he can wear a woollen, three-piecesuit in the height of summer, why can’t I hang live crows on mywalls?
PN: Your ideas are quite original, but why do your films fare so badly?
KK: Because I tell my distributors to avoid them. I warn them at thevery outset that the film might run for a week at the most.Naturally, they go away and never come back. Where will you finda producer-director who warns you not to touch his film becauseeven he can’t understand what he has made?
PN: Then why do you make films?
KK: Because the spirit moves me. I feel I have something to say andthe films eventually do well at times.I remember this film of mine - Door Gagan ki Chhaon mein - whichstarted to an audience of 10 people in Alankar. I know because Iwas in the hall myself. There were only ten people who had come towatch the first show!Even its release was peculiar. Subhodh Mukherjee, the brother ofmy brother-in-law, had booked Alankar(the hall) for 8 weeks forhis film April Fool- which everyone knew was going to be a block-buster. My film, everyone was sure, was going to be a thunderingflop. So he offered to give me a week of his booking. Take thefirst week, he said flamboyantly, and I’ll manage within seven. Afterall, the movie can’t run beyond a week. It can’t run beyond twodays, I reassured him.When 10 people came for the first show, he tried to console me.Don’t worry, he said, it happens at times. But who was worried?Then, the word spread. Like wildfire. And within a few days thehall began to fill. It ran for all 8 weeks at Alankar, house full!Subodh Mukherjee kept screaming at me but how could I let go thehall? After 8 weeks when the booking ran out, the movie shiftedto Super, where it ran for another 21 weeks! That’s the anatomyof a hit of mine. How does one explain it? Can anyone explainit? Can Subodh Mukherjee, whose April Fool went on to become athundering flop?
PN: But you, as the director should have known?
KK: Directors know nothing. I never had the privilege of working withany good director. Except Satyen Bose and Bimal Roy, no one evenknew the ABC of film making. How can you expect me to give goodperformances under such directors?Directors like S.D. Narang didn’t even know where to place thecamera. He would take long, pensive drags from his cigarette,mumble ‘Quiet, quiet, quiet’ to everyone, walk a couple of furlongsabsentmindedly, mutter to himself and then tell the camera man toplace the camera wherever he wanted. His standard line to me was:Do something. What something? Come on, some thing! So I would gooff on my antics. Is this the way to act? Is this the way to directa movie? And yet Narangsaab made so many hits!
PN: Why didn’t you ever offer to work with a good director?
KK: Offer! I was far too scared. Satyajit Ray came to me and wanted meto act in Parash Pathar - his famous comedy - and I was so scaredthat I ran away. Later, Tulsi Chakravarti did the role. It was agreat role and I ran away from it, so scared I was of these greatdirectors.
PN: But you knew Ray.
KK: Of course I did. I loaned him five thousand rupees at the time ofPather Panchali-when he was in great financial difficulty- and eventhough he paid back the entire loan, I never gave him an opportunityto forget the fact that I had contributed to the making of theclassic. I still rib him about it. I never forget the money Iloan out!
PN: Well, some people think you are crazy about money. Others describeyou as a clown, pretending to be kinky but sane as hell. Stillothers find you cunning and manipulative. Which is the real you?
KK: I play different roles at different times. For different people.In this crazy world, only the truly sane man appears to be mad.Look at me. Do you think I’m mad? Do you think I can be manipulative?
PN: How would I know?KK: Of course you would know. It’s so easy to judge a man by justlooking at him. You look at these film people and you instantlyknow they’re rogues.
PN: I believe so.
KK: I don’t believe so. I know so. You can’t trust them an inch.I have been in this rat race for so long that I can smell troublefrom miles afar. I smelt trouble the day I came to Bombay in thehope of becoming a playback singer and got conned into acting. Ishould have just turned my back and run.
PN: Why didn’t you?
KK: Well, I’ve regretted it ever since. Boom Boom. Boompitty boom boom.Chikachikachik chik chik. Yadlehe eeee yadlehe ooooo (Goes onyodelling till the tea comes. Someone emerges from behind theupturned sofa in the living room, looking rather mournful witha bunch of rat-eaten files and holds them up for KK to see)
PN: What are those files?
KK: My income tax records.
PN: Rat-eaten?
KK: We use them as pesticides. They are very effective. The rats diequite easily after biting into them.
PN: What do you show the tax people when they ask for the papers?
KK: The dead rats.
PN: I see.
KK: You like dead rats?
PN: Not particularly.
KK: Lots of people eat them in other parts of the world.
PN: I guess so.
KK: Haute cuisine. Expensive too. Costs a lot of money.
PN: Yes?
KK: Good business, rats. One can make money from them if one isenterprising.
PN: I believe you are very fussy about money. Once, I’m told. aproducer paid you only half your dues and you came to the setswith half your head and half your moustache shaved off. And youtold him that when he paid the rest, you would shoot with your faceintact…
KK: Why should they take me for granted? These people never pay unlessyou teach them a lesson. I was shooting in the South once. I thinkthe film was Miss Mary and these chaps kept me waiting in the hotelroom for five days without shooting. So I got fed up and startedcutting my hair. First I chopped off some hair from the right sideof my head and then, to balance it, I chopped off some from theleft. By mistake I overdid it. So I cut off some more from theright. Again I overdid it. So I had to cut from the left again.This went on till I had virtually no hair left- and that’s whenthe call came from the sets. When I turned up the way I was, theyall collapsed. That’s how rumours reached Bombay. They said I hadgone cuckoo. I didn’t know. I returned and found everyone wishingme from long distance and keeping a safe distance of 10 feet whiletalking. Even those chaps who would come and embrace me waved outfrom a distance and said Hi. Then, someone asked me a littlehesitantly how I was feeling. I said: Fine. I spoke a littleabruptly perhaps. Suddenly I found him turning around and running.Far, far away from me.
PN: But are you actually so stingy about money?
KK: I have to pay my taxes.
PN: You have income tax problems I am told….
KK: Who doesn’t? My actual dues are not much but the interest haspiled up. I’m planning to sell off a lot of things before I goto Khandwa and settle this entire business once and for all.
PN: You refused to sing for Sanjay Gandhi during the emergency and,it is said, that’s why the tax hounds were set on you. Is this true?
KK: Who knows why they come. But no one can make me do what I don’twant to do. I don’t sing at anyone’s will or command. But I singfor charities, causes all the time.
[Note: Sanjay Gandhi wanted KK to sing at some Congress rally in Bombay.KK refused. Sanjay Gandhi ordered All India Radio to stop playingKishore songs. This went on for quite a while. KK refused toapologize. Finally, it took scores of prominant producers anddirectors to convince those in power to rescind the ban]
PN: What about your home life? Why has that been so turbulent?
KK: Because I like being left alone.
PN: What went wrong with Ruma Devi, your first wife?
KK: She was a very talented person but we could not get along becausewe looked at life differently. She wanted to build a choir and acareer. I wanted someone to build me a home. How can the tworeconcile? You see, I’m a simple minded villager type. I don’tunderstand this business about women making careers. Wives shouldfirst learn how to make a home. And how can you fit the twotogether? A career and a home are quite seperate things. That’s whywe went our seperate ways.
PN: Madhubala, your second wife?
KK: She was quite another matter. I knew she was very sick even beforeI married her. But a promise is a promise. So I kept my word andbrought her home as my wife, even though I knew she was dying froma congenital heart problem. For 9 long years I nursed her. I watchedher die before my own eyes. You can never understand what this meansuntil you live through this yourself. She was such a beautiful womanand she died so painfully.She would rave and rant and scream in frustration. How can such anactive person spend 9 long years bed-ridden? And I had to humour herall the time. That’s what the doctor asked me to. That’s what I didtill her very last breath. I would laugh with her. I would cry withher.
PN: What about your third marriage? To Yogeeta Bali?
KK: That was a joke. I don’t think she was serious about marriage. Shewas only obsessed with her mother. She never wanted to live here.
PN: But that’s because she says you would stay up all night andcount money..
KK: Do you think I can do that? Do you think I’m mad? Well, it’sgood we separated quickly.
PN: What about your present marriage?
KK: Leena is a very different kind of person. She too is an actress likeall of them but she’s very different. She’s seen tragedy. She’sfaced grief. When your husband is shot dead, you change. Youunderstand life. You realise the ephemeral quality of all things..I am happy now.
PN: What about your new film? Are you going to play hero in this one too?
KK: No no no. I’m just the producer-director. I’m going to be behindthe camera. Remember I told you how much I hate acting? All I mightdo is make a split second appearance on screen as an old man orsomething.
PN: Like Hitchcock?
KK: Yes, my favourite director.I’m mad, true. But only about one thing. Horror movies. I lovespooks. They are a friendly fearsome lot. Very nice people,actually, if you get to know them. Not like these industry chapsout here. Do you know any spooks?
PN: Not very friendly ones.
KK: But nice, frightening ones?
PN: Not really.
KK: But that’s precisely what we’re all going to become one day. Likethis chap out here (points to a skull, which he uses as part of hisdecor, with red light emerging from its eyes)- you don’t even knowwhether it’s a man or a woman. Eh? But it’s a nice sort. Friendlytoo. Look, doesn’t it look nice with my specs on its non-existentnose?
PN: Very nice indeed.
KK: You are a good man. You understand the real things of life. You aregoing to look like this one day."
-Suparn Varma