'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.