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.