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'I could never say no to Hrishikaku'

He calls her Jayama.

She calls him Hrishikaku.

And thus they will be forever.

Jaya Bhaduri (now Bachchan) and Hrishikesh Mukherjee forged an relationship that was as professional as it was personal.

This is how she remembers him:

I first met Hrishikaku at the Film Institute.

I was in my final year then.

He had apparently met the Principal, Jagat Murari, in Bombay, asking him to suggest a girl to play Guddi. Jagat Murari invited him to the Institute.

He came. He saw one of my diploma films. He summoned me.

He spoke to me about my father -- a well-known writer in Bengal -- and asked, "So you want to work in film?"

I said "Yes'".

He said, "Okay, you're in my film."

I couldn't have asked for a better first-time director. It was very reassuring -- he came across as a father figure. At his invitation, I came to stay with him in Bombay.

No one on the sets of Hrishikesh Mukherjee film was treated like a star, nor were you ill-treated.

There was no leaving the sets to go into your make-up room. After the shot, we sat around, talking. There were no assistants coming and saying, "Madam, your shot is ready."

And if you had to leave the sets, you had to ask Hrishikaku for permission.

For me, his unit was like home. Hrishikaku would always scold me on the sets. He'd say, "Can't you sit quietly? You're moving about all the time!" Just like a father would.

But as far as acting was concerned, he never disciplined me.

In fact, on many occasions, he told my coartistes, "Leave her alone, don't tell her how to act." He said this to people senior to me, but he said it with such honesty and straightforwardness.

IF Hrishikaku scolded you and you were not the sort of person who could take it, he'd know just how to cajole you and make you smile.

I remember I cried once after he scolded me. He felt very bad about it because I was never the sort of person who sulked...

As an actress, he gave me a lot of freedom to improvise. I think he did it because he trusted me.

He had this peculiar knack of spotting a mannerism that was typically yours. He would point it out to you, and say, "This is yours, patent it."

With me, it was my laugh or the way I wrinkled my nose.

He allowed me to be natural. I remember in the last scene of Guddi, where I had to go up to the terrace and cry, my kaajal ran. He told me to leave it like that. I didn't mind -- I was so completely at ease with him.

GUDDI was a wonderful phase for me. It has been, in many ways, a memorable role for me. I literally grew up with Guddi. Till then I was but a child.

I never really questioned him. That's true not only of me, it's true of the other actors who have worked with him.

I know for a fact that my husband (Amitabh Bachchan) found it extremely difficult to say no to him.

I'm very possessive about his relationship with me in that if he praised any other artiste, I would get very upset and would pick an argument with him, even throw a tantrum.

I'd say, "Why do you need me?" Or "You don't care, you like other people. You never mention me in your articles."

And he'd tell me to shut up.

YOU know, strangely enough, he never did speak about me.

I remember only one article where he said, "She's the only actress who has complete command over her reactions."

You see, in those days, I used to question a lot. If I had to do an intimate scene, I'd argue with my directors: "Why is this necessary? If I were this character, I wouldn't do this."

But with Hrishikaku, the situation never arose.

You could do a complete film and not even have to hug your hero. For me that was a great relief.

Another thing I liked about working with him was that I could go without make-up. I hated the stuff. In fact, most of Mili had me without make-up.

WHEN I see Mili today, I feel terrible. I could have done it so much better.

Amit, who had a less important role, was excellent. I had probably become too complacent.

Hrishikaku has always been very affectionate with me. By that, I don't always mean loving.

I remember when we were dubbing for Mili, he had told me, "You've become very badly behaved. Why haven't you finished your dubbing? Why are you giving me so much trouble?'

I said, "Why do we have to dub? Why can't we retain the original sound?"

And he said, "You people become stars and behave like this."

I said, "I'm not behaving like a star, Hrishikaku. But I've done it in a certain way and I can't dub it."

He scolded me then, "Then why do a scene you can't dub? Acting is not only emoting -- there is a lot of technique involved as well. That is what training is all about. Now, just to punish you, you are not going to watch the scene when you are dubbing."

And so I dubbed some of the most difficult scenes of Mili without seeing them. I just heard the pilot and did it...

Abhimaan was great fun. Amit and I improvised a lot -- the three of us were very involved with the film. If I wasn't working with him, Amit was. So we were always around his sets.

YOU will find, in each of Hrishikaku's films, at least one scene that was part of everyday life: emotions, actions, situations which happen to all of us. That is such a unique quality.

I remember his film Anuradha. What a beautiful story. What beautiful music!

Hrishikaku was able to get that kind of music because he's a musician himself..

I have been very content with the roles he's given me -- Guddi, Abhimaan, Mili, Bawarchi, Chupke Chupke -- they've all been very satisfying.

My relationship with him has always been that of a father-daughter. It remains that way to this day.

Whenever I've had any problem, he's always the first person I think of.

And he has helped me so many times. He has done so quietly, without making it obvious that he's doing anything for me... never expecting anything in return."