Ardhasatya, one of the movies for which I had written the dialogue, had proved to be a success in the world of cinema and the attention of some of the elders in that market was drawn to me.

In truth, the credit for the commercial success of this film did not belong to me. That credit must go to the director, Govind Nihalani. During that period, he was under a strong idealistic influence. He was swept by a strong desire to educate society through his movies. He felt that his movies should not be merely entertaining or shouldn’t merely stop at depicting the hard realities of contemporary life, but that they should convey a positive message to society.

In Ardhasatya, Nihalani ends the movie with Inspector Welankar murdering Rama Shetty by throttling him and, in his view, this end was educative from the social point of view. In fact, it was this end that had made a great commercial success of that movie.
There were other things in this movie which a viewer normally does not get to see in popular movies. For example, this movie had projected the police not merely as comic relief, but as a part of our society with the same sentiments and qualities as any other human being. In the same way, he had not depicted Rama functioned at the human level.

Whether it is Shetty or Welankar, they had both come to this city to make a living – one of them became a member of the police force and the other became an underworld Don. Who knows, Welankar might have become the Don and Shetty might have become a police officer! This was the position. Instead of trying to set one against the other, my effort was to understand the current social reality and to interpret it to the audience through the movie. Nihalani did not stop at this depiction, but presented it as a conflict between the villain, Rama Shetty, and the hero, Welankar. With that in mind, he had shown a symbolic answer to the problem by making Welankar kill Shetty in the movie.

In my script, I had shown Rama Shetty committing suicide by shooting himself in a fit of drunkenness as a result of his anger and his sense of helplessness. Nihalani thought that this was a negative end, and depicted a defeatist mentality. After a prolonged discussion with me, when he found that I was not persuaded, he decided on his own, without in any sense insulting me, to project his own more positive interpretation. And it was primarily because of the hard hitting, stunning end that the movie achieved a limited commercial success. This attracted the attention of all the producers and directors toward those who were involved in the creation of this movie.

I was among them as the writer of the story.

I started getting phone calls and messages from senior producers and directors. They thought that I should write for them. Most of them looked upon it as a gamble – it would be a bird if it flew and a frog if it sank. They just wanted to fling a stone over the surface of the water – if it was a success fine, if it failed they would turn back to their usual formula.

I was really a little confused by the commercial success of Ardhasatya. I thought that the success of the movie was partially because of its somewhat unusual theme and equally because of the end which, in a sense, met the criteria of commercial success. The end depicted was not the end I had visualized, but I could take some credit for the other aspects of the script. The new way of looking at the police and the criminal which seemed to have appealed to the masses was mine. I had gained this perspective as a result of my wide travels and study during the period of the Nehru Fellowship. I had been able to gain a measure of success in focussing the story on a theme because I had moved to the movie world after having spent years of writing for the stage.

Initially I was flattered by the attention that I was getting from the leading cinema producers and directors. But I realized from the first few meetings with these doyens of the film world that we functioned on wavelengths which were not only different but opposed to one another. Some of them wanted me to tell them stories and if they liked one of them they would think over it as a possibility. But I had no ready stories to tell them. There is a particular method of relating a story to a film maker. There are story writers who can relate their stories for five or six hours at a stretch. Some of the cinema directors had in mind either a western film or a Tamil film cassette ready with them and they were looking for a story writer who would work on them. I was not one of them. They looked at the film medium only as a way of making big money. Even the variations on the themes had to be such that they would bring in good business. I tended to look upon the film world much as I had looked at the other media including my own writing. They were looking at me as a possible constituent in their movie business. They were not interested in what I had tried to convey in my theme for Ardhasatya, they were interested in the drama in that story, its tightly knit weave and the shock technique that my director had used in his film based on my script and more particularly in the last incident of the murder committed by a police inspector.

As a result, none of these meetings went beyond the first one.

My initial enthusiasm evaporated after a few visits and then I began to avoid these people.

During that period, early one morning, around 6 or 6.30 a.m., my door bell rang. My wife woke me up. I opened the door found that a very unfamiliar round, dark, full face placed on a tall, plump body was looking at me and greeting me. His age may have been a little over thirty. He bent down and touched my feet as though his initial greeting had not been adequate. Since I was quite unused to this mode of greeting, I felt a little perplexed. I feel awkward about my feet at such moments.

He introduced himself to me. He was a film distributor from Madhya Pradesh. He had inherited this distributorship from his father. His contact with Raj Kapoor had begun from the days of his father. Raj-ji had sent him to me. And he had been instructed to take me to Raj-ji immediately, as I was.

First, I did not believe him. Why would Raj Kapoor send someone specially to call me to meet him?

But I didn’t think the man before me was telling a lie. He said that if I did not believe him he would ring up Raj-ji from my phone so I could speak to him directly. Raj-ji had seen Ardhasatya the night before. ‘I was with him when he saw it. Ever since, he has been thinking of you. As soon as it was morning he despatched me to see you,’ he said. He was insisting on my going with him. I was not in a condition to do that. But he would not listen. His voice was both respectful and pleading. I said, “Please tell him that I will phone him and meet him at his convenience. On this he said, “But he has asked me to take you as you are… now. Please do whatever you can and accompany me as you are.”

He would not listen. My morning work was held up. On the one hand, I was excited. Whatever the reason, Raj Kapoor whom I had seen only on the screen and whose pictures I had reviewed during the initial period of my career as a journalist –sometimes with great pleasure and sometimes with anger - had sent an invitation for me to meet him. At the same time, I was warning myself not to get excited. This invitation had been extended because of the particular end of the picture Ardhasatya. That end was not at my insistence. The success that the picture had met with was not due to me. It was not mine.

Honestly speaking, I was not a great admirer of Raj Kapoor’s pictures of that particular period. By my definition, he was a producer of commercial pictures. He had mastered a particular formula to make successful pictures. And he packed the same formula in new cans and became a successful producer. He would project a love story of a particular type, deal with a simple social theme, and add some popular songs (like Mere Man ki Ganga aur Tere Man ki Jamuna) which would be sung by every domestic servant as he did his work, insert a lot of scenes with sex appeal which would still pass muster with the censor board, introduce some dialogues which would be received with clapping from the audience and spend a lot of money on the production – this is how shot his pictures during that period.

As against this, I was a writer who gave a great deal of importance to the core of the theme and presented it without worrying too much about the commercial success of my plays. I was responding to my inner urges when I wrote.

When I finally agreed to have my bath and get ready to go with him, that distributor from Madhya Pradesh left me with the promise that he’d return in a while.
As soon as the other members of family came to know that Raj Kapoor had sent for me, there was great excitement in the family. I had been called by no less a person than Raj Kapoor himself! I was going to be a writer for Raj Kapoor, I might earn in lakhs, I would be signed by other well-known producers! This was the dream of my middle class family. And in their view, this would be the great achievement of my career as a writer. I was not very happy with this reaction of my family. I used to think of myself as a self-made man and that my success lay in my being not so successful, etc.

Even so, the excitement of the family that I was to meet Raj Kapoor, and that he had sent for me on his own, must have had an effect on me. I was aware within myself that it was wrong that I should get excited by the invitation of a producer whose films I looked upon as an exploitation of art for commercial purposes. And I was warning myself against it.

As I was getting ready, thoughts about the various movies produced by Raj Kapoor crowded my mind. Scenes from Aag, Barsaat, Awara, Bootpolish, Shri Char Sau Bees, Jagte Raho, Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai etc. passed through my mind. I had seen his early picture, Sargam, for which C. Ramchandra had composed the music, at least half a dozen times on one excuse or the other. I had liked the music and also the acting of the young Raj Kapoor who gambolled through the movie singing and dancing. I was then in my twenties. I had also seen his Teesri Kasam twice in succession. Those were the days when I was beginning my life as a journalist. I had seen the premier of his movie Barsaat in my role as a film critic sitting in the audience in Novelty Theatre. In the midst of the excitement of the audience, the whistles, and the clapping, the movie began. The audience greeted the beginning of the movie with tremendous applause. I could hardly hear the dialogue because of the thunder of clapping at every point. Members of the audience responded to the rhythm of music composed by Shankar and Jaikishan by tapping their feet on the ground. I was wondering whether I would ever be able to respond in this fashion. Once, while I was working in the office of the magazine Vasudha, I came up with what I thought was a fantastic idea for a film story. I had at that time thought of Raj Kapoor as the hero of that movie. I don’t know why, but I could think of no one but Raj Kapoor as the hero for that film. At that time, he was young and he was a past master at playing roles of a somewhat simple young man who moved innocently and charmingly through his life. I wrote down the story as well as I could in my faulty English and was keen that it should reach Raj Kapoor. I sent it to Vasant Sathe, who was then one of the people who wrote stories for Raj Kapoor, with a personal note. Sathe and Ahmed Abbas were the two writers who worked for Raj Kapoor in those days. In my note to Mr. Sathe, I had asked whether the story I had conceived and written was worthy of being shown to Raj Kapoor. I had left it for him to read it and decide, and if he thought it fit, to read it out to Raj Kapoor. Sathe read the story and sent it back to me through someone within a day with an oral message that there was a pile of such unsought stories lying with Raj Kapoor at that time. He had not said anything about the story or what he thought about it. I assume that he himself must not have read it since it had been returned to me within the same day. In the night that had passed, I had built up dreams of my success as a story writer, of Raj Kapoor having read it and found something of interest in it, that he had sent for me to discuss it.

In reality Sathe had returned it on his own and that too, probably without reading it.

Maybe, this was the reason that I had written very harsh reviews of all the movies released later by R. K. Productions. I used to write very spiritedly and with well chosen words. It was of course unlikely that my venomous arrows ever reached Mr. Raj Kapoor.

After about an hour, Shri Raj Kapoor ‘s messenger came back for me and I rode with him in his old black Ambassador, sitting by his side, to the Chembur residence of Shri Raj Kapoor, not very far from R.K. Studios.

It must have been around 8 or 8:30 in the morning. The bungalow had not yet woken up. There was total silence except for the fact that the servants were cleaning and dusting the place. After making me sit in sitting room, the person who had accompanied me went into the bungalow and I sat expectantly in the drawing room thinking that I would soon be meeting Raj Kapoor in person. All around the sitting room, there were many recent photographs of Raj Kapoor in different poses. I remembered the thunderous applause that had greeted the first appearance of Raj Kapoor on the screen in Barsaat when he was still a tender twenty, handsome and slim, with an innocent expression on his face. My heart was racing and I was thinking of what I should say to him when he came out. I wanted to say something nice, but could not think of what to say. I had also to remember that I was a writer who had been specially sent for and not a hack who had been employed for a specific assignment.

While I was preparing myself mentally, the ambassador who had disappeared into the inside rooms of the house, reappeared in the sitting room and said that Raj-ji wanted me to go in with him.

I got up as though in a dream and floated in with him.

In the spacious bedroom in the bungalow, Raj-ji was spread out on an even more spacious bed. It was not quite possible to say that he was sitting up. He was now an obese, portly figure. One could see his big body through the shirt he was wearing. The face looked swollen. His blue eyes had dark circles under them. One could make out that this was the same face that peeped out of the photograph that hung in the sitting room, but it did not have the brightness and lustre that one could sense in the photograph. The face was marked by signs of illness and sleepless nights. He had not yet shaved. To welcome me, Raj-ji sat up in his bed. The smile familiar to countless audiences now spread on his stale face. He took both my hands in his and said, “So, these are the hands that wrote Ardhasatya!” he said looking at me.

I was tickled. All my objections to his films fell away in a moment. I felt privileged.

Raj Kapoor began his spacious praise of Ardhasatya which was enough to make me as well as him breathless. He spoke as though I had produced that film. And this awoke in me my objections to the inexcusable changes that Nihalani had made in my script and my helplessness in that respect. I was telling my self that this praise did not apply to me. It was not mine.

When he found that there was no change in my expression even after the sumptuous praise he expressed for the picture, Raj-ji probably felt that I was not convinced that he was genuine in what he had said. He sent his servant into the house and called for his wife and children to come out. He made them stand before me and said, “Ask them. I had woken them up and made them see the film at three in the morning. I had heard that it was a hard-hitting film. I said, how powerful could it be? Finally I called for the cassette of the film. I first finished seeing the film at 2.30 a.m. I clapped after watching the film. All these people were sleeping. I woke them up and told them to see the film. I made them all sit here before the monitor at two-thirty in the morning. I saw the film again with them. What was the time when it was over?” His wife who was standing nearby said, “It was five thirty in the morning.”

‘I have been awake since then. I have not slept since then. My head is still full of Ardhasatya. The strength of the film is in its script. In the morning, I sent this distributor of my films to you and told him that I must meet the author of the script. I am happy you are here. ‘

I could not believe it. I felt smothered by all the praise. For a moment, I forgot that the film that was being so liberally praised was not mine. I forgot for a moment that the parts of the film that this princely gentleman had liked were probably the ones that Nihalani had inserted on his own – for example, the final scene in the picture. If I must speak in a metaphor, I stood there like a young girl in her first love drenched as I was in this exuberant praise. And that praise was from none other than Raj Kapoor.

Then, Raj-ji treated me to his hospitality. I had never seen a breakfast spread like the one Raj-ji placed before me, let alone eaten such a breakfast. It was a breakfast that one might dream of on an empty stomach. Plates of cashews, almonds, walnuts, gulabjaam, rasamalai, were placed in front of me. There were, besides, eggs and bread. And my host, Raj-ji was sitting right in front of me and pressing me to eat. I was, of course, not hungry since I had eaten before I left home. And yet I had to pretend I was eating something. In reality, the praise showered by Raj Kapoor had been enough for my breakfast. I had had a stomach full of praise.

Then he came to the point of the meeting. He had obviously not called me to make me listen to his praise. He was at that time busy on the Ram Teri Ganga Maili film. It was his wish that I should write a short political dialogue for it. He was insistent on it. He had taken it for granted that I would agree.

I was somewhat overwhelmed by the fulsome praise that he had heaped on me. But the moment he suggested that I should write a dialogue for him I became alert. So that is what it was all about. He wanted me to write for him!

I had to write for a person whom I had been criticizing in all my reviews of his pictures.

I wanted to say ‘No’ straightaway.

“Ask for a fat fee!”. My mind which had been starved for funds all these years prompted me. This was the opportunity.

NO. “Say no!” another part of my mind was saying. “What will your admirers and critics say about you?”

Finding that I was saying nothing, Raj Kapoor himself said, “Don’t worry about anything. You will get adequately paid.”

Even so my mind was reluctant. It was telling me to say ‘no’. But there was no force in that ‘no’.

In a modest voice I said, “My way of working is different. Yours is different. How can we work together?”

“We can, we can.” said Raj-ji, reminding me of a dialogue from one of his own pictures: Sangam (It can, it can, it will definitely be done).

“You leave that to me. You just decide to write.”

The distributor who was sitting far from us joined in and supported Raj-ji’s proposal.

I said,” I don’t know anything about your proposed picture.”

“I will give you an idea.” He took a few sips of tea from the cup in front of him. Then he sat up straight on his bed and began telling me the story of his proposed movie. Initially he spoke haltingly, breathing heavily, and speaking one word at a time, giving me time to visualize the scene. Then he gathered pace and spoke faultlessly taking appropriate pauses, sometimes speaking at a pace, at times merely whispering a word. The story teller was not a script writer. He was a cameraman. He would tell me of how the camera angle would change at particular points, describing the scene. The emphasis was on the visual aspect. The scenes would come together at a particular point and then break away again. They would merge and disengage. There was a sound track to go with it. He would tell me about how the camera would move while photographing a song sequence, commenting even on the dance sequence.

As I sat and listened, I thought I was watching a one-man show. Until then, the only one man show I had seen was the one by P.L. Deshpande – not just on stage but even at his home. His normal mode of relating events even in a conversation would often take on the form of a one-man show. But his was a show based on words, the words of a born story teller. Here, the story teller was a camera named Raj Kapoor. It was a one man performance and the words were intended only to create a picture before you. The picture came together with the actions of the characters. The intervals between words were often more suggestive than the words themselves. Terms like cut to, dissolve, pan, close, long, and such others were addressed to the cameraman. All the tricks that a good story teller would use were present in that narration by Raj Kapoor but primarily from the visual angle. What I heard was not a story but a whole film being shot before me.

It was not story telling, it was story visualizing. It was like living a movie on a screen in your mind. The teller of the story was creating before me every scene in the story, every nuance in the scene, the characters, the dialogue, the songs, and dramatic incidents. They were being related to me by the story teller sometimes while he sat on his bed, sometimes standing up and sometimes standing on the bed. He was taking me into a different make-believe world. This world was, in one sense, the same as the every day world of our experience, but in another sense it was different. Many of the things in that world belonged to our world. There was the Ganges, there was the gutter created by man out of that holy river, there was wealth, there was abject poverty, there was the love of a rich man’s son, there was the girl who was deceived by this love and who was now pregnant, there was a rich man’s daughter married to the hero, there were the priests who had been maddened by lust, there were leaders who were willing to do anything for greed. But all these appeared bigger than life in this one man show, replete with dialogues that would command clapping by the audience, with alluring music and dance and the usual, sudden calculated twists to the story. There was one man who was giving this a form and enacting each role with its appropriate dialogue, was living this story and was being overcome with appropriate sentiments and enacting the love scenes in it. As he went on, he even sang some of the songs and showed the movement s of the dancer with his big hands. And then came the climax. While enacting that before me, he was physically exhausted and drenched with perspiration, He was finding it difficult to breathe. I was stunned as I watched this whole presentation. It was a one man show such that I had never seen before. He had memorized all the dialogues in his movie, had learned the songs with their tunes. Even dances, which are normally directed by a specialist, he had visualized clearly and was telling me how and where they would appear in the film. He even enacted some of them with movements of his portly body.

I realized that, as he related the story to me, he was reliving his forthcoming picture himself. In one way, he was going through a dress rehearsal of his movie – one couldn’t say how many such rehearsals he had been through before. And as he did so, he was checking and rechecking every part of it and satisfying himself. This rehearsal was for me but equally, it was for the director in him. The director was satisfying himself that everything was in place. As he retold it to me, he displayed the enthusiasm of a producer. Much of this I had witnessed before and I had seen how commercial directors made a hash of their pictures. What was different was Raj Kapoor in the presentation, his excitement. He was totally involved in that somewhat mediocre story as though no one had ever conceived anything like this before. The symbolism of the Ganges I had noticed in many of his earlier movies, but he was living it anew and reinterpreting it to me. He was moved by many of the sentimental moments in the story, he was experiencing as though for the first time some of the love scenes, was dipping into the sad moments and was pleased with some of the dialogues as he narrated them to me. He was also trying out modifications at the last minute and judging how they would look. He was convinced that no one had related such a story before and his enthusiasm came through despite his ailing condition and his swollen face. He became breathless as he spoke. I could hear clearly the wheezing of his breath. He was sweating despite the air-conditioning in the room, but he did not wish to stop.

I was overwhelmed. But it was not because of the story, but because of the story-teller and his total involvement. He was living every moment of the story and its make-believe world. He called for more tea for us and for himself. He had not smoked for quite some time. He lit one cigarette now. He took deep gulps of it. The involvement in the story was now gradually waning. He was breathing heavily. His face had reddened. In my mind, I was witnessing a totally different scene. It was the scene of a street tantric, who has just completed his chanting and was totally exhausted. I had seen one such person totally exhausted. But this tantric, though tired, had not lost the strength in his limbs.

Raj was now looking at me expectantly. He seemed keen to know what I had to say about the story. He wanted my response. He must have expected that my response would be similar to his response to my story in Ardhasatya and that it would be equally enthusiastic and generous. But that was not my response and I could not pretend that it was. From my point of view, this was a totally false handling of an important issue, filled with artless sequences and theatrical dialogues and decorated with a false sentimentality. It had been sought to be made appealing by the usual dance and music bits, and commercially prompted and intelligently interspersed with sexually appealing sequences. If it had been told simply, I would have been bored in the first twenty minutes. I could not have hidden my reaction. But this was a different situation. Raj Kapoor was a living legend; he had been telling me the story. After his recounting of the story was over, I was sitting, overwhelmed. I could not utter a word because I did not know how to express my true reaction. Raj Kapoor had not sensed the problem I was facing. What he had noticed was my state of being overwhelmed.

“How did you find my story? Isn’t it really good?” he asked with great satisfaction. Even the film script is excellent.”

The script writer who had just joined us – he was a new and boyish looking person – was also nodding enthusiastically and supporting Raj-ji.

I thought for a moment he had saved me from having to respond and was feeling thankful to him. But that was not to be.

“So? Will you write the political part of the dialogue for the film? You are the only one who can do it. I am convinced after having watched the film Ardhasatya.” Raj focussed his familiar blue eyes on me.

I was always an admirer of blue eyes. And in this case, they were the eyes of Raj Kapoor.

I avoided looking into those eyes and held my breath. I did not know what I could say.

“Don’t worry about the business part of it. You will get what you ask for. Be sure about it.”

I felt the sincerity in his voice. I was in a hurry to find a way out of this predicament. It was necessary for me to say something but I could not think of anything.

Instead of giving a direct ‘yes’ or ‘no’ I said, “This story is complete in itself. I don’t think it needs anything to be added to. Even the points where songs and dances are to be introduced are clearly identified.”
“No” Raj said immediately. “There isn’t a political portion in it.”

“I didn’t think so”

“I will tell you later so you will see” said Raj. “But you have to write it for me.”

“Will you or won’t you write it?”

Raj had left no option for me to say no.

“I think my style of writing is different. Your story is in your mould. If I insert something in it, it will look different. It won’t match,” I said with a certain tackiness.

“You leave that to me.” Raj said firmly. “I will guarantee that it won’t stick out that way. You just write the dialogue. Is that final now?”

I wanted to say No, but I could not utter the words. I even said ‘no’ in my own mind.

My silent consent was now taken for granted. My mind was restless.

Just then, from something that the original writer of the story said, I learned that the story I’d just heard had begun being shot. I got an opportunity. I said, “The shooting of the film has already begun. At this stage to insert something would be …”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Raj. “I’ll arrange for you to view the shooting that has been done so far tomorrow. You write your portion only after having seen it, and I know where I want it to be introduced. I will tell you about it when we meet tomorrow.”

The next meeting was also arranged. As I left Raj, he handed me a tape of the recorded music which had not yet been released in the market and a cheque. “This is a small gift from me. How much you should be paid for the actual writing is for you to say. Don’t worry about it. You won’t be disappointed.” He said that in my ear. His tone was not that of a giver but that of a relative. And even when he gave me the cheque, he saw to it that no one was nearby.

I came out with the distributor who had come to take me to Raj ’s residence and who had been sitting all through our meeting without saying a word. After we were seated in the car, he said to me, “Congratulations.”

I was now restless. I asked him, “For what?”

Somewhat disappointed he said, “Well, you’re lucky to have got an offer to write for Raj Kapoor. Many well-known writers yearn for it.”
I was about to say something when he said again, “If your dialogue and Raj sahib’s direction come together it will create history in the film industry.”

I could not help saying, “It might also turn out the other way.”

That gentleman who had seen many summers and winters in the film industry just looked out of the car window and said with a smile, “Anything can happen in our film industry. In one night kings become beggars. See what happened with Raj-ji’s Mera Naam Joker. He had spent six years producing it. Distributors poured money into it with closed eyes. We were sure that any picture by Raj-ji would celebrate a silver jubilee. But it collapsed in one night. Raj-ji took it to heart. Something unheard of had happened. He could not believe it. But he is a lion-hearted man. He did not like that his distributors should suffer because of him. He gave his old pictures for distribution to us at a concessional price. Those pictures are still good business. He saw to it that we recovered our money. It was only then he felt rested. But that was only once. It never happened again. Raj-ji learns from experience. He realized what had gone wrong in Joker He will never take that kind of a risk again. His market calculations are now accurate. You leave the business part of it to him. You just write as Raj wants you to. Your writing has a certain power. Ardhasatya is a gem. What a fine script. If Raj-ji had directed it, it would have gone on to celebrate the golden jubilee. “

His complimentary references to my writing were making me happy but at the same time, they were pinching me some where. I could see that what was happening was something strange. Something that I could not do was being thrust on me. I was aware of this.

When I related what had happened at home, there was great excitement. Until then, I had been working on non-commercial films and earning in thousands. The family members began to visualize pictures of my now earning in lakhs, and moving about in air-conditioned cars. They were not even aware of my apathy.

But this much is true. I was not totally unenthusiastic. All said and done, Raj Kapoor, the living legend, had cast his spell on me. I was restless, but I felt all the time that my feet were not on the ground. I was aware of the thrill that I had been sent for by that legend, that I would hereafter be working with a great personality in the Hindi film world, I would be in close company with him, and that I had had the opportunity of spending time in close conversation with him. I could see the picture of my having become the subject of envy on the part of many and I was enjoying that sensation. At the same time, I was aware that Raj Kapoor was a commercial film producer, that he was a producer who put the same old wine in new bottles in his movies and markets it, that he used sex tantalisingly but cleverly in his movies. I had all these things in my mind and was repeating them to myself. Are you going to join him in all this? I was asking myself.

Two days later, I was going to the R. K. Studio in the car sent by them. The car was an old one but as I looked out of the car as we travelled I felt I was someone special. On that day, before I met Raj-ji, arrangements had been made for me to see the earlier completed parts of the movie. Raj Kapoor’s secretary met me in his office and in the editing room, the editor was waiting for me with the reels of the sequences that had already been shot.

The portions that I was shown had not been processed beyond the initial editing and had yet to be worked on. Some of the sequences were in colour and some in black and white. As I was not new to the cine business, I was used to watch such incomplete shootings for purposes of work.

Because I had already listened to the whole script of the film including the cuts, pans and zooms I was able to follow it.

The portions that I had seen could easily have fitted into any of Raj Kapoor’s other films. It was the same exhibition of wealth, the same Raj Kapoor style dialogues, the same dramatic situations etc. What was new in what I had seen so far was only the new and different technology that had been used.

After I had seen the sequences shot earlier I was taken to the floor where the current shooting was going on. Raj-ji was present there. I followed the guide up to that point. It was a larger than life setting where there were at least about fifty or sixty persons congregated – including the actors and the technicians. I was received by Raj-ji’s assistant. Raj was engaged in explaining the situation to Mandakini, his new find. As soon as the assistant told him that I had arrived, Raj-ji signalled to me and went on with his work. It seemed that he was explaining the kind of expressions and acting that he was expecting from the actress rather than the dialogue she was to speak. Within a few minutes, he had finished what he had to explain and he came back to where I was. He took me with him to his bungalow to conclude our earlier discussion. I would have been quite happy to see some of the shooting. I was keen to see him directing a sequence.

“We could have waited until the shot was over,” I said.

“What for?” he said. “I have shown them what needs to be done. She will practice it a few times and then my assistant can complete the shot. It is not a very difficult shot. She is new so one has to explain the things to her over and over again. Let that be. You have seen the part that has so far been shot of the new film.”
“The time has come to speak the truth” I said to myself.

“How did you find it?” There was frank eagerness in his voice to know what I felt about it. He was asking me as would a new director. He stopped walking and waited for my answer.

“The shot was good” I said what I had not intended to say,’ but you had told me that the uncle in the story lives in poverty.”

“That is right. He is poor.” he said.

“But the house you have shown in the shots that I saw is too big and well furnished to be a poor man’s house. If this is poverty, I wouldn’t mind living in poverty.” This last sentence I should not have uttered, I felt as I spoke it, but I had already said it. I did not have the courage to look at Raj Kapoor’s face at that point. Raj was lost in thought. Then he said, “So, you did not approve of the set of the house. If you like we can shoot that sequence again.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. Did I hear it right? Or was it just my impression. He was going to scrap a shot and redo it? And that too, because a writer said so!

I thought of Nihalani, Shyam Benegal, Jabbar Patel—would any of them have done it? Would they even have thought about it? There were so many things they had done in their pictures which I had not liked and I had even said so, but it had been of no use. They respectfully set my views aside. This was the first director who was giving so much importance to my views. I was greatly moved. I still could not believe it.

“But you have already spent so much money on it…” I murmured.

“Don’t worry about it. I want you to feel free when you write. I am against restricting the freedom of an artist.”

He had referred to the writer as an artist. Was it conscious or just a slip? The writer to a cinematographer has to function like a secretary. He is made to write as per instructions. They don’t accept that the writer has anything to say of his own in his writing. Write as I say, is their usual attitude. They don’t expect any inspiration on his part. You are expected to have the ability to write what you are told. I had thought the current script writer of Raj Kapoor belonged to the same variety. The story had seemed to be Raj Kapoor’s own. Every time Raj Kapoor said any thing he would nod in agreement. It had seemed that part of the salary paid to him was for this very purpose, of nodding to whatever was being said. Then, instead of calling me a writer, how had he referred to me as an artist? Was it just a slip or was it intended? Did he differentiate between one writer and another?

One thing was true. He had expressed the readiness to discard about an hour’s length of shooting and by implication, suffer a loss of money and time just because a writer had pointed out an error in it. Such a director would be rare to find not only in the Hindi film world but anywhere else in the world. And he was a commercial producer, and not a producer of art films.

By that time we had reached the sitting room of his bungalow. My decision to say ‘No’ had now vanished. I requested him to tell me the point where he wished to introduce a political discussion in his techni-colour musical love story.

In the story, there was a point where there had been a mention of the police and the political machinery. Raj-ji wanted me to write a dialogue on politics at this point in the movie. It was probably not a part of his original concept of the movie. But after having seen Ardhasatya he must have decided to introduce such a scene. He was now watching my reaction. He wanted me to write that portion and I did not have to worry about how it could fit into the movie. He would take care of it.

To my mind, it seemed that any dialogue that I would write for that spot would look like a patch which could not merge with the rest of the movie. It is quite possible that he would try it out and discard it himself later. There was a certain continuity in the movie as it was so far conceived. The addition of a political dialogue at that point would have looked like a ‘progressive’ patch.

My experience as a writer of movie scripts was telling me that there was no need for it. This able director must be out of his mind. He was now ready to disturb the rhythm of his movie for a momentary fancy of his. “Don’t enter into this bargain. Try and get out of it somehow. You have lived your life so far turning your back on easy money and now are you going to get involved in it just because it will bring you a name and money? You will regret it. Your critics will tear you to pieces. They will ask you where all my commitment had disappeared. Have you already forgotten the criticism that you had to face for the script of Geherai?”

I was caught in this conflict in my mind and Raj Kapoor looked at me as though he had effectively countered my doubt about how my dialogue would fit into his movie. He looked at me with a smile on his face.

I was feeling helpless. I could see that whatever I might write would not make the least difference to the movie. Yet the man sitting opposite me, who was asking me to write the piece, was of such stature that I found myself without the mental toughness to refuse.

Taking for granted that I would now write what he wanted, Raj-ji then turned to other matters. In his usual storyteller style, he began telling me about old incidents and stories adding new flourishes to them and spent a whole hour and a half with engaging tales. I also enjoyed the tales as he told them. He created whole scenes in the movie through his words. As I listened to him, I felt that whatever may happen to his Ganges story, meeting and listening to this man was in itself a joy. As he told me about himself, he also obtained information about me. He asked about how many children I had, what they did, what my wife did, and all the family details. On the Ganges set, all the artists and the technicians – about fifty people – were waiting for their employer, their benefactor and director to arrive. While he was recounting his stories, at least three messengers had come to say that the set was ready and the people were waiting for him.

I felt restless but Raj-ji seemed in no hurry to get up. At one stage, I said to him that it was time for him to go to his set and even rose from my seat but Raj-ji wanted to complete the story he was telling me and made me sit down, as though he had no other work waiting for him.

My resolve not to write for him dissolved that day without my being aware of how it happened. I assured him that I would begin writing and left him. While I was half way to my house, I realized that I had, without my being aware of it, become one of Raj-ji’s writers and a member of his larger family. This was a result of his having discussed with me his own and my family details. When he asked about my children, his tone was that of an elder uncle. The next day, he phoned me and the phone was picked up by my son. He realized this from his voice and addressed him as ‘son’ and spent a few minutes talking to him. Then he talked to me and his voice was overcome with emotion.

Having given my word, I had no option but to write. At the beginning of my career, I had written some anonymous film scripts but I had never had the experience of writing a partial script for a film that was already half complete. The story was not to my liking. I felt that he had taken up a current theme like the purification of the Ganges from the desecration that had been caused by millions of trusting and devoted but ignorant people, but he had vulgarised it by introducing commercial elements and sex. I would have preferred a wholly commercial film to this.

But even if this was so, I had no way out now. Raj Kapoor was deeply impressed on my mind as a film personality. To that, was added my new personal acquaintance with him and the respectful way he had treated me and his firm belief that no one but I could give him what he wanted. He had even shown his willingness to discard that portion of his already completed movie which I had disapproved. He had, besides, made a genuinely interested enquiry about members of my family and my children. The uncompromising artist in me had been won over by this gesture and I decided to write. I did write three or four drafts, not just as a hack but from my heart. As I wrote them, I blamed the success of Ardhasatya which had been responsible for this predicament. If that picture had failed, I would not have had to face the present situation. This world-famous director would have raised both his eyebrows and asked ‘Who is this Tendulkar?’ I was fully aware of the attitude of the commercial film producers to the experimental films for which I had done script writing so far.

None of my directors had told me till then to write a ‘bit’ which could be fitted into an already completed movie. I was not an author who could write at someone’s bidding. As I wrote I was aware, that this is all a waste, that this will be rejected. On the appointed day, I put my sheaf of paper in my shoulder bag and went to meet Raj-ji. Raj Kapoor was also confident that I would write the scene and was eagerly waiting for me. He was breathing heavily, his face was drawn, and the dark lines under his eyes looked dark enough for them to have been put there by a make up man. He offered me special hospitality. He then sat down with his cigarettes and glass of liquor by his side to listen to me. He also issued special instructions not to be disturbed by any one until the reading session was over. He called his script writer and made him sit. Then he lit a cigarette and said, “Please read out what you have written. My hands would not go to my shoulder bag which contained what I had written. He kept looking at me expecting that I would take out my papers. I did not know what had happened to me. Finally I picked up enough courage to say that I had not been able to write.

I did not know how he would react to this. I said it and kept dumbly looking at him.

He had not expected this. He kept looking at me for some time. I had taken my time even to let him know that I had not been able to write. I should have told him the moment I saw him. But I had not decided earlier not to read out what I had written. It was only after I had sat in front of him that I felt like this.

His disappointment was visible on his transparent face. He stubbed out the cigarette that he had lit and threw it into the ashtray. The way he threw it also reflected his disappointment in me, I thought. This is what a real actor is, I said to myself. He was lost in thought. He had given me advance money without my asking for it. He had treated me respectfully, had called me an artist, and had even showed me his willingness to scrap what he had shot up to that point. And yet I had not written anything after having agreed to do so. He must have wondered why I had done this. He avoided looking at me and looked elsewhere for a time. He must have found his answer to his question. He probably thought that I had not been able to find time or that I had not been able to think up anything.

“Alright. Take your time.” He said to me. “There is no point in being hasty in such things.”

At that moment, I got angry with myself. My face must have looked like that of a child that had not done its work even after having agreed to do it. This was a clever child, he might have said.

He did not beat his feet on the ground. He did not begin shouting. He had found some explanation for himself.

My mind could see the papers in my bag. But I was hesitant as never before to read them out. My hand would not go to my bag.

No reading was now possible. But we had met. So, what next?

I was standing before him like a dogged child that had not done his homework.

“Let us do this,” he said after some thought.” You go on saying what comes to your mind. Something might come out of it. You may not have been able to write, but you must have thought about it. The mind of a born writer cannot sit still.”

I don’t know what had happened to me.
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t been able to think about it much.” I said.

“You haven’t even thought about it? Then…”

Had it been someone else he would have booted me out. Or, he would at least have made me listen to some hot words about his disappointment in me. When I looked at his face, I felt that he did not wish to insult someone whom he had treated with so much consideration and respect only a couple of days earlier. He became silent again. He was avoiding looking at me. I also knew that I should not have behaved like this. But I don’t know why, I was also helpless.

He began to speak on another subject altogether. He sent away his usual script writer whom he had specially sent for. He probably did not want him to get the wrong impression. Then he bean to talk on other subjects, but his heart was not in it. The person of the born storyteller was not in evidence today. I knew why he was absent today. He turned again and again to speak about his picture. He was obviously hurt that I had not done my work for him. He did not want to say anything harsh to me either. He must have been greatly embarrassed. I was also restless. Finally unable to contain myself I blurted out, “Government officers have some men around them who will do what they are told to do.”

“Hmm” he said while thinking of something else altogether. He was not very attentive to me.

“Though they have a designation of some kind, their whole time work is to spend time with the politician.” I kept on speaking. Why I was saying this was not clear to me but this was the kind of character I had portrayed in three of the scenes that I had portrayed on the sheets in my bag.

“By nature, such people are obedient, sweet beyond need, harmless and sticky. They are always ready to do what ever is required without asking for anything in return.”

“Hmm” Raj-ji agreed again. Now he had turned to listen to what I had to say. His eyes were on me and he was watching me with narrowed eyes. His forehead was wrinkled and in his raised eyebrows, there was a knot.

“Whenever necessary, such men come forth from somewhere or the other. And when not required they disappear. If they don’t go away and if they are asked to go away, they don’t take it as an insult. They will appear again when you need them.” I said. “As a result the politicians don’t object to such people being around them. There is nothing really they can object to in these people. The politicians get used to such people.”

“Go on” Raj Kapoor was now fully attentive to what I was saying. His eyes had become even thinner.

I was speaking as though I found it difficult to stop. “Through this relationship these people build their own base.”

“That’s it.” Raj-ji said enthusiastically from where he was sitting. “I have got my character! Got it!”

His blue eyes sparkled. His face was lit up. He was overcome with joy. The excitement of having got what he sought was in his every word.

I was a little confused by this reaction, and then I felt encouraged.

“This is what I wanted from you” he was saying. “I knew that you would give it to me.”

If truth be told, people of the type I was describing are a dime a dozen in politics. They were not new to me and I had never thought that they would be so new to anyone. That is how familiar they were to me. That is why I found Raj Kapoor’s enthusiasm so unexpected. I had this in the papers that I had brought with me. I had, therefore, found it so ordinary that I hadn’t dared to mention it. I did not even reveal that I had those papers with me.

Raj-ji’s enthusiasm was now bursting forth. “Only the author of Ardhasatya could have thought it up,” he was saying. “It would never have occurred to anyone else.”

Immediately, he sent for his usual writer and started explaining to him the character that I had put to him in his own words. As he went on to explain, he did not stop where I had stopped, but his imagination led him much further.

“The politician does not know, but this intermediary keeps an eye on this wicked politician and studies him.”
was a little shocked at this sentence though I kept on nodding to what he was saying.

“He very cleverly and covertly gathers all the evidence about the misdeeds of the politician in our picture.” Raj-ji was speaking and his writer was nodding, but my neck had stopped to nod. I realized that this was something else that had begun.

“But we don’t reveal this to the audience at this stage”. Raj-ji was speaking. “The audience must be led to think that he is that kind of man – somewhat jovial, somewhat innocent and harmless. At the point of climax, we reveal that he is collecting all the evidence in order to expose the politician and that he is a secret service officer.”
With a victorious face and a feeling that he had got what he wanted, Raj was speaking in his dramatic manner. Now I was totally discomfited. I could not bear it.

Finally I could not stand it. I intervened to say, “This is not what happens.”

Raj-ji did not know the context in which I was speaking. “What cannot happen?” he asked.

“The men that I described to you are not of this type. The man you are describing is not one of them. He will not do any of this.”

“But why?” Raj-ji asked. “We will make him do it. There are such possibilities in the character that you described.”

I seemed to have given in to some kind of an impulse. Vigorously shaking my head I said, “No, such men are not that type. The man I described would never do what you just stated.”

Raj-ji could not understand what I was saying.

“But we can make him that kind of a man.” He was now trying to explain to me. It will be a first class climax. I already have a climax in mind. This will add to the effect. That would be wonderful.”

I’d reached my limit of tolerance. I spoke as though I was delivering a final verdict. “The man I spoke about won’t behave like this. He will never betray anyone. Faithfulness is his capital. That is what he works on. One hundred per cent reliability is his capital.” I was speaking spiritedly as though this character was some relation of mine.

“That is true. But the character in our picture is different.” Raj-ji was telling me. “One always takes liberties in a movie. We will change your character in this fashion. We will twist him. The audience does not know his true character. Even if it does, the audience always wants something different every time. They don’t want to see what really exists. They spend their hard earned money to get some entertainment in the theatre. He tells me to help him forget his present for some time. And that is why we always take some creative liberty.”

I was getting more and more disappointed. This was the first time that I had begun to dislike what this man was saying. My mind began to reject what he was saying. I did not want reality to be twisted in this fashion. I had always been faithful to reality. For this man reality, was only a take off point for entertaining the spectator. He thought he was right in taking creative liberty with reality.

I had stopped talking altogether. My relationship with this man had ended. It was beyond me to make him see my point and even if it had been possible, why should I do it?

Raj-ji was speaking in an excited voice. He had let lose his imagination and he was chasing a new climax. His paid writer was nodding his head.

I listened to – rather observed – this sequence in silence, with some disgust and helplessness. My mind was telling me that I was in the wrong place.

Then I got up and started to leave. Raj-ji had noticed my dissatisfaction even in his excited state. He came to escort me to the car and said, “I know your way is different. But don’t worry about it. You write what you think is right and I’ll adjust it to fit into my way. Everything will be fine.”

You write. We will fit it in.

This was not entirely new to me as a story writer. Nihalani had done the same thing. Benegal had done the same. Jabbar Patel had come from the world of the stage and was one who had directed my plays. Even he had done what he liked with my stories as a cine director. I needn’t even mention the other directors. I had had to accept all this. I had fought with them, argued with them, had tried my best to convey my point of view. Finally, they did what they thought fit. And yet I was not able to accept Raj Kapoor doing the same thing with my ideas. My very blood seemed to resist it. I had seen what he had done with my idea of a particular character in one session. I rebelled against it. I won’t be able to do it. That day, as I returned home I was repeating that sentence all over.

But it was not easy to get out of the commitment. I had accepted money. But I could have got out of that commitment by returning the money, but I could not easily get out of my commitment to Raj Kapoor, the legend. He had showered genuine affection on me. He had shown faith in my ability and the respect he had shown for me had made it very difficult. How could I say no to one of the great cine producers of the country! How could I just say I can’t do it and get out of the commitment?

At the same time, my mind was telling me that you won’t be able to write for this man. It may be just a part of a cine script but even that you won’t be able to write as he wants it. If you do write for him, I will never excuse you.

It is quite possible that I was also afraid of what my friends and well-wishers and critics would say about my writing for this kind of a film.

Whatever the reason, I lost interest in the project after that last meeting.

The sheets I’d written on were now like so much waste. Raj Kapoor had taken and twisted beyond recognition a character that I had conceived. It almost seemed like he was making a monkey out of a Ganapati idol. But I resisted that comparison. What would I gain by blaming what every commercial film producer does? The fact is, I was just not used to it.

Though we had agreed to meet again no date or time had been set. I was not keen to set it. If I did write, I knew what I would have to be prepared for. I decided that I would not be able to do it. It was dangerous for me to meet him again, because if I did I would get caught in the clutches of Raj Kapoor, the magician. I received a phone call on the third day after our previous meeting. It was Raj Kapoor‘s secretary who was on the phone. He said that Raj-ji wanted to know how far I had proceeded with my work.

My answer should have been simple – I won’t be able to write it. But to give that answer on the phone and that too to his secretary was something I could not manage. I told him that I would call back when I was ready.

The secretary put down the phone.

I was angry with myself for the answer that I had given. Why didn’t I tell him the truth? It was in fact easier to give that reply on the phone than in person. I had to say it only to his secretary.

The thought that I had accepted money was compelling me to write. And I was getting irritated by what I had to write and the manner in which it had to be done. I was getting angry with members of the family and they couldn’t tell what was wron g with me.

Basically, I failed to understand how I had ever undertaken to write a part in a commercial film. What if it was Raj Kapoor? What if I had accepted money? How did I allow myself to be softened by praise to such an extent? And that praise for the film Ardhasatya – a film which Nihalani had ended with a murder. How did I deserve any credit for it?

I tore up the pages that I had written. I felt guilty as I tore up the pages..

I wrote again — new scenes. I wrote them as Raj Kapoor had wanted them to be. I did what any other hack would do. I was greatly pained by what I was doing. Then came a point where I could bear it no longer. I dug out Vasant Sathe’s phone number. It was late at night, but I phoned him. He was awake. He had heard about my meeting with Raj Kapoor. I told him the whole sequence of what had happened and pleaded with him to find a way out for me. I could not do the job. You persuade Raj Kapoor in some way..

Sathe did not know anything beyond what I had told him. He said he would try. He contacted Raj Kapoor directly and arrived at his bungalow for a meeting with him. He must have told him that he was going there to listen to what I had written. He read the scenes as I had rewritten them. He did not tell Raj Kapoor that we had talked to each other. He told Raj-ji that he had gone to him out of curiosity.

I’d made up my mind and read out what I had written. My heart was not in what I had written, nor in what I read out. It was as though I had had nothing to do with it. I read it as though it had been written by one of his regular staff of writers. While I was reading it, I had the feeling that I was engaging in an illicit relationship. I avoided looking up as I read what I had written. Raj Kapoor was listening to the whole thing with concentration with his face held between the palms of his hand and with great concentration. I felt ashamed of myself.
At last the reading was over. I looked up with some hesitation.

“Very good. That is beautiful.” Raj-ji said.

I wasn’t convinced that this was his true opinion.

I kept looking at him with surprise. In truth I had not liked what I had written. I had written it against my wishes. I had accepted the money and I did not want it said that I had done nothing in return. I must have written only four or five scenes.
And Raj Kapoor sat in front of me looking as though he was fully satisfied. Smoking his cigarette in short puffs, as though it was a bidi, he asked Mr. Sathe for his opinion.

I was waiting to hear what Mr. Sathe would say. My future depended on what he would say.

Sathe took a deep breath on his cigarette and avoided looking at me. And then he started explaining to Raj Kapoor how the scenes I had written were of no use for his work. He avoided looking at me and kept his face serious. His voice was modest and yet had the authority of previous experience of writing scripts for movies. He was one of the two respected story writers for Raj Kapoor. The other was Ahmed Abbas. Normally, if any one had criticized my writing I wouldn’t have liked it. But this time, every exception he took to my writing brought me a sense of relief.

Raj Kapoor listened carefully to what Mr. Sathe had to say.

Finally Sathe said, “Tendulkar is undoubtedly a great writer, but the needs of our business are different. It is not right that we should restrict his pen by our type of work. It will be an injustice to him. And the work he will do for us will be against his wishes. The scenes I have listened to – with due apologies – belong neither to the category of an art film nor to our category. I think we are doing him an injustice by asking him to write for us.”

Now I looked at Raj Kapoor with great expectation. Sathe’s comments had made him think. His eyes had turned deep blue. His forehead was creased.

“But Ardhasatya was a box office success” he murmured to himself.

“But Ardhasatya was an accident. These people had not produced it as a commercial film.” Sathe began to explain “Besides, the end of that film was not the one Tendulkar had thought of. It was Nihalani’s decision. I understand that the end Tendulkar wrote was different.”

“That is true.” I hurriedly said. “Welankar committed suicide in my script.”

My reply brought a sense of being lost to Raj-ji’s eyes. He was now deep in thought.

“But the main thing is,” Sathe continued, “I object to the idea of his writing a piece for your film which is already being shot. He is a greater writer than that.” Here, Sathe mentioned the names of a few of my plays. Raj Kapoor had never even heard of them. He knew nothing of what I had written beyond the story of Ardhasatya. “I would suggest, may be, sometime in the future you ask him to write an independent script for one of your films. He will write a story of his type and then you direct it. It will be fun.”I was happy in my mind that I had found an advocate in Mr. Sathe’s acumen. Sathe had carried out the task that I had faithfully entrusted to him. You could see this by looking at Raj-ji’s face, lost in deep thought.

After a while, Raj-ji said as though he was speaking to himself, “That is alright.”

He didn’t say anything more. Whether it was because he had come to know that the end of Ardhasatya was not the end I had in mind, or because he had come to know that I was a writer of some repute, it was difficult to say. But he agreed to withdraw.

When I got up to go, Raj was silent. He was serious. It was dark by now. I was near the car waiting to get in. Sathe had already left. I was feeling very guilty. I was sad that I was not able to give what this great artist wanted from me. And at the same time, I felt relieved.

We shook hands to bid a formal goodbye. He held my hand and said, “I have accepted Sathe’s advice on one condition. You are going to write a complete film-script for me. I have a subject in my mind. When the time comes I will tell you.”
“Agreed,” I said.

He said “Remember the name of the picture. Bribe. The subject is one that should suit you.”

From the name, I also felt that subject would suit me. The story would, of course, be more in line with Raj-ji’s thinking. It was bound to contain the usual mix of commercial cinema. There would be dramatic events linked by coincidences, and love. There would be misunderstandings and dialogues which would call for spontaneous audience response by way of clapping. There would be song and dance sequences, comedy and large, huge sets, provocative sexual scenes, which would still escape the scissors of the censors. In short, it would be another icon of Ganapati in the Raj Kapoor mould. He would produce the picture and it would be watched by audiences who would queue up in long lines to see it. There was nothing wrong with that. It was all mutually satisfying to the producer and the audience. The question was whether I would be able to do justice to this kind of picture. But that was a question for the future. Not everything that one plans gets done. Much of it remains undone.

“Promise me that you will write for me on that subject,” said Raj Kapoor, still holding my hand in his.

“Done,” I said. I had also been a little emotional in making that promise. I put my hand on his, but hesitated when I did so. I also withdrew my hand gradually.

For the last time, I left for my home in the R.K. Films car. My mind was relieved that a crisis had been averted. But I was also sad. Something that needed to be ended had ended, but I was also sorry that it had ended.

When I think of it now, the whole sequence of events had lasted only a few days – a fortnight at the most. Maybe a couple of days less.

But it occupied my mind for many long days. Feeling greatly excited, I spoke of this experience to many people. It was the strange tale of Raj Kapoor having sent me an invitation. It was a story of how I had finally managed to say ‘No’ to such a great man. It was the story of a Man. Every time I related that story, I felt a twinge of conscience.
I should not have behaved in that manner. Maybe he is a commercial producer, but he is a good man.

I have always wondered what one can do about the evil that surrounds good men.

At last, the film Ram Teri Ganga Maili was ready and released. It was released simultaneously in many theatres with much fanfare. I did not see it. I do not know whether it contained the portion that I had written. It probably didn’t.. No one said anything about it. No one told me whether there was a character in the movie who had access from the Chief Minister’s sitting room to his kitchen, who was ever obedient, ever modest, ever useful, who disappeared when not wanted and was present whenever needed, one who had these rare qualities and who was known to all, who normally made it his habit to register his presence at the houses of political leaders. The man with a sweet smiling face. No one ever told me that they had seen such a man in that picture or of the person who is suddenly seen as a secret service person at the end of the movie.

That movie of Raj Kapoor was a great commercial success, as usual.

Days passed. Then months, and then a whole year. There was no change in me. After the tide of Ardhasatya had ebbed and after my meetings with Raj Kapoor, his health, which was already not too good, collapsed altogether. I read about it in the press. His asthma got worse, and then his heart.

I used to meet his younger brother, Shashi Kapoor, during the course of my work. One day, while we were discussing something Shashi suddenly remembered and said, “I had almost forgotten. Raj-ji returned from America this morning. He came straight from the airport to my house. He was there for quite a while.”

“How is his health?” I asked.

Instead of answering my question he said, “As we got discussing one thing after another, I mentioned to him that you and I meet each other often in the course of our work. Then he said, “Remind him of one thing. Chai-pani.”

It made no sense to me.

“I also could not make out what he meant so I asked him, ‘What is this puzzle about Chai-pani?’ He laughed and said, “You just say the word to him. He will know. Chai-pani.”

Shashi looked at me to see if it made any sense to me.

At first, it made no sense to me. The word had no relationship to my work with him. And then suddenly, it occurred to me.

This was an alternative reference to Rishvat (Bribe).

I had agreed to write the script for Raj Kapoor‘s next picture, to be titled Rishvat.

He had reminded me of my promise.

It was a reminder of our association over five or six days.

It was a reminder of his magnanimous nature and of my effort to escape a commitment.

I saw him when he was awarded the Phalke Award. He had not accepted the award at his house or in his seat in the audience. He had climbed the steps to the podium supported by of two persons, gasping for breath due to his asthma. I had seen that on television.

His large arms and the whole weight of his body were on the shoulders of two persons. He was breathing heavily. Yet, he insisted on saying a few words. He spoke, addressing the new film makers; he spoke about old times and expressed his gratitude for the honour that had been conferred on him. He did it with the modesty of his own film hero, the Joker in Mera Naam Joker. He did it while his chest could barely supply him the breath that he needed, struggling for every word.

I heard about his passing away on television.. When I saw his photograph on TV, the words Chai-pani occurred to me.

He had released me from the promise that I had made him.