I have been a strong Dev Anand fan throughout my life. I remember having a crush on him when I was about nine and felt the incongruity of it because he was my mama, my mother’s brother!
And so, it was with dollops of shyness that I had accepted Dev uncle’s invitation once, for an after-dinner walk in his back garden, when we were visiting Mumbai (then Bombay) for my youngest aunt, Usha Madhok’s wedding. He held my hand as we trotted down the uneven flagstone path; his walking stick tap-tapping the ground to scare little nocturnal beasts like snakes and rats, aplenty in the fertile soil. Later, while walking up the rattan-carpeted winding staircase, I summoned the courage to look him in the eye and bashfully ask him which movie he was shooting for. With the characteristic twinkle and gap-toothed charm, he responded. I fled to my room and mused over the incident for the next hour, inhaling the perfume lingering on my palm, which I refused to wash that day.
This was only the tip of the iceberg. Girls were ready to kill for a meeting with Dev Anand. I remember being locked up in a room during a visit, once. The girls who had lured me into it had learned that I was his niece and schemed against me. They threatened to kill me. ‘How dare you?’ was the common refrain shouted from outside the door. Dare I what? I had no hand in selecting my family, I had tearfully responded. When an elder turned up, curious about the commotion, they let me go.
It’s the 75th anniversary of Dev Anand’s production house Navketan Films and many memories about my famous uncles come flooding back. I can recount only some of them here.
Family and films
I remember, during the visit for my masi’s wedding, Dev uncle’s son, Suneil Anand, and I hid under a bed, from Devina, his younger sister, who used to follow me around. Poor thing, being the youngest, she was kept out of the cousins’ games and would cling to me, being the only girl amongst a bunch of naughty boys. So, while she looked for us, complaining loudly in her baritone voice, we suddenly saw a glamorous face peer down deprecatingly at us. The eyes were kohl black, the lips, a glistening, pink pout, from which emanated a throaty order for us to step out. It was the diva of the house, aunty Mona, known to the world as Kalpana Kartik, Dev Anand’s wife and his former heroine and, of course, Suneil and Devina’s mother. So we scrambled out, only to have Devina latch on to my legs with a delighted shriek, “pakad liya!” (I caught you) Hide-and-seek under the bed was banned from that day.
I also remember being terrified of their bar. It was where their starry parties were held. Kids, in any case, were not allowed in there. But curious about the room, I once entered it, to find a devil’s mask with a deep red light behind it, filling the room. Terrified, I ran for my life, never to enter that room again.
My eldest uncle was Manmohan Anand, who was a lawyer like my nana. He was lured to Bombay by uncle Chetan to write the lyrics of one of his early films. Mohan uncle, as he was called, was a good poet, but went scurrying back to Gurdaspur, Punjab, when faced with filmdom’s unpredictability.
Chetan uncle, the second eldest son, was cool, if a little withdrawn. My mother, Sheil Kanta Kapur (nee Anand), was his favourite sister and she resembled him a lot. Both looked like their mother, Indravati. He was a philosopher and would just sit in one place, ruminating over his work. There’s a story that is his older son, Ketan’s favourite. He said that poet Kaifi Azmi and his dad would ponder over a song situation for hours, in complete silence; Kaifi Sahib twirling his stick and uncle staring at the wall opposite, with his chin cupped on his palm. One irate guest even commented, “Chetan sahib ko milne ka matlab hota hai deewaron se baatein karna! (To meet Chetan Sahib, is to talk to the walls!)”
The family never encouraged their girls to join films, even though we were attractive, talented, and some of us, eager. But I do remember uncle Chetan telling my mom that he was keen to cast me as his heroine’s younger self, in a film about a dancer. I was learning Kathak those days from Uma Sharma of the Jaipur Gharana. And much later, at a party, uncle Dev had said he would cast me in his film as his younger sister (!) in a film titled ‘Bhookh’. The film was never made but I had scored a point against my disapproving parents and older brother, Shekhar, who himself debuted as a hero!
Also read: ‘Log mujhe pyaar karte hain’ — if Dev Anand was alive at 100, he would still be making films
‘Handsome threesome’
Uncle Goldie, or Vijay Anand, was a diplomat and a pacifist. He was also a musician, who would practice on his harmonium every Sunday, clad in a lungi and kurta. All three brothers had wonderful, singing voices. They had learnt music at some point in their lives. Uncle Goldie had also learnt Western dance, when he was grooming himself to be a hero, in the 50s. Uncle Dev, unfortunately, had two left feet – as Tanuja complained decades later to me, when referring to her song, Raat Akeli Hai, from the 1967 film Jewel Thief. I have no idea about uncle Chetan, because I have never seen him dance, either on- or off-screen.
The other two brothers had also faced the camera multiple times. Perhaps they too nourished the ambition to be a star like Dev uncle. That was not to be, but they were better actors than their star brother. All three appeared together in Navketan’s Kala Bazar in 1960…and what a handsome threesome they were!
Uncle Chetan’s shack, where my cousin Ketan now lives, is my favourite ‘Anand’ hangout. It is old, with history stuffed into its nooks and crannies. Many stars have passed through its portals, many films have been shot there and many festivals with the family have been celebrated there. Filmmakers like Frank Capra, David Lean, and Hollywood’s who’s who have also partied there with my uncles.
As the sea waves lash the lower step of the shack, I watch the glorious sunset at Juhu Beach. My face aglow with memories and my eyes brimming with nostalgia.
For more on the brothers’ relationship with each other, do come to my story telling session, Anand Hi Anand, in celebration of Navketan’s 75th year. It’s an audio visual performance, at New Delhi’s Triveni Kala Sangam on 12 Dec and at The Theatre, India Habitat Centre, on 13 Dec. Both are at 7 pm. It’s a ticketless, open event. Everybody’s invited.
Sohaila Kapur is an Indian actress, journalist, television personality, theatre director, and playwright. Views are personal.
(Edited by Aamaan Alam Khan)