#nanda

Commission of Nanda (the Q-t) for @shallow-wordsalad :D

🤏 smal

as appeared on my Substack : Stars From Another Sky

I recently stumbled upon this old article by Waheeda Rehman on Pinterest. It was originally published in a 1967 issue of Filmfare, but it feels like a page from her journal, her writing a response to a prompt something on the lines of: write about your last telephone conversation, and did you enjoy talking to the caller.

Waheeda Rehman, needs no introduction, but as she was a major star back in the 60s and 70s, maybe everyone isn’t familiar with her story. Born in 1938 in Chengalpattu, also know as the “lake city,” Waheeda was the youngest of four sisters. Growing up she had dreams of becoming a doctor. But, life had other plans. Her father passed away when she was just thirteen and Waheeda had to put her dreams on hold. A talented Bharatanatyam dancer, she caught the eye of filmmakers. Soon she was flooded with offers to act in films, a teenaged Waheeda said yes to the offers to support her family.

By 1967, when twenty-nine year old Waheeda wrote this piece for Filmfare, she was one of the leading ladies in Hindi cinema, had worked with some of the best directors, playing characters that were radical and would later become cult classics. So this article is special. Because, when you read it, you totally forget that you’re reading about a super famous actress. I mean, she echoes the same complexity and depth that made her characters, like Kamini in CID (Raj Khosla, 1956) or Gulabo in Pyaasa (Guru Dutt, 1957), so iconic. But she’s also, surprisingly, just as down-to-earth and relatable as any other girl living in Bombay at the time.

All the glamour and stardom that surrounds Waheeda seems to melt away when she’s holding a pen. There’s no flowery PR spin, no judgmental old school journalism. Here she is just Waheeda, writing from her heart about her dear friend Nanda, two women supporting each other while working in the same crazy industry.

Nanda’s story is actually pretty similar to Waheeda’s. She started working in films at a super young age, just seven years old, to support her family after her father passed away. The big difference is that Nanda was born into the industry. Her dad, Vinayak Damodar Karnataki, was a multi-talented actor-director-producer who wasn’t afraid to push boundaries, and her maternal uncle was a total legend, the iconic- V. Shantaram.

When this article hit the newsstands in 1967, Waheeda and Nanda had already been friends for seven years, which is a big deal considering they both could have easily been rivals. But instead, they grew closer while working on Vijay Anand’s Kala Bazaar (1960). Chatting up with one another over cups of chai or coffee they realised they have plenty in common, and their conversations were so intense that they would show up to the studio an hour early just to natter on with each other. To me, that’s what a solid friendship looks like. They were no longer just colleagues or acquaintances; they were now besties.

When these two got together, they went on mini adventures- tiny, exciting episodes where they could shed their glamorous, on-screen personas and just be. Escaping the chaos of Bombay, the girls would dash in their chic sleek rides to a quiet spot like a deserted beach or a cozy cafe on the outskirts, some place where they could be alone with no drama, no distractions, just the two of them.

I think I should now let the article speak for itself and let you soak it in!

The telephone began ringing, incessantly, almost annoyingly. It was about 7:30 in the evening. I had just returned home after a hard day’s work under the blazing studio “solars” and “babies.” I was tired, feeling as if I was convalescing after a severe illness. After washing off the day’s weariness, I had almost thrown myself on the bed and was almost fast asleep the next moment. Sleep heavy in my eyelids, I had shouted: “For God’s sake, somebody attend to the phone.” Then I heard someone entering my room and picking up the receiver. Suddenly, as if by some kind of telepathic instinct I sat up and said, “Wait, it is Nanda- it’s for me.” And sure enough, it was. There was that familiar giggle, that familiar voice, sweet and courteous. Soon there was all that familiar excitement. My weariness was gone. Such a relief.

It was the beginning of another of those long telephone conversations. Of late we have resorted to them for want of leisure to meet, to set off on those long drives to Khandala and back at some unearthly hour or dash into one of those posh eateries after everybody else has deserted it and the board outside indicating that lunch time is almost over, or drive to one of those lovely sea-shores when there isn’t a soul around!

“Where have you been all these years?” Nanda asked frantically. “I almost thought I had lost you, Waheeda.”

Years? That’s Nanda’s way of putting it. We had not met (or talked on the phone) for just 20 days. I had been busy shooting in Madras for a fortnight and when I returned, Nanda was on location.

That reminds me of our first meeting, rather confrontation. We almost began as foes, it was about nine years ago that I had landed in Bombay to work in films. It all looked so strange, so stuffy and unnatural, this Bombay life. I didn’t know many people in the film industry, and I was myself a nonentity then, the future holding a big question mark.

On my way to the studio, I used to pass by the Plaza Cinema. Outside there was a huge poster of a Marathi film, “Shevagyachya Shenga.” It didn’t change for months- the film was very popular. There was a little girl in the cast- Baby Nanda. She had given a fine performance, somebody had casually told me.

A year or later, I was shooting for “Kaagaz ke Phool,” at the Central Studio. On another stage in the same studio there was another film, “Naya Sansar.” I had come to be recognised as an actress after my role in “Pyaasa.” Nanda had liked my performance and since we were shooting at the same studio, she had thought of meeting me.

I did not know of her plans. I am very quiet by nature and my expressions off the screen can be confusing. As I was going up the stairs to my make-up room a charming little girl passed by. She wished me, it seems, and I didn’t even smile back. I hadn’t heard her greeting. Nanda misunderstood, naturally, and decided she would never even look at me.

But we were destined to be friends. Shortly after, I was signed up for “Kala Bazar.” Nanda too had a starring role in it. The first day I reported for work, the director, Vijay Anand, introduced us. She quickly reacted with a wry look. But as the days passed we became so fond of each other that we would go to the studio an hour earlier just to sit and talk.

We had joined hands in a pact of friendship. I have often wondered what is it that holds us together so closely. It is true we have many things in common. The lists of our likes and dislikes are identical. We have absolute faith in our respective religions but- no dogmas for us. We do not subscribe to extremes, it is always a happy compromise. We are also fatalists.

Nanda has an enormous sense of humour. She can burst into loud laughter without provocation, but that’s only when she is with people she likes. It is difficult to pin-point her attraction. Perhaps it is a mixture of her simple but immense charm, her disarming smile and the most important ingredient (to me at least) the way she talks.

She is fond of films, any film is good enough for her. But she always insists that I accompany her. She is very sensitive and sentimental. I am even more so. Once I remember we went to see “I Want To Live.” We were both weeping after the show.

Nanda is fond of food, particularly spicy Punjabi dishes. She loves Chinese sweet corn soup and reveals a healthy appetite if she finds herself before a plate of biryani at my house. Poor Nanda! The next day she had to fast to keep trim.

As an actress, Nanda has few equals. She caught the attention of critics as well as film-makers in her very first adult role, “Toofan Aur Diya.” It had a silver jubilee run at many places. She has never had a single failure in her field and what a variety of roles. Isn’t that a record with over 50 films to her credit?

It is not merely acting talent- she has that in abundance. She has a record among film artistes (I mean the top ones) of being present in the sets at least five minutes before a scene. And she is not the kind to fuss over anything. I have learned quite a few things from her.

Yet there was a time when Nanda nearly faced a nervous breakdown. After her fine delineation of those de-glamourised roles in a series of films, they kept type casting her. Nanda was distressed. She longed for glamorous roles. And they wouldn't come to her somehow. She used to be in tears. Then came the break with her first glamorous role in “Jab Jab Phool Khile.”

But to get back to the telephone. Every time we finish a phone conversation, Nanda comes with a bright idea. This time too she has a bright idea. “Listen, Waheeda,” she said, “How about getting married?” “What?!” I gasped. Her explanation: When we get married it will be on the same day and it won’t be an arranged marriage for us, please. Say some kind of a love marriage. And then even after marriage the same warm friendship. Yes?" But then who knows? After all we are fatalists.

That’s how the long conversation ended that day.

Of course, this article isn’t some deep, dark tell-all. But it does give us a sweet glimpse into Waheeda’s world, and it’s really inspiring. She’s not just an actress, she is a friend and an awesome one at that. Practical, supportive, and totally obsessed with Nanda, she’s like a proud big sis, gushing about her bestie’s achievements.

Their dynamic is what friendship goals are made of- Waheeda’s all practical and mature, grounded in reality, while Nanda balances her out with her power to daydream. But what really struck me is that here are two women discussing marriage and seriously hoping to find “love,” not settle for a partner chosen by their families. I find this sort of crazy, I mean, they star in these super romantic movies that make millions of people swoon, but they are still hoping for a fairy tale of their own. It’s like they are not just selling a fantasy, they actually believe in it too.

Waheeda met her husband, Kamaljeet (aka Shashi Rekhy), on the set of Shagoon in 1964. At the time, it was no secret that he was crushing on her, he would send her chocolates on Eid or surprise her with a candle out of the blue. But she never thought they would end up getting married. It took Kamaljeet almost a decade to confess his feelings, and even then, it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love. He simply showed up at her house for coffee and popped the question. Waheeda was totally caught off guard, but her practical side kicked in. She didn’t let emotions or daydreams rule her decision. In her book, Conversations with Waheeda Rehman, she opens up about what made her say yes to Kamaljeet, and it’s actually quite enlightening:

There comes a moment in life when we all think about settling down and having children. I was thirty-four, and to be very frank, my career was no longer at its peak because Hindi cinema as such does not have good roles for women over thirty. I wanted to get married and so I thought about his proposal… When Shashi proposed to me, some friends advised me not to say yes in a hurry. But I have always taken risks in life and knew that Shashi was a decent man. I was comfortable in his company.

Waheeda tied the knot with Kamaljeet in a quiet low-key ceremony in July 1974. Of course, Nanda was by her side.

Within two years of getting married, Waheeda and Kamaljeet had a son and daughter. Her fancy Bandra pad was probably feeling a bit cramped with kids so they decided to make a change. They put it up for rent and moved to a farm in Bangalore.

Nanda, on the other hand, stayed single and kept a low profile in her Versova penthouse. But the distance didn’t affect their friendship. She would often pop down to Bangalore to hang out with Waheeda for the weekend.

The two remained super close until the end. Even years later, when Nanda passed away in 2014, Waheeda still spoke about their friendship with the same love and warmth, referring to themselves as “soul sisters,”

After marriage, friends, especially women friends, tend to drift away as they’ve their husband and children to look after. But Nanda and I remained close friends even after my marriage…

Quite a study in contrasts, and yet we were very close friends. Or maybe we were close friends because we were so different...so we found those personality traits lacking in ourselves within each other…

She was. It hurts to talk about her in the past tense. An extremely sensitive person, very thoughtful and caring. And she was a very loyal friend. She never visited anyone or anywhere. But she’d regularly visit me and my husband in Bangalore.

Both Nanda and I were fond of cooking. Whenever she visited me, she’d be in the kitchen cooking up a fun meal and asking me to cook up something. She was like my soul sister.1

To wrap things up, here’s a clip from the movie that set their friendship rolling and is the only movie they worked on together 💕

And if this has sparked your interest, you can watch Kala Bazar for free on Youtube 🍿

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