Jottings - Slice of life - 435 ( Awaara - vintage Raj Kapoor and Nargis)
Growing up in India, Raj Kapoor’s 1951 social drama “Awaara” was always in the background of our cultural lives. If not anything else, the lilting Shankar-Jai Kishan Mukesh number “Me Awaara Hoon” with Raj Kapoor tramping about the city expounding the virtues of socialism in his Chaplinesque stride, was always on the radio or the television in some show or the other. We were constantly made aware by avid cinema lovers and people around, that the movie was widely acclaimed as a classic not only in India but across the world, especially in the erstwhile soviet union, where the virtues of a nobody-man, an Awaara, blended well the communistic philosophy prevalent at that time. It was secretly whispered into our ears that the sizzling nine-year romance between the talented and beautiful Nargis, the heroine of “Awaara” and the married Raj Kapoor, began on the sets of “Awaara” and continued surreptitiously until Nargis walked out of the relationship due to Raj Kapoor’s unwillingness to break his marital vows. We were also educated that Awaara is the film that announced Raj Kapoor to the world as the daring filmmaker, a sublime actor who could shift between pathos, comedy, and debonair showmanship in a single frame, and how he never shied away from exploring his heroine’s sexuality through his aesthetic, and often( in the opinion of many) voyeuristic eyes. We were regularly reminded how Raj Kapoor’s Freudian fascination with upper portions of the female anatomy, with a fetish for drenching his heroines in water and draping them in figure-hugging costumes that accentuated their shapely curves, also began on the sets of Awaara, where Nargis in her swimming costume ( rather daring for those days) jumps into a pool of water and walks out dripping. ( All his heroines did a similar drill in their films ). In short, Awaara was a film which one should not miss at any cost.
The irony is, though I have grown up hearing so much about Awaara, I have never seen the movie. A song here, a scene there; a retrospective documentary here, or an emotional reminiscence there — was all I had seen of Awaara. I realized I don’t know the story of Awaara, or even if what I have heard from others about the greatness of the movie was factually true. Because I knew so much about the movie, I could feign speaking about it with authority, but never confident, if what I knew, was indeed true. I had to correct that anomaly. Therefore, last weekend, I watched “Awaara” on the Criterion channel hoping that my viewing experience would vindicate all that I had heard and read about the movie. I confess I was a little scared to hit the play button. What if the movie was a disappointment? And my years of elevated memories and glorified expectations of the movie came dashing down at one go. I braced myself and started watching.
I wasn’t disappointed at all. Awaara is a brilliant movie in all respects. It is hard to believe that in 1951, when Indian cinema, across regions, was merely melodrama and mythology transposed to the silver screen without an ounce of fluidity or naturalness - that would later become the mark of cinema - Awaara was in all respects, a movie that was comparable with any Hollywood production of that time in the use of light, settings, and the natural ease of acting. Every frame of the movie was pregnant with cinematic essence and brilliance. Of course, the movie revolved around the genius of three principal actors Raj Kapoor, Nargis, and the aristocratic Prithviraj Kapoor, who lifted their characters to the realm of truth and believability, but, even all the other co-stars, who appeared for a brief moment or two, held their own space in the narrative.
The story is rooted in the human dilemma of “nature vs nurture”? Here is the tale in brief: An accidental circumstance makes a well-educated lawyer question the marital integrity of his wife. With doubt clouding his wisdom, and in a moment of unforgivable indiscretion he banishes his pregnant wife from home. The baby comes out of his mother’s womb near the gutters along a slum. With the blood of a well-stocked lineage in his veins, but forced to grow up in the midst of crime and grime, the young child grows up to be the very antithesis of what his parentage could or should have made out of him. Raj becomes a thief. The rest of the story is the redemption of all three — the unfortunate and dogmatic father, the unconsolable and aching mother, and the skeptical and wavered son. The glue to the resolution of this story comes in the form of actress Nargis, as Rita - Raj’s childhood friend, who renters Raj’s life in rather unexpected circumstances and proves to be his redemption.
The story as such wouldn’t raise eyebrows today, but what will, is the taut screenplay, cinematic excellence, and the irresistible chemistry between the lead pair. This is my first full-length Nargis movie and watching her performance, I have no doubts in my mind, she was a natural and supremely talented actor. During my growing up years in the seventies and eighties, it is the image of Nargis as Mother India, from the 1957 film by the same name, the character of an Indian mother bearing the cross of poverty and its hallowed values with lines of agony and pain etched on her face — that readily sprang to our minds. In Awaara, though, we see the young Nargis in grace and bloom, confident of her talent, and, generally lifting the general caliber of acting necessary for films. Her infectious smile, her naughty innuendoes, her elegance in modern costumes, her measured grief on screen, and, of course, her flawless screen presence, is evident even in Awaara.
Awaara is a lengthy film, but it doesn’t feel a burden at all, except for few periods here and there. Music predominates the theme. The legendary combination of Shankar-Jai Kishan, the music duo, and Raj Kapoor, shines in each song. One may argue that the movie has a song too many, but judged by the standards of Indian films those days when even dialogues were sung and not spoken, Awaara is restrained in its musical interventions. More importantly, each song is eminently hummable.
The young Shashi Kapoor makes a cameo appearance as the younger version of Raj Kapoor’s character, and even in those brief moments, we see the fragile, disarming innocence and the lovable charm of Shashi, that would become his trademark in the years to come. The Kapoor clan were never the macho men of their times. Instead, they personified an irresistible charm, a dignified bearing, a restrained sexual appeal, and a magnetic personality.
I am glad I watched Awaara. The next in my queue is Sangam. I am not sure when I get around to watching it. But I will, sometime.
God bless…
yours in mortality,
Bala
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