A Life Less Ordinary: Rekha at 62

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A Life Less Ordinary: Rekha at 62

As the screen goddess turns another corner, Khalid Mohamed reminiscences on a few personal encounters he's had with the diva

By Khalid Mohamed

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Published: Sun 9 Oct 2016, 5:00 PM

Last updated: Sun 9 Oct 2016, 7:32 PM

It's that time of the year. On October 10, Rekha officially turns 62. The next day, Amitabh Bachchan turns 74. And once again, the public curiosity peaks. How are they doing - separately, of course? How come the two haven't been featured together in a film despite public demand? No answers. The mystique of Rekha, a woman staying in the ivory tower of an oceanfront bungalow in Bandra, intensifies.

Today's generation or the yesteryear's nostalgia-philes just can't have enough of Rekha's cultivated image of being a loner. No surprise, then, that an unauthorised book by Yasser Usman, TV anchor-and-Rekha tracker, released last month, has become a nationwide bestseller.
Currently, she is penning her own autobiography according to Bollywood insiders, a rumour which she has reacted to with her customary silence. Constant offers by leading book publishers for her autobiography have been either rejected outright or the fee demanded has been so high that the publishers almost had heart attacks.
In addition, she has always stated that if she does pen a book - with or without a ghost-writer - there won't be a single line about "him". Go figure.

After Rekha's last film Super Nani sank like the Titanic, followed by her walk-out of Abhishek Kapoor's Fitoor, it's been all quiet on the work front. She does show up at film award functions and occasional events, but those appearances seem to be out of sheer habit. So, it might appear she has opted for semi-retirement which, in show business, translates into: she has become unapproachable.
Be that as it may, whenever I have interviewed her over the years, I have had to take a deeper breath than a sea diver and await her entry at her bereft workplace apartment close to her residence.
Here's reducing my countless confabulations with Rekha to the four most representative ones.
Encounter No. 1:
She wasn't talking to the press, which was quite a voguish thing to do back in the 1980s. She was shooting on the outskirts of Bangalore for Utsav;
I was there to cover it, courtesy Shashi and Jennifer Kapoor. "Will she talk?"
I had quizzed Shashi Kapoor, who had responded with, "It all depends on her mood."
On finally summoning up enough courage to stammer, "Will.will... will you talk to me?", Rekha smiled like benevolent royalty. "Why not? We shall talk."
Next morning, scrubbed and shampooed, I landed in her hotel suite, to trip her, bait her, ensnare her into talking about the magnificent obsession of her life - the "him" she would refer to elusively.
She made veiled statements, something which she continues to do to this day and age. I used all the tricks in the interviewing book to get sensational copy. She was wise to my game; went so far, no farther. Fair enough.
Encounter No. 2:
This was a photo-shoot in Lake District in England. Rekha, her trusted secretary Farzana, photographer Ashok Salian and I were there. Ashok was laughing as if there was no tomorrow (he still does); Farzana was the cool and collected one; Re Ma'am was busy selecting the right costumes for the right locations - like a flowing scarf for a cliffside, a polo neck for a coffee shop, and breeches for a stable with horses.
For three days, it was click, click, click, click. If we talked at all, it must have been about costumes. I came away feeling as knowledgeable about fabrics, silhouettes and cuts as a fashionista.
Encounter No. 3:
This was a script-reading session. I read out my script to her, a talent which is as tough for me as speaking in Greek and Latin. It was a story of a fearless woman lawyer, admittedly a female version of Atticus from To Kill A Mockingbird. I gulped, sweated, sobbed somehow to the end of the 200-page script. I wanted her to play the lead. At the end of the three-hour session, there was pindrop silence.
Farzana looked at me expressionlessly. Rekha's pet dog woofed, I looked for reaction. More silence, and then she asked, "When are we doing it? We have a lot of work to do - decide on the look, details of the character and so on."
Wow, she had said yes, without saying yes. I was blissed out. But then life has its twists and turns. The project couldn't get sufficient funding. I was back again on the print interview beat with her. Meaning, I returned to full-time journalism. The rest, as they say, isn't history.
Encounter No. 4:
This was the last one with me - and it seems like it happened eons ago. Since then, she hasn't called, and neither have I. I leave a happy birthday message on her phone's voice machine. She doesn't reply, but then she has assured me that we may not meet for quite a while but that doesn't diminish the mutual regard. Waah, she knows how to make ordinary mortals feel special.
I had approached her to play the role of the Rajmata, which she had essayed with perfection in Zubeidaa. This was for the film's sequel titled Rutba.
Ma'am quoted a price which was equivalent to the film's entire budget. I baulked, but there were no hard feelings. Correctly, she reasoned, "Why should the producer gain advantage of the regard we have for each other?
Perhaps we will produce it together some day. Inshallah."
My loss entirely. Because I can see no one else reprising the role of the elegant Rajmata, with a mind of her own.
Since time immemorial, we did talk periodically about doing a book. Snag: she would not speak about her private life. Now how can a biography be possible with a tomb-like silence on the many downers and uppers in her life?
Ma'am Re is whip-smart. Or is she? Like all of us, she clutches the secrets in her diary to her heart. No trespassing allowed.
wknd@khaleejtimes.com


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