25 years on, Remembering Smita
On the eve of her 25th death anniversary, Yogesh Pawar pays tribute to Smita Patil, who left behind a powerful body of work in a brief acting career that was tragically cut short by untimely death
Asa ekhada pakharoo velhaal Jyala samora jatoya aabhaal
(There arrives, rarely, a bird so enchanting, so unique That all of Nature bows in welcome)
—A song from Smita Patil's National Award-winning Jait re Jait (1977)
Twenty-five years after her untimely death, which cut short her illustrious career just when it was peaking, the world of cinema is still to recover from the loss of Smita Patil.
"How does one ever reconcile to a loss of such colossal talent?" asks Shyam Benegal, dismissive of others who are said to have taken on her mantle. "Forget comparisons, I wonder whether there are many who have come close to producing even a fraction of the kind of work she has left behind," says the auteur who directed Smita in her first outing as an actress in Charandas Chor (1975).
"I first saw Smita on TV as a Doordarshan anchor. What caught me was her distinctly Indian looks. A friend of mine knew her sister and we met. The first thing she said was, 'I don't want to act, so don't offer me any role.' I offered her one regardless, which she declined. It was her mother who persuaded her to accept," he points out and adds, smiling, "Imagine, till she won the National Award for her role in Bhumika (1977), she didn't want an acting career."
But her elder sister Anita Patil, who would call her Smi, points out how fame had come calling earlier too. "She was a great mimic and had a passion for theatre. Once my medical school classmate, Deepak Kirpekar, showed her photographs to his Doordarshan anchor wife Jyotsna, and the then head of DD called her for an interview," she recounts, laughing.
"Manoj Kumar had approached my father with a role for Smi in Roti Kapda Aur Makan (1974). Dev Anand, too, offered her a role in Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971). Neither Smi nor my family was interested. My mother said, finish your education first." Deeply influenced by Gandhi and the freedom movement, Smita's father Shivajirao Patil was jailed twice, the second time for life. He served seven years before being freed in Independent India. The atheist, Nehruvian, socialist atmosphere at home meant long debates and discussions on poverty, social justice and eqaulity. "This contributed largely to the roles she chose, her support for small filmmakers, and later, the difficulties she faced in mainstream Bollywood, where hierarchies and networking are more important than talent," says Anita.
The Patils saw Benegal as a Socialist who was committed to social justice and fighting gender inequality. "He got along really well with our father. Shyam's film unit was informal and fun. This encouraged Smi to accept his offer. He became and remained her mentor till the very end," remembers Anita.
Her co-star and friend Amol Palekar agrees that Benegal's mentoring made a difference. "She was all of 21 when she did Bhumika — a character who moves from being a teenager in pigtails to a middle-aged mother of a teenaged daughter," he remembers, and adds, "We knew each other from my theatre rehearsals where she would often quibble over the way a character was interpreted."
Audiences hungry for something 'different' from mainstream potboilers were smitten by her earthy looks and powerful histrionics. Along with peers like Shabana Azmi, Naseeruddin Shah and Om Puri, she became one of the biggest stars of the new wave of cinema that was exploring fresh territory then. Her fiery work in Manthan (1976), Bhumika, Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai? (1980), Aakrosh (1980) and Chakra (1981) saw renowned American critic Elliott Stein say: "At 25, Smita is clearly the queen of Indian parallel cinema, as much an icon for filmmakers of the milieu as was Anna Karenina for young directors in France at the outset of their New Wave. Patil is not a classic beauty but she glows. She never makes a false move on screen."
Unlike her contemporaries, Smita hadn't formally trained in her craft. Her intensity on screen was instinctive. This is something that 'rival' and contemporary Shabana Azmi also confirms. "She managed to do so much in just a 11-year career. Which is why she is still revered and respected," says Azmi, who admits to competition but banishes talk of rivalry as "media-hype." She explains, "We both came from politically aware families and had a grounded, seeped-in-values upbringing. This ensured our world concerns were identical." Azmi recounts an incident. "Smita was shooting for Bazaar (1982) in which my mother Shaukat Azmi was also acting. Since there was no spare room for her, the moment Smita saw her arriving for the shoot on the first day, she quickly cleared her things and offered her room to my mother. That was the kind of grace she was capable of."
"How could I have enjoyed such a close rapport with Smita's sisters, mother and son if there was any acrimony?" asks Azmi. "For all practical purposes, we were hyphenated for life. For audiences, either of us could've been Smita Azmi or Shabana Patil."
On the eve of her 25th death anniversary, Yogesh Pawar pays tribute to Smita Patil, who left behind a powerful body of work in a brief acting career that was tragically cut short by untimely death
Asa ekhada pakharoo velhaal Jyala samora jatoya aabhaal
(There arrives, rarely, a bird so enchanting, so unique That all of Nature bows in welcome)
—A song from Smita Patil's National Award-winning Jait re Jait (1977)
Twenty-five years after her untimely death, which cut short her illustrious career just when it was peaking, the world of cinema is still to recover from the loss of Smita Patil.
"How does one ever reconcile to a loss of such colossal talent?" asks Shyam Benegal, dismissive of others who are said to have taken on her mantle. "Forget comparisons, I wonder whether there are many who have come close to producing even a fraction of the kind of work she has left behind," says the auteur who directed Smita in her first outing as an actress in Charandas Chor (1975).
"I first saw Smita on TV as a Doordarshan anchor. What caught me was her distinctly Indian looks. A friend of mine knew her sister and we met. The first thing she said was, 'I don't want to act, so don't offer me any role.' I offered her one regardless, which she declined. It was her mother who persuaded her to accept," he points out and adds, smiling, "Imagine, till she won the National Award for her role in Bhumika (1977), she didn't want an acting career."
But her elder sister Anita Patil, who would call her Smi, points out how fame had come calling earlier too. "She was a great mimic and had a passion for theatre. Once my medical school classmate, Deepak Kirpekar, showed her photographs to his Doordarshan anchor wife Jyotsna, and the then head of DD called her for an interview," she recounts, laughing.
"Manoj Kumar had approached my father with a role for Smi in Roti Kapda Aur Makan (1974). Dev Anand, too, offered her a role in Hare Rama Hare Krishna (1971). Neither Smi nor my family was interested. My mother said, finish your education first." Deeply influenced by Gandhi and the freedom movement, Smita's father Shivajirao Patil was jailed twice, the second time for life. He served seven years before being freed in Independent India. The atheist, Nehruvian, socialist atmosphere at home meant long debates and discussions on poverty, social justice and eqaulity. "This contributed largely to the roles she chose, her support for small filmmakers, and later, the difficulties she faced in mainstream Bollywood, where hierarchies and networking are more important than talent," says Anita.
The Patils saw Benegal as a Socialist who was committed to social justice and fighting gender inequality. "He got along really well with our father. Shyam's film unit was informal and fun. This encouraged Smi to accept his offer. He became and remained her mentor till the very end," remembers Anita.
Her co-star and friend Amol Palekar agrees that Benegal's mentoring made a difference. "She was all of 21 when she did Bhumika — a character who moves from being a teenager in pigtails to a middle-aged mother of a teenaged daughter," he remembers, and adds, "We knew each other from my theatre rehearsals where she would often quibble over the way a character was interpreted."
Audiences hungry for something 'different' from mainstream potboilers were smitten by her earthy looks and powerful histrionics. Along with peers like Shabana Azmi, Naseeruddin Shah and Om Puri, she became one of the biggest stars of the new wave of cinema that was exploring fresh territory then. Her fiery work in Manthan (1976), Bhumika, Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aata Hai? (1980), Aakrosh (1980) and Chakra (1981) saw renowned American critic Elliott Stein say: "At 25, Smita is clearly the queen of Indian parallel cinema, as much an icon for filmmakers of the milieu as was Anna Karenina for young directors in France at the outset of their New Wave. Patil is not a classic beauty but she glows. She never makes a false move on screen."
Unlike her contemporaries, Smita hadn't formally trained in her craft. Her intensity on screen was instinctive. This is something that 'rival' and contemporary Shabana Azmi also confirms. "She managed to do so much in just a 11-year career. Which is why she is still revered and respected," says Azmi, who admits to competition but banishes talk of rivalry as "media-hype." She explains, "We both came from politically aware families and had a grounded, seeped-in-values upbringing. This ensured our world concerns were identical." Azmi recounts an incident. "Smita was shooting for Bazaar (1982) in which my mother Shaukat Azmi was also acting. Since there was no spare room for her, the moment Smita saw her arriving for the shoot on the first day, she quickly cleared her things and offered her room to my mother. That was the kind of grace she was capable of."
"How could I have enjoyed such a close rapport with Smita's sisters, mother and son if there was any acrimony?" asks Azmi. "For all practical purposes, we were hyphenated for life. For audiences, either of us could've been Smita Azmi or Shabana Patil."
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