Some thoughts about cynicism

Raju Korti
If there were to be a University for Cynicism, I would be its Dean for lifetime. This rare qualification came to me from my father who died without making a will, but he bequeathed this property to me as his sole heir. He would often tell me: "You see son, there is always someone who is worse than you" and my response invariably would be "so what?"
A cynic is a person, who when he smells flowers, thinks there is a coffin around. The Oxford Dictionary couldn't have found a suitable mascot for the word. It is not easy to be convinced and sceptical enough to believe that the future is bleak and people act only out of self interests all the time. I am waiting for the day when friends and relatives who keep bombarding me with motivational quotes and essays on positivism day in day out, scratch the cynic in me. They will sure find a disappointed idealist.
A journalist which I have been for more than half my life, requires a fair tempering of cynicism. It is a scientific temper of a craft that often calls for keen observation of people and surroundings in every conceivable situation. It is also a touchstone of a journalist's alchemy through which he hopes to discover a non-existent bunkum called objectivity. The only true objective journalist is the dead one.
Having banged my head in the profession for more than three decades, I have come to realise that cynicism is a shield which a journalist wraps around himself for protection. There is no one more enlightened than a disillusioned journalist. Not that there is anything special about the people who deal with news. They are as dishonest, noble, cowardly, mean, ridiculous, courageous and truthful as the ordinary run of the people but in their case, cynicism also masquerades as wisdom as it has done in my case.
The trigger for this diminutive blog is a post I wrote on Facebook today, the Independence Day. I wrote "Hail our martyrs for one day. Debate their credentials for the rest of the year." Friends "liked" it but I am not too sure they appreciated. Truth and choice do not necessarily make for great companions. Knowing me as a die-hard cynic, they have probably given up on me as a bad joke. That spurs my cynicism to newer heights. Or newer depths.
It takes a clever man to turn a cynic and a wise man to be clever enough not to.

Making a song and dance about Vyjayanthimala

Raju Korti
Some time around 1987 when Ms Twinkle Toes Vyjayanthimala was done with her long but eventful career in films, I happened to meet the lady more by fluke than design.

In (then) Madras for a professional commitment, I was told that the dance academy "Kalakshetra" run by the nimble-footed actress happened to be close by. My impulsive decision to go and have an informal chat with the actress was also governed by justified apprehension, having heard any number of stories about her idiosyncrasies and unpredictable ways. Later, actor-director Vijay Anand had told me about the "tough time" she had given during the making of 1967 hit Jewel Thief. She had been dating Dr Bali (whom she later married) and would often disappear in the midst of the shootings.

As expected, Vyjayanthimala welcomed me with a frosty smile but put on a friendly demeanour in no time. I strongly suspect that my association with The Hindu and being a south Indian catalysed her into warming up faster than she did with many of my tribe. I didn't beat around the bush. You don't do that with someone blunt like Vyjayanthimala. I told her I was overawed by her dancing skills and was keen to know how she could blend those with all those evocative numbers she sang on-screen.
It immediately stuck me that she was a dancer from head to feet. So while I sauntered around, she waltzed her way while showing the Academy. The way her disciples reacted to her presence made me feel she was a goddess to them, no less. I broached the conversation in a way that instantly got her animated. I sought to brush up her memory with a song sequence from Leader (1962) where she swishes her steps on the stones in a pond. She cut me off with a wave of her hand. “Look at the larger picture. I was blessed to be able to articulate so many divine numbers that came my way. The one film that showcased the real me was Aamrapali where I played the royal courtesan. I just danced and sang my way through that film. Thanks to Shankar-Jaikishenji who got four ethereally beautiful Lataji solos composed for me. Jao re jogi tum jao re, Tumhe yaad karte karte, Neel gagan ki chhaon mein and Tadap ye din raatki. When these songs were being rehearsed, I would often take time off my acting schedules to be present at the recording room. I was an established dancer already, but Jao re jogi spurred me to greater heights.”But didn't you put so much passion and gusto in that nine-minute dance-song from Jewel Thief Hoton mein aisi baat mai dabaake chali aayee (1967 with Dev Anand)”, I responded weakly. “You think so? It was a great song, great composition and I had to summon all my energies to do that. But there was more folk and less classical in that song. I recall I had winked at Devsaab after the song was pictured and told him how I had beaten him in the song. And when he carried the reputation of being a bundle of energy himself..”
The mention of Bimal Roy's Chandramukhi she essayed in 1955 made her nostalgic. “Oh yes. There was this classic Burmandada composition: Jise to qubool kar le wo adaa kahaan se laun." The feisty actress had refused to accept that year's Best Supporting Actress award since her role was as important and had the same footage as Suchitra Sen.
Vyjayanthimala was born to dance. If anyone thought that she was cut out for only Bharat Natyam and Arangetrums, you were mistaken. The tall, stately dancer born in an orthodox Tamil Brahmin family, could carry off even peppy numbers like Mai kaa karoo ram mujhe Buddha mil gaya. “The song had not been particularly appreciated by the Censors given its innunedoes, Besides, both me and Lata were known for our fastidious ways. Probably the audience couldn’t reconcile to the dance I did in short slacks and a seductive top. It was panned by critics as vulgar. And to think of the crude dances choreographed these days”.  The actress recalled that among her other films where she made a great team with Lata was Nagin (1954 with Pradeep Kumar), Madhumati (1958 with Dilip Kumar), Amar Deep (1958 with Dev Anand , Kathputli (1959 with Balraj Sahni), Gunga Jumna (1960 with Dilip Kumar), Dr Vidya (1962 with Manoj Kumar).
No surprise she seemed to have particularly fond memories of Madhumati and singled out Salil Choudhury’s folk song-dance sequence Zulmi sang aankh ladi. “Aaja re pardesi was, of course, more haunting. But I loved doing  Zulmi sang aankh ladi and Ghadi ghadi mora dil dhadke.”
As the conversation got intense, I told her something that really made her stood up, her pink face lit up like a smitten teenager: Lata Mangeshkar says that Vyjayanthimala was among the actresses who did full justice to her songs.”
“Oh really? You made my day. Looking back, I realise her contribution to my on-screen success. Even Asha Bhosale sang for me in films like Naya Daur, but I think Lataji suited me best. Her voice had so much sobriety. Among my non-dance numbers, I rate her Aurat ne jam diya mardon ko (1960 Sadhana) as an all time classic.”
Vyjayanthimala has bowed out from the celluloid but her footprints linger. She still dances as gracefully and her sprightly movements can put even the youngest of dancers to shame. A lesser known fact is she is also also a trained Carnatic singer.
So here is to Vyjayanthimala on her 80th birthday.              
      

Madhumati for a lifetime (File grab)