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Amol Palekar’s ‘Viewfinder’: Struggles, triumphs of an artiste

The book also maps the history of alternative cinema and theatre in India
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Viewfinder: A Memoir by Amol Palekar. Westland. Pages 320. Rs 999
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Book Title: Viewfinder: A Memoir

Author: Amol Palekar

Amol Palekar’s memoir, ‘The Viewfinder’, is a book I was looking forward to reading, more so because of its very intriguing title. I was sure there was a story behind it. I had heard the word ‘viewfinder’, but wasn’t sure of what it really meant. I got to know that the viewfinder is a device in a camera consisting of a lens system that you look through while taking a photograph.

While reading the book, I got to know that the title was a homage to Palekar’s mentor, Hrishida (Hrishikesh Mukherjee, 1922-2006), who, in an emotional moment, gifted his young protege his personal viewfinder, which had been given to him by Bimal Roy (1909-1966). Bimalda was aware that directors and cinematographers did not have monitors to preview their shot, and the viewfinder was a handy tool that helped in deciding the angle and the framing of the scene. An appropriate title for a memoir — you select what you wish to reveal or conceal. Like a talisman, the viewfinder passed through many hands to finally be gifted by Amol Palekar to Rinki Bhattacharya, Bimal Roy’s daughter, as a gesture of his admiration for the filmmaker.

The book begins with a confession and also prepares the reader to make an entry into the private world of the artiste, who started off as a painter and overlapped it with theatre to become one of the most popular actors of what you could term ‘the middle-of-the-road cinema’. How he wore so many hats in one lifetime makes for breathless reading.

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“The act of excavating one’s own life and writing about it feels like an utterly undesirable enterprise. It feels as though I’m holding an enormous sack in my hand that keeps growing larger and larger, like yeasted dough, fermenting and distending shapelessly,” the opening sentence reads.

The vulnerability and transparency of the artiste is evident, setting the beat and the tone of this autobiography. A no-holds-barred story of a life lived in a manner that makes you feel a bit tizzy. I almost felt as if I had to fasten my safety belt, as the range of experiences that he shares is mind-boggling.

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At times, I got a bit lost in the narrative as the time frame is fragmented and it reads like a stream of consciousness, where jumps and cuts make the chase exciting, but also confusing at times. But the ‘never say die’ attitude of Palekar helps the reader figure out how the actor/director navigated the obstacles that were strewn across his life.

On a more personal note, I recall Girish Karnad’s modern classic ‘Hayavadana’ being performed at the National School of Drama in Delhi in the mid-Seventies. I was a student and as the text was part of our syllabus, watching the play was mandatory.

It was being directed by Satyadev Dubey, the enfant terrible of theatre, who was also Palekar’s theatre guru. He had a reputation that preceded him. Exaggerated stories of his volatile temperament and brilliance added to our excitement and the show was awaited with bated breath.

Watching Amrish Puri (1932-2005) play the role of Kapila and Amol Palekar as Devdutta, the two protagonists of the play, with their excellent dialogue delivery and characterisation, became a masterclass in acting for most of us. It was a casting coup and the enthusiasm in the auditorium was palpable. This was my first memory of Amol Palekar as the decent, scholarly Devdutta.

A couple of years later, I moved to Bombay and was a regular visitor to Dadar’s Chhabildas Hall, a run-down decrepit theatre space within a school compound that is considered the heartbeat of experimental theatre. The avant garde theatre ka adda saw large ticketed audiences sitting either on hard benches or sprawled over durries, making the choice to see cutting-edge performances over regular commercial theatre in fancy auditoriums. It was in this improvised space in 1977 that I saw a production called ‘Juloos’ (Procession) written by Badal Sircar and directed by Palekar. Actors making their entry through the audience or speaking their lines while seated next to an audience member was an unusual experience and seemed like a revolutionary act. This made one marvel at the audacity of the director.

Palekar was ahead of his times and a tremendous powerhouse in Marathi theatre and Hindi cinema. This book is an anecdotal account of the struggles and triumphs of an artiste and also maps the history of alternative cinema and theatre in India. His book reads like a roster of the who’s who of Indian cinema and theatre, strewn with experiences, memories, vignettes and cameos of various directors and actors, along with their idiosyncrasies, foibles and warmth. A perfect balance between the private and the public, stopping just before the gaze becomes personalised or voyeuristic.

— The writer is a theatre director based in Chandigarh

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