The act of excavating one’s life and writing about it feels like an utterly undesirable enterprise. It feels as though I am holding an enormous sack in my hands, a sack that keeps growing larger and larger, like yeasted dough, fermenting and distending shapelessly.”
And yet Amol Palekar, has managed to turn the “undesirable enterprise”, into not one but two memoirs — in Marathi and English Viewfinder (Westland) — that lays threadbare the life of the actor, writer, director and artist. Of a man who came from nowhere and challenged the ruling image of the angry-young-man with the mild-mannered boy-next-door in the ’70s; of star-studded multi-starters with a simple linear narrative; of the larger-than-life image of the hero who never falters with the protagonist who almost always does.
The reward is a huge “sack” of memories and experiences that Palekar, who turns 80 on November 24, has looked back on. Palekar, who grew up in a middle-class, Marathi-speaking family in Mumbai, studied fine arts before he started acting in theatre and running his own theatre group. He made his debut in films with Satayadev Dubey’s Shantata! Court Chalu Aahe (1971) followed by Basu Chatterjee’s Rajnigandha (1974) and films such as Chhoti Si Baat (1976), Gharonda (1977) and Gol Maal (1979), before directing films like Thoda Sa Roomani Ho Jayen (1990) and Paheli (2005), India’s official entry for Best Foreign Films at the 2006 Oscars, and winning awards for his work in Marathi, Bengali, Malayalam and Kannada films. After moving to Pune, he went back to his first love, painting, and has held seven solo exhibitions. At his studio in Pune, he speaks about being vulnerable in his roles and playing both hero and villain, being the real angry young man and how OTT platforms have changed the star system of the industry. Excerpts:
Firstly, why a memoir?
A simpler question would be, why not? The trigger was Covid. When there was so much turmoil outside, it gave me time to contemplate and dive into the past. I realised there were so many beautiful memories and also those I did not want to remember. I would sit here in my studio and write by hand. It was a kind of catharsis. I gave it to Sandhya (his wife). She has curated the books and I can say the fragrance in them comes from her.
How different is the real man from the reel man? And has he emerged in this book?
I used to always feel I am very proud of the boy-next-door image. What I have been able to portray and what people loved was the vulnerability of that man. In every portrayal, I tried to find the vulnerable spot in that character who was scared of tripping or falling down because that is how we are in real life. But having said so, this wasn’t the only thing. I always give the example of the elephant and the blind men. You see what you see. I am something like that — far beyond the man you see on celluloid. Even the characters I portrayed, I tried to portray as many different kinds as possible, but when doing that, I had to go against the norms of the industry. I was a very successful hero, so for me to play a villain at that time was something unheard of. My producers didn’t like it — I didn’t care. I said I want to explore the actor in me, not the star. I don’t care about the stardom. But to negate my own stardom or run away from it was one dilemma I had to keep facing in my career. The real man kept on searching for something unknown to me. It was easy to go on doing something I was good at and people loved it. But I wanted to find out, can I do this, can I do that? There was a huge risk of my failure and I was always ready to take the risk.
So while you were this boy-next-door in the era of the angry young man, in a way you were a rebel, even an angry young man in your own right, weren’t you?
It’s unbelievable that Amitabh Bachchan was known as the angry young man, when I was actually the one, though in a very unobtrusive, unseen manner, so people didn’t realise it. But you can see it in my films and portrayals. Besides, I rebelled against most of the things. I was known for rejecting nine offers out of 10. I rebelled against the system that demanded that whatever is successful, you go on churning that. I do not mince words; I take a position that most don’t. This is totally unexpected from the man who would fumble, trip and fall down on the screen. So, through this book, people will get to know that aspect of me. They may not agree with me, but they will certainly understand me better.
You say, in your preface — you regret not having been able to tell your mother that you forgave her? Forgave her for what?
It was probably the first major rebellion of mine — against what she believed in and how she wanted me to go ahead in my life. And standing up against that was something she never forgave me for. So now it’s up to me to forgive her, not hold any grudge against her or be bitter about it or go on harping about it. This is how I have moved on.
You recognised the importance of television when mainstream stars would shy away from it. From Kachchi Dhoop (1987) on the small screen to now Farzi (2023) on OTT, has your journey come full circle?
I agree I could see the strength of television instead of looking down on it way back then. Its biggest strength is in reaching out to the remotest corners of the country. But instead of giving them sugar-coated lollipops, I am happy I could give something which was different, of high quality and of great literary value. Similarly, OTT platforms have managed to break the system of the film industry, particularly the star system. It’s very interesting that while destroying the star system of films, they have created their own. But still so many unknown faces have had the chance to reach out to an audience. During Covid, OTT platforms were the solace for everybody. In fact, the Cannes film festival, with all its aura, said they will not accept films from OTT, so OTT said okay, we will not send our films to you. Later, Cannes had to bend back and beseech them to send their films. So that’s a major change that has happened.
Talking of changes, from writing your memoir in long hand and embedding your book with QR codes all through, you seem to have moved with technology.
I try and our daughter Samiha keeps encouraging me. I do believe though that I must use technology to my advantage and not let technology govern me. The QR code is a very unusual experiment through which they will not just read about a particular film and my experiences but can go to the QR code and actually see the films — absolutely free of charge. That again is something not acceptable even today — that there is no monetisation in this. I have gone far beyond all that. I will be happy because ultimately what does an actor want really? It’s to reach out to as many people as possible. And I am doing that with the 23 QR codes embedded in the book that give access to rare posters, hand-drawn hoardings of films released in the ’70s and ’80s, performances from theatre festivals organised in Pune last five years and, of course, so many movies.