A man does not know how good he is until he is dead — by when it’s too late. It seems surreal that someone like Vinod Khanna could be tamed. Stardom didn’t, spiritual calling did not, politics certainly failed to do so. But mortality is real while the others are passing, writes RAJESH SINGH
Actors are not known to walk away from stardom. For one, they generally achieve it after years of toil, facing hardships and even trauma along the way, and it makes no sense to give up what has come after such strenuous effort and sacrifice. The second is that they get intoxicated by the attention and addicted to the attendant benefits. Often, they hold on even when their time is up and have to be pushed aside, sometimes even rudely. It takes actors of extraordinary grit to renounce fame to buy peace of mind — and even greater courage to renounce the new calling and return to the old, knowing they would have to begin all over again. For the ordinary-minded, the oscillation is a sign of psychological instability; to a keen observer it reflects the depths of a mind that is conditioned to think beyond the obvious and be a maverick — even look like a fool to the world at large. Vinod Khanna was indeed an actor of courage.
He could have been the next Amitabh Bachchan. It was the early eighties and he was right on top with the angry young man, matching him frame for frame. This wasn’t easy, as any film buff will testify. Bachchan had become an all-pervasive influence in Hindi films, and an actor was supposed to be overflowing with gratitude just for getting an opportunity to share screen space with the legend, for whom scripts were especially written. And here was Vinod Khanna not just sharing films with him but also having roles that rivalled those of the superstar. For the less accomplished, this would have been a double-edged sword — while the honour of working with the Great Bachchan was there, so was the dangerous prospect of being overshadowed.
But Vinod Khanna did not entertain such fears because he was not the kind to merge into somebody’s shadows, however long and powerful that may have been. Also, by then, he had seen from close quarters the infidelity of fame and its disastrous impact on people. Producers and directors had started to line up outside his home with made-to-order scripts and mouth-watering sums. By that time, however, he had begun to wear orange robes even on the sets, and much to the alarm of his filmmakers and the amusement of critics, taken to speaking the language of a renunciate. Controversial godman Osho Rajneesh had entered his life — his consciousness.
Why had this change occurredIJ Was it sudden or a manifestation of long and deep thoughtIJ Was Vinod Khanna trying to be an escapist or was he a true seekerIJ The cause has never been properly established, and so we have to depend on speculation. But a speculative approach is not without the pitfalls of beginning with a wrong premise and ending with a distorted conclusion. Rumours can be titillating, but they are never the foundations of a considered understanding of the truth. It stands established though, that the actor-star, on the way to being a superstar, was less than satisfied with the turn his life was taking, and wanted to explore avenues that promised him inner peace. It can also be stated with a good amount of certainty, on the basis of this belief, that Vinod Khanna was distraught with things as they stood. Of course, this brings us back to square one: Why was he restiveIJ
Sensitive people often are, and the actor was sensitive from all accounts. Something opened inside him when he read the iconic Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda. Those who have perused this remarkable book will testify to its magnetism. It has the capacity to do either of the three things: First, you are mesmerised for a while and then as the charm wears off, you move on to other fads. Second, you begin to change from inside, incorporating some elements of the book into your day-to-day living. Third, you are so profoundly shaken that you abandon everything at your disposal and walk the difficult path of spiritualism. Vinod Khanna was not the monk who sold his Ferrari; he simply gave it away.
The Hindi film industry reacted with shock and no small bit of amazement when he migrated to Osho Rajneesh. The general buzz was: “What is wrong with this person that he is giving up the high pedestalIJ Surely nothing, not even a personal issue, is worth the sacrifice.” The material and the spiritual can co-exist, if in proportions where the former does not outweigh the other. Hinduism is a wonderful religion, a way of life, that does not impose conditions, and it allows for various levels of self-enlightenment without having to recede into caves or mountains.Siddhi is one but the roads to it are many. Vinod Khanna chose the road he wanted — he was besotted with it. And if it meant giving up on his material achievement, so be it.
People often think of the divine when they are in deep trouble and believe, somehow, that the lord will pity them and rescue them from their grief. But here was an actor, who later came to be called a “sexy sanyasi” by those who find themselves out of depth without taking refuge in cliched templates — a term that he must have abhorred as a relic of the past — and who was within striking distance of super-stardom after Aan Milo Sajna, Mere Apne, Mera Gaon Mera Desh, Muqaddar Ka Sikander, Khoon Pasina, Parvarish — and, of course, Amar Akbar Anthony. He could wish anything and have it fulfilled; happiness was on a platter for him. Or was it crass satisfaction packaged in the form of happinessIJ It does seem that the more Vinod Khanna touched the stars, the more distant he feared of becoming from his moorings. The Autobiography had opened something inside him certainly, yet the opening led not to light first but to a realisation of the darkness that had enveloped him. It triggered in him a craving for light, and Osho attracted him. Perhaps the seeker had found his guru; every genuine seeker is destined to get his guru.
Now more questions arise. What disillusioned Vinod Khanna that he gave up on Osho and returned to the film industry after a gap of four or so yearsIJ Did he fail to grasp the essence of spiritualism or was it the godman who failed himIJ Was spiritualism then a seasonal fashion for the actor or his sincere foray into the unknown did not end the way he wanted it toIJ It would be wrong to conclude that he fell out with Osho; he continued to be in touch with his one-time guru even after returning to the film industry’s fold. But there must have been a sense of incompleteness that led him to trace his footsteps back into the very world whose ways had jolted him rudely just years ago.
In any case, Vinod Khanna had changed, and so had the film industry. New actors had arrived, and new directors too, who owed no allegiance to him. Bachchan himself had become all but invincible — though his bad days were round the corner, and it would take years of grit and unswerving self-confidence on the part of the legend to turn the tide. Multi-starrer films (in which Vinod Khanna had made a mark rubbing shoulders with the best and the biggest of the industry) were on the way out. There was no way he could turn the clock back. He did not wish to, with his inner being cleansed of the toxicity of success. He took on roles that suited his age and maturity —Insaaf was one such film that released in 1987. Then came Chandni. He was still the square-jawed, Greek God-like figure with a swagger before which present-day heroes would seem like wimps. But there was a calm, a serenity — the Hindi word thehraav best describes it — that oozed from all his characters, even when it was to demonstrate aggression. The roles he etched in Dabangg and earlier in Dayavan should bear this out.
The quest for something more than stardom to make life meaningful continued to gnaw at him. Films were unreal, after all, and he needed to be real once again. This time, he was attracted to another personality who could not have been more different from Osho — Atal Bihari Vajpayee. Vinod Khanna became a politician, contested from Gurdaspur in Punjab and became a Member of Parliament; he won the seat four times. The poet
in Vajpayee perhaps understood the seeker in Vinod Khanna. The star-actor was not destined to fail. He became a junior Minister in the Union Government, handling Culture first and then External Affairs with a level of competence. This time he did not sever his links with films, although he whittled down his commitments.
If his back-and-forth journey between spiritualism and materialism was riveting, the variety of roles that he did in films was staggering. He hated being typecast, perhaps subconsciously realising that a human being is not unidimensional. There is little in common between his characters in Gulzar’s Achanak and Manmohan Desai’s Amar Akbar Anthony; or between what he essayed inChandni and inShaque. It was difficult to pin him down. At a time when successful stars refused to tinker with their image — there have been stories of young actors refusing to play even strong character roles or negative roles because those militated against their swashbuckling silver screen persona — Vinod Khanna harboured no such fear. From a villain to a hero to a near-permanent fixture in multi-starrer films and character actor, he attempted all — and won over the audience.
It seems surreal that someone like him could be tamed. Stardom didn’t, spiritual calling did not, politics certainly failed to do so. But mortality is real while the others are passing. In the last days of his life, the macho man was reduced to a bundle of bones with sunken cheeks and eyes. But if you were to touch him, you would perhaps still have got the electric wave that made damsels swoon and men go green with envy. We may mourn his going, but we must celebrate him as well. After all, he was a star who went beyond stardom. Someday, hopefully, we will have a definitive biography of the remarkable man.
If a man is known by the company he keeps, he is also known by the tribute he gets when he departs. Those that Vinod Khanna received from his contemporaries, such as Bachchan, Dharmendra and Rishi Kapoor, reflected the stature he enjoyed not just in the film industry but also in the hearts of his co-stars. A man does not know how good he is until he is dead — by when it’s too late. From all accounts, Vinod Khanna was gentle, loving and caring. He belonged to a different school where respect for work and seniors was non-negotiable. Even if he could fake it, he would not. For all his achievements, he did not receive the critical acclaim he ought to have, when alive — despite working for the likes of Gulzar. Maybe he was not pushy, perhaps he was too trusting, or just a poor networker.
It would have been nice of the younger lot of actors, some who have worked with him, to have shown the courtesy of being present at his funeral. But it belittled Vinod Khanna’s memory not the slightest bit that they didn’t. It’s they who stand dwarfed by the pettiness.
Rishi Kapoor, enraged and saddened by this, was right when he tweeted: “Shameful. Not ONE actor of this generation attended Vinod Khanna’s funeral. Must learn to respect.” So, how do you teach someone to respect others — and with respect not driven by benefits, but coming from the heart’s coreIJ