One morning, I was waiting at the Churchgate station from where I was to take a local train to Dadar (in central Bombay) to meet somebody who had a business offer to make to me. It had something to do with wooden cots to be supplied to army cantonments. There, I spotted Dr Masani, a psychologist who had once come to Wilson College, where I had been a student for a year. Dr Masani had then given a lecture on vocational choices for arts students. At Churchgate, I went up to him and introduced myself. He knew me well since he was one of Aghaji’s acquaintances. ‘What are you doing here YousufIJ’ he asked me. I told him I was in search of a job but since there was none in sight, I was trying to do some business. He said he was going to Malad (in the western suburbs) to meet the owners of Bombay Talkies (a movie studio) and it would not be a bad idea if I went with him and met them. ‘They may have a job for you’, he mentioned casually. I pondered for an instant and then I joined him, giving up the idea of going to Dadar.
I had a railway first-class season ticket only up to Bandra (Malad is about 18 km beyond Bandra). Dr Masani knew the ticket checker, who gave me an extension chit up to Malad. Though Bombay Talkies was not very far from the Malad station, he, nevertheless, took a cab to the studio since it was almost lunchtime and he was afraid that Mrs Devika Rani, the boss of Bombay Talkies, may go home for lunch.
Bombay Talkies was a complete surprise. It was spread over several acres and there was a garden with a fountain in it. The office building looked more like a lovely bungalow and less like a typical office structure. When Dr Masani entered, there was warm recognition from Devika Rani who offered him a seat and looked at me wonderingly while I waited to be introduced. She was a picture of elegance, and, when Dr Masani introduced me, she greeted me with a namaste and asked me to pull up a chair and be seated, her gaze fixed on me as if she had a thought running in her mind about me. She introduced us to Amiya Chakraborthy (a famous director, as I later came to know), who was seated on a sofa. She asked me if I had sufficient knowledge of Urdu. I replied in the affirmative and Dr Masani intervened to give her my background, going back to my antecedents in Peshawar and told her about Aghaji and the business we were in. I wondered what sort of a job she was going to give me since she was so keen to know about my proficiency in the Urdu language.
She turned to me and, with a beautiful smile, asked me the question that was to change the course of my life completely and unexpectedly. She asked me whether I would become an actor and accept employment by the studio for a monthly salary of Rs1,250. For a moment I did not know what to say. I looked at Dr Masani, who was equally surprised but was not showing it. So I returned her charming smile and told her that it was indeed kind of her to consider me for the job of an actor but I had no experience and knew nothing about the art. What’s more, I had seen only one film, which was a war documentary screened for the army personnel in Deolali. She was quick with her reasoning. She asked: ‘How experienced are you in the fruit trade of your familyIJ’ I told her that as I was learning, I could not claim much experience. She then said: ‘There you are. If you can take pains to learn about fruits and fruit cultivation you can surely take pains to learn the craft of filmmaking and acting. I need a young, good-looking, educated actor and I can see that you possess the qualifications to become a good actor.’
It was soon lunchtime and she asked us if we would care to join her. Dr Masani declined and we took leave of her. On reaching home I told Ayub Sahab about the offer. He found it hard to believe. He said he knew that Raj Kapoor was getting a monthly salary of Rs170. I felt Ayub was right. And, if it was for a year, I felt it was not worth accepting as it would not ease Aghaji’s burden.
Apart from Ayub Sahab, nobody in the house knew about the episode. I thought it would be decent on my part to tell Dr Masani about my decision, so I went to his house at Churchgate and told him that Rs1,250 annually was rather meagre for all the travelling I had to do every day to Malad by the electric train and for all the pains I had to take to initiate myself into a challenging profession. Dr Masani was certain that the salary offered was on a monthly basis. He volunteered to ascertain the figure from Devika Rani and made a phone call to her and, from the nods and smiles he was giving as he held the receiver to his ear, I could understand that she was telling him something that pleased him immensely. When he put the receiver down, he told me she had made the offer monthly because she thought I held great promise.
The gates of Bombay Talkies somehow looked more inviting and welcoming that afternoon as the watchman opened them for our taxi to enter. In her office, Devika Rani was alone, seated at the desk, which was always clean and uncluttered. She said the employment formalities and the paper work would be done by one Mr Iyer, her assistant. She said it would be nice if I could come to the studio the next day and meet some of the people I would be working with. My hesitation to talk about money prevented me from reconfirming the salary, though the prospect of earning the four-digit figure, which was a big achievement those days, had drawn me to a profession I knew my father had little respect for. On more than one occasion I had heard him tell Raj Kapoor’s grandfather, Dewan Basheshwarnath Kapoor, jokingly that it was a pity his son and grandsons couldn’t find anything other than nautanki as their profession. When I returned home late in the evening, I told Amma I had found myself a job that would get me a pay packet of Rs1,250 every month, which would take care of her kitchen expenses as well as the education of my younger brothers and sisters. There were a lot of miscellaneous expenses and some money could be set aside for that, too. She wanted to know what job it was that was so paying. I assured her it was a respectable job and I had got it because of my strong proficiency in the Urdu language. She seemed happy.
The next day dawned like any other. I got dressed and left home quietly. I reached the studio on time at 9 am. Devika Rani welcomed me and took me personally to the floor where preparation for a shooting was going on. She led me up to a man who was very well dressed and looked distinguished. His dark hair was combed back and he smiled through his eyes at me. Devika Rani introduced me saying I had just joined as an actor. He held my hand in a warm handshake that marked the beginning of a friendship that was to last an entire lifetime between us.
He was Ashok Kumar, who soon became Ashok Bhaiyya (brother) to me. Ashok Kumar came out of the floor and called out to one of the boys to open his make-up room. As the boy ran to fetch the door keys, I recognised another young man walking towards us. That was Raj Kapoor, who was justly shocked to see me there. ‘Does your father knowIJ’ he asked me mischievously. Raj gave a short account of our football days at Khalsa College, which made Devika Rani observe: ‘That’s indeed nice. It’s a game I wished I could play like the boys at school.’ Devika Rani left us to chat with one another and walked briskly back to her office. There was no doubt that Raj was happy to see me and welcome me into the profession. He knew how painfully shy I used to be in college and he must have wondered how I would fit into a profession that was not for shy, reserved people.
(Excerpted with permissions from Penguin Books India and Hay House India from the book Dilip Kumar, The Substance And The Shadow)