Revisiting the god of Albela

At long last, a biopic on yesteryear’s almost-forgotten legend has been officially annou­nced. Titled 'Ek Tha Albela', it will be directed by Niranjan Patwardhan, former assistant to Madhur Bhandarkar. And the lead role will be enacted by the Marathi stage actor Atul Todankar.

The legend is Bhagwan Abhaji Palav better known as Bhagwan Dada, who passed away 25 years ago, at the age of 89. Ever so casually, he had told me, “No one from the film industry has ever visited me in years — except for Yusuf (Dilip Kumar) once or twice and Rajendra Kumar. For the rest of the world, I’ve been already cremated and forgotten.”

As soon as he saw me stepping into his miniscule room in a Dadar chawl, where he was scrunched on a chatai, to­wards him, the octogenarian had chortled, “So you have come here to make people feel sorry for me, haven’t you?” In a way, he was right, since I was working on a magazine cover story, Sunset Boulevard, looking at Bollywood’s hard luck stories.

The gentle Bharat Bhushan, cherished for incarnating the doom-stricken Baiju Bawra, was no longer alive. Chitra, the gamine Jane to Zimbo, India’s answer to Tarzan, was evasive, shooing me off with a dramatic, “Mujhe mere haalat pe chhod do (Leave me to my fate, please).” Pradeep Kumar, the hero with a sword-sharp moustache, was ailing, and had responded with a terse, “Maybe later.”

Only 'Bhagwan Dada', on bei­ng persuaded by his son, had agreed for an after-lunch interview, with the proviso that I bring along a bottle of rum. Quite easily done that. Init­i­a­lly, though, my reluctant interviewee was in no mood to open up, starting off rudely on noticing my pair of spectacles, “You stupid chashmish!” he had ji­bed.

“Take them off! I’m suspicious of those who wear specs. Can’t read their eyes. Do you know my business partners who cheated and ruined me all wore spectacles — just like yours?”

His own eyes were bloodshot and watery. “Okay chashmish, I will have to tolerate you. Or else, my son will give me hell after you’ve gone.”

In those, Wikipedia-unassisted days, there was no accessible data about his birth in a labour-class family. His father was a textile mill worker, whose son happened to be fascinated by the new-born medium of cinema in the silent era. “Look at my body now, it looks as if a building has collapsed,” he continued.

“But I was a champion wrestler.” The brawny Bhagwan had acted in bit roles before lucking out: he produced dozens of quickie stunt films besides, Vana Mohini, a jungle adventure in Tamil. Top billing was lavished upon its scene-stealing star, Chandru, an elephant!

Money poured in from the ticket windows. He established Jagruti studio in Chembur in 1947. On being advised by Raj Kapoor, he switched to “social dramas”, eventually gaining mass public adulation with Albela (1951).

His Hawaiian-style dance with Geeta Bali to the tune of C. Ramachandra’s 'Shola jo bhadke', assure him a lasting place in the hall of fame. Those dance moves have been vastly imitated, with due acknowledgement by Amitabh Bachchan and Govinda.

However, Bhagwan’s attempt to encash the Albela mania, was in vain. Two near clones Jhamela and LaBela couldn’t recaputure the 'Shola jo bhadke magic.

An upper-crust bungalow, 16 Chevrolets and a custom-made Impala were sold to repay debts. Downing another rum, he admitted, “It was all my fault. I had a weakness for wine, women and horse racing. So here I am, today, waiting for the end to come.”

Bhagwan Dada, at the height of his career, was an unlikely hero, his appeal banking essentially on his dancing skills and deadpan comedy.

We talked some more. He flashbacked to the studio sets of 'Jung-e-Azadi' (1942). In the course of filming a scene, he had slapped Lalita Pawar that she suffered from facial paralysis and a serious eye injury.

“Maybe Lalita bai forgave me because that squint became her trademark,” he said exp­r­e­s­sionessly. “At times, she wo­u­ld hide them behind a pair of spectacles.” Perhaps that’s wh­e­re his distaste for eyewear in­t­ensified. “Come on, take your specs off,” he commanded to­wards the end of our conversation. “I want to see your eyes.”

That was the last and only time, I saw 'Bhagwan Dada'. News is that the biopic will end at a point showing the release of 'Albela'. Just as well perhaps. No one likes a melancholic ending. Neither did he disclose self-pity. I-am-what-I-am, was his attitude.

And so that afternoon, the in­t­erview ended with Bhagwan Dada waving me off with the li­nes, “Chashmish, come see me again. But next time, don’t br­ing a bottle of rum. Bring two!”