Khalid Mohamed looks back in affection at the tumultuous life and unmatched acting career of Vyjayanthimala Bali, now aged 93, often justly described as ‘India’s first Indian superheroine.’

A nostalgic and deeply personal tribute by Khalid Mohamed to legendary Bollywood actress Vyjayanthimala Bali, exploring her iconic films, unforgettable dances, relationship with Raj Kapoor, cinematic legacy, political journey, and enduring influence on generations of Indian cinema lovers. 

It’s close to 57 years that she quit film acting, last being seen in the utterly dispensable Gora Aur Kala co-featuring Rajendra Kumar and Rekha. In retrospect, brazenly racist and prejudicial about skin colour – presenting the hero in a dual role, one being pitch-dark complexioned and the other, fair and lovely, the extravaganza tanked.

Vyjayanthimala’s decision to exit the film realm, though, was precipitated after the scandal of her liaison with Raj Kapoor during the substantial part of the filming of Sangam on international locations. Mrs Krishna Raj Kapoor, fed up of his dalliances, had stomped out of the Chembur R.K. cottage, with her children, to stay at the Nataraj Hotel on Marine Drive.

For the R.K. family to return home, a parting of ways with the heroine, became inevitable. On the rebound, in 1968 Vyjayanthimala married Dr Chamanlal Bali, general physician of the R.K. family ironically enough, moved to Ashoka apartments in Malabar Hill, completed her pending films to leave screen acting forever. Eventually, her son Suchindra Bali, born 1976, a law graduate did model and act in a few Tamil and two Hindi films, Varsha, co-featuring Nana Patekar, and Aanch, which remained aborted like Suchin’s film career.

Not a shred of gossip here. Facts have to be accepted as they were. After withdrawing from B-town to a stately old house in the Alwarpet neighbourhood in Chennai, Vyjayanthimala found her calling in frequent classical dance performances on stage. Her husband, Dr Bali, passed away in 1986.

To come to the here and now, lately a fuzzy video reel on social media, showing her in a severely ailing condition, at age 92, and yet performing mudras with hand movements while sitting on a chair, struck me as not only alarming but intrusive. Gratifyingly, the video was removed, never mind if it had gone viral on being posted.

Acknowledged as Bollywood’s first superstar heroine to date, Vyajyanthimala was born in Chennai to businessman M.D. Raman and Vasundhara Devi, a popular actress of Tamil cinema during the 1940s, but was raised and trained in Bharatnatyam at the insistence of her disciplinarian maternal grandmother, Yadugiri Devi.

Vyjayanthimala’s Rise In Hindi Cinema

My own grandmother-cum-educator in movie matters, had a thing about Vyjayanthimala. So, one January afternoon, she’d bundled me up in a ‘topi’, muffler and woollies galore, to catch a re-run of the actress’ Bahar.

A retread of the Tamil-Telugu bilingual Vazhkai and Jeevitham directed by M V Raman, its producer A.V Meiyappan of AVM Productions had planned a remake in Hindi. Vyjayanthimala, its heroine, would repeat her act, marking her entry into Hindi language cinema. She learnt the language from the Hindi Prachar Sabha.

The music score was assigned to lyricist Rajendra Krishen and composer S. D. Burman, whose collaboration yielded the chartbusting Qasoor Aapka (rendered by Kishore Kumar) and Saiyan Dil Mein Aana Re (by Shamshad Begum).

Now, why was grandma obsessing over a re-re-run of this 1950s family drama for the umpteenth time, clapping, sighing, singing along and guffawing? “This Vyjayanthi is the best,” she thumped my head to drum in the superlative. “How she dances, kills with her saucer eyes and those kiss curls on her forehead. She’s so different from the roti surat heroines.”

Grandma also had a parallel yen for the Bahar hero, Karan Dewan (with a toothbrush moustache). And besides him, of course for Dilip Kumar, Dev Anand and Raj Kapoor. She wanted Vyjayanthi to pair up with them, pronto. Maybe granny was just a wannabe casting director. Bahar was followed by the passable Ladki; her ticket to all-time fame was achieved with that trend-setting snake-charmer of a movie Nagin co-featuring Pradeep Kumar.

Its songs, composed by Hemant Kumar, Mann Dole Mera Tan Dole and Mera Dil Yeh Pukare Aaja became anthemic. The theme music, a lore, would draw real snakes into the auditoria of small towns. The ‘been’ for the music was played by Kalyanji who was in the Hemant Kumar orchestra then. He went on to form a long-lasting music director duo with Anandji.

Be that as it may, Vyjayanthimala was in Bombay cinema as its highest-paid heroine to stay on for a lengthy innings. This in an era, when there were formidable actresses, some of them being Meena Kumari, Madhubala, Nutan and Waheeda Rehman.

In the black-and-white films, like most heroines but for Nutan, Vyjayanthimala didn’t excessively depend on make-up. With colour taking over in the ‘60s, the pancake was fortunately kept to the bare minimum.

Clearly, the age group of 13 to 30 today, in the majority, doesn’t go gaga over the mention of her name, but her appeal has captivated at least three generations. I’d place my grandparents, parents and at this moment, the post-Independence born moviegoers of the 1950s like myself, in this privileged V-club.

  

Best Films And Dances Of Vyjayanthimala

No hyperbole that. Vyjayanthimala was at the right place at the right time. After all, the 1950s have been justly acknowledged as the golden years of Hindi cinema, thanks to stories and dialogue of superior quality, pioneering directors and actors who oozed charisma.

Indeed, Vyjayanthimala sparked the trend of South Indian heroines striking gold in Bombay. Think Hema Malini, Rekha, Sridevi and Jaya Prada. Like Vyjayanthimala the other heroines – but for Sridevi -- also made forays into national politics.

Shut up, I can imagine grandma Fayazi hectoring me. Just rave about dear Vyju. Right. Grandma’s favourite possessed that rare quality of alloying dancing skills to a striking screen presence. She was a multi-purpose star, the first go-to heroine if a film required dances as an essential ingredient.

Check out Vyjayanthimala’s Best Dances (and I’m spoilt for choice here): Mann Dole Mera Tan Dole (Nagin), Eena Meena Deeka (Aasha), Bakkad bam bam (Kathputli), Chadh gayo paapi bichhua (Madhumati), O chhaliya re (Gunga Jumna), Budha mil gaya (Sangam), Honthon pe aisi baat (Jewel Thief), Kaise samjhaoon (Suraj), Muqabla hamse na karo (Prince) and not to omit the set pieces of Raj Tilak and Amrapali performed to semi-classical music.

Arguably her best performances were in Devdas, Sadhna, Madhumati, Gunga Jumna, Sangam, Amrapali, Sunghursh and Hatey Bazarey, a remake in Hindi by Tapan Sinha of his own Bengali film.

Through time, she evolved as a dynamic actress, abetted by scripts, and directors who assigned her roles of strong texture. Her Hindustani diction was devoid of an accent. Plus her fluid body language and expressive eyes allowed her to be versatile. Ergo, she was equally at home, incarnating village belles, courtesans and urban sophisticates.

Not the sort to suffer arbitrariness gladly, Vyjayanthimala was the first awardee to refuse the Filmfare trophy. Her contention: she was as much of a heroine in the role of Chandramukhi, as Suchitra Sen was as Paro in Bimal Roy’s Devdas. A Supporting Actress statuette, no thank you. Not the sort to be cussedly rigid either, eventually she did accept the Filmfare Best Actress Awards for Sadhna, Gunga Jumna and Sangam.

Not surprisingly, she struck up tremendous chemistry with Dilip Kumar (sole exception: during the shoot of Sunghursh since they weren’t on talking terms). And with Raj Kapoor in a weepie titled Nazrana and then of course Sangam with which she became RK’s archetypal woman in white and his grand amour after Nargis. This even though every move of hers had been monitored for decades by a vigilante-like grandmother Yadugiri Devi.

Alas, Vyjayanthimala’s memoir, Bonding (2007), is bereft of frank speak vis-à-vis her tempestuous liaisons with Dilip Kumar and Raj Kapoor. The claim that the showman was “just a friend” was hotly rebutted by Rishi Kapoor in his autobiography Khullam Khulla (2017).

The break-up with Raj Kapoor was a foregone conclusion, which meant nixing Sapno Ka Saudagar with RK, thus facilitating the entry of her replacement Hema Malini.

Of her last stock of films, Chhoti Si Mulaqat with Uttam Kumar, Saathi, Duniya, Pyar Hi Pyar and Ganwaar, none of them showed the actress off at her best. She seemed to be doing a competent, professional job and that’s it.

Two years after marriage, she quit movie nicotine, became an avid golfer and famously thumbed down lucrative offers for grey-haired roles in Gulzar’s Aandhi, Yash Chopra’s Deewar and Trishul, Manoj Kumar’s Kranti, and the Tamil movie Mappillai in which she was to play Rajinikanth’s Cruella de Vil-style mother-in-law.

  

Vyjayanthimala’s Political Journey And Legacy

She became a Congress member of the Lok Sabha from 1984 until 1991 and of the Rajya Sabha from 1993 until 1999. Tables in politics are never steady though. Subsequently, she became a member of the Bharatiya Janata Party, though she was elected to the parliament as a member of the Indian National Congress.

I met Vyjayanthimala Bali, when she was a Congress M.P. in Delhi, vis-a-vis a video interview for the Asha Parekh-helmed Doordarshan TV serial Baaje Payal on Bollywood dances. She wouldn’t go beyond stating that it was all wonderful while it lasted. Rather, she was more concerned that the crew partake of the high tea served by her Jeeves at her government-allotted bungalow, she packed up the leftovers for us.

Grandma had one look at my photograph clicked with her and groused, “You’re looking like an ullu. Why didn’t you wear a suit?”

The second occasion was in New Delhi too. Agenda: to request her to accept the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award in 1996. Cakes, sandwiches again, and a “Yes, sure. But don’t ask me to perform a dance at your function.”

This time I’d worn a suit but no photograph was clicked. Stuttered I, “Vyjayathiji, my grandma was the biggest fan of yours….” Before I could complete the sentence, she smiled ruefully, “Who remembers me? I suppose only old people do nowadays. Please thank her.” 

Looking Back, History Revisited, Then And Now, Memory And Meaning, Archival Stories, Past In Perspective, Revisiting Moments, Cultural History, Lessons From The Past,