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Salaam Bombay: Rekha 1976 Interview Moments of warmth came just as spontaneously, when you least expected them. One afternoon, I walked into Ranjit Studio at Dadar and spotted an overweight Rekha with bleached eyebrows and in a green puff-sleeved kaftan talking to somebody near the reception. She was inquiring where the phone was....Even though I was visiting the studio specifically to interview Rekha, I couldn’t get myself to approach her — at least not in public. Something told me that the timing wasn’t appropriate. She looked preoccupied. In her absence, somehow, I felt more confident knocking on her make-up room door. Her hairdresser, Sheila let me in. A warm, elderly, Chinese woman, she offered me tea and said that madam would be back soon. By the time Rekha returned a rapport had been established between the hairdresser and me. The truth was that within the privacy of her make-up room, I could accept her rejection but not in front of an audience. The vanity of film journalists,Shabana Azmi once remarked, depends on how a star treats them in public, but very few acknowledge this! Ten minutes later, Rekha returned to the room, chirpy and bouncy. She had one look at me and said, ‘Weren’t you outside a little while ago?’ I nodded. ‘I have to do my make-up and my hair,’ she said after a pause. ‘Will you wait?’ For the next forty-five minutes I sat glued to my chair. I watched the pinks and the blues being applied smoothly and expertly on her face. The short hair getting pinned up, the long wig being attached. A couple of braids and finally it was all coiled into a big round bun. I watched as the fingers, ears, nose were adorned with rings. This was the first time I was witnessing a star getting ready and both as a journalist and as a woman, I was fascinated. There was a knock on the door. It was Amitabh Bachchan, her co-star in Dulal Guha’s, Do Anjaane. He was on his way to the sets and wanted to check how long she’d take to get ready. Standing at the door he said, ‘Amma...bahut mote ho gaye ho aap.’ Rekha stared at him through the reflection in the mirror and without turning to greet him, continued with her make-up. A while later, after he had left, she retorted, ‘So what if I’m fat? My weight is a sign of prosperity. The producers are free to sign thinner heroines. Why do they run after me?’ Changed into a pink and grey gadhwal saree worn in the Bengali style, she sat decorously. Tiny silver bells adorning her jooda made music as she, from time to time, shook her head while emphasizing a point. ‘You are looking very attractive,’ I complimented her. She smiled, probably unused to compliments from my tribe. Amidst sips of nariyal paani served in a steel glass, she answered my questions. Who is
the best looking man in the industry? Who has
the best voice? Who is
an ideal co-star? Who is
the best human being? What
does Hema Malini have that you don’t? What
else? And? What is
it that you have that Hema Malini doesn’t? The assistant came to say that the shot was ready. It was time for me to say goodbye. |