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Bharati Dubey

17 May 2026 at 7:08:10 am

53 Years of Bobby: The Raj Kapoor Romance That Changed Hindi Cinema

The 1973 classic captured a changing India, from youthful romance and new fashions to a new musical and cinematic language. By the early 1970s, Raj Kapoor had reached a curious point in his career. He was one of Hindi cinema’s most recognisable filmmakers, an institution whose name was inseparable from films such as Awaara, Shree 420 and Sangam. Yet his most ambitious film, Mera Naam Joker, had proved a commercial disappointment. Kapoor, who had spent decades building a distinctive cinematic...

53 Years of Bobby: The Raj Kapoor Romance That Changed Hindi Cinema

The 1973 classic captured a changing India, from youthful romance and new fashions to a new musical and cinematic language. By the early 1970s, Raj Kapoor had reached a curious point in his career. He was one of Hindi cinema’s most recognisable filmmakers, an institution whose name was inseparable from films such as Awaara, Shree 420 and Sangam. Yet his most ambitious film, Mera Naam Joker, had proved a commercial disappointment. Kapoor, who had spent decades building a distinctive cinematic universe around the tramp, the dreamer and the socially conscious romantic, now had to decide what he would do next. The answer was Bobby. Released in 1973, the film told a story of a Hindu boy, a Christian girl, parental opposition, youthful rebellion and an irresistible collection of songs. But beneath that familiar romantic framework was a remarkably well-timed film. India was changing, its young people were acquiring a new cultural confidence, and Hindi cinema was beginning to recognise that romance did not necessarily have to be filtered through the sensibilities of the older generation. Film historian Dilip Thakur’s recollections of the making of Bobby reveal just how many unusual circumstances came together to create the phenomenon. The Mukesh Connection Raj Kapoor’s films had long enjoyed an almost legendary musical association with Shankar–Jaikishan. Their partnership had helped define the sound of some of his most celebrated films, making the prospect of another music director composing for a major Raj Kapoor production particularly significant. According to Thakur, the story began with playback singer Mukesh. Mukesh informed Laxmikant that Raj Kapoor was planning to offer his next film to Laxmikant–Pyarelal. For the composers, this was an important opportunity. Working with Raj Kapoor meant entering a musical tradition that had been extraordinarily successful for years. There was, however, an amusing misunderstanding at the beginning. Neither Laxmikant–Pyarelal nor lyricist Anand Bakshi initially understood what the title Bobby referred to. Since Raj Kapoor was making a film with his son Rishi Kapoor, they assumed that Bobby was the name of the young male protagonist. They eventually discovered that Bobby was, in fact, the heroine. The misunderstanding now seems almost quaint, particularly because Dimple Kapadia would come to define the title character so completely that it is difficult to imagine Bobby without her. The film’s music became one of its greatest strengths. Anand Bakshi, Inderjeet Singh Tulsi and Vitthalbhai Patel contributed the lyrics, while Laxmikant–Pyarelal gave the film a sound that was considerably different from the musical identity audiences associated with Raj Kapoor’s earlier work. Songs such as Hum Tum Ek Kamre Mein Band Ho, Jhoot Bole Kauwa Kaate and Ae Ae Ae Phansa became enormously popular. More importantly, the music sounded young. It belonged to a generation that was increasingly impatient with the emotional vocabulary of its parents. Complex Heroine If Bobby was about youthful romance, its heroine was at the centre of an extraordinary real-life story of her own. Dimple Kapadia was only a teenager when she was cast opposite Rishi Kapoor. She was also making her debut at a time when the Hindi film industry was accustomed to producing heroines through a rather more conventional system of grooming and promotion. But even before Bobby reached theatres, her personal life had become the subject of enormous attention. Dimple married Rajesh Khanna in March 1973, while Bobby was still in production. Thakur recalls that she was pregnant during the filming of some sequences. This presented practical difficulties. There were scenes involving Prem Chopra, whose introduction - “Prem naam hai mera, Prem Chopra” - would itself become one of Hindi cinema’s most enduring pieces of popular dialogue. There were also sequences in which Dimple had to run, requiring the production to take additional care during filming. Her marriage produced another kind of uncertainty. Would audiences accept a married actress as the heroine of a youthful romance? Dimple’s screen presence was fresh, self-assured and strikingly contemporary. She seemed to belong to the generation the film was portraying. Raj Kapoor understood that cinema did not merely reflect popular culture but could manufacture it. Bobby did that in spades as Rishi Kapoor’s jackets, bell-bottom trousers and overall appearance became objects of imitation. The scooter associated with the film also acquired a fashionable aura. Young men wanted to look like Rishi Kapoor; young women wanted to capture something of Dimple’s appearance. Changing Mores The film arrived at a moment when India’s urban youth was becoming increasingly conscious of fashion, music and individual identity. Western influences were visible, but they were being absorbed into an unmistakably Indian popular culture. Bobby gave that sensibility a cinematic form. This was one reason the film travelled so far beyond the cinema hall. Its songs could be heard everywhere, its fashions were copied in everyday life, and its characters became reference points for an entire generation. For Thakur, Mumbai’s Metro cinema remains closely associated with Bobby. The film premiered at Metro, then a celebrated single-screen theatre and one of the city's important cinematic landmarks. The theatre would later be transformed into a multiplex, but Thakur remembers its earlier incarnation, including the ground-floor showcases where posters and memorabilia from notable films were displayed. Among them was a Bobby poster. Such displays may seem modest today, but they captured something important about the relationship between the single-screen cinema and its audience. A major Hindi film was not simply consumed for two or three hours. It occupied the public imagination. People waited outside theatres. They bought records. They returned to see the film again.Bobby was one of those rare films that escaped the boundaries of its own running time. Raj Kapoor had always been fascinated by youth, innocence and romance. But Bobby allowed him to approach those themes from a different vantage point. Dev Anand and Rajesh Khanna had already demonstrated the enormous commercial power of the romantic hero. Yet Raj Kapoor was attempting to understand a younger generation that was beginning to speak in a different cultural language. The most obvious example was Hum Tum Ek Kamre Mein Band Ho. The song’s playful suggestion of romantic intimacy was unusually open for mainstream Hindi cinema of the period. It did not depict sexuality explicitly, but it acknowledged desire and youthful intimacy with a frankness that would have been difficult to imagine in many earlier mainstream romances. The lovers of Bobby did not merely wait for their parents to approve. They wanted to make their own choices. Their conflict with the older generation therefore had a distinctly modern quality. Raj Kapoor, despite being from an earlier generation, understood this instinct remarkably well. Striking Transformation The transformation becomes even more striking when Bobby is viewed against Mera Naam Joker. The latter was an enormous, sprawling meditation on Raj Kapoor’s own life and philosophy. Bobby, by contrast, was younger, faster and more commercially accessible. Thakur recalls the recollections of writer Vasant Sathe, who spoke about discussions concerning Raj Kapoor’s next film after Mera Naam Joker. The question was what Kapoor should attempt next. The answer was to look away from himself and towards the young. Thakur recalls that Sathe had many stories about Raj Kapoor and V. Shantaram, filmmakers he greatly admired. The plot of Bobby was hardly revolutionary. What was revolutionary was its timing. India in the early 1970s was not the India of Awaara or Shree 420. Bobby responded to this change. Its extraordinary success turned Rishi Kapoor into a major star and made Dimple Kapadia an instant screen sensation. It gave Laxmikant–Pyarelal an important association with Raj Kapoor and produced songs that would outlive the film itself. It also demonstrated the extraordinary commercial possibilities of youth-oriented romance. Importantly, it showed that Raj Kapoor could reinvent himself without abandoning the emotional instincts that had defined his cinema. It is the story of a filmmaker who recognised that his audience was changing and changed with it. (The writer is a journalist and film critic. Views personal.)

Selective Outrage

May 9, 2025
2 min read

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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