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By:

Quaid Najmi

4 January 2025 at 3:26:24 pm

Curtains down on legendary actress Vijaya Mehta

She mentored actors like Nana Patekar, Anupam Kher Mumbai: The curtains fell for the last time on the Grand Dame of acting, Vijaya Mehta - one of India’s most acclaimed actresses, director, producer, writer and visionary – whose immense contributions to mainstream and parallel cinema and theatre influenced generations of actors and filmmakers. The National Award-winning actress passed away at her Mumbai residence late on Tuesday at 91. Her last rites were performed at the Shipdham...

Curtains down on legendary actress Vijaya Mehta

She mentored actors like Nana Patekar, Anupam Kher Mumbai: The curtains fell for the last time on the Grand Dame of acting, Vijaya Mehta - one of India’s most acclaimed actresses, director, producer, writer and visionary – whose immense contributions to mainstream and parallel cinema and theatre influenced generations of actors and filmmakers. The National Award-winning actress passed away at her Mumbai residence late on Tuesday at 91. Her last rites were performed at the Shipdham Crematorium in Goregaon east this afternoon in the presence of her family, a large number of film personalities and her admirers. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, Congress Leaders of Opposition Rahul Gandhi and Mallikarjun Kharge, CM Devendra Fadnavis and many other dignitaries paid rich tributes to Vijaya Mehta. Acting Institution Considered an institution in acting in her own right, Vijaya Mehta was a quiet but stern perfectionist who mentored some of the top actors like Nana Patekar, Anupam Kher, Neena Kulkarni and many others over decades. Fondly addressed as ‘Bai’ by her students and upcoming actors, Vijaya Mehta seamlessly combined intellectual rigours of a scholar and a sensitive artist, firmly believing that acting was not about applause but of truth, discipline and honesty before the audiences. Belonging to a bygone era when plays served as a vehicle to educate, provoke and transform society through stories, and over six decades, she came to be regarded as the ‘conscience keeper’ of serious theatre, long before ‘experimental theatre’ became a vogue. She constantly breathed new life into Marathi theatre in different ways that influenced new actors, directors and earned public approval. Born in Baroda State in 1934 at Vijaya Jaywant, she came to Mumbai at a young age and graduated from the University of Mumbai, with acting remaining her passion during her college days. She performed as Desdemona in a production of William Shakespeare’s 1604 classic play, “Othello” and her acting caught the eye of the renowned theatre guru, Ebrahim Alkazi, who trained and guided her. Rangayan Launched In 1960, Vijaya Mehta, along with other stalwarts like Adi Marzban, Vijay Tendulkar, Dr Shriram Lagoo and Arvind Deshpande, founded a theatre group, Rangayan. Meanwhile, in the mid-1950s she married Harin Khote, the son of the veteran actress Durga Khote, but after his sudden passing in 1964, she married theatre personality Farrokh Mehta a few years later. Jostling for space with the prosperous commercial theatre, over the years, it went onto produce many pioneering and influential plays earning itself a formidable reputation in ‘parallel theatre’ with bold themes, grandiose productions and exemplary performances that catapulted Marathi theatre to national repute. Several of her productions and directions became legendary – Ek Shunya Bajirao, Ajab Nyay Vartulacha, Hayavadana, Mudrarakshasa, Shakuntal, and Hamidabaichi Kothi, Mahasagar, Chairs – besides adaptation of several international classics, and each bearing her signature of meticulous preparations, sensitive performances and artistic excellence from all. Theatre to Cinema The full-house responses to her productions drew the attention of cinema and she ventured both in front of and behind the camera, in various capacities. Vijaya Mehta’s films ‘Rao Saheb’ (1986) for which she won the National Award for Supporting Actress that year, and ‘Pestonjee’ (1988) rank among the landmarks of parallel cinema for their subtle story-telling along with deep characterisation. As an actor, she gave some memorable performances in the much-applauded Govind Nihalani’s film ‘Kalyug’ (1981), “Mohan Joshi Hazir Ho!”, “Akriet”, “The Mist”, and a Mahesh Eklunchwar’s famed play “Wada Chirebandi” (1985), which she made into a television film, “Haveli Buland Thi” (1987). She also acted in the film “Party” (1984), also penned by Mahesh Eklunchwar. Over the years, she was decorated with many honours and awards, including the Padma Shri, Padma Bhushan, the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award, Sangeet Natak Akademi Fellowship, Kalidas Samman, Maharashtra’s highest cultural honours and numerous lifetime achievement awards. Vijaya Mehta: A taskmaster Film industry circles credit Vijaya Mehta not only for her own achievements, but also shaping generations of actors and film-makers to make them masters in the trade. Some of those whose skills she honed include: Nana Patekar, Anupam Kher, Neena Kulkarni, Mohan Agashe, Bharti Achrekar, Sonali Kulkarni, and in his early years, even Akshay Kumar benefited from her guidance and even from her autobiography, “Zimma: A Memoir” (2012). As news of her passing spread today, her disciples, Bollywood and Marathi film industry actors and legions of fans poured their emotions for Vijaya Mehta today on social media.

The Soul of Bharat on the Big Screen

Mumbai: April 4, 2025, my heart feels heavier than it ever has. The news hit me like a monsoon storm—Manoj Kumar, the towering legend of Bollywood, the man who painted patriotism across our screens, is no more. At 87, he slipped away at Mumbai’s Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital, leaving behind a reel of memories that flicker in my mind like a projector that won’t stop spinning. As a movie fan who grew up with his films, I’m not just mourning an actor—I’m grieving the loss of a piece of my soul, a piece of India itself. They called him "Bharat Kumar," and oh, how he earned that name.


I remember the first time I saw ‘Upkar’ (1967). I was a kid, sprawled on the living room floor, eyes glued to our old TV. Manoj ji played Bharat, the farmer who gave everything—his dreams, his love—for his country’s soil. That song, “Mere Desh Ki Dharti,” wasn’t just a tune; it was a heartbeat, pulsing with pride and sacrifice. I’d hum it walking to school, feeling like I, too, could be that noble, that selfless. He won a National Film Award for that one, and rightly so—it wasn’t acting; it was living.

Then there was ‘Shaheed’ (1965), where he brought Bhagat Singh back to life. I’d sit there, popcorn forgotten, as he roared defiance against the British, his eyes blazing with a fire that could’ve lit up the darkest colonial night. It wasn’t just a film—it was a revolution on celluloid, a call to remember the blood that bought our freedom. Manoj ji didn’t just play the martyr; he became him, and every time I watch it, I feel that lump in my throat, that sting in my eyes. It’s no wonder it snagged three National Awards—his passion was a gift to us all.


Oh, and ‘Purab Aur Paschim’ (1970)—how do I even begin? He directed and starred as Bharat again, this time wrestling with the clash of East and West, showing us the beauty of our roots while the world tried to pull us away. I’d laugh at Saira Banu’s antics, then choke up when Manoj ji stood tall, singing “Hai Preet Jahan Ki Reet Sada.” It was a blockbuster, sure, but it was more—it was a love letter to India, penned in his signature hand-over-face style. That move, mocked by some, was his shield, his quiet strength, and I adored it.

And who could forget ‘Roti Kapda Aur Makaan’ (1974)? He directed and starred as Bharat—again, because who else could?—tackling poverty, injustice, and the gut-wrenching struggle for the basics of life. I’d watch, fists clenched, as he fought for the everyman, his voice cracking with raw emotion. It wasn’t just a movie; it was a mirror to our society, a cry for change. Seven Filmfare Awards across his career, they say, but this one felt like it carried them all—his heart bled through every frame.


Then there’s ‘Kranti’ (1981), the epic that had me on the edge of my seat. Manoj ji as the freedom fighter, leading Dilip Kumar and Hema Malini through a storm of rebellion—it was grand, it was gritty, it was everything Bollywood could be. “Zindagi Ki Na Toote Ladi” still echoes in my ears, a reminder of the battles he fought on screen, battles that felt so real I’d dream of joining the fight. He didn’t just direct that film; he sculpted a monument to resilience, and I’d cheer like a fool every time he outsmarted the British.


As I sit here, flipping through these memories, I can’t help but feel cheated. Manoj Kumar wasn’t just an actor or director—he was family. Born Harikrishan Goswami in 1937, he carried the Partition’s scars from Abbottabad to Delhi, turning pain into purpose. He gave us over 50 films in a career spanning four decades, snagging the Padma Shri in 1992 and the Dadasaheb Phalke Award in 2015—honors that felt too small for a man who gave India its cinematic soul. His last role in ‘Jai Hind’ (1999) might’ve flopped, but it didn’t dim his light in my eyes.


I’d read how he met Bhagat Singh’s mother before ‘Shaheed’, seeking her blessing—can you imagine the weight of that? Or how PM Lal Bahadur Shastri urged him to make ‘Upkar’ after the 1965 war, handing him “Jai Jawan Jai Kisan” like a sacred torch? That’s who he was—a man who didn’t just entertain but carried a nation’s dreams.


Manoj ji, you weren’t just “Bharat Kumar” to me—you were the uncle who taught me pride, the friend who shared my anger, the poet who sang my hopes. Your films weren’t movies; they were my childhood, my rebellion, my tears. I’ll miss you like I miss the India you dreamed of—flawed, fierce, and forever ours. Rest in peace, sir. Om Shanti.

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