A beacon for women browbeaten and beleaguered in film after film, even in commercial jaunts, her characters vocalised their torment. Off-screen too she was a crusader for women empowerment. Yet she left her admirers stumped with her personal trajectory. Someone who spelt freedom became a captive of choices.
And when she just about gave birth to a ‘dream’ she’d nurtured forever, the curtains prematurely fell. Unlived desires, unrealised plans, unspoken lament… Smita Patil remains unfinished business… leaving behind an oeuvre, which is stellar but still incomplete…
Close friend and filmmaker Aruna Raje, who was privy to the private world of the actress, reveals unknown facets of the trailblazer in an exclusive interview:
Smita and you shared uncanny similarities…
We shared a strange soul connection, like soulmates, though I was nine years older than her. Funnily enough, there were many common factors in our backgrounds. We were both born on Laxmi Road, Pune. We shared the same surname Patil and the same birthday – October 17. Numerically, that adds to numeral 8 – a number that mystically suggests extreme highs and lows, which we both went through in life. Also, the occurrence of the numbers 8 and 4 in our lives consistently. She left us on the 13
th of December, which again adds up to 4.
We were both dusky. My mother Puttamma, universally known as Mummy Patil in Karnataka, and Smita’s mother Vidyatai, were rock solid women, who stood for women empowerment. Our fathers were both freedom fighters and involved in politics. Both were ministers. My father was part of the Moraraji Desai ministry in the old Bombay State and later in Karnataka. Smita’s father (Shivaji Rao Patil) was a minster in Maharashtra.
What forged the friendship between you two?
We met for the first time when Arun Khopkar, who was assisting us during ‘Shaque’ (the 1976 film was directed by Aruna and ex-husband Vikas Desai), brought Smita home. She was a newsreader on Doordarshan then. He wanted to cast her in his diploma film at the FTII and wanted our opinion. Of course, Smita and I connected right away. Our friendship grew over time.
I believe it was our love of freedom that brought us together. As also a passion – for cinema, for life. The other commonality between Smita and me was that we cherished the same dream. As a very young girl, my desire was to become a mother with lots of children and a happy family. Smita nurtured the same middle-class dream, though well into her adult life.
We both did not want to compromise on the person we loved. Where I was concerned, I’d told my mother that I wouldn’t marry anyone else but Vikas. And if she didn’t approve, I wasn’t going to marry anyone else. But in Smita’s case there was no approval going to be forthcoming from her mother as Raj Babbar was a married man. Smita took the decision of being with him any which way as Raj had promised her marriage.
How much did her performances draw from her emotional authenticity?
Smita was stunning in the way she looked. But I wonder if she was even aware of it. She never preened herself in the mirror trying to look pretty. Off camera, she was just like us, normal! Her hair would be casually tied in a knot. We were both authentic and brutally honest and demanding when it came to ourselves. I guess, that was also the source of our suffering to a great extent. In her case, that same authenticity translated on the screen, hitting some high emotional moments in the characters she played. She had a complex character in ‘Situm’ (1992) and we walked the film together. She’d be emoting in front of the camera, while I’d be behind it. An invisible thread would be connecting us. When I called ‘cut’, we would both be crying.
She betrayed the same spontaneity as a person too…
Smita had a crazy side too. She loved fast driving. One evening, after we’d packed up the shooting of ‘Situm’, she just grabbed my hand saying, ‘Let’s go’. She ripped through the streets of Pune until we reached the hotel where we were staying. There was no vacant parking. On spotting a motorcycle, we nodded to each other in mutual agreement and physically lifted the heavy motor cycle and put it aside. She coolly parked the car there.
In many ways, she was a no-nonsense person. It’s common knowledge that during outdoor shootings, actors, directors, sometimes even producers make a play for the female actors and knock on their doors late at night after the shoot. When a well-known star tried to make a play for her, Smita successfully fobbed him off and put him in his place.
Some memories that made her a special friend…
Once during the shooting of ‘Situm’, I fell ill. The doctor, who came to attend to me was so star-struck, that he kept talking to her. She fired him for not attending to his patient and insisted that he give full attention to me.
After my daughter passed away in 1983 due to cancer and my marriage was in shambles, I’d decided not to consent to the divorce my husband wanted. I was vulnerable and unhappy. I didn’t want to be in town during my birthday and wanted to spend time alone. I went off to Goa and stayed at the Taj. The guest next door, realizing I was alone, began harassing me. He kept knocking on the door all night and threatened to come into my room. When I told Smita about it, she was so upset, she made Raj call up the hotel’s management and got him thrown out from there.
If Smita loved you, she loved you totally. I have such fond memories of her visiting us frequently to cheer up my nine-year-old daughter, who was terminally ill. Smita would impersonate Donald Duck and other comic characters to humour her. They would both giggle endlessly. In fact, after Smita passed way, I’d dream of both of them giggling away. It made me feel they were okay together… wherever they were.
Considering that Smita Patil was such a strong personality why did her personal life apparently turn so complicated?
Regarding her personal life, so much water has flown under the bridge, it’s futile to comment on what went wrong. Smita’s mother Vidyatai, whom I also called Maa, was distraught that Smita had got into a relationship with a married man. It went against her values. Maa was upset that I could accept such a thing because I was the forsaken abandoned wife in my story while Smita was the ‘other woman’ in her story. I would tell Maa repeatedly that Smita was suffering too – it was not easy for her. Nobody likes to be the ‘other woman’.
Smita went this far because Raj had promised that he would take a divorce and marry her – all above board and legitimate. But that was not to be. Moreover, Smita was extremely possessive and sensitive. There was a rawness, a vulnerability in her. She could get hurt easily. If you triggered her, she had a fiery temper and colourful language (smiles) too. She could give back as good as she got.
Motherhood must have been a dream come true for her…
Smita was extremely happy, when she learnt she was pregnant. She was ecstatic when a ‘godhbharai’ ceremony was organised for her by my mother, who came down especially from Bangalore. Vidyatai was happy too for her daughter but she wasn’t quite into such things. My mother had brought along a green and crimson Kanjeevaram saree with a gold border for Smita. She loved it. I remember her joy knew no bounds that day.
Though things were difficult for her, she knew she had to bring Prateik into this world with as much joy as she could muster. There was no going back, only forward. She had made some decisions regarding her life, to move on, to end her misery and bring up Prateik in a healthy way. But time was not on her side.
Incidentally, Smita was the original choice to play Takubai in my film ‘Rihaee’ (1988), later essayed by Hema Malini. She was looking forward to doing it. She wanted to be a director and insisted that she would assist me in ‘Rihaee’ to learn the ropes. We had planned how we were going to look after Prateik outdoors. Smita was clear about charting her own path and beginning anew. But she never got the chance. She went before that.
Can you recall her last days?
Smita gave birth to Prateik on 28 November, 1986. But within two weeks, she developed a complication and the infection resulted in high fever. I was in touch with her that time. I wonder if she had a death wish. I had tried ending my life. Smita would not do that. But she was depressed. Maybe, she just wished it to end. It was around 3 am on that fateful December night when Maa’s driver came to my house and told me that Smita was critical and had been shifted to Jaslok Hospital. My house was just two minutes away on Pedder Road. I quickly went and joined Maa at the hospital. I saw Smita in a condition that I cannot describe. I knew she had left us forever and nothing would bring her back. Maa was broken but she had to take charge of herself for the sake of new-born Prateik.
In retrospect, what could have worked against her?
After her demise, Maa gave me Smita’s letters and notes for safe keeping and to check what was of use and what was not. Later, I handed them to Smita’s sister Anita. Glancing through them, I realised they were personal notes. She was deeply, madly in love with Raj, almost to the point of obsession. She had even observed the Karwa Chauth vrat for Raj even though she was seven-months pregnant and was advised against it.
In retrospect, Smita had fallen in love with Raj. She had made a choice to be with him. He had not forced himself on her and had courted her relentlessly. Her undoing was losing herself in love. Love is not only blind; it can be self-destructive like in the case of Devdas. It will run its course. It was hard for Smita because her heart and mind were in conflict. She was also very very alone. I was the only one who remained in touch with her because her friends and family had been distanced from her. I was her bouncing board and she would share the bitter parts, the hard parts with me.
Finally, how would you like to remember her?
I would like to end this chat with warm reminiscences of Smita. She captured the hearts of not only India but of many people across the globe. She needs to be remembered as an artiste of high calibre, a dynamic person, a free spirit, who came into our lives only to go away… leaving everlasting memories.
