Rishi Kapoor: A Complicated Person But A Pure Entertainer

By Nisma Chauhan

My brother and I would spend time watching old Bollywood movies on our TV set at home, much to our mother’s disapproval. She would frown upon two kids tuning in on channels, such as, Zee Cinema or Star Gold, famous for airing old Bollywood movies, and watching 70s heroes they barely knew about.

We were nine and 10. Born at a time when the Khans were making a mark. But we loved watching 70s classics, repeating dialogues from Sholay or Deewar and dancing to melodies of Satte Pe Satta and Amar Akbar Anthony.

We especially loved Amar Akbar Anthony. A story about three brothers each raised in different religious households. As Muslim kids, we found ourselves rooting for Amar played by Rishi Kapoor. His comic timings and innocence entertained two kids who devoured movies for pure entertainment.

And that is what Kapoor gave us with every movie we watched him in.

I remember wearing my mother’s dupatta and dancing on ‘Parda Hai Parda’ from the 1977 classic. The song was, what we now call ‘catchy’, with lyrics that even a nine-year-old could sing.

As the years passed and the millennia began, I found myself dancing to many of his songs. It was the time of remixes. From ‘Tu Tu Hai Wahi’ (Yeh Vaada Raha) to ‘Om Shanti Om’ (Om Shanti Om), almost every DJ in India was releasing remixes of old Bollywood songs, especially those of the 70s era.

And if not remixes then medley’s in movies like Mujhse Dosti Karoge!, starring Kareena Kapoor-Khan, Hrithik Roshan and Rani Mukherji, became a part of every wedding I attended. I would sing ‘Bachna Ae Haseeno’ (Hum Kisise Kum Naheen) and ‘Yeh Galiyan Yeh Chaubara’ (Prem Rog), at dholkis into the wee hours of the night.

But as I grew older, understanding the world around me better, Kapoor did not.

He often found himself in the news for all the wrong reasons, either fat-shaming young actresses on Twitter or dismissing the Indian #MeToo movement. By that time there were also rumors of his drinking problem that led to physical abuse on wife Neetu Singh back in 1997.

Kapoor soon seemed the kind of actor who was more complex than the roles he chose, far away from the chocolate boy image he portrayed on-screen. I would often joke about him being a typical desi uncle – loud, misogynist and entitled.

And in one of his movies, Kapoor did play the role of a desi uncle but this one was kind, outspoken and wise. It was in Imtiaz Ali’s Love Aaj Kal (2009) where Kapoor meticulously essayed the role of an old Veer Singh, advising Jai (Saif Ali Khan) on love, life and companionship.

The movie holds a special place in my heart with its song ‘Yeh Dooiryan’ almost always playing in the background in my life. And that is where I have found Kapoor to be.

Despite all his complicatedness, today, as a woman in my late 20s, I find myself humming his tunes almost as second nature. Saying ‘kya tum ne kabhi kissi se pyaar kiya,’ every time I hear the word ‘pyaar’ or randomly singing ‘main shayar toh nahi’ every time I manage to rhyme a sentence.

Kapoor’s cinematic charisma lingers around and provides pure entertainment even on dull days, and even when he is no more. Rishi Kapoor died on April 30 in Mumbai of cancer.

But as I sit at home playing board games with the family, we find ourselves singing his songs, entertaining ourselves at a time when the world outside has been shut.