Dr Rajkumar is no more. And in the last few hours, at least a dozen people have pinged me on instant messengers or called to tell me this. Though in the middle of a chaotic day at work in Mumbai, and though far removed from everything that is Bangalore, I find myself getting increasingly upset.
More so, because there is no one here who would comprehend, much less empathise, why it should affect someone who hasn’t so much as watched a Kannada film in years. And much to the bewilderment and amusement of my friends and colleagues who cannot fathom why a film star’s death should send an entire state reeling, I find myself wishing I was back home, where the grief will be tangible, widespread and not unusual.
As someone who grew up in the '80s, the first screen idol I came to recognise and fall in love with was Rajkumar, when my peers in Hindi speaking states were perhaps discovering the magic of Amitabh Bachchan. I recall the first film I was ever allowed to watch in a theatre was Shravana Banthu, in 1984, obviously starring the legend.
I presume parents didn’t feel threatened or embarrassed to allow children to watch a Rajkumar starrer; they didn’t have to worry about obscenity, gore or innuendos. His films were clean “family entertainers”, reinforcing old world values such as love, faith, valour, patriotism, integrity and responsibility. And romance, though not appropriate, was still permissible. Though I remember nothing of this particular film, what I do remember is the strapping leading man, who would become an active part of my consciousness, till I was old enough to brand Kannada films “uncool”.
Minus any research, I am probably not equipped to write a suitable elegy for the man who is an institution in Karnataka. All I do know is that he was born in the late 20s, made his acting debut on stage with Gubbi Veeranna’s theatre company as a child artiste and went on to make his screen debut in the early 1950s with Bedara Kannappa. He acted in over 200 films, before becoming a producer of films starring his three sons, who I’d rather not write about. His award and accolades must be numerous, though I can’t name any.
Back in Bangalore, offices, schools and shops will be closed by now and will almost certainly stay shut tomorrow. The streets will be swarming with grieving fans, while people will stay indoors and tune in to local news channels. I can only imagine the crowds that would have congregated near Dr Raj’s Sadashivnagar residence. And over the next few weeks, papers will be rife with adjective-ridden articles about the man who has made a place in the collective consciousness of Kannadigas and contributed immeasurably to the growth of the Kannada film industry.
But as an absentee fan, I mourn his death in Mumbai, silently but surely.
(Hema R Prasad is a Producer with Yahoo! India)
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