Forgotten Artists of Early Cinema and The Same Name Confusion (2)
Author: Arunkumar Deshmukh (Copyright)
Publisher: Professor Toofanii Publishers, Lansing, MI USA (2023)
Editor: Professor Surjit Singh
Price: ₹450 plus postage (Paperback) at pothi.com

Have you heard of Indurao Nimbalkar, Zohra Jan, Raja Sandow or Renuka Devi? They are important names from vintage era of our films. Some of them started during the silent era and moved into talkies with great success. Or much later in Shree 420 (1955), who can forget the character of Seth Sonachand Dhrmanand, the stocky man with handlebar moustaches and a mischievous smile? This character was also there in Jaagte Raho (1957). Or, countless others who made our films memorable by their presence, but they have all gone into oblivion.

It is important that this legacy of Hindi cinema of the early years is documented. Our problem is we don’t know where to look for information. This is where the author Arunkumar Deshmukh comes in. He is well known to us and to everyone who blogs on old films and songs. Arun ji is always helpful to anyone seeking information. No one can be a hero to his friend. But I should say, Arun ji’s work is heroic. In fact this is the second volume of the book by same name. Forgotten Artists of Early Cinema and The Same Name Confusion Book 1 has been already reviewed on this blog. The Book 2 covers some additional forgotten artists. “Same name confusion” was there in the first book too. There were artists having the same name, such as several Rajkumaris, Amirbais, Sitaras and so on. Arun ji covers similar ground in Book 2 too, covering some new sets of same names.

After this book you can answer the name of the unforgettable character of Shree 420 at the bottom left corner of the cover picture of the book. Born Mirza Muhammad Beg in Calcutta, Nemo started his acting career with New Theatres. Arun ji mentions an interesting story of how he got to acquire the name Nemo. In one New Theatres film, Mirza Beg was required to play the role of a witch. Apprehensive of controversy of a man playing the role of a witch, Mirza Muhmmad Beg suggested a gender neutral name, ‘Nemo’ (meaning a ‘nobody’ in Latin). This name stuck to him. Among important roles he played was of Dharamdas, the sincere caretaker of Devdas (1935). Arun ji mentions that he was also a national billiards champion when he entered the films.

Probably everyone would be hearing the name of Indurao Nimbalkar for the first time. He was one of the few who started off from the silent era and did well during the talkies. He was invited by V Shantaram to play the role of the sage Vishwamitra in Prabhat’s first talkie film Ayodhya Ka Raja (1932). When Shantaram broke out from Prabhat and set up his own production house, Rajkamal Kalamandir, Nimbalkar played the role of the sage Kanva in its first production Shakuntala (1943). He became a regular fixture in Rajkamal, acting in most of its famous films. In between he played King Dashrath in Prakash Pictures’ Bharat Milap (1942) and Ram Rajya (1943). Anyone who has some interest in film history ought to know about Nimbalkar.

The first part of the book contains similar pen portraits of some 34 artists from the early era, some of them quite well known, such as Kazi Nazrul Islam, Sohrab Modi, AR Kardar etc. His article on Kazi Nazrul Islam has been overtaken by the recent controversy about his legendary song ‘Karar oi lauh kapat’ which has been adapted by AR Rahman for the film Pippa. The family says though they had given permission, they did not know that AR Rahman would distort the song to such an extent.

An interesting portrait is about the yesteryear actor Ranjan (real name Ramnarayan Venkatraman Sarma) who became famous for his sword fighting skills in the film Chandalekha (1948). He was an expert violin player, qualified dancer in Kathak, Kathakali and Bharat Natyam. He was an A grade flyer, a skilled magician, a swimmer of Olympic standards. He did PhD in Physics. He wrote the story of the film Munimji (1955). He must be the most qualified and multi-talented artist in our films. Alas, as the sword fighting was not much in demand, he was reduced to acting in B and C grade films.

The second part of the book contains 20 sets of same name artists. I would mention two which are well-known and create a lot of confusion. Hafiz Khan Mastana and Hafiz Khan are two persons or the same person? We know the former more popularly as the singer Khan Mastana. He came from the reputed Etawa gharana which has given a succession of top sitarists in the country – Vilayat Khan, Imrat Khan, Shujat Khan etc. Hafiz was more interested in film music which would have been a blasphemy for the family. The music director Meer Saheb added Mastana to his name to hide his identity. Arun ji writes he gave music to 29 films, composing 215 songs. He sang 152 songs in 83 films. You remember his famous song Watan ki raah par watan ke naujawan shaheed ho (with Rafi, Shaheed, 1948). At his peak he was filthy rich. He lost everything when bad times came, and was seen begging near Mahim masjid. Hafiz Khan, the music director, has become immortal for the qawwali Aahein na bharin shkawe na kiye kuchh bhi na zuban se kaam liya (Zeenat, 1945). He gave music for some more films, a favourite of mine is Dil ki dhadkan pe ga, umra bhar muskura (Talat Mahmood, Lakeerein, 1954).

You also get to know that the actor Munawwar Sultana and the singer Munawwar Sultana – often a source of confusion – were two different persons.

The third part of the book titled, “Look What I Found” has some unusual stories and their sources. About the ban of Hindi film songs on AIR, Arun ji says the minister of information and broadcasting, BV Keskar, was not the real culprit. He was a purist all right. In July 1952, AIR announced its new policy (i) to reduce the time for film songs, (ii) not to announce the name of the film of the song. As a protest the Indian Motion Pictures Producers’ Association (IMPPA) who were copyright holders of the songs, withdrew the license of AIR to broadcast film songs. That led to a huge surge in the popularity of Radio Ceylon which in turn did a yeomen service to popularise Hindi film songs.

Master Vitthal, the first superstar of silent films, and the hero of the first talkie Alam Ara (1931) got involved in a legal dispute between two producers. The fair judge held an open auction in the court, and thus Imperial Films got the right to have him and Mater Vitthal got to act in the history-making film.

Arun ji predates the first duo music directors several years before Husnlal-Bhagatram. According to him Rewashankar Marwadi-Banne Khan should be considered the first duo music directors who gave music to 12 films, such as Barrister’s Wife (1935), College Girl (1935), Qeemati Aansoo (1935) etc.

Thus, you can see the book is packed with information, mostly unknown. Are there any flaws in the book? This is where I feel sad that Arun ji’s book is marred by trivial errors galore on every page. These are broadly of the following types: (i) random use of capital case when not needed, and small case when capital case was needed, (ii) random use of spaces or absence of spaces between punctuation marks and the text, and (iii) huge spaces between words, such as just two small words in a sentence spread apart. It is clear that no one has proof-read the text before printing. But overall Arun ji deserves compliments for his zest for life (he is above 80) and for bringing out this book. He has enough materials for many books in him and I wish he brings out more.

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