Reviving Immortality

This is dedicated to a person having practically no significance in our glittering world of cinema. I would not claim him to be a great friend of mine too. Late Prabhu Dayal or Prabhuji, was fairly senior to me. In fact on paper Prabhuji is not as some one totally down under kind of guy. He acted in a few films like Hum Dono, CID, and House No 44… and also assisted in direction in early Navketan movies like Tere Ghar Ke Samne, Kala Pani, Gambler, Farar… I am happy to say that if you Google, ‘Prabhu Dayal’ you will not go empty handed. IMDb has a page on him.
Well, I decided to write about Prabhuji, because a five years old incidence got refreshed in my mind suddenly. But before I talk about that incidence itself, I will have to project a long flash-back sequence…
I met Prabhuji in 1974 when I came back from Nepal after shooting of Ishq Ishq Ishq. Soon I became a Navketan person and regularly visited their office in Khira Nagar on S V Road, Santacruz. Prabhuji would also drop in once in while, have cup of tea, make some noise with his old colleagues like Gogi, Vishwa, Sehdev, accountants Raman and Mr. Pisharodi and then leave. Prabhuji's professional association with Navketan was over much before I joined them. Physically he was a very thin and scrawny looking person. He was bald, had a boney face, sunken teeth and a hooked nose. The veins in arms were very visible. He might have been very athletic in his younger days. Always walked in with a lot of energy and spoke in a loud and energetic voice.
Inside his head he carried an amazing collection of English quotes, Urdu and Farsi (Persian) poetry. For every occasion he had something profound to render. Being a fan of Sher-o-Shayari myself, I liked him immediately. He would narrate an entire Nazm or Ghazal (Matla to Maqta) in Farsi or chaste Urdu without a hitch. Such was his memory and knowledge of both the languages. The more I did not understand his narration, the more I was impressed by him. After he would finish the narration, his lips would curl in a way that said ‘isn’t that deep?’ Perhaps only Gogi Anand was the only one to understand all that well, among us all.
Gradually I came to know that his wife Uma, was one of Dev Saab’s nieces. I thought that made him an insider in the camp. As a new comer, I was impressed by anyone who had easy access to Dev Saab. And Prabhuji was one of the few who would just open boss’s room to say ‘hi and bye’.
That day there was no shooting and he had casually walked into the office. He saw many noisy pretty young girls (wanna be actresses) perched on the brown wooden benches in the passage to meet some one; or anyone even remotely involved in casting. They were all well dressed and were there for an obvious reason, ‘getting a chance to face the camera’. After noticing them, Prabhuji pushed open the ‘Production’ cabin. He found many young guys, assistants in production and direction chatting away loudly among themselves. I too was one of them. He asked us to shut up with a harmless swear word. Then he said, ‘what is wrong with you all Navketan men? So many young girls are waiting outside and you men are happily chatting here like women? Have you all lost your virility? What has happened to this film company?’ He mourned, looking up. Then he stretched out his left arm towards us and ended his outburst with a ‘shame on you’, before walking out. That was Prabhuji in his elements...
Some years later, I too got married to a girl in the periphery of that family. After which he became very nice to me and started treating me as a younger family member. He had a daughter, Abu. He doted on her. In fact she was the only bright patch left in his life; everything else was darkly pointing south. Soon he started keeping unwell and thus stayed home. For years he received a small supporting amount from Navketan office and some of his bro-in-laws too contributed for his survival...
One day his daughter suddenly fell sick and soon died. She was a young girl of about 20 or so. This broke Prabhuji down to the core. I met him during one of those bleak days. He hesitated to talk to me, because he was choking with emotions. One more time, I saw him chewing Paan on a pavement in 4-Bunglow area. He was so weak that he could not stand small intoxication due to a pinch of tobacco. He was walking with unsteady steps. I feel he was justified to intoxicate himself to veil the huge mound of sadness that had become a part of his weightless personality. Much later I learnt that he lost his eye sight and soon, his hearing...
Any one can imagine how a man must feel when there is total blankness around him. No picture, no sound! No communication. Perhaps just touch. Some one guides your hand to a plate and you eat, puts a glass in your hand and you drink. But how many people’s touch could he recognize? Except for his wife, no one was in touch with him any way...
Now, I am at the point when I am ready to write why am I writing this? One day I was coming from the market when I saw Prabhuji sitting outside a shop under his home. He was there, may be for fresh air. I was happy to see him. Very warmly I said ‘hello Prabhuji, how are you?’... no answer. I placed my hands on his knees and sat down in front of him and spoke again. He kept his hands on mine... but no reaction. Then I remembered about his hearing and blindness. I got up and stepped back in order to gauge what else could I do. My head was not working. I kept looking at his face and noticed his eyes well up slowly. At that moment I realized, I had not seen a man poorer than him in my life. I walked off before my own face got wet…
This is the incident that crossed my mind last week and in a flash I had the solution to that day’s problem, although way too late. I could have communicated with him… by writing my message on his palm with my finger! I could have told him my name! He had not lost his speech, so he would have replied. He needed to have a conversation with some one and at that time I could have conversed with him. But my brains had deserted me that day...
I would imagine that meeting between us as one of my most intense one with anyone. No dialogues, no communication, no looks; just a situation that could not be overcome.
May be there is no reason for anyone to remember Prabhuji, think about him, talk about him; fondly or otherwise. He might not be a material worth remembering or worth giving a thought to; but I am so happy to have writen this piece. After all everyone is entitled to some years of immortality after death. But in his case it seems to have ended with his death. This is my sincere effort to revive immortality in the nameless and weightless soul that was Prabhuji.