I was informed about Shyam Benegal’s death in a setting straight out of one of his films. At the time, the news was not public, but I believed it... because it is most inelegant and shockingly crass to “gossip’’ about death. Shyam and his most wonderful wife, Nira, would have disapproved! But gently. They were not strident folks. Their views and vision were anything but crass, while being forceful and determined. This is what set them apart in a business dominated by hustlers looking for the next deal.
Shyam didn’t have to hustle—the deals he deemed worthy of his time, talent and knowledge base, came to him.
That is true power.
Discretion, and a certain required distance from the film mob, ensured Shyam a high level of respect from contemporaries who recognised his vision and wanted to be a part of it. Being cast in Shyam’s film was an award in itself. Because, nothing Shyam did, was without thought.
Shyam’s films reflected his concerns and encapsulated his cinematic ambitions.
Without sounding annoyingly boastful, I have to provide a backgrounder to my relationship with Shyam—going back 55 years or more. At the time, Shyam was making the very best commercials, along with Zafar Hai. It was during my peak years as a model for several leading brands. I shot one or two ad films with Shyam, and loved the way he approached the brief. He was completely engrossed in getting it right from every conceivable angle. His attention to lighting the scene was a master class in itself.
Shyam Benegal’s 90th birthday celebration on December 14 | X@AzmiShabana
A few years later, Shyam had made the big leap into the big, bad world of feature films. Soon, he was hailed as the undisputed king of parallel cinema. No idea what he felt about this positioning—he was a filmmaker. Period. His thought-provoking films were making us sit up and take notice—particularly of his inspired casting of gifted unknowns in lead roles. That most of them went on to carve a niche in Bollywood and win national awards, says everything about Shyam’s strong instincts in smelling out big talent.
I was the idiot who said ‘no’, when Shyam offered me a role. The film was Kalyug (1981), and the story was about two feuding business families, loosely based on the Mahabharat. Shyam wanted me to play the role of Draupadi, which was fabulously enacted by Rekha as Supriya. I knew my own limitations better than Shyam. I am no actor, and would have fallen flat on my face. The film went on to win several prestigious awards.
Shyam’s sensitive and intuitive understanding of female characters made each one of them memorable.
Combine that with Shyam’s nose for identifying talent… the hidden gems he shone the spotlight on by giving the bravest breaks—Smita Patil is but one in a select galaxy of incredible actors we as viewers got to watch delivering unforgettable performances, film after film.
Isn’t it wonderful that just days before he passed away, Shyam celebrated his 90th birthday, surrounded by some of his favourite actors like Shabana Azmi and Naseeruddin Shah. Shyam lived an intellectually rich and deeply fulfilling life making brilliant films—breathing, dreaming and eating cinema—possibly till his last breath.
The last time we met we joked about my missed chance to be a “Shyam Benegal heroine”. He laughed and said, “It’s never too late… we can still do it!” Well, this comment sounds as poignant as his films. Who knows when “never too late” dramatically changes to “too late”.
Sorry, Shyam—I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye.
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