Whatever Ma’am Re wants Ma’am Re gets. If she wants to inform you that you occupy a room in her heart and mind – “dil aur zehan” she calls them – her words go, “Listen, I may not be in touch with you, I may not take your calls, but remember you’re always with me.”
Result: I felt 10 feel tall, never mind a shudder tingling up my spine. I can confirm that Rekha has a certain way, she can make any man believe he’s Einstein and Brad Pitt rolled into one package. Since then, eons have elapsed. We haven’t been in touch, but ha! Maybe I’m still in that exclusive domain. Who knows? Who cares?
True confession: I do care. Simply because Ma’am – she doesn’t like to be addressed just as Rekha, balking when the new-gen journos get familiar – is an interviewer’s fantasy come true.
Versed in the art of media-control, apart from her chatfests Rekhaji is particular about the photographs which accompany her heartspeak in the media spreads. Curiously, too, Rekhaji would insist that she doesn’t subscribe to any newspaper or magazine: two copies have to be delivered to her ivory-tower bungalow facing the Bandra oceanfront.
If Pablo Bartholomew had shot her within her sanctum sanctorum for the in-house Taj Hotel magazine, that supposedly was a one-off thing. Come to think of it, Ma’am’s true colours come to life when she assents to a photo-session. From the lighting, props and angles to the make-up and costumes, she’s the sole authority. The photos have to be approved. Those which aren’t, are scissored or marked with violent crosses in red-felt pens.
Glamour still photographers, permitted to frame her, would be hand-picked seasonally. The late Jagdish Mali was her choice No 1 for years, then Gautam Rajadhyaksha, followed by Jayesh Seth, and once in a tinsel moon Ashok Salian. For a cover shoot of Filmfare, it was Taiyeb Badshah.
“Don’t worry,” she stated firmly. “I’ll handle everything.” Ulp, at the last hour, photos reached the office, showing her off in oriental regalia, very Thailandish but an eye-boinger. The cover looks highly camp in retrospect. My only consolation was that Dilip Kumar loved it. “Kya baat hai! Bahut hi nirali hai yeh heroine,” he had remarked with a straight face.
The mother of all photo-shoots, though, was conducted at Lake District, UK.
Ashok Salian chortled in the car’s front seat. Soon after landing, Lake District became Ma’am’s studio. Toffee shops, a pub, a horse stable, the grassy slopes, the hotel’s bath-tub decorated with scores of flaming candles became the photo backdrops.
A bicyclist’s helmet and scarf were borrowed for a quick click. Taken aback, the cyclist huffed, “Who’s she? Bollywood’s Elizabeth Taylor?” Unfrazzled, the photo-session continued for three days, even at the breakfast table. Quite a change, actually, from other Bollywood stars who whine, “We hate doing photos.” Well, they should take tuitions from the woman who makes love to the camera, no?
Truly, she could teach a trick or two to the poster girls of today.
And for this b’day scroll, I’d just like to recall a clutch of quotes which are representative of ‘Rekhalogy’. Her term, not mine.
Here I am then, still feeling 10 feet tall, still lodged in that room of her dil and zehan. Or so I would like to believe, being a chump for Bollywood dialogue.
(The writer is a film critic, filmmaker, theatre director and weekend painter.)
(This piece is from The Quint’s archives and is now being republished to mark Rekha’s birthday.)
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