Shekhar Kapur on Dev Anand: He taught me about hope, adventure, the perils of stardom

Anupam Kher, Dev Anand and Zarina Wahab in Hum Naujawan

I left my position as a chartered accountant in the beginning of the 1970s. Early in my 20s, I had no idea what I wanted to accomplish with my life.

Mother expressed great concern that I was turning into "a hippy." In order to get me a job in one of his films, she asked Dev Uncle (Kapur's mother Sheel Kapur was Dev Anand's sister).

I had intended to travel through Africa on foot at the time. But, as production on Ishk Ishk Ishk (1974) started going, I really got into it. A young man who is looking for his identity and purpose in the world falls in love in this romantic comedy set in the mountains.

Much of the film was captured by us.

The majority of the movie was filmed in Nepal's small towns and cities. We continued ascending higher into the mountains. The film's cinematographer, Fali Mistry, is quoted as saying:

"Dev Saab's voice may be heard now. (Someone stop Dev Saab.) Woh kahan jaa rahein hai. What is his destination)?"

No one enjoyed the fact that we had to walk days to get to some places. At the time, Dev Uncle was already in his fifties, but nothing could stop him.

I can vividly recall his thirst for exploration. I then realised how similar we really were. But while I was still seeking, he had already discovered what he was looking for.

In Bombay, Ishk Ishk Ishk had its debut. Everyone in the room applauded him and gave the movie high marks. After we were at his hotel room at The Oberoi, this continued via phone calls.

Then the genuine complaints started flooding in, with distributors complaining that no one was purchasing tickets and that the venues were empty. When he discovered that his major release had failed on its first day, I was the only one with him.

He appeared to be in complete despair. His personal money had also been heavily invested in it. "Shekhar, image flop ho gayi," he remarked to me. Paisa gaya (The film was a failure. The money is gone),' he said before entering the lavatory. After spending some time there, he eventually left smiling once more.

He began talking about his concept for a new movie after stating that he had one. This is maybe the most significant memory I have of him, and it is a lesson I am still working to internalise.

Spending time with him, however, also taught me the value of not being deceived by one's own public image. Do that, and you'll take on that persona. And it gets harder and harder to tell the two apart. Most of the time, I was unable to distinguish between talking to my uncle Dev Anand or Dev Anand the celebrity since the two identities had melded. Also, that aura turns into a barrier that must be overcome in order to reach the inside individual; to create a human.

I preferred his films most when he wasn't "playing himself"; examples are Munimji (1955), Funtoosh (1956), and Hum Dono (1961).

His best performance was in the Hindi adaptation of Guide (1965), which starred Dev Anand and Waheeda Rehman and was directed by his brother Vijay Anand. I was inspired by how he changed from Raju to Swamiji. It was recent. Instead of the star following the plot, it followed the narrative.

Despite this, he had a keen understanding of his field and the wider world and was constantly seeking connections between the two. His films consistently represented the current events.

He desired to travel abroad. He was the one who approached Pearl S. Buck, a Nobel Prize-winning novelist, about adapting R.K. Narayan's book into an English film.

I met Gregory Peck, the actor he was frequently likened to, in his Bandra house. I recall hearing a talk between him and David Lean, the Academy Award–winning director of Doctor Zhivago and Lawrence of Arabia, on another occasion. They discussed films and the potential globalisation of Indian cinema.

My earliest memories of Dev Uncle date back to when he would visit us as a little child in Delhi (Shekhar Kapur's father Kulbhushan Kapur was a physician there).

One day, as we were going through Connaught Place, he abruptly yelled for the driver to stop. We were in front of the Gaylord Dining Room. Uncle exited the vehicle and began singing with a man who was seated on the stairs outside. I discovered that the man was Raj Kapoor much later.

Another memory I have is of him taking me to my first movie set when I was maybe seven or so. Even as a little child, I was astounded by Madhubala's great vitality and beauty when I first saw her there. The three of us were captured on camera that day. It's probably gone now.

Dev Uncle and I last spoke in his Mumbai editing studio. I hadn't seen him in a while, and when I went to give him a hug, he recoiled. I was shocked and upset for a little moment. Suddenly I noticed how elderly and frail he had become.

He never voiced any complaints or talked about his symptoms since he still wanted to retain the appearance of endless youth. I recall that his supporters were genuinely shocked when he passed away. How could you lose someone you thought was "evergreen"?

He was timeless in a certain sense. He never stopped creating films, no matter how bad they were. He never lost his enthusiasm for film, which inspired him to create.

He was creating a script, according to his son Suneil Anand, who was with him when he died away in London. Always using a register, he wrote. Dev Uncle had already passed away with the register still in his grasp when Suneil returned from leaving the room.

The filmmaker of films including Mr. India, Bandit Queen, Elizabeth, and most recently, What's Love Got to Do with It, Shekhar Kapur, is a BAFTA and National Award winner.

(As told to Karishma Upadhyay)

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