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Literary Review
NOSTALGIA
Sepia-tinted memories
ZIYA US SALAM
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A wistful look into the times the Dutt siblings shared with their famous parents.
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Mr. and Mrs. Dutt: Memories Of Our Parents; Namrata Dutt Kumar and Priya Dutt, Roli Books, price not mentioned.
The joy of being sad: that is how poets describe melancholy. And that is how one would sum up this indulgent exercise in nostalgia. Mr. and Mrs. Dutt: Memories of Our Parents by Namrata Dutt Kumar and Priya Dutt is that little peek the kids steal into their parents’ room, their life. It comes with all the brownie points history gains from posterity: nothing ever is wrong with parents, they are paragons of virtues.
There is a lot of emotion, and some effort at appraisal, but seldom a dispassionate look afforded. What is present though is beguilingly endearing and identifiable: That familiar scent, the favourite corner, the name plate, the bedspread of parents. And that whiff of smoke from Dad’s favourite cigarette. All things forbidden when quite young.
No pretension
Yet these are all elements Sunil and Nargis Dutt’s children bring out for the common reader in a book remarkable for lack of pretension, even if it lacks a trenchant insight into the personalities of two of the greatest stars of Hindi cinema. Memories, as expressed through sepia-toned photographs, and words chosen with care, provide the lifeline of the book that could so easily have degenerated into an obituary.
Not to be as the sisters remember some of the finest moments they shared as a family. Here even photographs of Nargis’s grave and Sunil Dutt’s last rites come with a comforting touch. No wailing, just a personal sorrow shared with dignity.
The exercise by itself is remarkable: Sunil Dutt, when he married Nargis, had not quite reached the heights of popularity she had. In fact he was just taking his first steps by hosting shows for Radio Ceylon. She was on the brink of something timeless: “Mother India”, Mehboob Khan’s remake of “Aurat”, was just round the corner for her. She was born into a sophisticated Muslim family in Bombay; he was a Hindu from rural Punjab.
Namrata, the narrator in the book, uses words and experiences of her siblings to good effect, and culls together her own memories to string together the story of her parents, whose life from the beginning was unconventional. All along the two daughters stay focussed: there is a prolonged expression of how Sanjay Dutt had to fight his drug battle in a rehab centre in the U.S. And how he was almost lost to the film world, deciding to spend his time tending to cattle in the U.S.! There are similar occasions carefully chosen to depict the real persona of Nargis Dutt, who would have been a bit of an anathema to stereotypical feminists: she opted for the Dutt surname, and preferred to call herself just Mrs. Dutt after marriage. And even gave up her flourishing film career for the sake of marriage, coming out just once to do a film for her brother! Incidentally, the film, “Raat Aur Din” was to get her the National Award, then called the Urvashi Award! And Sunil Dutt himself is afforded the luxury of a benevolent patriarch.
Rich bank of memories
Incidentally, he had a great eye for detail and a rich bank of memories, which has been used to put together this book. He would keep all birth certificates, hospital discharge slips of kids, even the first day-first show ticket of Sanjay’s first film “Rocky”. Add to that all the pictures of the first picnics, the inauguration of the studios, the birthdays, the family reunions and all those award ceremonies. And we get a complete picture of the Dutt household, a family as common as any next-door: father’s word had to be respected, kids had to be indulged but taught the right principles, mother sacrificed her career for the sake of the family and the like. Yet they were different: Amid all the ups and downs of life, religion seldom mattered in the household. And the early professional success of the lady of the house never sent the man into a tizzy.
Read it for its wistful look into the times the Dutt siblings shared with their parents, who were adored by millions. Grant them the right to avoid introspection and the luxury of virtues, real or perceived. And this book turns out to be quite a likeable exercise.
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