As a millennial kid, my introduction to Amol Palekar happened through my parents, where his films Gol Maal (1979), Chitchor (1976), and Rajnigandha (1974) often became dinner table conversations. What was about these films and Palekar’s characters that resonated with them, I wondered then. I found the answers years later as I watched the movies, which oozed simplicity, and Palekar's portrayal of a regular middle-class man, starkly different from Amitabh Bachchan’s Angry Young Man or Rajesh Khanna’s quintessential romantic hero.
Juxtaposed to his meek, simplistic man image on the screen, Palekar's off-screen personality appears starkly different, as evident in his memoir Viewfinder, published in English by Westland Books.
“I am more than just the hero of Gol Maal; reducing me to that single image overlooks the layers of my true identity,” he writes.
Not only does Palekar don several hats, that of a painter, director, and writer, but he isn’t one of those to shy from taking a political stance, such as walking with Rahul Gandhi during his Bharat Jodo Yatra. “Wasn’t there shame and disgrace in being powerless in the face of establishment?” he writes — a statement that resonates, especially when the relationship between power and cinema appears increasingly muddied. Palekar also dedicates the book “to those who believe in the power of resistance.”
His memoir delves into theatre, regional and parallel cinema, painting, politics, and more. There are juicier bits, too, especially where he writes about his co-actors. For example, referencing Rajesh Khanna, he writes: “I couldn’t fathom why a talented actor would feel compelled to belittle a fellow performer to boost their own status.”
In an interview with The WEEK, Palekar talks about his memoir, Bollywood, power, and more:
How did your memoir Viewfinder come about?
Despite persistent requests from publishers, I was unable to devote time to writing my memoirs, as my focus had been on showcasing my paintings through exhibitions and performing in Hindi plays like Kusur over the past decade. The coronavirus pandemic brought an unexpected gift — ample time for reflection, which ultimately led me to write my life's story. The pandemic's isolation gave me the solitude I needed to decipher my memories. In retrospect, I see that I had overlooked the significance of my life's path, and that's why I probably was not motivated enough to share my story with others.
Your book doesn’t follow a structure but seamlessly flows between timelines and themes. Was this an intentional creative decision?
Yes, it was indeed a conscious decision – but primarily of Sandhya (Gokhake) who curated the book. As filmmakers, we are accustomed to weaving stories through non-linear narratives, flashbacks, and unconventional editing. This skill set made it natural for her to adopt a similar approach in compiling and editing my memoirs. Rather than a straightforward chronological account, we chose to adopt a more nuanced, thematic approach.
Encapsulating one’s life in a few hundred pages isn’t easy. How was your experience while writing the book and once you finished it?
Looking back on five decades of life has been a cathartic, yet painful, process – a re-acquaintance with my own strengths, flaws, success, vulnerabilities, and past errors. Self-reflection can be unforgiving, but I've learned to temper my self-criticism with the understanding that the challenges and norms of the past were distinct from those of the present. By choosing to be candid, I hoped to create a genuine connection with my readers. A reader's remark that my book is like a confessional experience has left me with a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that my story is resonating with others.
To describe my emotions upon completing the manuscript, I'd like to revisit a story of a Zen master and his young disciple from my book. They had to cross a stream, and the water level was rising. A beautiful young woman stranded in the middle asked them for help. That disciple was puzzled: How could they help her without falling prey to temptation? Just then, his master picked her up, swiftly crossed the stream, set her down on the bank, and walked on. After days of confusion, the stunned disciple asked the master, “How could you breach the principle of avoiding the touch of women?” The master calmly said, "I left her behind the moment we crossed the stream, you are still carrying her."
In your memoir, you write about how once you were balancing between painting, acting, and working at a bank. What drove you? Where does this versatility stem from?
Looking back, it's astonishing that I managed to juggle multiple roles simultaneously: husband, father, painter, actor-director, theatre group head, and banker. My secret to survival? The ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, like a camel storing energy from its food.
Despite being incredibly busy then, I never felt stressed or overwhelmed. I thoroughly enjoyed every phase of my life. Achieving a balance between work and personal life was always vital to me, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. For me, maintaining a work-life balance is essential to living a healthy, fulfilling life. My artistic journey has been shaped by the interplay between my grounding in reality and my passion for abstraction.
In an era of the Angry Young Man, you portrayed a different kind of masculinity. With recent films like Animal, do you think not much has changed in the mainstream Bollywood cinema?
I didn't create the masculinity associated with my on-screen characters; that credit belongs to the innovative directors I worked with, such as Basuda and Hrishida. Their middle-of-the-road cinema masterfully captured the anxieties and hardships of middle-class life. I merely sought to bring vulnerability and authenticity to these roles, making the characters more relatable and endearing to audiences.
During my time, mainstream cinema typically portrayed masculinity through larger-than-life heroes like Amitabh Bachchan and Dharmendra. However, Shah Rukh's character in Darr marked a significant shift in this depiction. His obsessive and possessive behaviour towards the heroine revealed a darker side of masculinity.
This disturbing trope, "If I can't have you, no one can have you," has been perpetuated in films like Kabir Singh and Animal, further amplifying toxic masculinity. The depiction is not only regressive but also deeply misogynistic, perpetuating a noxious narrative that undermines women's agency and autonomy.
Your political views are clearly reflected in the book, where you don’t shy away from taking a stance. How do you see the current relationship between cinema and power, especially with films like The Kerala Story and The Kashmir Files? Do you think the situation today is more complex than what you have witnessed, even during the Emergency?
In the olden times, Hindi cinema dealt with issues like poverty (Mother India), farmers (Do Bigha Jameen), partition (Garam Hawa), labour (Sagina, Namak Haram), bhoodaan (Jis Desh Mein Ganga Bahati Hain), religious divide (Dhool Ka Phool), caste atrocities, migration, etc. were perceived as social films. The overtly political films were made by Ramesh Sharma, Prakash Jha, and Govind Nihlani besides the biopics such as Aandhi, Veer Savarkar, Ambedkar, Bose, or the war films made by Chetan Anand and J.P.Datta. Let us not forget Mr Bharat ie the Dadasaheb Phalake awardee Manoj Kumar!
Mani Ratnam’s Roja, Bombay, Dil Se and Yuva, Gulzar’s Maachis, and Hu Tu Tu emerged as political films. Besides these few attempts, political narratives did not find their way to the Hindi screen. The Indian film industry has shied away from making genuinely political films, leaving only propaganda films allegedly funded by the ruling party, while OTT platforms routinely explore themes of political violence and patriotic jingoism.
In Viewfinder, you write extensively on regional cinema. What are your thoughts on its pan-Indian rise? Where is Bollywood faltering?
The parallel cinema movement of 1970-90 showcased the prowess of Indian regional cinema, with films in Bengali, Marathi, Odia, Kannada, and Malayalam earning global acclaim. Unfortunately, the media chose to emphasise Bollywood's box office successes and celebrity scandals, creating a skewed perception of what constitutes a good film.
Simultaneously at that time, as low-budget films began to yield surprising profits, earning four rupees for every two invested, the Hindi film industry attempted to stifle this trend by controlling and curbing organisations like the NFDC.
In recent years, South Indian cinema has gained an edge over Bollywood, driven by its fearless exploration of varied themes, engaging storylines, and inventive filmmaking approaches. While OTT platforms have given rise to innovative Hindi content with varied themes, they are not being hailed as box office successes, highlighting a disconnect between critical acclaim and commercial metrics.
The Hindi film industry can shatter its cycle of failure by abandoning the obsession with box office numbers, looking beyond its conventional star system, and embracing fearless and innovative storytelling.
You are an actor, director, painter, and writer. Can you pick one over the others? Is there anything you wish to do next?
Why choose just one when I can celebrate them all? My dream experience will be to sit in the commentators' box for a five-day cricket match, chatting with the commentators about each delivery.
