A new anthology captures the magic of the 1970s, a decade when iconic stars, unforgettable music, and groundbreaking films held sway, and when there was space for every kind of story to be told
For me, Hindi cinema in the 1970s is epitomised by Zeenat Aman clad in a maxi, with her large hippie-style spectacles sinuously swaying to the hummable Dum Maro Dum; a moony Rajesh Khanna wooing back Sharmila Tagore in Daag with Mere dil mein aaj kya hai, or serenading his frequent co-star Mumtaz in the romantic song Karvatein badalte rahe. One image that also stays with me is the vinyl record cover of the marital drama Abhimaan, featuring a photograph of a sulking Amitabh Bachchan under a lamplight, along with its unforgettable compositions like Tere mere milan ki yeh raina and Teri bindiya re.
Of course, Amitabh owned the ’70s, irrevocably dimming the lights for the iconic Rajesh Khanna. The lanky actor’s portrayals of the brooding, reticent hero in Zanjeer, Deewar and in Ramesh Sippy’s magnum opus Sholay, quickly propelled him to the top. Some part of Amitabh’s success may be credited to the writer duo Salim-Javed as driven home in the docuseries, Angry Young Men, currently streaming on Amazon Prime. Their punchy dialogues truly immortalised the actor, even as he shone in his romantic avatars in Kabhie Kabhie or Kasme Vaade, or clowned around in Amar Akbar Anthony and Parvarish, all of which released in the 70s.
The decade that shook up Hindi cinema
The handsome Shashi Kapoor also held sway at this time as well, playing the perfect foil to a tormented Amitabh in Deewar. He was also romancing his heroines with a swagger and boyish charm that took women’s breath away. Be it a winsome Sharmila in Manmohan Desai’s love triangle, Aa Gale Lag Jaa, or a saucy Raakhee in Sharmilee and swirling Neetu Kapoor around in Keh doon tumhe ya chup rahoon or Mumtaz in Le Jaayenge, Le Jaayenge Dilwale Dulhania le Jaayenge with wild abandon. In the way he did best. Somehow, it’s those songs that still have the power to lull you into a wistful, gentle world. Something like when the handsome hunk of Hindi cinema, Dharmendra sings Aaj mausam bada beimaan hai to a pretty, pert-nosed Mumtaz?
Teeny-bopper movie Bobby is remembered fondly more for its popular songs and its young lead pair rather than the cringy plot line. Yet, it was also the time middle-of-the-road cinema of Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee ruled – it is no small matter that these films thrived amid the likes of giants like Manmohan Desai, Prakash Mehra, Ramesh Sippy and Yash Chopra. There is so much to savour if one wants to walk down this road. The Swinging ’70s: Stars, Style and Substance in Hindi Cinema, which features a bunch of informed essays, reflections and reminiscences of this dynamic period, offers this experience. It is packed with articles by different writers, including film critics and filmmakers, on this decade that shook up Hindi cinema.
Jointly edited by cinema lover Nirupama Kotru (a senior civil servant and ex-director in the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting) and Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri (editor, critic and columnist), this anthology is one helluva of a nostalgia ride. Published by Om Books International, this book offers a perspective on Zeenat Aman’s role in the films of the 70s, archly titled ‘More than the Body’. It also pays homage to He-man Dharmendra and the mellow Sanjeev Kumar, covering all the poetry and storylines behind the sprawling world of popular cinema; the ‘I hate tears’ melodrama shows that two kinds of cinema happily existed during this time as well.
Tributes to the directors
Notably, The Swinging ’70s opens with the editors’ feather-in-the- cap article by New York-based writer Amitava Kumar on Shyam Benegal’s stunning film Nishant (1975). The film, woven around a tragic tale of the kidnapping of a village school teacher’s wife, is an analysis of Benegal’s searing work on feudal India, titled ‘A Very Negative Film’. The name, the writer says, stems from the feedback the director received about his film at first in India. After discussing different aspects of the film, Kumar, who still has some of the scenes etched in his memory, ends the piece by noting how Nishant slowly gained appreciation, critical notices, and was even chosen for the Cannes Film Festival. And how Benegal asked his heroines, Shabana Azmi and Smita Patil, to dress up in their Sunday best to publicise the film since they had no money to promote the film.
Though this book largely focuses on popular films, it pays tribute to the directors of parallel cinema like Shyam Benegal, Kumar Shahani, Mani Kaul and middle-of-the-road films of Hrishikesh Mukherjee. Or Gulzar. The great Satyajit Ray also did Shatranj ke Khiladi during this time. Why did he not do more Hindi films? Check what Maithili Rao has to say on ‘Parallel Cinema’s High Noon’.
The book goes on to capture the many facets of the rollicking ’70s in Hindi films. Nothing is too insignificant to capture: be it crowding around ticket windows in cinema halls, the throbbing excitement of catching the first day, first show; dipping into the nostalgic memories of the song lyrics — the piece written by Varun Grover, titled ‘The Broken Melody,’ breaks down some of the memorable songs of the ’70s, starting with the plaintive Main Na Bhoolunga from Roti, Kapada Aur Makaan.
Stars and stardust
All the profiles delve deep: Raja Sen’s salute to Hrishikesh Mukherjee, who shone light on actors like others could not; another favourite is Nandini Ramnath unravelling the missus, the moll and everyone in between, a much-needed salute to the Aruna Iranis, Bindus and Padma Khannas and their ilk, who equally defined the ’70s as much as a Hema Malini or a Jaya Bachchan did. There’s a penetrating and educative analysis of the inimitable poet of Hindi cinema: Gulzar by Shantanu Ray Chaudhuri.
Deepa Gahlot chronicles the poignancy of the fall of a superstar from great heights and grappling with the loss of all that bright lights, clamour and adulation. In a talk in Bengaluru, The Swinging ’70s team shared how women were so crazy about Mere sapno Ki rani actor, Rajesh Khanna, that they used to take the dust from his car wheels and apply it on their forehead like sindoor. It was a decade like no other, says the team, when Bollywood was at the cusp of change, experiencing a churn.
Filmmakers like Ketan Mehta or Sriram Raghavan have also contributed their take on the ’70, discussing the New Wave and masala entertainers, and there are interviews with Subhash Ghai and Vishal Bhardwaj. A write-up on film journalism and how the Devi (Devyani) Chaubals of that time operated. It is also peppered with film trivia, sample this: Who was the actor Gulzar spotted in an Indo-Iranian film called Subah-o-Sham (1972) and signed him up for his next film, and he would go on to work with him in five other films?
Maybe, one misses reading about some of the cinematographers of that time or on the comedians like a Deven Verma, who harassed his irate screen mother singing, Mummy O Mummy, tu kab saas banegi in Khatta Meetha?
Churning out 500 films annually, which increased to 680 films in the ’70s (according to the book), the Bombay film industry of that decade truly showed that there was space for every kind of story to be told. Today, while there is still enough space, the stories seem to have shrunk, and the tuneful melodies of the ’70s seem to have disappeared in the misty whorls of time.
