'Give my love to Bangalore'

But how?

In 2011, I would visit Dev Anand at his Khar office every week as we were planning the release of what would be his last film, Chargesheet.

It was a Friday evening and once we finished talking business, I informed Dev Saab that I could not stay for longer as I had a flight to catch.

‘Give my love to Bangalore, Karthik!’, he said in his trademark gusto and that childlike glint in his eyes. He had a way of tilting his head and pushing his chin forward as if to say, ‘Go on now, you can do it!’

I am sure I had a grin on my face while I held his small, soft hands and said my goodbyes.

During that weekend in Bangalore, I would just smile to myself while thinking of what he had said and the way he said that. I also sensed that he meant something which I could not fully grasp at that time.

I could imagine the dashing matinee star Dev Anand visiting the city in the 1960s and drawing large crowds everywhere he went. People waiting outside to see him, people wanting to touch him, people gathering to hear him talk. Him in flashy suits and dark glasses, him greeting the crowds, blowing kisses in the air.

Him giving his love to Bangalore.

My understanding was that one needs to have a larger-than-life personality to be able to give love like that. But, how can I do it?

**

‘Kaun Pravin Tambe?’ is a Hindi film on the incredible true story of a Mumbai cricketer who grew up in a chawl and sweated it out on the maidans for decades before making his IPL debut at the grand old age of forty-one!

Pravin Tambe is already in his mid-thirties when he meets with a motorbike accident that almost ends his cricketing career. To add to his misery, he is also unemployed and has a young family to take care of. His friends keep trying to help him find a suitable job with a steady income. One such friend takes him along for a job interview at an organization that employs cricketers to play for the company team and work in the office during off season.

At this interview, Pravin blurts out the truth about his injury which makes it unlikely for him to get the job. After the interview, his friend is miffed with Pravin for botching up the interview. Pravin tells him how he hopes to recover from the injury and regain his fitness in time for the Mumbai team selection.

The friend shakes his head in disbelief and says, ‘Either you are crazy or you are great.’

Pravin Tambe replies, ‘If I make it in life, I am great; If not, you can call me crazy.’

**

It is ridiculous for a young college graduate in the 1940s, to have left his hometown in Punjab and come all the way to Bombay with the dream of becoming a movie star. The medium of films itself was less than three decades old at that time and I am not sure what knowledge he had of the film world to have thought of leaving everything behind and making it here.

But then, he did make it - while running around trees, singing his songs, and being delightfully ridiculous.

At first, all great ideas must sound crazy

**

During my second year at the engineering college, I finally made up my mind to confess to my father that I did not wish to pursue this any longer! It had taken a long while to muster the courage and off I went to the PCO on a quiet street and called on the landline from inside the phone booth.

Unfortunately, my parents were not at home at that time, and I never again mustered the courage to have that difficult conversation.

**

I have finally given myself the permission to be ridiculous.

Some days I write till late, but I always wake up early to write, I write while lying down on the couch, I write while waiting, I write as soon as I find a word, a phrase or that perfect metaphor, I write in my dreams sometimes, I write in my mind while I am out for my walk.

I am feeling ridiculous right now typing this essay.

Thankfully, I am surrounded by other writers being just as ridiculous. Writers contemplating on their own actions, writers struggling with addictions, writers writing from the deathbed of their loved ones, writers being open about their mental health, about their grief, talking of their first love, about understanding intimacy and learning about themselves, writers writing about their crushing defeats, writers posting their poems for the first time – I feel you and your writings are giving me the courage to go ahead with posting this.

Let me also add that Dev Saab would have been proud of me, and you, and everyone here for standing on our own little soapboxes and playing our violins for the audience of the world wide web. 

‘Go on now, you can do it!’

**

Being ridiculous is one thing, but it must take a special one to go on being ridiculous for a whole lifetime regardless of successes and failures.

When Dev Saab passed away in 2011, his nephew, the renowned filmmaker Shekhar Kapur made an attempt to deconstruct the Dev Anand phenomenon in a blogpost titled ‘My uncle Dev Anand, the man no one knew…’.¹

Here is an excerpt I am reproducing as is -

A suite at the Oberoi hotel. Dev Uncle’s film Ishq Ishq Ishq, had just released the night before.

[…]

Dev Anand had put all his own money, almost everything he owned into Ishq Ishq Ishq. Money had no value to him, except to make films. Nothing else interested him really. On this evening he was talking calls from the press and the distributors. As always they started with excited congratulations and jubilations. His face sparked with excitement and joy. But over the next two hours, the tone changed. I could not hear what was being said, but I saw it on his face. His voice going softer. That spark that was Dev Anand dimming. In a couple of hours and a hundred calls later the reality overcame the dream. The film was a disaster on the box office.

Then the calls stopped. No one called and the loneliness of failure hung in the room. Dev Anand has just lost everything. All his money and everything he sold to make his most ambitious project ever. There are few more intimate moments you could share with a courageous man than his coming to terms with complete defeat. He was sad. Reflective.

For all of five minutes. He then looked at me and smiled.

” I just be back ‘Shekharonios’ (thats what he called me) and went into the bedroom of the suite. I should have felt sorry for my first foray out as a (minor) actor flopping, but was too caught up in the incredible drama unfolding in front of me.

Ten minutes Dev Anand emerged. His his eyes were vibrant. His face excited. He was unable to sit down for his excitement. Looked me in the eyes.

” Shekharonios, I just thought of a great plot for my next film !!”

He picked up his register. Took out a pen and started to write. How does a man who just lost of everything come to terms with it so easily? I was left gaping. But knew it was time for me to leave him alone. To write and plan his next film. He never talked about Ishq Ishq again.

Thats the Dev Uncle I knew.

But the Dev Uncle I did not know. The Dev Sahib , the Dev Anand that the world did not know, was the man coming to terms with himself in 10 minutes in that room.

We will never know… maybe thats what true Karm Yogi’s are. People we cannot fathom from our own lesser standards of courage…

**

When a friend visited from out of town, I met him for dinner and caught up on old times. During those few hours, I found it jarring that he was casually using swear words in the middle of harmless sentences. I mean, he was not angry or disappointed to be swearing like that.

While driving back home, I thought to myself - who am I even to judge him because I had a habit of using swear words too! It’s just that I have now moved cities and the people I regularly interact with don’t use those words. Also, I think writing has made me mindful of the words I use and the many meanings they hold.  

At the age of 87, I feel that a person would have distilled their vocabulary to a great extent and retained only the words that are truly meaningful to them.

When Dev Saab said, ‘Give my love to Bangalore’, I am thinking these words and the act of giving love must have held much value to him.

I clearly remember my last conversation with Dev Saab was on the phone just before he left for London where he eventually passed away. Although his film Chargesheet was released in all major Indian cities, it was yet to reach the smaller cities. Dev Saab had fans and well-wishers all over the world who could reach out to him through his inner circle.

He told me that they had been getting calls from those smaller cities enquiring about the release of the film. I am sure he also kept a tab on the box-office collections, but he never once asked me about that. His biggest concern was about his film reaching his audience.

And just like what had happened with Shekhar Kapur, he signed off by telling me that he would use his time in London to ideate and write his next film. ‘We will make more films together’, he had assured me.  

Dev Anand had thought of his mortality and believed that he had to keep doing what he enjoyed the most - making his films and giving them to the world. And he readily accepted everything that came in return.

**

I am writing because I love telling stories and writing is my form of expression.

But posting it on the internet is just not easy for me. I start to get anxious as I am finalizing the edits. I begin to wonder how my essay will be received. Will it be hailed as the best ever, or will my ideas be ridiculed, or worse, will the essay be ignored altogether?

And when I hit the publish button, the essay would invariably reach your inboxes with some errors. That is because I would have become so fed up with the stress of making the final edit that I would hurry up just so that I can finally lie down and breathe easy.

So I lie down and breathe easy for exactly two minutes before I start anticipating notifications.

**

I see Shahrukh Khan on the platform at his home Mannat, opening his arms to his cheering fans outside.

Unfortunately, I have a voice in my head which worries for him. Doesn't he fear that someone might throw something at him? I am so glad that he does not have any such fears. And now I understand why. That’s because he is not there for himself. He doesn’t need to shoot a video reel and make it go viral. 

He is out there for us. 

He is out there to give his love - to his people, to his town, to his world. 

Giving can free us from ourselves and our little fears

**

As long as I am only thinking of my writing and worried about my likes and comments, I will continue to struggle and I might not be able to sustain this for very long. 

I have never once asked anyone, ‘What did you think of my essay?’

And I suddenly feel awkward when the compliments come my way.

Could it be that when we find it hard to give, it is not easy to accept either.  

Let’s change that!

I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this essay because I have written it for you. I give it to you with the hope that you will enjoy reading it, and I look forward to hearing back from you.

**

Dev Saab was gentle, loving and so ridiculous!

While I was gazing into the movie star bubble he lived in, he has left me life lessons that will keep on guiding me.

One day, I too will learn to give my love to Bangalore.

---

Here is the link to my earlier essay that was published on Dev Anand’s birth centenary - 26 September, 2023.

1. https://shekharkapur.com/blog/2011/12/my-uncle-dev-anand-the-man-no-one-knew/

Image downloaded from: https://www.espncricinfo.com/story/anatomy-of-champions-how-rcb-went-from-0-5-in-2023-to-wpl-winners-in-2024-1425365