Karma’s Child—Subhash Ghai is fascinating look at a triumphant Showman’s journey in cinema

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Having read so many film personalities’ biographies and autobiographies, I was utterly fascinated to know what Showman Subhash Ghai’s life story would be like. And I was gripped by the contents of this book, even to the point where I began wishing that Subhash-ji, who had contributed so willingly and significantly to my books on Dharmendra (Dharmendra: Not Just A He-Man and Laxmikant-Pyarelal (titled Music by Laxmikant Pyarelal, a National award-winner for Best Book on Cinema), had assigned me the book that is now written by Suveen Sinha, and in the third person.

When Subhash-ji presented me with a copy of the book, I first thanked him for it and later, while reaching to around page 100, even WhatsApp-ed him stating that I was thoroughly enjoying the book and wishing that he had allowed me to delve into his fascinating life!

Subhash-ji has concentrated more on what he went through—good and bad—while making individual films, which makes some sense when you think about his film innings from 1967. A full 17 of the 22 chapters are on 18 individual films, including the true story of what happened with his shelved epic, Devaa.

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The first 35 pages or so gives us a dekko into his pre-successful life, and begins rather dramatically (after his own foreword) with his attempt to end it all one day at the age of 14 by drinking copper sulphate!

But I must confess that as the pages rolled by (the book’s language is delightfully simple, and that means everyday ‘simple’!), I found several fill in the blanks that I would have liked to know.

For example, the 1967 film Taqdeer is mentioned in passing, but there is little spotlight on the fact that it was not only his debut as actor but also his first association in a karmic way with his future stalwart associates, Laxmikant-Pyarelal and Anand Bakshi, as Subhash-ji (I have too much respect for him to refer to him as Ghai!) was a (non-lip-synch) part of its popular Lata Mangeshkar song, Aaiye bahaar ko hum baant le as he strums the guitar in it.

In the same year released another L-P hit, Shagird, in which he would have been cast in Joy Mukerji’s role, as per his narration! Lata too had a major role in the filmmaker’s innings, singing in all his movies before Karma and then again in Ram Lakhan and Saudagar. I wish that Subhash-ji had thrown more light on his first meetings with her, L-P and Bakshi.

While so many anecdotes are fascinating indeed in this book, I was especially fascinated by Subhash-ji’s first meetings with L.V. Prasad and Jackie Shroff and the candid narration of what actually happened with Devaa. The N.N. Sippy party at which Subhash-ji was unexpectedly introduced as the “new director” of Kalicharan also made for enchanting reading. But I wish that he had thrown more light on how he was the pioneer of the stereo recordings of Karz and Ram Lakhan and the way the latter film became the first Indian movie to have its own CD soundtrack.

Nothing is also forthcoming on Rajesh Roshan, who scored Vishwanath evena s brother Rakesh and nephew Hrithik are mentioned, or on Anu Malik (Yaadein, Rahul), Himesh Reshammiya (three films) and others. In fact, given his reputation in music, a separate and complete chapter on his music sense could have made for a captivating study.

There is very little on Reena Roy, his co-star in the 1978 Gumrah (whose year of release is erroneously mentioned as 1963, when B.R. Chopra’s extramarital epic came!), the leading lady of Aakhri Daku and Yari Dushmani (he wrote both, but the latter film is missing) as well as his first three directorials: Kalicharan, Vishwanath and Gautam Govinda.

I also craved for his personal insights into long-term associates like writers Sachin Bhaumick and Ram Kelkar, editors Waman Bhosle and Guru Dutt Shirali, who shaped most of his films, and cinematographer (especially) Kamalakar Rao. As a man associated with almost all the Kapoors (Randhir was the hero of Aakhri Daku and Mama Bhanja and Kareena was cast in Yaadein, 36 China Town and Aitraaz), there could have been a small take on his rapport with the Kapoor family as well.

There are quite some spelling errors that could have been smoothened out at the proof-reading stage (Khan Dost instead of Khaan Dost, and even some proper nouns), and the filmography does not list his films as actor. There is no mention of Uttar Dakshin, which he presented, and for which he was credited with the story, of Bagula Bhagat (the last film as writer and his last association with Shatrughan Sinha) or of Naatak (1976), in which he was the villain! He also sang in Meri Jung and wrote songs for Jogger’s Park and scored the music and lyrics for 36 Farmhouse.

But we can guess at the Cinemascope expanse and extent of one man’s fascinating and triumphant journey in cinema when the book still comes across as a super-entertaining and illustrious addition to the list of film people’s life stories.

Published by: Harper Collins

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