Today we have entire galaxies of celebrities to idolise and admire, terms like “followers”, “influencers” and fanbase have become a barometer of someone’s popularity. Mainstream media has lost its way to the wild popularity of social media. New celebrities are created and forgotten every day.
Well, it wasn’t always like that. Celebrities in the eighties was a bit like circus stars, they would come to town once in a while, dazzle the village folk and leave a lasting impression. Their acts would be talked about for years to come, leaving indelible marks on the psyche of impressionable kids like us. Popular Hindi cinema was our ticket to the stars and we would wait for an opportunity to imbibe the popular culture portrayed on the screen.
Hard for children of today to imagine, it was world without television, mobile phones or even phones. A radio was probably the only source of infotainment, rich folks had tape recorders and record players. And in small “transistor radios” we would listen endlessly to popular Hindi film songs. Soon we would know the entire song, the intro music and little nuances that gave the singers their signature lilt.
So, young girls had all the time to admire the beauty of the leading ladies – Sridevi, Jaya Prada, Meenakshi, Padmini, Poonam, Rati. Their every dress, accessories, pouts were imitated. They influenced an entire generation the way to dress and look.
And young boys? Well that brings me to my particular icon of the eighties- Mithun Chakraborty. Our generation had no truck with superstars like Amitabh Bachchan or Rajesh Khanna, we wanted a common man, someone who would speak our lingo. And so, it came to pass that all our devotion was given to the amazing onscreen hero, Mithunda.
Did we know his real name, his family background, his award-winning movies- we just didn’t care! The phenomenon called “Disco Dancer” (1982) rocked the country and we took were caught up in that wave. The story of a boy from the streets making it big and of course the love for his mother made him an endearing home boy.
But what really gave it an edge was the terrific soundtrack by Bappi Lahiri – I can still remember entire songs from that movie and I am sure all my contemporaries can too. Growing up in a poor neighbouring hood, we could identify the struggles of class. I look at a few photographs that remain from my childhood and the rag tag army I used to hang out with- Mithun was our bond.
Later, as his action movies came out, we would clap and admire his bravery in front of rich people. How the rich girl always fell for him, his looks, his honesty and of course his cool dance moves. How he would not be influenced by the ubiquitous “blank cheque” to leave the girl. How he would fight for the rights of the workers. Of course, his integrity and honesty were something to aspire for.
We did not know the intricacies of movie making, or that our country was going through recession, or that it was all make believe. Every time we got a chance, we would sneak into the movie darkened movie halls, taking advantage of the interval crowd, sit quietly in the corners and imagine our lives to be like our hero’s. Later on through the neighbourhood “video parlours” which became our haunts, we would fall in love with a rich girl, show off our dancing skills, fight for the poor man, and ultimately win over injustice.
Some names that I can just think of – “Kasam Paida Karne Wale Ki” (1984), Pyarr Jhukta Nahin (1984), Ghulami (1985) – koi shak, Dance Dance (1987), Commando (1988), Prem Pratigya (1989)-his repertoire was amazing. I look at his wiki page and it says he has appeared in more than 576 films (in many languages).
As I reflect on his influence, I compare it with the popular culture now. Maybe I am still stuck mentally in that era. I see older folks wearing their hair like Mithunda, dressing up like him and during festivals, I hear all the popular songs from his movies. The influence of the “underdog” on social psyche was enormous- of course we were poor and bereft of opportunities but heroes like Mithun made us feel that “yes it is achievable”. So, I see young kids today admiring their stars on Instagram and Facebook, it all boils down to one dream – “you can do it too!”
The fact that the world was full of injustice, evil men who would sell their mothers down the river was hammered into our souls – and being poor became a virtue, a sign of moral nobility. So what if our clothes had patches, our shoes were re-stitched, our same school bags were used for years, we hardly had money to buy sweets, and meals looked same the whole week around – we felt empowered because we knew it was transient. This was our training period, to become tougher so that we could ultimately overcome the odds.
I still am in awe of Mithunda. I see him sometimes on reality shows and feel proud that Dada is still a loveable and down to earth person. Of course, in our collective childhood memory bank – he is still “Gunmaster G9” or a never say die “Laparwah”. At that point of time, we didn’t even know Clint Eastwood existed in Hollywood as the man with no name. We definitely did not know about the onscreen shenanigans of superstar Rajnikanth. Our love was unabashedly reserved for Mithunda – his lean and lanky looks, his commanding voice, his cool disco moves – his basic insouciance at evil people with power and influence.
Thank you Mithunda for being you. And your songs still resonate in my playlists and there is no other that would replace the icon of you in my memory.
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