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TRANSITION
 Pupul
Jaykar
(born 1915)
She could have been the archetypal society lady. Pupul Jaykar had all the credentials:
daughter of an ICS officer, married to a barrister, patron of the card room at Mumbai's
Willingdon Club. Her intellect called upon her to do more, to dispel "the static
images of India". In the process, she made the renewal of indigenous art forms her
mission. In the '80s, she also became the force behind the Festivals of India. Yet, her
inquiring mind remained restless. It found some gratification after a meeting in 1958 with
Jiddu Krishnamurthi, the philosopher who "transformed" her life. Another abiding
friendship was the one with Indira Gandhi. It began in Allahabad, when they were but their
fathers' daughters, flowered in the prime minister's residence and culminated in a
biography of "dear Indu". The book was eminently readable but that should have
been no surprise. Jaykar was nothing if not a communicator. After all, she had taken
India's culture to the world.
 Kamlabai
Gokhale
(born 1900)
She may not find prominent mention in encyclopedias on Indian culture. Queerly, this
would appear apt. Even a book couldn't encapsulate Kamlabai Gokhale's life, let alone a
paragraph. She was born with the century; she matured faster than it did. At a time when
men played female roles on stage, Kamlabai played male roles. A feminist before it became
fashionable to sport the tag, she even learnt fencing to do justice to action sequences.
So convincing was she as Dhairyadhar, the hero of Man Apman, that a married lady from
Rajapur fell in love with "him" and followed Kamlabai across Maharashtra. In
1913, Dadasaheb Phalke cast Kamlabai in Mohini Bhasmasur (1913), the first Indian film to
star a woman and made shortly after the pioneering Raja Harishchandra. Years passed,
courage didn't. Aged but agile, her last battles were with the newspaper, magnifying glass
in hand. As she said in Reena Mohun's documentary on her life (1991): "Blind in one
eye, lame in one leg. But my faith is strong." Did she need a scriptwriter?
 Datta Samant
(born 1932)
Through the '80s, he was India's most rampant trade unionist, its Arthur Scargill.
Strangely, Dattatray Narayan (Datta) Samant began life as a doctor in suburban Mumbai.
Three decades ago, moved by the plight of some patients who were stone quarry workers, he
sought to fight for their rights. In 1982, he led 2.5 lakh workers from Mumbai's textile
mills on a record-breaking strike. The strike contributed to the destruction of an
industry. Yet, Samant's rhetoric continued to mesmerise many. A political animal, he
organised V.P. Singh's first rally in Mumbai after the split with Rajiv Gandhi. He
contested elections too, going to the Lok Sabha in 1989. His final political war was
against the Shiv Sena-bjp regime. In a time of liberalisation, he became a bit of a
Luddite though. Seventeen bullets and two assassins killed him eventually; his ideals had
been mangled far earlier.
 Sanjukta
Panigrahi
(born 1934)
To Kelucharan Mahapatra, Odissi's other great contemporary exponent, the likes of her
"dazzle only once in years". To others, Sanjukta Panigrahi was the prototypical
prima donna. Flawless in dance, courageous off-stage, Panigrahi thrived in adversity. As a
child, she took on her father when he tried keeping her from her art. Years later, she
stopped in her tracks, literally, when Laloo Prasad Yadav's antics disturbed a
performance. Bihar's chieftain was upbraided in a manner he had not quite known. The
combative streak never dulled -- not when the Orissa government denied her land for a
dance school, not when, in 1995, the priests at Jagannath Puri baulked at her offer to
perform as the temple's devadasi. "To give up would be to lose," she once said,
"I hate losers." She lost only once, to cancer. Since then, the ghungroos have
been silent. They shed silent tears for their mistress. |
