A self-effacing genius

The Painter Of Lights

Radhu Karmakar

Prafulla Pathagar Publications

216 pages. Rs295

Eminent cinematographer Radhu Karmakar’s memoir is a fascinating tale of early Indian cinema, when imagination and initiative more than made up for shoddy equipment, writes Sidharth Bhatia

Books about Bollywood can now be found on the shelves of city bookstores, but most tend to fall in one of two categories — either biographies of the big, well-known names, or studies, academic or otherwise, of Hindi cinema. In recent weeks, however, books about behind-the-scenes names have also begun slowly making their presence felt.

 Abrar Alvi’s biography recently made waves and now a new book, on the life of Radhu Karmakar has just been published. Even those reasonably well informed on Hindi films may not immediately recognise the name, but at one time he was considered the pre-eminent cinematographer in the industry, not the least because of his long association with Raj Kapoor.

Karmakar worked with Raj Kapoor for over four decades. Kapoor liked to make every film with the same team and once you joined his studio, you remained with it. Karmakar, who had recently moved from Calcutta, was chosen to shoot Awaara and stayed on till Henna, directed by Randhir Kapoor. Though Karmakar did venture out and shoot for other producers, B Subhash being the most prominent, he will forever be associated with the RK Films banner. Hardly surprising then that much of the book — which is drawn from his diaries and articles on him — is about Kapoor. Karmakar’s wife and son have done the compilation and writing and it is a competent job, because what we get is the subject’s voice.

Karmakar was an unusually candid man. He expressed his views, at least in his diaries, with candour and frankness. The language is not undiplomatic but not coy either. He points out flaws in Kapoor and many others he worked with, but does so without malice. Whether it is a fleeting reference to the fact that his own salary remained the same for decades or an expression of dismay that Nargis, whom he admired, criticised Satyajit Ray in the Indian parliament, Karmakar says it without overstating his case.

Even when dismissing rumours about Jis Desh Mein Ganga Behti Hai being directed by Kapoor instead of Karmakar himself, the author remains unruffled; Alvi in contrast showed his pain at similar rumours about Guru Dutt having directed Sahib Biwi Aur Ghulam.

The book is a fascinating tale of early Indian cinema, when equipment was shoddy but there was no dearth of imagination and initiative. He proudly recalls the praise he got from Charlie Chaplin for the Pyar hua ikrar hua song sequence, when an outdoor feel was done fully inside the studio. There are chapters on cameramen, film music and even one on the economics of film-making. Throughout the book one cannot help but get the feeling that for Karmakar, a young boy from Bengal who made it big in Bombay, films were everything and that too films of a particular period, when social awareness was the centerpiece rather than vulgar entertainment.

Despite the editing lapses, the book is engaging in tone and tenor, though one would have liked a bit more specific information on how Raj Kapoor worked. As it is, Karmakar skims over the surface without giving us details, of conversations or incidents. Yet, it is important to prod the memory of film-lovers of another time, when Hindi cinema was not Bollywood and filmmakers were not merely preoccupied by the NRI market and mobile rights. What comes through is a warm and fastidious man, dedicated to his craft and proud to be in the industry, who shot some marvellous films and remained simple in his habits, travelling by buses till the very end of his life.

sidharth01@dnaindia.net