Destiny's children

It’s tough to imagine that Rajkumar has been gone four years this month. A visit to the family home, however, establishes one thing. His legacy is intact and growing.

Indeed, his three sons and their extended family continue to live by his philosophy and faith in destiny. If one had to find a common thread to the many memories of Rajkumar nursed by his family members, it would be their complete surrender to destiny.

So, when we set to find out, on the eve of the patriarch’s fourth death anniversary, if the family had a blueprint to preserve Rajkumar’s legacy, what we encountered was their unflinching faith in the plan He has for them.

“My father believed in the play of destiny. He did not ever plan that one day he would go to Madras (capital of Sandalwood in those days) and get into films. For his sons, too, he did not like to meddle with destiny. He made no plans for them,” the late thespian’s second son, Raghavendra Rajkumar, says.

It’s as though the Rajkumar family is bound not just by the fame and glory of its patriarch, but also by his philosophy that is now imbibed by the consolidators of the Raj legacy — his three sons, Shivarajkumar, Raghavendra Rajkumar and Puneet Rajkumar — and their children, too.

How else can one explain that no matter where else the sons’ other interests lay, they were yanked back, like a magnet to the world of films, either to face the camera or to work behind one.

Shivarajkumar, (born Shivu Puttaswamy, fondly called Shivanna) developed an aversion to acting when he was in the first year of college.

At the time, he was already acting in Sri Srinivasa Kalyana along with Raghavendra, and a small role was also played by their younger sister, Poornima. “Not many people might notice, but if Shivanna is there in one scene, he is not there in the next scene. He would just throw his bags and run away. He hated acting,” recalls Raghavendra.

This was also the time when Shivanna was approached by producers in the Tamil film industry. But Shivanna just didn’t want to act, and Rajkumar let him be.

Maybe Rajkumar was prescient, for Shivanna did come around. After he completed his degree in chemical engineering from Madras University, his latent love for acting surfaced.

He would spend days and nights watching stage plays and films of all languages. He devoured cinema not just in volume, but also caught the nuances of fine acting that perhaps lay in him waiting to be shaken awake.

Today, 25 years in the industry and inching closer to the landmark 100th film, this ‘hatrick hero’ (his first three films were all 50 week run superhits. Hence the sobriquet) fits in Sandalwood like he always belonged there.

On the other hand, Raghavendra wanted to be a doctor. When he was younger, he admits to being attracted to the make-believe world of cinema. He even acted in Dari Thappida Maga and Sri Srinivasa Kalyana, the first cashing in on the lost-and-found brothers’ formula and the second, a mythological drama.

But he soon lost interest and joined medical school. A year and a half later, he was standing before his father, head down, confessing that he would not be able to sustain the interest to go through with the degree.

“I was ashamed. But my father just laughed. He said: It’s okay. Your father also has not studied. How could you be expected to?” That was the beginning of a rich and fruitful time in Vajreswari Combines, the family-owned film production banner.

Then there is Puneet.  Born Lohith, fondly called Appu, his instinctive sense of cinema is evident in Premada Kanike, where Rajkumar lifts the four-month-old baby into the air with Puneet smiling, as though on cue. “People at the unit cheered and said he’s a born actor,” says Raghavendra. 

Puneet didn’t disappoint. He was a star child actor. In Bettada Hoovu, his innocent smile and mannerisms stole the hearts of Kannada cineastes. It also won him awards galore.

But just as he was stepping out of his teen years, Puneet started to dream of becoming a professional in some other field. “He wanted to be a software engineer. It was the trend at the time,” says Raghavendra. But, again, destiny had other plans and he came right back to the silver screen with a bang in 2002 in and as Appu, a name that stuck.

But it wasn’t an easy choice to make for the brothers, reveals Raghavendra, quite candidly. They were very aware of their average looks.

The insecurity of not fitting into the conventional ‘good-looking’ category continues to haunt them. For the fans, they were “Rajkumar’s sons”. They had giant shoes to fill, and that weighed heavily on their minds.

“To be honest, we were always worried: Are we looking good?” laughs Raghavendra. “In our younger days, we were just like anyone else, with an awkward looking moustache, we were not groomed properly. We were more scared to know if people will accept us. Actors, especially, have to look smart. But this insecurity is natural with anyone. Even though you are good looking, you wonder if you really are,” he says. This insecurity plagued even Puneet though he was more exposed to films from a younger age. “Puneet would stand in front of the mirror and say: I’m so fat; I’m so dark; Will people accept me; Can I act?” recalls Raghavendra.

Shivanna and Raghavendra were insulated from their father’s fame when they were in Chennai. “Only during the summer holidays we would visit Bangalore and Mysore and go along with father to shooting locations. But we had no idea that he was such a big star till we shifted to Bangalore and witnessed for ourselves the fan frenzy for him,” Raghavendra says.

Speaking of legacy, if there’s  one other thing the family inherits from Rajkumar, it has to be his love for food.

We asked the family members to recall their earliest memory of Rajkumar. Raghavendra says: “He had a favourite place in the house where he used to sit to eat. He would sit with his left hand on his left thigh — many of his movies also show this, that was the real Rajkumar — and he used to relish every morsel. It was a pleasure to watch him eat. He loved non-vegetarian food.”

Rajkumar was more gourmand than gourmet: it was generous quantities of byaale saaru (dal) with dollops of ghee that was closer to heaven for him than more sophisticated types of food.

“When he toured with his father in Gubbi Veeranna’s theatre troupe, the unit could afford to serve only two meals per day. They went without breakfast,” explains Raghavendra.

A very young and hungry Rajkumar would peep through the window of the mobile canteen and look at people eating idlis and vadas. He craved for food.

Later in life, he would say: “Give me three meals a day and a place to sleep. That’s all I need.”