Thirty years of Khalnayak, premiere of a film, friend’s son’s wedding, he is there with the potted plant.
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Why do we love to love Jackie Shroff? Why are his recipes for perfectly ordinary dishes like bhendi fry and baingan ka bharta (though that one has a fine twist) so compelling, so beloved? The answer lies partly in his colourful Bombay personality, his bhidu-ness. But in preserving the style and vernacular of how and where he grew up, its large-hearted, larger than life commitment to everyday enjoyment, he speaks to our longing for belonging.
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I saw a video of Waheeda Rehman and Jackie Shroff at the recent screening of Guide. Dapper in black, Shroff holds a potted plant like it’s a Botega clutch, to Waheeda Rehman’s mystification. It’s a familiar sight to Jackie followers. Thirty years of Khalnayak, premiere of a film, friend’s son’s wedding, he is there with the potted plant.
A giggle bubbles up at the sight. At the same time it conveys absolute sincerity—one we have seen in his consistent and earnest “bachon ka future hai bhidu” messages of environmental consciousness.
This flamboyant comic-seriousness is present in many of his stories—for instance, when he recounts Dev Anand offering him the second lead in Swami Dada (Dev sa’ab being the hero obviously). A fortnight later he calls to say that Mithun Chakraborty has given dates, so Jackie has been demoted to Shakti Kapoor’s henchman. Jackie adds, after seeing what all the hero had to do—dance, act, fight—I though it’s better not to be the hero re baba, pura load hai. Sidey hi theek hai.”
These hilarious tales are not self-deprecating as much as a way of seeing life as an utterly adventurous tale in which one is part of a remarkable cast of characters. “People experimented with me a lot because I don’t differentiate between lead roles and smaller roles. I feel like if I’m a part of a film that’s more important.” About wondering how to play a scene in Rangeela: I thought Rahman sir mera background kar rele, I’ve a good cameraman, a good story—why take myself so seriously? “Marne ke scene mein marneka nahin.”
Also read: Zeenat Aman recalls childhood memories, reveals pet names given by Dev Anand
When anchors ask Jackie Shroff “how did you develop this bhidu language” one cringes not at their elitism, but at their provinciality, their disconnection from a world beyond their own.
Shroff’s idea of work as a collective exercise, and life too, emphasises a sense of connection, a cosmopolitan apnapan, uncommon in a time where people are at pains to put themselves in the centre of every story, where social media pushes each person to think of themselves as a brand.
Jackie Shroff’s Instagram page(@apnabhidu) would give any influencer bhari sadma. It is entirely random. He has not succumbed to putting up weekly recipe videos after the viral kadipatta anda recipe.
Ganpati, public events, branded content —it’s all there in no order. He is least bothered it would seem, and utterly confident of his own intrinsic glamour. “Everyone has swag bhidu,” he has told one interviewer and he seems to believe that.
To belong so much to oneself also enables great comfort with the idea of belonging with others. It’s far less lonely to see oneself as part of a collective, whether film crew or Nature itself.
For those now reared to see everyone as competition or threat, and so, made alone, it’s that longing for connection fulfilled through Jackie Shroff’s bindas videos.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at paromita.vohra@mid-day.com
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