Parikshit Sahni talks about his best friend Sanjeev Kumar

By Screen Weekly -

June 5, 2014 - 5:09 AM IST

'During my student days, I lived in Russia for many years. The Russians have a saying: Khoroshevo po nemnogu that when translated means, "The good things of life must be taken in moderate doses". Unfortunately, very few Russians follow that saying. Most of them are colossal gourmands and vodka guzzlers and in the years that I spent with them, I also turned into a glutton and a boozer. When I returned to India (in 1970) my cholesterol, triglyceride, blood pressure and sugar levels had shot up spectacularly and the doctor, after careful examination, declared that I didn't stand much chance and must prepare for an early exit for the other world. Not a very pleasant diagnosis, and after serious thought, I decided it was too early for me to kick the bucket.

I decided to change my lifestyle. But then someone reminded me about the similarity between the grave and the potty - "When you gotta go, you gotta go!" So I said to myself, to hell with it and disregarded the doctor's advice and continued with my hedonistic ways.

However, within a span of few years, I saw some of my best friends fall sick and make an early exit, and that hurt me deeply. What saddened me most was the premature death of one of my best friend - Haribhai Jariwala, popularly known as Sanjeev Kumar.

Haribhai and I shared a very close bond. When I acted in my first Hindi film Anokhi Raat, I knew very little about acting (having just returned from Russia after doing a course in film direction). I was not well-versed in Hindi and delivered my lines atrociously. The producer tore his hair whenever he came on the sets and wanted to boot me out of the film.

It was then that Haribhai, my co-artiste and a newcomer himself came to my rescue. He taught me correct diction and the importance of pausing during dialogue delivery. It was at his insistence that I changed my name to Ajay Sahni, (which I did without a demur because I was convinced that this would be my first and last film as an actor anyway).

But Anokhi Raat was a big hit and before I could say, Jack Robinson, I was inundated with acting offers. That I was a trained director was pushed into the background.

Within a few years of Anokhi Raat, Haribhai had reached the zenith of success, earning the distinction of being one of the most versatile actors on the Indian screen. He had left most of his contemporaries, including me, far behind. My father, Balraj Sahni, was very fond of him, and had stated, 'This boy will go far'.

And Haribhai did go far. But he could have gone so much further had death not taken him away from us. He was in his late forties when he passed away. It was a personal tragedy for me, as over the years, our friendship had deepened into brotherhood. When faced with a problem, it was to him that I turned to for a solution. At his funeral, I pushed my way to his pier through milling crowds and touched his feet before his body was consigned to the flames. I wept bitterly, as I had lost one of my best friends.

All great artists are sensitive and Haribhai was no exception. Little things hurt him deeply and being an introvert, he seldom shared his feelings with anyone, preferring to suffer in silence; he sought solace in alcohol, an anodyne for sensitive souls.

We often shared a drink in the evening, and he could drink anyone under the table. He could guzzle up a bottle of Dimple Scotch as though it was a bottle of Pepsi. One could rarely tell that the booze was having an effect on him, it was usually well past midnight before food would be served, and he could polish off an entire handi of payas, mutton curry, a couple of tandoori chicken, kebabs and other delicacies with the help of half a dozen naans! But even that was nothing compared to what I witnessed when Haribhai and I were shooting in a casino in Las Vegas for a film by Jagmohan Mundhra called Suraag. We were shooting till two in the morning and Haribhai was hungry. So we made our way to a nearby Chinese restaurant that was open all night.

Haribhai took a fair amount of time ordering food. After he had placed the order, the waiter politely asked him when the rest of the diners would arrive. "Who others?" Haribhai asked in surprise. "Surely this food is not just for the two of you?!" the waiter remarked. "Yes, it is!" Haribhai replied nonchalantly. The waiter left, looking totally dazed.

When the food arrived, the table creaked under its weight. It was enough for an army platoon. I had ordered a plate of jumbo prawns and rice for myself. When Haribhai started eating, the entire Chinese staff of the restaurant stepped out and stood against the far wall to see how two people could possibly finish off so much food!

They couldn't believe their eyes when Haribhai ate with relish and finished off the entire spread with consummate ease. He didn't even spare the plate of jumbo prawns that I had ordered for myself. And, I got to eat just one prawn! I heard one of the Chinese chefs saying, "Indian people velly stlong people, velly stlong people!" before returning to the kitchen.

Haribhai was indeed strength personified! He was a strong friend, a strong artiste, a strong comrade and a confidante. He was the best. Dad once wrote in one of his articles: "I carry quite a graveyard in my heart!" I had not understood what he had meant then.

But, now I do.'

Screen India