Pran & Noor Jehan

Right from his first film, in which he played villain, Pran was cast opposite some of the most beautiful women in the subcontinent.

Noorjehan was the first of them.

Noorjehan, which means light of the world, went on to become the singing sensation of the subcontinent. About her, the famous author Saadat Hasan Manto wrote: ‘To me, there was just one thing about her that was phenomenal — her voice! [It] was pure like crystal. Even a suggestion of a note was discernible when she sang, being perfectly in command whether the notes she employed were in the lowest range, the middle one or the highest…. Noorjehan only had to strike a note to make you sit up.” Mallika-e-Tarranum (the queen of melody) Noorjehan was certainly a well-deserved title.

However, when Pran met her on the sets of Yamla Jat, she was just a young teenager being systematically introduced to the realities of the world. Still, in keeping with the artifice of her background, she was given the prefix `Baby’.

By the time Khandaan began to be made, the `Baby’ from her name had been dropped. She had graduated to playing heroine. But Noorjehan was still quite short then and Pran remembers that, in their scenes together, they had to make her stand on some bricks in order to make her look taller!

Although during the making of Khandaan she fell in love and eloped with her young director, Shaukat, eventually marrying him, Noorjehan apparently also shared a good rapport with her co-star of three films, Pran. It appears that a common love for Urdu shairee and music was at the foundation of their friendship.

That there may have been some undercurrents of a romantic nature on Noorjehan’s part is revealed in her gesture of running to Pran’s house on the day his baraat was leaving for Delhi.

Jotting down her memories, Pran’s eldest bhabhi, Kuldeep Prem Krishen Sikand, recalled the moment: Pran was looking so handsome, wearing the sherwani specially stitched for the occasion. Sitting there on the mare, with the sehra on his head, he really looked regal.

`Suddenly, Noorjehan came running and asked, “Pran ghodi chad gaya? And the people around said: “Yes.” Apparently, whatever needed to be said would now remain unsaid.

Pran’s firstborn, Arvind, who has lived for many years in London, recalled receiving a telephone call in the early 1970s from the legendary singer: ‘Out of the blue I got a call from a lady who said: “I am Noorjehan and I am here visiting from Pakistan and I would like to see you.”

`I was quite surprised. I mean, I knew that she’d acted in some films with my father. I remember Khandaan was her first role as leading lady and it was also my father’s first role as leading man. But this was rather unusual — she was my father’s first heroine in Lahore, and in the many years that had elapsed since then, we hadn’t had much contact with her.

`She came across to our home one evening. She was very affectionate, and as we were having dinner that night she suddenly said to me: “You know, when I look at you, you could have been my child.”

`I think it must refer to some, perhaps romance, that they may have had at that time. It was very sweet of her, I must say. I didn’t take it at all in any bad way’

Although Pran and Noorjehan had not kept in touch, for Pran never returned to Pakistan, not even to visit, apparently there was at least one occasion on which they had spoken to each other.

Pran’s friend and samdhi, Satish Bhalla spoke about that occasion which took place some years ago: Pranjee had given an interview to the BBC. During the interview he mentioned that, when in Lahore, he had been the hero in a picture opposite Noorjehan. He mentioned that she had been a very famous heroine and a great singer of her time. Then he casually remarked to the interviewer, a trifle regretfully: “She must now be very old.”

`This interview must have been telecast a few weeks later and Noorjehan must have seen it. I remember that day very well because I was sitting with Pranjee in his house. While we were chatting, an overseas call came through.

`It was Noorjehan — and wherever she was, she was p-r-e-t-t-y annoyed! Because she came right to the point and said: “This is Noorjehan speaking. So? I’m getting old, eh? And what about you? You’re not getting any younger!”

Decades later, during the early half of 1982, thirty-five years after she left for Pakistan, Noorjehan and her daughter, Heena, were coaxed to make a visit to India, to be special guests at a music programme in celebration of the golden jubilee of the Indian talkie, which would bring together several living legends of the world of music and which, happily for Pran, fell on his birthday, 12 February. There, she sang her famous song, `Aavaaz De Kahaan Hai…’ from the 1946 film Anmol Ghadi.

Pran recalled that joyous and affectionate reunion: Noorjehan was so nervous about the trip, she called me at least eight—ten times before she boarded the plane, just to be reassured that I’d be waiting for her at the airport with a special bus. It was an evening to remember and she was so thrilled that she’d let herself be persuaded to make that visit to Bombay. I also threw a party in her honour where she could meet many more of her old colleagues and friends.’

That Pran is a fan of Noorjehan’s voice, just as the rest of the world of her listeners are, is clear from this very telling incident that took place many years ago on board an aircraft, high up in the skies.

During the flight, there was some sort of heated discussion going on in the neighboring seats between some Pakistanis and Indians, and the topic was focused on Kashmir which then was, and still is, a flashpoint. One of the passengers asked Pran about his opinion in the matter.

Pran’s reply? ‘You want Kashmir?’ he asked. ‘Well, you take Kashmir!’ he said. ‘But in its place, you will have to give us Noorjehan!”

Sultan Rahi & Anjuman

Superstars have often faced this problem that while they march steadily on, lesser mortals who may be their partners, get old or tired or flopped, to leave their side. Mega-star, Sultan Rahi faced this dilemma twice or thrice in his career, not only with his heroine, but with his opposite number, Mustafa Qureshi. Rahi could never find a brilliant pair as Mustafa Qureshi, all through the rest of his career. But as far as heroines are concerned, he was fortunate that when Aasia and Mumtaz started to fade during the mid-1980, Rahi already had a ready-made female lead of immense caliber with him. That was Anjuman, who had ventured successfully into Punjabi movies after her early stint in Urdu films during the early 1980’s.

The film that put her immediately into top gear was Younus Malik’s Sher Khan in 1981. Sultan Rahi and Anjuman looked good together. They proved virtual conquerors of the big screen. Their next films like Sala Saheb, Chan Varyam, Jeedar etc, were all hits. Anjuman was a tall Multani specimen of womanhood. Her voice had that special Khanak and audio level that suited both cinemas, the Urdu and the Punjabi. She had already looked good with Mohammed Ali in a few Urdu movies, and then with her typical gestures in Punjabi films, she just took Lollywood by storm. By this time, Rahi had had some 20 years in the industry and looked fit for another 20. As Chakori, Mumtaz and Anujuman were the only heroines on the circuit; Rahi was paired more often with Anjuman.

Film actresses in the subcontinent, willingly or unwillingly, are taught to play up to their heroes. Usually in such cases, an affinity evolves and sometimes, it leads to romance and affairs. This wasn’t the case with Anjuman. For ten to twelve years, there wasn’t any stopping to the Rahi-Anjuman duo. But in 1990, another Amazonian called Saima entered the fray and within the next 3 to 4 years, she was rivaling Anjuman for the number of films she was doing with Sultan Rahi. Moreover, Saima developed romantic leaning with Rahi and it was rumored that they had secretly married. Later, the same year, Rahi was killed coming back from Islamabad, in a car, and as always the murder case was sidelined because there were big political names involved. Anjuman continued for sometime but she had grown flabby and lost her popularity to Saima and the rise of the younger breed like Reema, Meera, Resham and others. She tried desperately for comeback in 1999, with Chaudhrani, which was a hit, but no other film could do the same business.

Waheed Murad & Rani

Getting favorable review from the very first movie he did, Waheed Murad had little time to think of failed films like Saaz-o-Awaz, in 1965. Rani had partnered him in that film on classical music. At that time, Waheed was excited about the formation of his team which was making Arman, so Rani; an ordinary, dusky girl was hardly on his mind. After that, of course, Waheed was totally taken up by his projects with a charming girl called Zeba. But, when he had gotten over his tragic parting with her, he started concentrating more on who he is being cast with. So, when next he crossed paths with Rani, in Hasan Tariq’s Devar Bhabi, he found her to be a very sensitive girl with good tastes. Although she was a vamp in the film, he felt that there’s a lot more style and body language to Rani than that unimpressive girl of Saaz-o-Awaz. The film did a golden jubilee in 1967. The next year, he acted in a remarkably light romantic flick with a triangle comprising of Shamim Ara, Waheed and Rani titled Dil Mera Dharkan Teri.

Their romantic pair was first tried in Maa Beta in 1969, which did a silver jubilee. Waheed’s chocolate charms had found a perfect magnetic appeal in Rani’s come hither, voluptuous form. They became the heart and soul of the screen. They know their cues, both expression-wise and with reference to the body lingo. Both Waheed and Rani considered Anjuman their best movie. In the grip of depressive fits, it was Rani who embraced him and gave him comfort.

After Anjuman, they did many films together, like Naag Muni, Baharo Phool Barsao, Naag Aur Nagin, Dilruba, Suraiyya Bhopali, Parakh etc. But after the 1970’s things were never the same, as the atmosphere changed in the studios and both Waheed and Rani became disillusioned before their eventual departure from the industry, and later untimely deaths.