A three and a half hour long discussion about visually linking Bollywood with India’s very own Pneumococcal Conjugate Vaccine, Pneumosil. In its birthplace, Maharashtra. Over a few cups of Irani tea on the ground floor of the iconic Alfred Talkie.
The septuagenarian became excited to listen to my intentions. He brought out his works from a simple plastic packet. simple, like him. He was describing to me the tedious process while showing his ongoing, unfinished, and finished works. I was amazed. I told, ‘La jawab, Chacha’.
He looked up. ‘La jawab? These works? Then you didn’t see my Ustaad’s works.’ I asked, “Who is he? He paused for a few seconds. Touched his right earlobe. And told me, ‘M. F. Hussain. I am his shaagrid.’ The disciple worked with his guru for nearly one and a half decades. ‘Even my best works, those that received accolades from others, didn’t even come close to his worst works. He is the best cinema poster painter in the history of Bollywood.’
I asked him, “May I get one of your works?’
The old man, with cataracts in both eyes, looked into mine. With a quirky smile, he said, “Aap toh samajhdaar ho. Le jao’.
So I asked which one he would prefer to give. He told me, ‘Mughal-e-Azam. It’s not here. I finished it last night. My father first painted the poster of Mughal-e-Azam, and I assisted him when I was a kid.’
‘I need your signature on the painting. I have seen that there are few works without your signature.’
‘Why? Won’t you sell it?’
I was wondering. Asked, “Why should I sell? This will be an asset for me.’
He smiled. Didn’t reply immediately. Then slowly he said, “People, including artists, asked me to paint posters. And they exhibited them or sold them with their names on the paintings. I don’t want to mention their names. But I know they did it. And they are still doing it.’ He paused for a while. And told, ‘what’s in the name? I’m still working. My hands are still functional. I’m still painting every day. Christmas is coming. So I’ll gift my Christian friends the paintings of Jesus and Mother Teresa. I’m still alive with my works.’
I understood his initial quirkiness. And the true meaning of ‘Samajdar’.
‘But I need your signature,” I insisted.
Chacha smiled and nodded. ‘Achha, thik hai. Aapki marzi. As you are insisting.’
‘But how much does it cost?’
‘Arey, kachra hai sab. Le jao. What do I have to do with this garbage?’
‘But still. I should pay you. It shouldn’t be free.’
Out of the blue, he suddenly asked, “Do you have cigarettes?’
I take the packet of cigarettes out of my pocket. And handed it over to him. In return, the old man smiled like a child. And asked, “Pura packet? Are you really giving me the whole packet?’
I nodded.
He told me, “Then it’s done. Now, whatever you want to pay that satisfies you, pay me. You’ll get it tomorrow.’
And the next day, after the completion of the photo shoot, I got Mughal-e-Azam in my proud possession. By Bollywood’s last living cinema poster artist, Seikh Abdul Rehman. Popularly known as S. Rehman. When I put a few hundred rupee notes in his pocket, Rehman Chacha asked, ‘but where are my cigarettes?’ I once again handed over the packet of Navy Cut. Chacha again smiled like a kid and whispered, “But don’t tell my family about these cigarettes, okay? They will scold you.’ We both laughed. Loudly.
And then, with a lighted cigarette and his plastic bag, Chacha disappeared in the alleys of Saki Naka.
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Mumbai, Maharshtra