You may think I’m trying to yoke dissimilar conceits albeit of a kind that deals with appellations – Shashi kapoor, the romantic hero of countless candy floss flicks of the 60s and 70s, and Shashi Tharoor, the internationally prominent Indian author and ex-UN Undersecretary General. Therefore, the whole exercise may be nothing more than a semantic casuistry. Pray what could Shashi Kapoor and Shashi Tharoor have in common but for the rather common first names? Very little indeed, except for the rather happy conjoining in the mindscape of a starry-eyed woman as she blurred the boundaries between fact and fiction.
The year was 1970. The silver screen had not yet been scorched by the visceral and angst ridden polemics of the Angry Young Man. A gaggle of chocolate faced heroes mouthed syrupy inanities and played Romeo to the beguilingly pretty Juliets of the Hindi film industry. Shashi Kapoor was the swashbuckling star of many a commercial fluff that kept the cash registers ringing. With cupid curls and mascara-thick lashes that could put any girl to shame, he serenaded a bevy of beauties in the familiar go-cart routine of filmdom. And thus it was that as he charmed the almond eyed Rakhee to the lilting strains of SD Burman in the 70s hit Sharmilee, Cupids arrows unerringly found their mark in the young girl, and yours truly was floored. This suave and debonair hero went on from lightweight roles to roles of substance in later years. As he traipsed across the screen with hair elaborately coiffured, I sat and watched entranced, my heart aglow with the coruscating brilliance of a thousand stars.
The years rolled by and the starry-eyed teenager had metamorphosed into a woman with her romantic fantasies not a whit diminished, and when marriage happened, a bloodless coup de grace was effected. The “reel hero” was and in its place a real idol, warts and all. Meanwhile, I watched helplessly as my sable-curled hero succumbed to the legendary Kapoor propensity for corpulence and bowed out of the silver screen. After all nothing against “Time’s scythe can make a difference” not even the fabled kapoor charm.
Faraway on the distant shores of New York, a young man was straddling two worlds – the world of international diplomacy and the world of letters. It was this space, this alternate universe he created with such a deft and felicitous turn of phrase that captured my attention. Subconsciously, he spoke to my alter ego that clattered away like a poet in the garret, poring over sumptuous phrases with an almost Keatsian ardour. By the time I stumbled on Tharoor, he was an established writer and a much acclaimed speaker. In the autumn of September 1997, he was one of the distinguished speakers invited by DSSC Wellington. I devoured his fortnightly columns which appeared in The Hindu and could feel an almost subliminal affinity for the writer who wrote with such effortless ease on India centric themes.
Tharoor’s extensive literary oeuvre includes works like The Great Indian Novel, India from Midnight to the Millennium, The Riot, and more recently, The Elephant, The Tiger, and the Cellphone. India from Midnight to the Millennium is monumental in its sweep, showcasing the wonder that is India in a work that is insightful as it deals with diverse topics such as politics, caste and religion. As I read, I marveled at the ease with which Tharoor juggled his various roles so seamlessly. After a distinguished career at the UN Tharoor returned to India and plunged into the maelstrom that is Indian politics and became a first time MP from Kerala.
It has been a tale of two Shashis – one who lit the screen with his ersatz and chutzpah and the other who dazzled with his verbal dexterity and literary accomplishments. And I have come a long way too – from the stargazing, awestruck teenager, seduced by the handsome Adonis on the big screen to the reality bitten middle-aged woman buffeted by time but believing ardently in the power of the written word over the power of the visual media.
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