An actress remembers

Archana Masih

There are five movie halls in Chhapra. And new Hindi film releases a welcome event. Plans are made within the neighbourhood well in advance and women put that extra dash of powder to make it for the show.

But when the country's most talked about film reached this languid north Indian town, women preferred watching the Zee television network and gave the film a miss. "No baba, how can I see that dirty film? There is a scene where she walks nude," says a primary school employee with disbelief. "Only men sat and stared at the screen," she continued.

Meanwhile, more than 1,600 kilometers away, in a downmarket government housing colony of suburban Bombay sat another woman who had watched the film four times. Cannes, London, Delhi and in her native north eastern state of Assam. And each time she saw the film she too turned her face away and said, "Chee, yeh kiya?(Chee, What is this?)"

Last month, the lady won the national award for best actress for this very film.

"Meri raaton ki ninde ur gayin thi.( It had driven my sleep away) Every night while jogging I contemplated whether to accept or reject it," says Seema Biswas about the Bandit Queen role. "My theatre friends told me - 'Seema, tu history banane ja rahi hai, theek se soch le,' (You are going to make history, think about it)," recalls the actress two-and-a-half years later.

As the leading actress of the NSD Repertory Company in Delhi, her first encounter with director Shekhar Kapur was on a trip downstage. She happened to spot him in the audience while rehearsing for Khubsurat Bahu, a comedy. The play included a scene where the entourage had to come down the stage. Midway down the stage her eyes fell on him. "He later came backstage, congratulated me on my performance and in front of the head of the repertory offered me the role," she says.

Before he made Biswas his offer, Kapur had contacted another lady at the NSD -- Anuradha Kapur. "She was my teacher, more like my guardian, and Shekhar's first cousin. He asked her about my acting potential," she adds.

With a voracious passion for the stage, Biswas has even performed with two broken ribs. She feels her commitment to the audience takes precedence over everything. “Those days a friend and I were staying in an MP’s house. He had rented a room to us. I had a bad fall and there was no one to help me,” she recalls.

To add to her misery, she received word that government staff would conduct a raid on the MP's house to weed out illegal occupants. “I had to make arrangements to move out and also make it for the show in the evening. But I managed to settle all that and perform, even with that pain,”she continues.

Seema Biswas took a month-and-a-half to accept the Bandit Queen role.

"When I read the script I knew it was meant just for me," she says. From there began preparation for the film. She read books on Phoolan Devi in Bengali and Assamese, newspaper clippings and scrutinised photographs. For Biswas it was a voyage of discovery - diving into the mysteries of another character and patching it on her for celluloid success.

All this happening while the real life dacoit of the Chambal was still in prison. Their meeting coming only after the release of the film. "Phoolan comes from Phool (flower)," says Biswas, "To me her photographs were speaking images. Her fingers...her eyes... they seemed to be saying something," she continues.

The shoot took her to Dhaulpur, Madhya Pradesh. The tight 75 day shooting schedule gave her just one-and-a-half hours of sleep each night. Every day a jeep brought her to the shooting locale. But for one particular shot she offered to share her seat with an impersonator - the double who enacted her nude scene near the Behmai village. Biswas even did the woman's make-up and accompanied her till the cameras rolled.

"That height of humiliation was beyond my boundary. As an actress, not a part of my execution," says Biswas. Though she herself doesn't feel very comfortable with the idea, she revealed the scene was shot with the girl's consent and was the director's decision. "I felt bad that while she was behind the scene I got the recognition. But she was very professional and the next morning I saw her getting her photographs clicked," recalls Biswas.

Buttocks bada hai...(She has a large bottom).

Sneered a man in the movie hall. Other men laughed luridly. "Will you shut up?" The palpable anger in the lady's voice forced the men briefly into silence.

Remarks like these were heard during the film in many parts of India. But Biswas is unfazed. "I have never been subjected to any such remarks," she says, "I went for one screening in Bombay and when Shekhar introduced the cast, I received a standing ovation. I went from the crowd and nobody made any crude remark."

Seema Biswas is uncomfortable with the her one-film publicity. "My tragedy is excess publicity," she says. To avoid getting recognised in public she follows three guidelines: she wears dark glasses, keeps her hair tied and if anyone asks if she is Seema Biswas, she says no.

"I once saw a girl in the crowd walking towards me at Churchgate station. I could see that she was trying to place me and suddenly she said 'Bandit Queen'. My prompt reply was a flat no and both of us continued walking and got lost in the crowds." But there are times when there is no escaping public recognition. Sometimes subtle when shopkeepers give her 25 per cent discounts without even mentioning it. Sometimes blatant with admirers stretching their palms, their shirts for her autograph right in the centre of Delhi's busiest market.

"One of my most heartening moments of recognition came when a group of young men walked up to me in Delhi and said, 'Madam, we have come all the way from Kashmir to see your film' and when my political science teacher in Nalbari called to congratulate me." Words of praise, letters from old couples and 13 year olds. Though Biswas's maiden film fired her into international prominence she is now looking for fresh worlds to conquer.

"I want to break the Bandit Queen role," she stresses. Something she hopes to achieve in Khamoshi -- the film where she plays a deaf mute. Then still living in Delhi, she rushed to Bombay to learn sign language. Six months later, adept, she was shooting for the film.

"A mute boy and a couple used to teach me. While I was with them I realised how much we normal humans speak. This association made me very close to the couple and today Sangita is my biggest critic for that role." Her attention wavers and suddenly she excuses herself to tell her maid that she could leave for the day. "Keeping full time maids is risky in Bombay," she says entering the room, "Initially, I had a girl from Assam since she was very pretty I had to send her back."

Seema Biswas wants to die.

"That's how I feel before my film is released," she clarifies with a small laugh. With four to five films in hand and two or three plays, she wants to keep her talent open to all kinds of roles. After the prolonged hang-over of the intense performance in her first film, a comedy is what she's looking for now. "I didn't expect Bandit Queen to create such a dhamaka (explosion). Though the film made me very sensitive it also made a me quite an extrovert,'' she says.

During the time Bandit Queen was reeling under legal and moral controversies, Biswas was quietly moving base from Delhi to Bombay. Having spent nearly eleven months in the metropolis life is slowly building up for the actress. But it's been a hard climb. While her contemporaries in tinsel town occupy plush apartments in the city's prime locales, she lives in a one room flat. With eight similar flats on each floor, three friends from the NSD live in adjacent flats on one side of the corridor. An iron gate at the beginning of the corridor has converted their section into a homely four-room-flat. A peculiar arrangement though, but for the commune of artists it is a comfortable establishment.

"It suits us fine," says Nikhil Sharma, a television actor occupying the opposite room, "since it's very close to Film City we get to our shoots in no time." Biswas's room is bright. Her Assamese background is apparent in its spartan furnishings. In the absence of a personal car, trips to town, mostly the National Centre for the Performing Arts is done by cabs and trips to shooting locales by vehicles sent by the producer. "But I have booked a car and should be getting it soon," she reveals.

With Bandit QueenBiswas resigned from the repertory and saw her staid theatre world replaced by the garishness of the Hindi film universe. In an industry dominated by beautiful faces and boorish films, she is confident of finding a niche for herself. "Glamour is only secondary. Performance and good work is all that matters. If I have that, I fit. If I don't, I am a misfit."

"As actresses why don't we take risks in our performances?" she asks. The kind of performances in Hindi cinema agitate her. "Every woman cannot be physically beautiful to appear on screen. This tradition should be broken." Impassioned, she stresses upon each word to make her point. "Colleagues from NSD are very often deprived of good roles because they are not beautiful. Moreover with the decline of the art cinema in the country there is not enough scope for them. This demoralises them," Biswas continues vehemently.

Main Rehmat Bol Raha Hoon.

As a 15-year-old, this was Biswas's first performance on stage. It was an Assamese play and she remembers how there were no traces of any stage fright. "I can face a huge audience during a performance but ask me to give a speech and I'll be very nervous." The confession is honest. "After Bandit Queen, I was invited to a small gathering in Assam and asked to say a few words, but I found it hard to manage," she continues as though she were providing us with ready examples.

Much before entering the portals of the country's premier drama institute, Biswas's first formal introduction to theatre was through a workshop in Guwahati. A former NSD alumnus arrived to conduct the workshop. "He finished seven days work in one day and it was a continuous 14 hour schedule on that day," remembers the actress.

Performance is her key word. "It is the audience that matters. For an actor personal life is not so important." Estranged from her husband, an NSD graduate, Biswas is deeply submerged in her craft. "Through acting you can forget your personal problems and enjoy life," she says. Her desire for a perfect performance - the ultimate role is yet to come by. Resting on past laurels is not her style. "The life of an actress is very short. You are only as good as your last role," she says assertively.

Nalbari, Assam.

Nostalgia about her hometown keep surfacing in her conversation. The reaction of the family after watching the film for the first time. The stunned silence in the room only broken by her father. 'Only our Seema could do this role,' he said. With her voice laden with emotion she remembers her late father whose words perhaps gave her one of her finest familial memories.

She laughs thinking about herself as an eight-year-old, the night her family and neighbours thought she was dead. "Everybody at home had gone out. Only my grandmother and I were sleeping inside. On returning they all kept knocking on the door. The entire neighbourhood soon arrived. Eventually they broke upon the door -- only to see us sleeping."

Funny moments, sentimental moods, sad accounts. She picks them from her landscape, momentarily reliving those bitter-sweet memories. "I don't think friendship means anything," she says.

Six marks.

That's all it took for her friendship to come apart. "I secured more than her in college and things were never the same for us." She sounds disillusioned... sad. But there are friends who have been special. A friend who did her notes while she practised for plays. "I still have her black and white passport size picture, this friend was most encouraging during my college days."

The trip back in time lifts her spirits. And for Biswas, still finding her bearings in a different city and the mercurial Hindi film world these memories bring a glow to her eyes. She clutches a cushion, sips her cold tea and looks out of the window. “I love the sun set,” she says looking at the orangish-reddish colours scattered across the evening sky.

For Biswas, the sky is not the only limit...it could well be beyond those orange hues.

Seema Biswas photographs: Jewella C Miranda