1973. Garam Hawa. MS Sathyu’s epic on the aftermath of Partition is ending. The last shot has the Mirza family perched on a tonga heading for the railway station. They have to catch the train to Pakistan.
All of a sudden, the tonga gets swarmed up by a melee. Young India is clamoring for its rights. Young Sikander Mirza whose heart never tolled for Pakistan is espied by one of his friends in the demonstration. ‘Where are you going?’
He looks at his father questioningly, who nods wistfully. Sikander jumps off to merge with his friends in the growing crowd.
Farooq Sheikh’s debut movie was not destined to be a part of the crowd; neither was he. Some become angry young men, some are happy to be the boy next door –Farooq Sheikh was a friendly young man who would always be a heart throb in his sober handsomeness, but never the matinee idol because he would not leave his friendliness behind.
Not even when he was playing the wily trickster in Sai Paranjapye’s delectable hair and tortoise fable, Katha (1983), considered by some to be the most memorable role in his short but sparkling film career. Conniving Bashudev (Farooq Sheikh) piled on to guileless Rajaram Purushottam Joshi (Naseeruddin Shah), his college buddy, and adroitly took over his life inch by inch.
Bashu (as he himself liked to be called) wore Rajaram’s shirts, stole his money, clinched an executive position in his office by smooth talking and exchanged sweet nothings with the female employees while Rajaram burnt the midnight oil for completing Bashu’s share of work. He heavily romanced Rajaram’s lady love while simultaneously carrying on with their boss’s fashionista second wife and teenage daughter from the first marriage on the side.
Irredeemable cad, total lout – won’t you agree? It was Farooq Sheikh’s innate friendliness and consummate artistry that make the character a loveable villain even when there was nothing to love in the acts he committed. Call it appeal, or art, or both –it was only Farooq Sheik who could stop you from wincing every time he uttered, Shudhar jao Rajaram, Shudhar jao! whirling his keychain nonchalantly each time Rajaram caught up with his indiscretions.
In hindsight would come the doubts – did he actually mean it? Was not Bashudev, the other name for Lord Krishna, the Machiavelli of all tricksters - one who spun around dames and the sudarshan chakra with equal felicity on his fingertip? Was he trying to teach the idealistic but naive Rajaram the ways of the world, telling him Chodo kaal ki baatein; kal ki baat puraani?
Fortunately, the doubts won’t linger on. Farooq’s innate goodness won’t allow it. The Bashudevs of this world have always made merry at the expenses of the Rajarams; they still do. But they cannot do it with a twinkle in their eyes which would leave room for doubt because they are not merry themselves.
Farooq Sheikh was merry, he was mild, and though he was uncommon – together with Amol Palekar personified the common Indian man on screen.
While Amol would dream of being Amitabh and get tongue-tied in the presence of his inamorata (Choti Si Baat, 1975), Farooq would pass off his doctor wife as a village belle for not wanting to hurt his father’s traditional views of modern women being home breakers (Kissi Se Na Kehna, 1983), tolerate his virago mother’s mistreatment of his wife till his patience runs out because he could not be anything else but a dutiful son (Biwi Ho To Aisi, 1988).
Even when he was involved in an insurance scam, it was because he was goaded into it by his overbearing brother-in-law (Lakhon Ki Baat, 1984).
With anybody else, this mildness could be construed as being a pushover, but never with Farooq Sheikh. He was unassuming because he could never be improper. He would never step out on his own, even if he was aching for it without a questioning glance if a senior was present like the iconic last shot from his debut movies.
He could not be an iconoclast because he did not want to; he was too friendly.
His screen persona was like the adult version of Swami (Swami and Friends by R K Narayan, immortalized by Manjunath on television in the Shankar Nag serial)-lively and fun to be with.
What sets him apart from Amol Palekar’s depiction of the common man is the glint of mischief while declaring his intention of getting a job to two of his idle roommates averse to the idea in another Sai Paranjapye gem, Chashme Buddur, 1981 --
Mere dosto, beediyo pe utar aye hai?
Akira Kurosawa drew the best out Toshiro Mifune, Satyajit Ray out of Soumitra Chatterjee; Sai Paranjapye did the same with Farooq Sheikh –which was being a friend.
He would rarely let a friend down or leave him behind, but could also pull his leg with devilish aplomb and in debonair style. He was a friend in deed.
