A star is born..

When I was a little girl growing up in Bombay, India, this was one of the stories that always got told around the house. The story was about my Nanaji, my maternal grandfather, and how he came to be in Bombay, from a small village in northern India.

My grand father was very young when his father passed away. From what I understand, my grand father came from a wealthy and educated family.  They lived in a small village in what is now Punjab, in the northwestern state of India.  He was the youngest of four children, and the only boy.

They lived in interesting times.  This was before the Indian Independence, before India and Pakistan were two different countries. The British Raj was in decline and the world was changing.  The Brits were petting Hindus against the Muslims, in a last ditch effort to divide and conquer.

By the time he died, my great grand father was a broken man.  He had been cheated out of his fortune by some suspicious business associates.  He had lost property in the partition.  He was still very respected in the small village that he lived in.   He had a reputation for being honest, and hence was often employed by the village elders in matters of contracts and disputes.  When his father died, my grand father was given a job as a school teacher to support his aging mother and his young wife by the local villagers. All hopes of him going to college were dashed.

My grandfather was born in 1920. This was seven years from the time that Dadasaheb Phalke first introduced the motion pictures in India. This was the birth of Bollywood. And since he was a very young boy, my grandfather was fascinated by the movies. He wanted to be part of Bollywood.

While he was teaching school in the small northwestern town just across the border from what is now Pakistan, he would send the entire summer in Bombay. He would leave his mother and wife back home, take his writings, and tirelessly pitch his ideas to the famous studios in Bombay. And at the end of summer, he would return to his small town school, and his wife and mother. I am told that there were times when he was promised appointments with major studio executive so  long he stayed beyond his summer vacations.  But he wouldn't do it.  He had to go back to the little village, to his school teacher salary, to support his family.

I often imagine him, facing the turbulence of the British Raj, the tragedy of his fathers misfortune, the border scuffles between India and Pakistan, and the tinsel town dreams.  A young man, with a dying father, an aging mother, a beautiful but spoiled and immature wife.  A brave young man, full of hope and optimism.  He answered Gandhi's calls to protest against the British.  He spent nights in Jail. When I see the lack of optimism in the air today, despite the luxury that we live in today, I think back to the young man that my grandfather was.

In the third year of his summer time trips, he finally got his break. He was offered a job as a staff writer by Raj Kappor Studios. He went back to the village for the last time, packed his bags, his mother, his wife and by now his young daughter, my mother, and moved them to Bombay.

I star was born!