I watched this film years ago as part of my early obsession with Helen, and didn’t fully appreciate then how very unusual it is for its time. It must be one of the earlier examples of the 1970s resurgence into “parallel” cinema and hard-hitting social commentary directed at the country’s youth. As you may have guessed from the title, the story revolves around a woman named Kamini (Zahira) who has been forced into a life of “high-class” prostitution by a society which offers few choices to a girl—on her own in the world, trying to support herself—who is raped by her wealthy employer. I would assume that in 1974 India it was considered (and probably criticized for being) “titillating” but to my western eyes thirty-six years later it is compellingly and realistically tawdry and sad, and an excellent attempt to illuminate the injustice inherent in a woman being made to pay an ongoing price for her own victimization. It is a film that has stuck in my memory—and revisiting it for this blog is long overdue (it’s not a movie I want to see over and over again, though: it is pretty grim).
The tone for the film is set immediately, as the credits roll against the harsh ring of a telephone, picked up by a girl in bed who cradles the receiver as she chats with an unseen person. I like the music throughout this, by Sapan Jagmohan: it is by turns breezy and melancholy as appropriate for the story unfolding. My favorite song is the Asha-Kishore duet “Hum Hain Jahan” but the background music is particularly effective.
Seth Sonachand (Iftekhar in a really fine performance) is a wealthy contractor not averse to cutting corners in order to increase his profits, or passing out bribes to get his way.
He schmoozes with his powerful clients in the evening, wining and dining them, and providing them with female company procured through a nasty piece of work by the name of Babu (Kuljeet). This leaves him with no time for his family; wife Mrs. Sonachand (Urmila Bhatt), son Amar (Vikram) who is about to return home from his studies abroad, and daughter Usha (Nazneen) who is away in boarding school. Mrs. Sonachand busies herself with her gurus and ashrams and the kids are basically on their own, a fact highlighted when Sonachand asks his secretary Sylvia (Helen) to meet Amar at the airport that evening.
Sylvia herself is a pragmatic though kind-hearted girl; I wonder throughout to what extent she actually goes to keep her job with Sonachand. This detail remains nebulous, and Helen is wonderful in the role (although we are deprived sadly of a song and dance—but who can blame her for wanting something different to do?). She tries to contact Mrs. S to meet her son at the airport but Mrs. S is otherwise occupied, to her son’s evident disappointment.
His reunion with Maa-Baap when it happens is warm and loving with Ma, and formal with Dad. Sonachand is quick to criticize his son’s apparel and Ma leaps to his defense. The relationship between the parents is clearly strained: it is certain that all their wealth has not brought much happiness to this household. Sonachand won’t even let Amar have dinner with his mother, so eager is he to get Amar started in his footsteps!
At the club Sonachand has dinner plans with a business partner by the name of Tikamchand (Jankidas), who has a daughter named Tina (Shefali). The two men are of the fond opinion that Amar and Tina are perfect for each other, but Amar is horrified when Tina lights up a cigarette out of her father’s sight.
She takes Amar to a party at some friends’ house, where he meets one of his old friends who is an artist (Jalal Agha). The party itself is hilarious and looks like a rocking good time to me, with music (Jalal Agha sings the crazy-fun “Jawani Mere Yaara”) and a bunch of stoner goras in the background.
Although happy to see his friend again, Amar clearly doesn’t enjoy himself as much as the hard-partying Tina.
The next day at his new office, he tells his father (rather bravely, in my opinion!) that instead of studying Business Administration as his father has believed, he has gotten a diploma from an Art School. I think this is totally awesome, and Sonachand is actually not as mad as probably MY dad would have been. He even agrees that as long as Amar puts in a full day at the office, he can do whatever he likes (paint!) with his evenings.
Amar meets a lovely girl at the Jehangir Art Gallery and invites her for coffee. She is very reserved, but he is attracted by her quiet beauty and asks her to pose for him at his studio (which he is now sharing with Jalal). She does so, but remains secretive and evades all his questions, including her name and whether she’ll return for another session or not.
We soon discover the reason for all the mystery: the girl (whom Amar is now calling Maya) works as a prostitute, entertaining well-off businessmen in their hotel rooms.
The scene where we first see her at work is very well done. It perfectly illustrates the sleazy nature of her business without making her appear sleazy herself; she retains her dignity as she caters to her lecherous (and drunk) customer’s wants.
At the same time, we are shown the toll that it takes on Maya: she pops a pill in the bathroom before sallying forth to the bedroom, smile and fluffed hair firmly in place.
We also discover that on her way home she always stops to give an old woman on the footpath money to help feed the woman’s children, and that she is also putting her own younger sister through school—the same boarding school which Amar’s sister Usha attends.
Amar is asked by his father to visit Usha at school in Pune. Usha is a carefree, pretty girl who plays badminton and is being romanced by a greasy Romeo named Ramesh (Paintal). He reminds me of the Mike Damone character from Fast Times At Ridgemont High who knocks up classmate Stacy Hamilton (appropriately enough, as it turns out).
Usha is thrilled to see her brother, and complains about not seeing their parents for months on end. Clearly parental neglect is not limited to only Amar. And as Amar’s romance with mysterious Maya proceeds apace, Usha is seduced by Ramesh with disastrous consequences. She discovers that she is pregnant at about the same time that Maya finally confesses her real identity (her name is Kamini) and profession to Amar after they arrive at her home one afternoon to find her vicious pimp Babu—who is also Sonachand’s supplier of female company—waiting for her.
Babu is angry because Kamini has been avoiding his calls (she cut her telephone line in a dramatic gesture). Amar is devastated by his discovery and basically calls her a money-grubbing whore. To my great joy, Kamini sticks up for herself proudly instead of falling at his feet and begging him to forgive her. She tells him that she has sold her body—her only asset—for money and at her own wish, and that at her own wish as well, she is giving it up. He storms out, and takes refuge in a whiskey bottle, which is an excellent excuse for a nightclub song that sadly features a pretty but talentless (at least in the dancing department) girl in a bikini instead of Helen.
I’ve seen that nightclub before, too, but offhand cannot remember where.
Luckily though, there are two other smart women who care for Amar: Sylvia, his father’s secretary, and his mother. Sylvia points out the toll that drinking has taken on his father and mocks him gently as a young Devdas. And his mother may not have met him at the airport, but she comes through for him now when he tells her his problem.
She tells him to bring Kamini to meet her, and that she will support them both no matter what society might say. He does so, and his mother greets Kamini warmly. But alas! Kamini sees a portrait of Sonachand on the wall, and flees the house, recognizing him as the man who had hired her as a secretary and then raped her at one of his evening business parties—and then sold her into the clutches of Babu by threatening her schoolgirl sister’s life.
Sonachand’s karma is about to come home to roost too, because daughter Usha’s baby-daddy Ramesh refuses to see her now, and she is desperate and suicidal. What will happen to her? Will Amar discover that his father was the cause of Kamini’s downfall? If so, what will he do? And what will Sonachand do when he discovers that his son wants to marry a woman he uses to entertain his clients?
As I said earlier, this film is compelling in its attempt at giving a different perspective to an age-old story. The performances are very fine: Vikram as Amar has a baby-faced innocence about him which doesn’t appeal to me generally as hero material, but is perfectly cast as a man who would appeal to damaged and cynical Kamini. Iftekhar is powerful as the debauched and arrogant Sonachand, and Zahira brings depth and believability to her role. Urmila Bhatt is lovely as the other-worldly Mrs. Sonachand, and Kuljeet is his usual effectively menacing self—he really creeps the bejesus out of me, I’ve got to admit.
It’s not a happy tale: it is full of sorrowful undercurrents, and holds some eye-popping (and tragic) twists at the end. But it’s very different from the “usual” fare of its time, and so well-done that it deserves an audience. Kudos to all involved! (And yes, on a shallow note because I am shallow, the decor and clothing are groooooovy!)
MemsaabStory 