Bollywood: Final Whistle for the Game-Changer

Sitting ever so primly in a coffee shop around noon, she's barely recognisable. Enormous shades dominate her face, a cotton dupatta is tossed casually over her simple kurti and, believe it or not, no heads turn to dart a second glance at her.
As I saunter over to say hello, Zeenat Aman is visibly displeased. "Do you want an autograph?" she asks.
Turning sideways to her two companions, an elderly couple, she apologises to them, "Sorry, this will just take a minute."
"Hello, hello," I go, I'm so-and-so, remember me?
To that, she bats her eyelids, peers closely, and smiles, "Oh it's you! Didn't recognise you. Have you grown a moustache or something? How are you?" She stands up for a handshake, makes polite conversation, and says bye, before I can wish her early for her birthday on November 19. The heartthrob of Bollywood in the swinging 1970s and '80s is 64 now. Time doth fly, doesn't it?
Remembered as the bold and beautiful game-changer, she was poles apart from the painfully coy heroines of her time. Immediately dubbed "Westernised", she had no qualms throwing attitude, both on and off the screen. A beauty pageant winner, she was uninhibited, speaking her mind and even breaking into cabaret numbers (once considered the exclusive domain of vamps).
Indeed, she became a disco diva with the pop anthem Aap jaisa koi meri zindagi mein aaye (rendered memorably by the late Nazia Hassan for Feroz Khan's Qurbani). Neither can any memory file ever erase her spirited act as the typical '70s flower child, swaying to the tune of RD Burman's Dum maaro dum in Dev Anand's Hare Rama Hare Krishna.
Short skirts and sarongs were fine by her, even as she was criticised for her daring act in Raj Kapoor's Satyam Shivam Sundaram. Ms Aman, in fact, was Bollywood's first 'cool' actress, an odd girl out among the convention-bound pantheon of heroines. She established a glamorous screen presence, although she wasn't quite in the league of extraordinary actresses who could belt out gut-wrenching performances.

Perhaps, the fantasy-laden Indo-Soviet co-production Alibaba Aur 40 Chor was an exception, a film in which she did transmit an emotive charge. In the role of Fatima, seeking vengeance against a merciless bandit, she overshadowed Hema Malini, the reigning queen of the marquee at that time. To a degree, Zeenat was in form in BR Chopra's Insaaf Ka Tarazu, too, a court drama with its fair share of sensationalism and controversy.
Come to think of it, as I continue to look at Zeenat at a table across the coffee shop, she strikes me as someone who was constantly subjected to controversy and the voyeuristic gaze of the camera. The very fact that she survived the Bollywood establishment is nothing short of miraculous.

She was constant grist for the gossip mills, which linked her by turn with her mentor Dev Anand, Pakistani cricketer Imran Khan, and actor Sanjay Khan. Her marriage to actor Mazhar Khan was
ill-fated, as he succumbed to a prolonged illness. Their two sons, Azaan and Zahaan Khan, both in their twenties now, were expected to join films, but there's no news on that front yet. A couple of years ago, reports abounded that Zeenat had married Sarfaraz Khan, a realtor and politician. She hasn't confirmed the news to date.
Career-wise, Parveen Babi - also associated with a free-spirited image - was pitched by filmmakers as Zeenat's arch-rival. Both lost out on plum roles to each other when it came to pairing up with the A-listers, in particular
Amitabh Bachchan.
Worse, a serious eye injury inflicted in the course of an abusive relationship with Sanjay Khan forced Zeenat to retreat into the shadows prematurely. Her last leading role of any substance was evidenced in Gawaahi (1989), an adaptation of Ayn Rand's courtroom drama Night of January 16th.
Of late, she has fetched up once in a blue moon in subsidiary roles of the woeful, hand-wringing mother. Clearly, not her scene. Her bid to take to theatre with a desi take on Mrs Robinson of The Graduate was earnest but not memorable.
For quite a few Bollywood actresses, life can begin after 60. Take her contemporaries Hema Malini, Shabana Azmi, Dimple Kapadia and Rekha - who retain a loyal fan base and can handpick scripts offered to them. By contrast, Zeenat elected to second the acting instinct in her. She doesn't seem to be accessible. And from all accounts, the new generation of filmmakers are stymied by the strong possibility of being told, "No thank you, not interested" by her.
To be honest, that's why I didn't ask her for an interview at the coffee shop. From her faraway look, I could pre-empt her answer. "But I have nothing to say, really." Actually, she has a fantastic autobiography lingering within her, a book of memories on the joys and agonies of the days that were.
It's a pity, then, that Zeenat Aman has chosen to be retentive, a game-changer who'd rather live with her story untold.