Flashback Friday: Remembering Leela Naidu

Today's generation doesn't really know about her. How can it? She acted only in nine films during her lifetime, and even during the prime of her career shunned the limelight.
Leela Naidu passed away at the age of 69 on July 28, eight years ago. Separated from her second husband, the eminent poet Dom Moraes, during her last years, she rented out rooms of her quaint, old-worldly apartment in Mumbai's Sargent House, located in a leafy bylane of Colaba. The tenants were essential for her to make ends meet.
And to think she had been crowned Miss India in 1954, and had been selected by Vogue magazine, along with Maharani Gayatri Devi, as one of the 10 Most Beautiful Women in the World! Lore has it that she took acting lessons from legendary French filmmaker Jean Renoir. The great surreal artist Salvador Dali had painted a portrait of her at the Grand Hotel Opera in Paris.
Born to an Indian nuclear scientist father and a mother of French-Swiss origin, Leela Naidu fell in love with hotelier tycoon Tilak Raj Oberoi and, at the age of 17, married him. They had two daughters, Maya and Priya, but the marriage didn't last. In the meantime, she gravitated towards film acting. It is believed that Satyajit Ray had expressed a desire to cast her opposite Marlon Brando and Shashi Kapoor in The Journey, which was unfortunately shelved.
As it happened, she finally made her debut with Anuradha (1960), the black-and-white film directed by Hrishikesh Mukherjee. Loosely inspired by Gustave Flaubert's classic Madame Bovary, the film showcased her as the wife of an idealistic doctor - enacted by Balraj Sahni - who neglects her unknowingly, impacting their relationship.
The unconventional Anuradha tanked. I was just about knee-high when the film had premiered at the now-defunct Naaz Cinema, which would seek to entice audiences with evocatively hand-painted hoardings above the marquee. Those posters and Leela Naidu left a lasting impression.
Much later, my profession as a journalist allowed me to meet up with the actress who, by then, made a few rare screen appearances as in Shyam Benegal's Trikal (1985) and Pradip Krishen's Electric Moon (1992), which was scripted by Arundhati Roy.
So there she was, Leela Naidu - in person - offering me coffee. Her husband Dom Moraes wandered off, saying, "Leela, don't chatter on for hours. Remember, we have to get ready and watch a play at Prithvi Theatre this evening."
Leela Naidu relished conversations. For starters, she went on about husband Dom Moraes, exulting, "He's so brilliant, he keeps me grounded, I wouldn't know what to do without him." Then she switched lanes to filmmaker Hrishikesh Mukherjee ("He took the risk of introducing a rank newcomer to Bollywood when he could have employed any top-notch heroine at the time"), producer Ismail Merchant ("I love him but he still hasn't paid me a rupee for acting in The Householder, he always claims he's broke"), and Shyam Benegal ("He's such a pet, just see the wonderful role he gave me of a family matriarch in Trikal!").
The bon mots for directors over, she returned to Dom Moraes. She waxed eloquent about his books, his poems, his newspaper columns - and the coffee table books he had published. "Dom is so prolific," she had laughed. "By comparison, my life has gone by in a flash, I could have acted in so many more films. I withdrew from the scene much too soon. Our mainstream films depend majorly on illogical songs and dances - maybe I was a misfit."
Indeed. I veered the conversation towards Baghi (1964). What on earth was she doing clutching on to a swashbuckling Pradeep Kumar, and that too wearing an oversized flowing gown topped by a tiara? "Ah, but it was fun to play a princess," she retorted. "There's nothing wrong with indulging in fantasy once in a while, is there?"
As for Yeh Raste Hain Pyar Ke (1963), rumours had abounded that the film was 'inspired' by the controversial K.M. Nanavati case, which was the talk of the town at the time. Directed by R.K. Nayyar and with Sunil Dutt playing the male lead, the murder mystery thriller was a major hit. I couldn't see it when the film released, since it was given an "adults only" certificate by the censors.
Finally, catching up with the film years later, Leela Naidu's performance had struck me as being an entirely believable one. About Yeh Raste Hain Pyar Ke, she had remarked, "I continue to be associated, in the public mind, with the film because it was commercially successful. I would give all credit for my performance to R.K. Nayyar and to Sunil Dutt; they kept the atmosphere friendly and lively on the sets. usually, there are ego hassles."
In the course of that chat at Sargent House, Leela Naidu had said she would like to continue to act but would not dumb herself down for "all the gold, incense and myrrh in the world".
Subsequently, there was news that Dom Moraes had found a new muse and moved on. Leela Naidu's career and life had often encountered turbulent weather but she had never lost her stoic nature.
Her biographer Jerry Pinto said he had met her just a week before the end came. She seemed to be absolutely fine, her mental faculties were razor sharp.
Today, I can only regret that I could never meet her again. Leela Naidu will always be with me, though, pretty much like that unforgettable film hoarding of Anuradha above the Naaz marquee.
wknd@khaleejtimes.com