Filmfare’s Editor-in-Chief, Jitesh Pillaai, reflects on iconic actress Meena Kumari’s journey on her death anniversary. An actor of rare depth and a poet at heart, she transformed personal pain into timeless performances and haunting verse. Decades on, her legacy still lingers, as the eternal face of unrequited love.
Here’s what Jitesh Pillai has to say about Meena Kumari:
About a decade ago, a report in a newspaper said that the famous Kamal Amrohi Studio was sold to three different buyers for around 200 crores. The news is iconic because there was reportedly no one from her own family to clear the hospital bills when Meena Kumari passed away in 1972. Was it this lack of self-preservation that gave Hindi cinema’s finest actor a cutting edge on screen? But what made her helpless off it? Meena Kumar, a child actor in B-grade setups like Leather Face, slalomed to big heights with Baiju Bawra and became a massive star.
After being the proverbial golden goose for her family, she found romance and solace with the much-married, 17 years older Kamal Amrohi. She was barely 20. After a few idyllic years, her marriage came apart. Her superstardom coincided with the unravelling of her marriage. Many theories abound as to why the marriage came unstuck, including a theory that she was always watched over, no one was allowed into her makeup room, and she received regular beatings.
While she notched up back-to-back its and four Filmfare Awards, her life was spiralling downwards. Also, much
heavy weather is made about her addiction to the bottle, leading to the breakdown of her marriage. Meena was wedded to grief; she had a restlessness that sought refuge in poetry and darker pursuits. When she acted on screen, she showed us the deep lacerations in her soul. She hurt, and we grieved in her pain. As Chhoti Bahu un Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam, her finest performance played out both on and off screen.
Her posterity almost seems like an apology for the grave injustices meted out to her in her lifetime. Perhaps due to her lack of self-preservation. Her performances are couched in moonshine. She shone like a beacon while being enveloped by the darkness. Like Sahibjaan in Pakeezah, despite the darkness and abuse swirling around her, she remained pure in her craft.
Meena Kumari is that unfinished poem; she is the face of unrequited love. In her sorrows, we find resonance and acknowledge our own failings. It is 54 years today, and the wounds still refuse to fade away, much like her memories.
Also Read: Editor’s Take: Sabar Bonda, Joyland, Moothon and The Politics of Love and Identity
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