A transcendent beauty with an unmatchable talent, my mother, the legendary actor Rani, (originally born as Nasira) remains an enigmatic character to me even today. I have always found it difficult to talk about her primarily due to sentimental reasons but also because every superstar has a public persona, quietly at odds with their private self.
However, on the occasion of her 25th death anniversary, I intend to remember the inscrutable life of my mother as well as moments spent with her that include instances of joy and pain.
As far as I can recall, my first emotional encounter with ‘choti ammi’ - that is what I called her since my nani (maternal grandmother) was the ‘ammi jee’ in the house - happened in the cinema hall.
We had a family ritual that we must attend the first show of the film. And it was during Tarana, a 1979 film based on social issues, that probably made me aware that my mother lived another image, another identity beyond the biological bondage between us. The love the audience had for her became much more apparent when many men were seen dancing and whistling in the gallery area of the cinema.
Of course I was jealous, being a very possessive child indeed and was baffled to see her onscreen seduction. But inspite of that I myself fell in love with the aura of the characters she played and ended up becoming one of her greatest admirers.
I still remember crying over the scenes in ‘Umrao Jan Ada’ where she was humiliated or called for the grand climax mujra.
Even as a child I understood the sensitivity of the song and would break down in tears when the dancer helplessly addresses her child and sings ‘Kis liay maon ko nachwatey hein’. To watch my own mother perform such characters made me feel as if she was experiencing pain in real-time and that left me broken-hearted.
Rani enjoyed the peak of her film career whilst being married to my father, the (master) director Hassan Tariq, though I barely remember time spent with him. I was young when they separated and later on, he passed away in 1982. The only memorable photograph I have with both my parents is one that was taken on the occasion of my first birthday, which also became a post celebratory event for the success of Umrao Jan Ada.
People have always asked me about choti ammi’s role as a traditional mother and expect me to tell them if she cooked me meals, packed my lunch and drove me to school. Well, nothing of that sort happened because she was dedicated to her career and it required spending less time at home and more at the studios or travelling.
During my childhood, I remember seeing her on special occasions such as Eid, birthdays and other holidays - since either I was at school or she was at shoots and coming home late. When I would leave for school she would be asleep. So I was always looking forward to those warm infrequent get-togethers in which we played, laughed and cracked jokes. She was a very sportive person and loved playing badminton, ludo and cards with me. I learnt from her the magic of shuffling cards and realized that she would lose a game or two in ludo only to let me win.
On days when she was off from work, we would listen to the radio and mimicked different characters and audio recorded them. One of our favourite ones was ‘Ultay Pultay’.
Another favourite was ‘Rung he Rung Jedi k Sang’. She had a great sense of humor and would pass a comment or two, in Punjabi, on uncle Jedi that would leave me in fits.
Unfortunately the cost of stardom was very high; not many people knew that Rani’s real life was quite short of ideal.
A one-time lung cancer survivor, she endured broken marriages, depression and bouts of emotional instability; her jumping out of a moving car in a suicide attempt is something I am personally a witness to. Her unhappiness affected everyone in the house, including myself.
All those struggles never made it to the outside world and she never appeared as a tragic figure at all and always projected a positive image. Her persona as an actor on screen and private life at home taught me how to look beyond the sacred role of a woman as a mother only. I understood that as a human being she loved living life on her own terms. A strong pillar who stood everything from sadness to joy, she became the driving force, emotional and otherwise, in my own artwork too and I will always remember her as my first love.
– The author is a visual artist and filmmaker