Death is the ultimate leveller. It is the thought of death and misery that has forced people to leave everything and begin the search for truth. All things have to reduce to dust.
The Bible says, “Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return.” Lord Krishna in The Bhagwad Geeta talks of the temporal nature of material things around us. Nothing is yours and when you leave the world it is the ‘atman’, i.e., consciousness that stays.
Thomas Gray in his Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard says: The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike the inevitable hour. The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
I am reminded of these thoughts amid the coronavirus crisis that is taking its toll all over the world and the deaths of two of the finest actors in Indian cinema - Irrfan Khan and Rishi Kapoor - from cancer of different kinds one after the other.
Irrfan was only 53 and his genius had just begun to flower. He struggled hard to make a name for himself and emerged as one of the most refined actors. But his full potential could not be realised. He wanted to play cricket and was doing well but could not pursue it because he did not have Rs 200 to pay a fee. Most of us identify with his struggle and hence his death filled our hearts with gloom. He appeared logical and sensitive on the screen and made things look so easy.
Rishi Kapoor was one of the biggest entertainers of Bollywood. He added a few more notches to the prestige of the Kapoor family that has been one of the strongest pillars of Indian cinema. His simple but graceful dance, guitar work, and romantic histrionics taught youngsters how to love. Fashioned on his illustrious father and the biggest showman of the Indian film industry, late Raj Kapoor, Rishi had shown his talent as a young boy falling in love with his schoolteacher in Mera Naam Joker.
The entire film industry was jubilant when Rishi Kapoor was launched in Bobby, the rebellious love story that became a rage among youngsters. Rishi and his innocence combined with a similar touch from Dimple Kapadia created a magic that Bollywood can never forget. Schoolboy romance to teenage romance to full-fledged romance of a young man in Sagar, he was always a class act.
He was equally loved by the young and the old: the generations of my father, my own and my son. His choice of movies, of late, became more serious and perhaps he wanted to explore solutions. Whether it was Mulk where he depicted the pangs of Hindu-Muslim divide, or 102 Not Out, where he explored the way of living a meaningful life through his father in the film played by Amitabh Bachchan, a deep melancholy prevailed. Perhaps it was due to the illness, and he knew that death was closing in on him. He never allowed his youthfulness to leave him and should be an example to all who bewail illness.
We all rationalise death but we don’t try to rationalise birth. And this seems to be the tragedy of humankind. The Bhagavad Geeta stresses on this and forces people to ask questions. Why was I born? What am I supposed to do? It is definitely not to earn a living and feed the belly and try to live as long as we can. Unless we realise this, we will continue to be in the cycle of rebirth. Bear the same suffering of struggle and death.
Adi Shankaracharya was an eighth century saint who espoused the doctrine of Advaita. He opened the four mathas in different regions of India - Badrinath, Dwarka, Puri, Sringeri - and thereby attested to the cultural unity of India. He died at the age of 32; nobody knows how. His disciples saw him behind the Kedarnath temple, walking in the Himalayas until he could not be traced.
Swami Vivekanand died at the age of 39. He brought Vedanata philosophy to the Western world, made understanding of the Vedas easier through his teachings and spoke of universal brotherhood as the theme underlying most Hindu texts. His Chicago speech in 1893 when he was just 30 was an extension of this philosophy. He taught lessons of humanity to the whole world and advocated human kindness. Service to man is service to God, he used to say, and he became an icon of the youths. He died in meditation at Belur Math and attained mahasamadhi.
Hindu scriptures have stressed on the concept of iccha mrityu (where you wish death). This happens when one realises that one’s purpose in life is over. One cannot grow beyond that or contribute more to the society. But for this, one has to be extra spiritual to understand one’s calling. Gautam Buddha tried to explain this. He said suffering is born of desire and desire unfulfilled leads to rebirth. The purpose of life is to come out of the cycle of birth and death and attain nirvana, the same thing which Lord Krishna said in Bhagavad Geeta .
Rishi Kapoor from this point of view had achieved the pinnacle of glory in acting. He ruled Bollywood for almost 40 years. His son Ranbir Kapoor is well settled and is carrying on the legacy with aplomb. He could have definitely contributed more, but death cannot be conquered. The digital library would ensure that generations to come would know Indian society through his films - the aspirations and the struggle.
In the case of Irrfan, one feels really bad and hurt. He was not born with a silver spoon. He made his way up in the cut-throat competition of Bollywood through hard work. I always remember his 'chhota recharge' advertisement that made life easier for struggling youngsters. His acting had gained that magical touch. He had much more to contribute. The only person I can compare him to is Smita Patil. She died at the age of 31 when the entire Bollywood had begun to realise the depth of her acting and emergence as an icon of Indian womanhood.
My tribute to both Irrfan and Rishi Kapoor for making our struggle look easier through their films.
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