My Aunt Leela

Self-conscious and with a deep inferiority complex, she deliberately kept herself in the background, concentrating on her studies, in which she excelled.

While still at school, she saw Dr Gajanand Chitnis for the first time at a Brahmo Samaj meeting. Fourteen years her senior, he was widely travelled, sophisticated, and spoke many languages. For her, it was love at first sight.

After school, she enrolled in the prestigious St Xavier’s College to study English Literature. All through the years she continued to see Dr Chitnis at the Samaj meetings and I use my imagination here when I say that her obvious adoration finally attracted his attention, and he proposed.

Dr Chitnis was editor of the Marathi weekly Chitra. But despite his brilliance, he was a dreamer. He planned a lot, but no job seemed to him as deserving of his talents. Magazine sales plummeted and he became involved in the Marathi stage, trying his hand at writing and directing plays, leaving his wife alone with their two young sons.

Inevitably, faced with mounting bills and no income to talk of, their romance started to fray. Shy, conscious of her dark complexion and ordinary looks, Leela was totally out of her depth. Clutching the small boys, she would follow her husband to rehearsals, helping with costumes and props. And the day came when the heroine of the play failed to turn up, and she was literally pushed on to the stage.

No heroine of that era would tread the boards wearing spectacles. Someone pulled hers off. She was literally groping in the dark, dazed and petrified. She had attended endless rehearsals. Now from the recesses of her brain, she dredged up the dialogues. Obviously, she acquitted herself very creditably. More such roles came her way. Soon, she signed her first film.

And then the camera fell in love with her face. Despite the obsolete equipment, lack of makeup experts and poor lighting, her fragile, high cheekboned face came into focus. From whichever angle she was photographed—full face, profile, right side, left side, close-ups—she looked exquisite.

Suddenly, the mousy, dark, dutiful daughter and introvert wife became a celebrated star with a succession of golden jubilee hits. Stardom brought money and confidence (sadly, though, as her career graph went up, her marriage deteriorated. She divorced Dr Chitnis). In her wildest imagination, she had never considered herself in the limelight. But if it was to be then she would bring the same discipline to her profession that she had to everything else.

Leela Maushie could not see without her specs. Before each shot, she would first count the paces to the camera chalk line. The effort to focus and ‘‘see’’ without the wretched specs brought an intensity of expression that relayed on film as depth and passion. Years later, another great icon of films, Ashok Kumar, said: ‘‘I learnt to act with my eyes from Leela.’’ She practiced yoga, meditation and eye exercises, and finally discarded the heavy specs.

During our summer vacations, we would travel to Bombay for ecstatic family reunions. The cars, the secretaries, the huge house (lavishly furnished with Kamdar furniture and art deco artefacts), the wardrobe and the pale green, sweet-smelling make-up room made our visits memorable.

Leela Maushie herself remained unaffected, loving and welcoming to the end. Her four sons were the reason, the meaning of her life, and when they migrated to America, they persuaded her to join them. She returned many times at the insistence of directors like Raj Kapoor, Guru Dutt, BR Chopra, Dilip Kumar, Dev Anand and Ramanand Sagar, who refused to make their films without her. But it took a lot out of her.

Her eldest son died at the age of 42, followed shortly after by the death of his young daughter, Sonia. Our cousins later told us that she began showing signs of dementia after the tragedies.

Soon, she had fewer moments of lucidity. Her mind was a blank, she recognised no one, simply smiled and walked around. She was delighted when she met anyone who spoke Marathi. She died at the age of 93.

In December 2003, her son Raj and grandson Jaideep brought her ashes to Mumbai. After a simple ceremony, her ashes were consigned to the sea at Bandra as she had always wanted. Our Leela Maushie had come home at last.