Paradise lost

“I don’t care about the money anymore. All I wish is to make a film on my life. People need to know it’s not that hunky dory after a National Award.”
The words reeked of despondence, dejection, desperation, possibly every adverb with a negative flavor that begins with a ‘D’. I say reeked because the words come from a National Films Award winner who probably deserves a better deal than slipping into limbo from the volatile public memory that every artist dreads.
Shafiq Syed, at 37, is a sad shadow of the diligent Chaipau he played in Salaam Bombay (1988), a Mira Nair film, which was the second Indian film to make it to the Oscars, after Mother India (1957). In the 22 years that stands tall between Salaam Bombay and now, Shafiq have grown wider and bald, a paradigm shift from the lanky Chaipau. The only semblance with a 12-year-old destitute wandering the streets of Mumbai, is the benign smile stained with beetle tinged teeth.
The rise
I wonder whether Shafiq is yet another shooting star with a very short stay at the helm of affairs. A backward time travel in the history of Hindi cinema would reveal few names with similar fates. Some like Sachin Pilgaonkar could manage to hang around the sidelines. Many like Shafiq fades away while more like Sabina, Azhar and Darsheel Safary stand in queue, God forbid. “The need to earn drove me to Mumbai. It was me and three others who decided to go to Mumbai to make a career in acting,” says Shafiq, who admits being an ardent admirer of Govinda.
Homeless and foodless days followed until he was spotted by Dinaz Staffer, assistant director to Mira Nayar, who was casting for Salaam Bombay then. “I was promised Rs 20 per day plus food. The money did matter to me then. In addition, I would be meeting the likes of Nana Patekar. After a two month long workshop by Barry John, I was finally cast as Chaipau. They paid me Rs. 15, 000,” says Shafiq.
The role fetched him the National Award for the Best Child Artist actor in 1988. Patang (1993), a critically acclaimed film directed by Goutam Ghosh followed, where Shafiq shared screen space with Shabana Azmi. “Wahi pandra hazaar (The same Rs. 15, 000 once again),” says Shafiq.
“I was not in touch with my family for over a year then. I came back home, to Bangalore, to pay off my family’s debt,” he says. His family had changed base by then and it took him great pain to trace them.
“My parents were happy to see me back. They didn’t inquire much about the money and the fact that I was acting in cinema was not that exciting to them. Salaam Bombay was not a phenomenon then,” says Shafiq. Equations changed once the National Award happened. Like every poverty struck parent, Shafiq’s gathered some money to fan their National Award winning son’s career. Shafiq went back to Mumbai to act.
The fall
“I attempted suicide once by jumping into the Arabian Sea,” says Shafiq.
A six-month stay at Barry John’s place and futile rounds of production houses later, Shafiq had given up. Frustration of failure had driven him to commit suicide.
“I realized how insignificant the National Award was when it comes to securing roles. Everybody was sympathetic to me, than being professional. I approached the Saalam Bombay crew for work but everybody warded me off with snacks and some money,” Shafiq says. “Shahrukh Khan was staying with me then at Barry John’s place. Fauji was on air then,” he sighs, probably comparing the trajectory of his life with the superstar’s.
After a year’s stay at Delhi, Shafiq finally returned home rejected and dejected, to take up auto-rickshaw driving, which has been his profession for the last 17 years.
The Present
“I wish I was educated. Education is important. Had I been educated, I wouldn’t have been an auto driver,” says Shafiq, in between fixing the sound recording instrument at a set in Ravi Kiran estate, Bangalore. He works as a sound technician in a Kannada daily soap these days. Needless to say, Shafiq is glad to be somehow close to the buzz of ‘lights, camera, and action’—which is a welcome break from running errands across the city driving an auto. He hasn’t driven an auto for the last four months. “I had worked earlier with Jain studio while in Delhi. I learned the basics of sound recording there,” says Shafiq.
His prime concern is to educate his four children. He seems to have long forgone the lure of the silver screen to the extent of being nonchalant about losing his National Award certificate and medal. “I lost them in Kolkata way back,” Shafiq shrugs.
“I met Mira Nair last December in the International Film Festival of India (IFFI), Goa. Saalam Bombay was screened there. But we didn’t have any conversation about my sagging career,” he adds.
He attributes his family for the stable life he is living now. He says that the air of momentary stardom or the sudden disappearance of it, never really rubbed on to them.
“To them, I am a bread-earner. Back then, I earned by acting, today I earn by driving an auto or working part time as a technician. I earn anyways. My ascent or descent doesn’t make much difference, thus,” says Shafiq. “All they want is to see me happy and I am happy with this job as a sound technician. My wife and children have watched Saalam Bombay, liked it and liked me in it. That satisfies me.”
He is candid in admitting that coping with anonymity got onto his nerves many a times, especially during the initial days as an auto driver in Bangalore. “Few passengers recognized me, very few though,” Shafiq sighs.
The trend
The likes of Shafiq nurture the anguish of failure behind a façade of tranquility. For Shafiq, series of setbacks has been a good teacher, good enough to make him pragmatic. Television crews lining up for an interview, to seek his opinion on Azhar and Rubina (two slum children who played central characters in the movie Slumdog Millionaire), doesn’t excite him anymore. “They are interested in my opinion on two children with a background almost similar to me. Just that. I know this won’t revamp my career in any way,” says Shafiq.
Shafiq is one among the many child actors who have faded in due course of time. Possibly a trend has been set with him, Sachin, Junaid Mehmood etc, which suggests child actors usually fails to make it big. “Probably because we had been stereotyped. The audience was not ready to accept the kids they had already seen running around naked on screen as a child, romancing,” he suggests.
According to Shafiq, there is a basic difference in the upbringing of child actors of then and now.
“They have education and are trained to handle success, attention and rejection. We were not. I am a victim of illiteracy, perhaps,” he says. “I pray not a single child meets my fate.”
However, the hang of a National Award still lingers as Shafiq says: “I don’t expect any preferential treatment from my crew. At times though, I feel I could have been better off than many who are making a living out of acting.”
Probable resurrection
“I want everyone to know my story.”
O. S. S. Entertainment Multimedia, a Mumbai-based production firm, had agreed to make a film based on his life. An informal deal was made almost a year ago. “I had recorded a voice clip of about four hours, detailing my life. They had promised me Rs. 15lac for the project. I had been to Mumbai three months back to sign the deal,” says Shafiq. As luck would have it, neither Vivek Shukla, the prospective director, nor Kanika Kapoor, C E O, O.S.S Entertainment, have responded to his calls since, Shafiq complains.
“Maybe they have started working on the script,” Shafiq anticipates with a possible hope of resurrection.