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The big bahu
The nation's favourite bahu is finally out of your TV space, but Smriti Z Irani believes there couldn't be a better formula to keep people glued to their sets than Kyunkii... Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi. By Sudipta Basu
< =11/09/2008 name=date>< id=article = value="The big bahu" name=article> By Sudipta Basu
Posted On Sunday, November 09, 2008 
The women were not disappointed. It was a full house, everyone eagerly soaked up the animated conversation between the two ladies as they went from motherhood to being the first woman political reporter in war zones to contemporary polity to of course the audacity of hope following the election of the first black president in America, indicative of the possibility of a bigger role for Mayawati in national politics one day (as pointed out by Smriti in jest). The last occasioned a collective boo-hoo, following which the house was thrown open for questions; the ladies – some of who were restive for some lemon tea and small eats by now – launched full-on throwing a volley of questions to the participants on governance, corruption in Indian politics, lack of leadership and apathy among the youth. There were no saas-bahu questions, despite the fact that it was common knowledge that the mega-soap was to wrap up in two days. The day after that as we sat at a corner shop cafe down Lokhandwala market, Smriti Irani dressed in an oversized red shirt and a pair of loose denims, couldn't help marvel at the ladies' collective concern about professional politics and the Indian administration. "Did you see how the conversation quickly shifted from ordinary life to real issues," says Smriti, taking a first sip of coffee, the only visible hint of her TV persona, a faint hint of sindoor in her hair. There is no denying the fact that everything she does henceforth will have a recall to her role as Tulsi, the indefatigable bahu of the Virani parivaar. "Kyunki Saans Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi is the Sholay of our lives. All of us agree on that. Everything that we do henceforth on television may pale in comparison," she adds. Having said that, one can't help notice that Smriti is back on the conveyor belt going from one task to the other – theatre, TV, her political commitments with the BJP and prepping up her production house. She is working on a TV soap dealing with, as she says, the "concerns of the normal everyday woman who enjoys the simplicity of life". And her next theatrical presentation focuses on the "psychology of homelessness". "Every city today has a distinct topography following the influx of people from other cities. It takes a lot out of people to retain the beliefs that have been essential to their upbringing. Once on our own we almost require a new moral science text book to abide by," she says. Smriti would know that. She was brought up in a quasi-political environment herself; her mother and paternal grandfather were swyamsevaks associated with active politics, and Smriti's life before she came to Mumbai was as regimented and predictable as the path from her school/college to home. Some of the earliest pictures of Smriti (Malhotra) Irani when she first came to Mumbai are those of a young girl in her twenties striking up ramp model-like poses in traditional Indian attire with fellow models (she was a lot thinner then, almost unrecognisable), when she participated for the Miss India contest in 1998. She has dabbled in modelling and worked at MacDonald's to make ends meet. Her early trysts with television were a comic presentation in Bakeman's Ooh La La, following which she had auditioned for a role in Shekhar Suman's Hum Paanch. Bit parts in ad films came along, but not enough for her to keep things afloat in the city by herself. She remembers being denied a pressure cooker ad as she appeared too behenji and the filmmakers were looking for a cool homemaker for the spot. Similar reasons were put forth when Jet Airways turned down her application for a job. And then finally when she went to audition for Tulsi's role at Balaji House more than eight years ago, an astute Ektaa Kapoor was quick to spot the Tulsi in Smriti even though she was dressed in a pair of jeans and white tee at the time. "I have been a behenji through my life," laughs Smriti. "It finally paid off, and through Kyunki... I got to play shades of all the roles that were denied to me in real life." Eight years down the line, when dedicated viewers of Kyunki and Kahani are still keening the loss, Smriti says her deepest learnings have been about people. "I have become very forgiving, following the several highs and lows through this time. I can't bear to go over all that anymore," she says, looking away, "but I understand people much better today." There was a time, she says, following her marriage with Zubin Irani, when some of her own colleagues sought to bring her down by trying to figure out what her husband's former wife thought about the marriage. The three, incidentally, have been friends for many years, and as Smriti says, she had known them as a couple since she was 12 years old. "My husband's break-up with Mona, his former wife, is between them. I am friends with both. After a TV interview many years ago where I first mentioned Mona, people called up to probe our relationship and all the while, Mona was sitting by me," she says. "Kyunki has got me respectability. I can go on campaigns and am not afraid to be thrown among large crowds of people. They make way for me," she says. "The image of a firebrand no-nonsense person was created by us at Balaji, and the people who have had the last laugh are Ektaa and me," she says; clearly the differences between the two in the past have been put to rest. As is the Rekhaa Modi episode over three years ago. Rekhaa was one of the writers for the show, who after a fall-out with the actress allegedly made numerous calls to her threatening to harm her children. All that is water under the bridge. The real and reel converge in many crucial ways, and Smriti feels that she has had to only dip into her own experiences or make projections to play a daughter, bahu, mother, grandmother and eventually a matriarch in the Viraani household. What has kept her rooted, she says, are the kids who incidentally are not allowed more than 45 minutes of television at home each day. "They want answers, they want debates, and they are 18, seven and five. My seven-year old son shows me how to make akuri," she says rolling her eyes. Eight years of steady run: what does she feel has had the viewers glued to the TV sets? "People want an ideal and the ability to trust each other. That's the reason for Ba's popularity. She held the family together, Tulsi was her extension," she says. "And then people got to see everything – politics, intrigue, adultery, murder and more – all within the garb of respectable family viewing. What better formula for a single TV household?" |
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