Actor, director, writer, and artist Amol Palekar will discuss his recent memoir, ‘Viewfinder’ at the ‘Kitab: Books in Discussion’ programme at the International Centre Goa, Dona Paula, todau. He speaks to NT BUZZ ahead of the event
CHRISTINE MACHADO | NT BUZZ
Amol Palekar’s memoir ‘Viewfinder’ offers a unique and intimate glimpse into HIS multifaceted life journey. Three editions of the memoir were published simultaneously – ‘Viewfinder’ in English, ‘Aiwas’ in Marathi and ‘Amaanat’ in Hindi.
Excerpts from the interview:
This memoir began as a handwritten piece. What prompted you to write it by hand? And how did the book come about?
As an old-timer, I prefer traditional creative writing with pen and paper, savouring the tactile experience. I initially wrote in my mother tongue, Marathi, and since I’m proficient in it, I didn’t need any apps to refine my work.
Despite persistent requests from publishers, I couldn’t find the time to write my memoirs, as I was focused on showcasing my paintings through exhibitions and performing in Hindi plays like ‘Kusur’ over the past decade. The COVID-19 pandemic, however, brought an unexpected gift — ample time for reflection, which ultimately led me to write my life’s story. The pandemic’s isolation gave me the solitude I needed to decipher my memories. In retrospect, I realised I had overlooked the significance of my life’s journey, which may have been why I wasn’t initially motivated to share my story with others.
Sharing one’s story, with all its highs and lows, is never easy. There’s always the fear of judgment and how it might change others’ perceptions. How did you deal with this while writing your memoir?
Looking back on five decades of life has been a cathartic, yet painful process – a reacquaintance with my own strengths, flaws, success, vulnerabilities and past errors. Self-reflection can be unforgiving, but I’ve learned to temper my self-criticism with the understanding that the challenges and norms of the past were distinct from those of the present. In choosing to be candid, I wanted to create a genuine connection with my readers. A reader’s remark that my book felt like a confessional experience was deeply fulfilling, knowing it had resonated with others.
To describe my emotions upon completing the manuscript, I’ll share a story from my book about a Zen master and his disciple. While crossing a stream, they encountered a young woman stranded in the middle who asked for help. The disciple, troubled by the thought of temptation, wondered how they could assist her. But the master picked her up, swiftly crossed the stream, set her down on the bank, and continued walking. After days of confusion, the stunned disciple asked the master, “How could you breach the principle of avoiding the touch of women?” The master calmly said, “I left her behind the moment we crossed the stream, you are still carrying her.”
Looking back on one’s life can be beautiful, but also uncomfortable and painful. How did you cope with this challenge, particularly when reflecting on your failures?
In the 1970s, reading Anthony Quinn’s autobiography ‘The Original Sin’ profoundly impacted me with its raw honesty. The takeaway was clear: the importance of authenticity. This inspired me to approach my writing with a similar commitment to truth. While writing my memoirs, I chose to focus not on nostalgia or success, but introspectively examining my mistakes and failures.This approach allowed me to create a genuine and meaningful account of my life.
When reflecting on one’s life, new aspects of the self often come to light. Did you experience such moments while writing this book?
Let me share a passage from the book that responds to your question:
“I’ve been on a quest to discover myself. Sometimes I lie awake at night staring into the darkness. In those sleepless moments, I look at myself—there I am, lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling; it’s as if I’m inverted and floating parallel, gazing down at my own body. I cherish this moment. It evokes the surreal self-portrait of M.C. Escher, my favourite graphic artist. The distorted reflection of himself in an elliptical ball held in his hand, with the backdrop of books from his Roman home, his suit and hat denoting affluence but in a surreal form—was that a direct or a subtle revelation of his inner self, or, a metaphorical representation of his identity? In that suspended state, ‘I’, an outside observer staring down at ‘me’, possessed a deeper understanding of myself than the real ‘me’ ever did. The outsider probably possesses the objectivity to fully comprehend the nuances and complexities of my personality. I feel envious of him as ‘he’ must be observing the transformations of my inner self, as I evolve alongside the changing landscape of my surroundings. Envious, because I couldn’t grasp those changes in real time; only in hindsight, years later, did I notice them.”
In touching upon the theme of resistance in your book, you mention being inspired by literary icon Durga Bhagwat. Could you share more about this?
A pivotal moment in my life was witnessing Durga Bhagwat’s courageous 1975 speech criticising the Emergency and advocating artistic freedom in the presence of Y.B. Chavan, Maharashtra’s first Chief Minister. Her bold call for intellectuals to return government awards, inspired by Gurudev Tagore’s renunciation, left a lasting impact.
I also had the privilege of signing a protest letter with her and Shombhu Mitra against the ban on my film ‘Akriet’. Their unwavering commitment to free expression has shaped me into a non-conformist, unafraid of the status quo. My book is dedicated to those who believe in the power of resistance.
You mentioned that not being part of the National School of Drama or any film institution allowed you to operate with complete freedom, as you had “no baggage to carry”. Could you elaborate on that? And were there times when you wished you had followed that path instead?
Every system shapes your vision and imagination, conditioning its pupils to its values and practices. Without formal training or such tutelage, I had the freedom to forge my own path. I took risks, often defying my popular image, working with debutant directors, and taking up unconventional opportunities. As an outsider to mainstream cinema, I prioritised artistic integrity over commercial success. I’m proud of my unconventional journey, staying true to my vision and values.
You began your journey as an artist. What is your take on people’s understanding of art, and has its acceptance changed over the years?
Visual art appreciation has lagged behind other forms over the past 50 years. While people readily interpret abstract ideas in literature, music, and architecture, they often expect clear narratives in visual art. Abstract emotions in music or in architectural masterpieces by Frank Lloyd Wright, Zaha Hadid, Balkrishna Doshi, and Charles Correa are widely celebrated. However, abstract visual artists like Raza and Gaitonde are often overlooked in favour of more traditional, representational work, such as Raja Ravi Varma’s 19th-century depictions of Hindu deities.
How would you say your art background influenced your acting and film directing?
For me, artistry is a way of life. Just as a one-dimensional canvas can evoke magic with the works of Rembrandt, Van Gogh, or Dali, theatre and cinema offer additional dimensions—space, sound, and light. When envisioning a scene, I strive for a neat composition that brings my visualisation to life. My films have a strong visual style, where every frame is carefully designed to be understated yet impactful. Unfortunately, this aspect is often overlooked, as audiences tend to focus more on the story and performances.
Tell us more about how you’ve made the book interactive with QR codes.
I often hear that the films I’ve directed didn’t reach a wide audience, and sadly, that’s true. The Marathi film industry faces significant challenges – an unfavourable distribution system; good theatres and convenient time slots are never allotted to Marathi films. Even if a film is released in two theatres, they are sometimes cancelled due to low attendance. Even the emergence of OTT platforms did not offer any reprieve. Old films are not acquired by any OTT even when almost all my films are National award winners. Besides, the themes of my films have been diverse comprising of meaningful social issues. Who needs meaningful cinema when mind-numbing commercial content is so much more captivating?
Hence, I’ve urged the rights holders of my films to join my efforts in making them accessible to a global audience. Let people decide the worth of those films. In my book, readers will find rare posters, vintage hand-drawn hoardings, my old interviews and articles, and glimpses of the theatre festivals I’ve organised. Sharing this content via QR codes is not a marketing strategy; it’s my genuine tribute to my loyal audiences.
