It may have its roots in the past, but The 56-year-old Mehboob Studios continues to attract Bollywood even today.
The mirror betrays its age. Faint brown veins spider against the glass, giving one’s reflection a sinister appearance. The bulb-holders around the mirror are missing several bulbs, giving them a gap-toothed appearance. I imagine all bulbs in place, lighting up as the late Nargis preens at this mirror, pinning her hair stylishly to one side, framing that sharp profile in readiness for her next scene. Down these corridors, with the unpleasantly green paint now peeling off in patches, down these worn stairs, the wood now concave where many feet have stepped, she would have gracefully gone, into the spotlight and cinematic history.
Once the fiefdom of the man who gave India classic cinema like Andaz (1949), Aan (1951), and of course the internationally acclaimed Mother India (1957), Mehboob Studios is today a historic, verdant alcove eclipsed by the shops around it. At four acres of prime property in Mumbai’s Bandra suburb, it also has the who’s who of Bollywood zipping up and down its bumpy driveway in their hot wheels. In that sense, it’s the hub of much that’s going on in the Hindi film industry. As I enter, a silver Mercedes rolls in, which may or may not be carrying Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan behind its tinted glass.
Naturally, I expect a modern and well-maintained building that reflects the gloss of Bollywood. I see instead a solid, school-building-like structure, mundane windows stained with bird droppings, a simple entrance, and a wood-panelled notice board below a digital clock. The clock looks out of place; it probably is.
Upstairs, in Padma Shri Mehboob Khan’s velvet-upholstered office, a framed letter dated October 30, 1952, from Cecil B deMille, president of Paramount Pictures Corporation, compliments Khan on Aan. The letter mentions that the film reveals the “tremendous potential of Indian motion pictures for securing world markets”. Five years later, Khan’s Mother India would be nominated for the Academy Awards.
Large offices on the second floor house the skeletal 18-member staff of the Studios. The desks feature cardboard file covers containing unruly sheafs of paper. Piled to the ceiling are bundles of scripts, posters, trade magazines and paperwork. Fading plastic cans teeter to the top and contain negatives of memorable works like Anmol Ghadi, Najma, Anokhi Ada and others. Huge movie posters lie folded in half, yellowing along the creases. As I pick up dusty volumes, Rajendra, the booking manager of Mehboob Studio, who is showing me around, picks up a bundle and says, rather vaguely, “These are all old trade magazines that keep coming.” Looking at the irreverent mess, I ask, “Can you ever locate anything?” He shrugs, “Haan, mil jaata hai [Yes, we do find].” We also meet Pandurangji who worked as a carpenter on the sets of Mother India. “Sab sahib se darte thay [Everyone was scared of Mehboob Khan],” he says.
Later, in the study of Iqbal Khan, managing director of Mehboob Studios and son of the late Mehboob Khan, I ask if the papers are safe in Mumbai’s dust and humidity. He shows me a pink stationery file containing clippings from UK newspapers of the 1950s reporting the release of Aan in London. “See, these are fine,” he insists, “and so are the others.” Unconvinced, I let it go.
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Obviously, the past is on its own here. It is the present that matters. With 80 percent bookings, the studio is in demand, though it’s not all Bollywood. “Ads make up three-sevenths of our revenue,” says Khan. Suddenly, he asks me, “What percentage is that?” Stumped, I start doing mental calculations when he quickly replies, “42 percent”. “We’re doing fine. We couldn’t afford to modernise the equipment in the recording studio, so we stopped music recordings. Now producers rent the room for ad-film shoots.” The hall where orchestras recorded memorable music, most often composed by Laxmikant-Pyarelal, is now used for commercials. It hurts.
But Iqbal Khan had to be ruthlessly practical. When he and his brothers inherited the studio after Mehboob Khan's death in 1964, they also inherited a Rs 5 lakh mortgage on the property, a debt of 28 lakhs, and a court battle with their stepmother. Renting out studio space was the only option. In those desperate days, Khan played tough: truant producers who tried to evade payment found that their film’s negatives were held ransom by Khan till they paid up. “My father built this up from nothing. With Aan and Mother India he earned fame and money, but after Son of India flopped we had to struggle to get it going again,” Khan confesses.
Though he is non-committal about renovating the space, one realises that a steady stream of producers and directors continue to use the space for their films. Director Sanjay Leela Bhansali, for instance, booked one floor for seven months for his forthcoming film Guzarish starring Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan. “The location of Mehboob Studios is convenient, there’s parking space on the premises, a plus in crowded Mumbai,” says Khan. For the record, Mehboob Studios is used as an exhibition/event venue too.
Although it needs immediate attention, Mehboob Studios continues its business well. Perhaps these barely-maintained surroundings — masked, wrapped and decorated to create glitzy images that hold millions spellbound — actually help keep the stars grounded, right here on earth with the rest of us.
| Food for the stars
Sanjay Dutt loves the dal fry at Mehboob Studios’ canteen. Deepika Padukone goes for omelette toast. Raghu Pujari, who has worked here since the canteen opened, is a favourite with Salman Khan, as is the bhurji pav he makes for him. Between 8:30 am and 9:00 pm daily, this 40-year-old canteen serves up regular fare, which includes vada pav, misal pav, bhurji pav, idli sambar and more, for everyone working on set — from the electrician fixing wires to the star mouthing dialogues |
