To cricket fans, November 15th, smack-dab in the middle of Karnataka’s birthday month, is the date on which Sachin Tendulkar debuted in international cricket in 1989. Last week, it also became the date on which Virat Kohli broke his hero’s record, when he completed an incredible 50 ODI centuries. To Kannadigas, the day marks a bittersweet anniversary – it was the day on which, 23 years ago, their beloved Annavaru, ‘Natasarvabhouma’ Dr Rajkumar, who had been abducted and held hostage by the dreaded bandit Veerappan, was finally released.
Veerappan knew what he was doing when he picked his hostage. For almost 50 years, the matinee idol, born Singanalluru Puttaswamaiah Muthuraj, had dominated the Kannadiga imagination as a towering symbol of Kannada identity. Whether it was the parts he essayed in his 200-odd films – including historical Kannada heroes like Wadiyar king Ranadheera Kanteerava, Chalukyan hero Pulikeshi II, Krishnadevaraya of Vijayanagara, or Kadamba ruler Mayurasharma – or his iconic songs, some of which, like Huttidare Kannada Naadinalli Huttabeku and Naanaaduva Nudiye Kannada Nudi, became quasi state anthems, everything Rajkumar did reiterated his commitment to the language and the region. The fact that it was all done gently, with great pride but an admirable lack of jingoism, endeared him even to non-Kannadiagas – although he never acted in a non-Kannada film as a matter of principle, his films were remade 58 times, in no less than 9 languages!
Rajkumar’s rise in Kannada cinema in the fifties had a Saleem Sinai-esque quality to it – it mirrored the rise of the common identity that the just-cobbled-together Mysore state was striving for. He played a significant part in cementing that identity – his ability to play characters across socio-economic divisions and geographies of Karnataka made him a unifying figure, one that people from all over the state could get behind. From his debut film as leading man, Bedara Kannappa (1954), which spoke up against caste discrimination, to his last film Shabdavedi (2000), which cautioned youngsters about the dangers of drug abuse, he was also an on-screen crusader against social evils, which gave him an unimpeachable, saint-like status in the eyes of his fans, who he always respectfully referred to as Abhimani Devaragalu (gods in the shape of fans).
{{/usCountry}}Rajkumar’s rise in Kannada cinema in the fifties had a Saleem Sinai-esque quality to it – it mirrored the rise of the common identity that the just-cobbled-together Mysore state was striving for. He played a significant part in cementing that identity – his ability to play characters across socio-economic divisions and geographies of Karnataka made him a unifying figure, one that people from all over the state could get behind. From his debut film as leading man, Bedara Kannappa (1954), which spoke up against caste discrimination, to his last film Shabdavedi (2000), which cautioned youngsters about the dangers of drug abuse, he was also an on-screen crusader against social evils, which gave him an unimpeachable, saint-like status in the eyes of his fans, who he always respectfully referred to as Abhimani Devaragalu (gods in the shape of fans).
{{/usCountry}}His disciplined and publicity-shy off-screen life only served to bolster that image. Known to wake up at 4 each morning, he spent an hour or two practising yoga, a lifelong passion, before spending a similar amount of time practising his music. (His early training in classical music, as a child artiste with the famous Gubbi Veeranna Drama Company, saw him recording over 300 songs for films and 200 other devotional songs; in 1992, he became the only Indian actor to win the National Film Award for best male playback singer). Unlike other matinee idols of the south, he never contested the elections, contending that the love of fans should not be used to garner power for oneself.
Rajkumar’s quiet, philosophical side was beautifully balanced by his fun, swashbuckling side, so exuberantly on display in so many films. Who can forget him as Bhadra in Sampattige Sawaal, riding a buffalo and singing Yaare Koogaadali with such joie de vivre? Or as the dashing CID 999 in the 1978 superhit, Operation Diamond Racket, playing a desi James Bond? Even those who are entirely unfamiliar with his work will know the opening lines of a nightclub song from the same movie, which went viral after his death in 2006 – “If you come today, it’s too early, if you come tomorrow, it’s too late…”
That’s not meant to be taken seriously – it’s never too late to come to the magic of Dr Raj.
(Roopa Pai is a writer who has carried on a longtime love affair with her hometown Bengaluru)