Exclusive: 'Years following my mother’s death were the darkest', recalls Aditya Raj Kapoor

Farhana Farook
·Columnist
·10-min read

“Jump out of the hamster wheel. Life’s too short to remain stuck only dreaming about travel.” Thus reads a line on Aditya Raj Kapoor’s website.

Metaphorically, life has indeed been a rollercoaster hike for this son of superstar parents – the late Geeta Bali and Shammi Kapoor. Tragically, Aditya lost his mother when he was just nine. His past full of memories of her, his future an empty horizon without her… the young boy went through a somersault of emotions. That his father was grappling with his own sudden loss and on the rebound plunged deep into work, only increased the vacuum in his life… until…

… Neila Devi of Bhavnagar, Shammi Kapoor's second wife, stepped into their home and healed the broken family with unconditional love. That she chose not to have children of her own speaks of her selfless intent. Befittingly, Aditya’s love for his second mother borders on reverence.

Though he assisted uncle Raj Kapoor during Bobby and Satyam Shivam Sundaram in the ’70s, Aditya at the behest of his ‘Guruji’, chucked his showbiz plans to mark a diametrically opposite career in the construction business, developing amusement parks and more…

Unable to ignore his predilection towards cinema, he later directed boutique films like Sambar Salsa, Don’t Stop Dreaming… and also featured in films Dil Toh Bachcha Hai Ji, Chase, Say Yes To Love, Yamla Pagla Deewana 2 and Warrior Savitri among others.

The avid biker recently penned the book, Quest, documenting his journey on a motorcycle from Mumbai to Russia. The volume also pays obeisance to his dear parents and Guruji and all those who served as signboards in his multi-track life.

Here, he shares memories of his dear parents just as he acknowledges the graciousness of his second mother, Neila Devi Kapoor…

What’s the earliest memory you have of your parents, the late Geeta Bali and Shammi Kapoor?

The earliest would be of the time when I was in boarding - The Lawrence School, Sanawar. I started out there at age six. My parents would often visit me. Once, I missed eating mangoes so much that I cried and wrote to my mother about it. She came to Shimla, and took me away for the weekend to Kasauli, a nearby hill station.

In our room, in the centre, was kept a big basket of mangoes all covered in hay. She asked me to eat to my heart’s content. I had too many of them and soon had an upset stomach. Mom called the school authorities and said that I was unwell and that she’d be keeping me back for a few days more. Since it was a prep school, it was permissible. As she put down the receiver, my health miraculously recovered. I spent the week with her and the lovely basket of mangoes.

My father loved cars. He would let me sit in the front seat and watch him drive. He’d give me tips, which came in use more than a decade later. I can never forget him gently push the heavy door of a 1963 Chevrolet model and let it shut by itself. His swag remains memorable.

Why did they choose to send you to a boarding?

Mom was a primary school dropout. She had to support her family from a young age. She missed the sophistication of education. So, she sent me to a boarding school. I was told that she’d always say, ‘I want my son to be a gentleman’.

How distinct were your parents as people?

He was determined and she was very determined. He saw the distance and she was the day-to-day firefighter, every moment of her life. However, in the early days, she would see the things beyond. My dad was so raw. It was as if she gave birth to a new him. She knew that he was going to make it. My father owes every bit of his essence to her.

As a child how aware were you that your parents were famous?

People would stare at me. I was ushered to the front, wherever I was. I had a coterie of people surrounding me. There was a constant reference to my parents in every conversation I heard. It was enjoyable. It’s nice to know that your father is famous.

What was the atmosphere like at home?

The atmosphere was very ‘Sikh’. My mother was a practising Sikh. Her father was a Sikh Granthi and a Chaturvedi Pandit. There would be regular Akhand Path and Kada Prasad. There was always festivity in the air. Mom was a fun person.

You were a child when your mother contracted small-pox and passed away in 1965. Does the trauma still haunt you?

I was nine then. Mom was shooting for Rano (began in 1964), based on Rajinder Singh Bedi’s novel Ek Chadar Maili Si, in Punjab. She had picked me up from the boarding and taken me to the shoot as it was the December vacation. I remember being abruptly taken back to Mumbai. She was at home for rest and recovery. I was shunted to Raj (Kapoor) uncle’s house with my cousins. Often, I’d be brought home to see her. I’d see her from a distance, from the garden window of the bedroom. Back in school, I began missing her when there were no letters from her. Insecurity reigned.

You mentioned in an interview that when she passed away, you were like a wounded animal…

Well, to lose your mother and then being caged in a boarding school is pretty challenging. There’s no one to share your emotions with. Those few years following my mother’s death were the darkest moments of my life. I retreated into a spot within myself where the sun couldn’t reach. It was terrible. My grades slipped. I slipped. There was nowhere to go but down.

Your father was broken too. How did you all, including younger sister Kanchan (Desai), cope with the tragedy then?

I view it individually. Kanchan was five when our mother died. So, she may not have enough memories. She latched onto dad as a mother and a father. Dad kept himself extremely busy. He was approaching the highest point in his career.

You hold your second mother, Neila Devi, in high esteem as she gave her all to the family…My mother is an embodiment of compassion. She held the family together by providing sheer physical love and attention. And time. She immersed herself in both of us (Aditya and Kanchan). My father saw this and was happy. Not having any children ensured, we could have all her attention. We were saved by her.

You mentioned in an interview that your two mothers were distinct in personalities…

Geetaji had to fend for herself from a young age. She was a film actress and the profession has its own challenges. Neilaji was born in a royal family of Bhavnagar and had everything laid out for her. She was a first-class student in St Xavier's College.

How did your bond with Shammiji evolve through the years?

After my mother died, it didn’t go too far. I had to immediately return to boarding school. He had to return to the arc-lights as he had become super successful. But amidst all this, every year he would take my sister and me for an annual holiday in the jungles or to Kashmir. He would attend our school functions in Shimla. Generally, he let me evolve on my own. (Smiles) He never asked me to brush my teeth, do my homework… Rather, he believed in having an independent outlook towards life and encouraged me to have the same. I’m extremely grateful for that.

What were your father’s strengths as a person and a performer?

His creative honesty was always at the forefront. If he loved you, he loved you and that always showed. He had a deep sense of rhythm and dance, which is evident. His sense of comic timing was a great support to him. He was one of the first romcom artistes.

How much are you like him?

Hahaha. I dance like my mother. The tequila dance piece (Jab Se Tumhe Dekha Hai 1963) shows how much she influenced my father’s dancing style as well. I loved her performance in films like Bawre Nain (1950) and in songs like Sham dhale khidki tale (Albela 1951), Tadbeer se bigdi hui (Baazi 1949), Chandamama door ke (Vachan 1955) and many more.

Coming back to dad, yes of course, I am like him. I have his penchant for upgrading my knowledge and staying in sync with technology. I became a voracious reader because of the books he kept on offer at home. I saw him so happy being outdoor. That love for the outdoors grew on me as well. I am fond of dance and music like him. I’m also fond of cooking. Dad was a wonderful cook. When he fell ill, I drew closer to him. I was in the UAE then. I migrated back to India. During the last few years, I cooked for him. We talked a lot. It was wonderful.

You honoured your Guruji Bhole Baba (Haidakhan Baba) from Nainital and decided to stay away from the industry.

At a particular point in my spiritual relationship with Bhole Babaji, he asked me to switch my career. At that time, I was assisting Raj (Kapoor) uncle for Satyam Shivam Sundaram (1978). I’d have branched out as an actor or director. When Babaji asked me to make a shift, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t know if it was right. But I trusted Babaji so much that I could take that leap of faith. He made me join his devotee, Shri Yogendrabhai, as an apprentice in his export office. Imagine, from a film studio to an export office! I didn’t even know how to write a business letter. His wife Palluben, helped me greatly.

Any regrets, considering acting is your heirloom?

Oh, none at all. (Smiles) The acting part came to my help when I had to convince someone to do my work etc…

Your travelogue, The Quest, also holds memories of your parents, family and Guruji. Was it liberating to share your memories through this ‘journey’ of life?

Yes, it was totally liberating. I needed to thank the people, who helped me to take steps in my life. You’ve got to say thank you.

How much of a Kapoor are you – in terms of emotionality and aesthetics?

Oh, so complete. I am a cook. I paint charcoal. I write. I am now composing my music piece. I am a woodworker. I am freaking out.

Have you been successful in staying away from excesses?

Well, that’s again where Babaji comes into the picture. He made me reduce my excesses by changing the rules of the game.

A message you’d want to send your mother…

'I did it!’

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