The eyes have it: Hindi cinema’s best actresses

(NOTE: This is a reprint of an article that was published in the INDIA TODAY anniversary edition ‘The Best of India’ dated January 2, 2023)

Divas whose souls lit up the silver screen like flickering diyas. INDIA TODAY’s ‘Best of India’ anniversary edition profiles some of Bollywood’s most impactful actresses.

NUTAN

Her delicate face, half-hidden in the folds of her saree, turned away as her lover walks away—Nutan was eternal in the eponymous role in Sujata (1959), a woman struggling for identity against a brutal caste system. The role that defined her as an actress; we saw her vulnerability, the quiet ache of a girl seeking acceptance. She mined that delicate vein of silver in Seema (1955) and Bandini (1963), but there was also playfulness in Tere Ghar Ke Samne (1863), as she skipped down the Qutub Minar’s steps with Dev Anand, singing about the hum in their hearts. That blend of softness and steel flowed into a variety of roles over four decades, that unforgettable sweetness of her smile lighting up the screen even amidst the greys of life.

SMITA PATIL

She played many incandescent roles in a short-lived career, but two stood out—both where she played, ironically, actresses. In Shyam Benegal’s Bhumika (1977), she was Usha, struggling to find her identity through abuse and emotional upheaval, succeeding as a star even as the men around her exploit and stifle her. In Arth (1982), she was the highly-strung, mentally-fragile Kavita, in an affair with her much-married director. Smita interplays the high-voltage scenes with her contemporary Shabana Azmi beautifully—the ‘other woman’ so haunted by the ghost of ‘the wife’. Emotions chased across her face in films from across genres, whether Manthan (1976), or as she let her hair down and captured joyfulness and sensuality in Namak Halaal (1982). The image that stays with you, perhaps fittingly, is from her last year: the sheer rebelliousness as she hurls chillies in the face of her tormentor (Mirch Masala, 1986).

WAHEEDA REHMAN

There was something about the way Waheeda Rehman danced. It caught the eye of Guru Dutt, a trained dancer himself, and convinced him she could act. In Pyaasa (1957), he cast her as the young, waif-like prostitute in love with the poet. Waheeda is so compelling as Gulabo, begging Vijay’s ex-lover to publish his work, tears streaming down her face in half-light when asked to define her relationship with him. But whether pathos, the part-reenactment of her own journey as a newcomer in the industry (Kaagaz Ke Phool, 1959), the joy of breaking free of shackles (Guide, 1965), or as the senile, sharp-tongued mother in Namkeen (1982), there was always dignity in her performances, an inherent poise—evident from when she was that 18-year-old debutante, until now, when at 84 she lent her grace to Skater Girl (Netflix, 2021).

SHABANA AZMI

In Masoom (1983), you see two Shabanas—the regular mom, who talks of buying colouring pencils for her daughters, and the steely one who explodes at her husband’s illegitimate son. That duality defines her. Shabana Azmi has always poured herself into characters like a shape-shifter. From her award-winning debut as the guilty wife (Ankur, 1974), to the petulant begum in Shatranj Ke Khiladi (1977), right up to her deliciously wicked witch in Makdee (2002), she knows how to effect a transformation in split seconds. Her roles speak for women—quietly rebellious partner (Swami, 1977), vulnerable wife (Fire, 1996), strong matriarch (Godmother, 1999).... What would Hindi cinema be without the blazing talent, fortitude and naturalistic verbal flair of Shabana Azmi? Difficult to even imagine.

MEENA KUMARI

Caught in a candid mood, Lata Mangeshkar once said that singing for Meena Kumari was among the most satisfying experiences of her career. No actress before, or after, matched her voice on screen with as much feeling, the legendary songstress revealed. You can see it in the eternally exquisite ‘Ajeeb dastan hai yeh’– Meena Kumari pours her passion and pain into song, her words travelling, while she sits demurely still in a corner. Perhaps the ‘Tragedy Queen’ of Hindi cinema mined her real-life pathos for her roles. It resulted in runaway hits like Baiju Bawra and Parineeta and celluloid classics like Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam and Pakeezah–films that would be nothing without the compelling beauty, the melancholy, the sheer drama of Meena Kumari. Her life may have been brutally cut short, but Meena Kumari remains an acting lodestar.

REKHA

The Garbo-esque mystique often distracts from her consummate artistry, a feel for layered, complex women that’s yielded a canon of pitch-perfect performances (Ghar, 1978; Khoobsurat, 1980; Utsav, 1984) beyond the marquee ones. The legend of Rekha as the sacrificing, jilted lover with husky voice and melancholic eyes, blending reel and real, found its acme in the courtesan of Umrao Jaan (1981), under whose irresistible adaa and guile hides a heart fragile from repeated betrayal. Seldom has pain looked so beautiful. An immersive, lived-in performance...a role she was born to play.

SRIDEVI

No other actress can claim to having occupied the No. 1 position across four language cinemas simultaneously: Hindi, Telugu, Tamil and Kannada. Her incredible comedic range (Mr India, 1987; Chaalbaaz, 1989) is a trope in itself, but you only had to watch Chandni (1989), Lamhe (1991) or English Vinglish (2012) to know she could steal scenes with the tiniest nuances. Cinephiles swear by Kamal Haasan’s heart-breaking performance in the climax of Sadma (1983), but it’s Sridevi, as Reshmi, recently recovered from amnesia, who owns the scene with the puzzled, pitiful look she casts his way, their relationship and his identity now a lost memory. Pure gold.

VIDYA BALAN

Vidya Balan is Everywoman. Tumhari Sulu (2017), Kahaani (2012), No One Killed Jessica (2011), Jalsa (2022)—in each of these films, she’s a wholly identifiable person. Someone you could see in your world and relate to, conveying her inner struggles with so little: subtle body language, little realistic nuances, a conversational lilt. But just as easily, Balan separated each of these roles through her craft—you just couldn’t confuse Sabrina with Sulochana. There’s a joy in watching Vidya Balan because she invests herself in her characters; whether based on real people like Silk Smitha (The Dirty Picture, 2011) or fictional, like the lion-hearted mother of a 13-year-old Amitabh Bachchan in Paa (2009). An inordinate willingness to take risks gilds that.

TABU

The poster girl for minimalism in an industry whose SOP is heightened drama, Tabu is that rare contemporary actress who ticks both options in virtually every multiple choice question. Mainstream or Arthouse? Both. Drama or Comedy? Both. Hindi or Regional? Both. Bollywood or International? Both. Is there anything she cannot do? Blessed with eyes that suggest depth and wisdom beyond her years, Tabu became the muse for some of the sharpest filmmakers at their creative peak: Gulzar (Maachis, 1996), Vishal Bhardwaj (Maqbool, 2004; Haider, 2014), Priyadarshan (Kaalapani, 1996; Virasat, 1997), Mira Nair (The Namesake, 2006), Sriram Raghavan (Andhadhun, 2018). And yet, is there another actress equally at home delivering laughs in decidedly escapist fare like Golmaal Again (2017)?

KANGANA RANAUT

Although it wasn’t until that fullbodied, winning performance in Queen (2013) that she actually made it, Kangana had begun laying the foundation through impressive performances in the noughties—Gangster, Woh Lamhe, Fashion, and then Tanu Weds Manu (2011). Slowly, a range came into view, instantly likeable characters breaking the stereotype of highly strung, neurotic women that she’d been boxed into. Even in middling fare like Simran (2017), she brought a charming authenticity that stayed with you long after you’d forgotten the film. But starting with the flawed Manikarnika (2019), Kangana succumbed to showboating. It’s hard to find flaws in that performance, or the one in Thalaivii (2021), but increasingly these one-woman shows may be denting the legacy of this extraordinary actress.

ALIA BHATT

She’s not even 30 and she’s on top of it. In just 10 years after a forgettable debut (Student of the Year, 2012), Alia has revealed a genius gift for sucking us into her world, most recently as the you-can’t-take- your-eyes-off-her Gangubai Kathiawadi (2022). Remember the heart-breaking awkwardness of her first ‘pose’ as a sex worker, to years later, her resigned wisdom while she unchains a young girl—the beauty of her jaded words seduce you. Alia has prodigious talent. It’s there when she breaks a bottle in jealous rage in Gully Boy (2019), as she lies drugged, gangraped, with vacant eyes in Udta Punjab (2016), or as she points a gun at the man she loves, her identity unmasked, love battling with duty, in Raazi (2018). She has a child-like air and yet every performance is mature. How will Alia Bhatt surprise us in the years to come? Thankfully, we can wait…and watch.

—The writer is a former film journalist

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