Editorial»
Ravi Shah: Jai hos! Jai-jaikar hos!!
NOV 26 - Ravi was one Nepali Thakuri I as a Nepali Janajati, a Lepcha Ishai and an “outsider” Prabasi - didn’t have to kowtow to and supplicate from the head down in “Jadau” as one lesser Nepali still does to the Ranas, Shahs, Thakuris, Thakalis, Bahuns, Chettris and other polka-dot Nepali aristocrats, zebra-stripped nouveau riches, striated upstarts and fly-by-night Gatsbys. The old feudal ways haven’t faded even in the “new democratic” Nepal.
Nor did I ever have to address Ravi as “Raja”, “Hazoor”, “Prabhu”, “Khwamit” or “Annadata”. Many did, by dint, with desperation, devotion, or for sheer tactics, or with distinct dedication. Ravi was my heart-and-soul friend, and we addressed each other on the “Timi” level.
The name of Ravi Shah buzzed around the editorial hall of this newspaper where I am a nocturnal copyeditor doing the “graveyard” shifts. I asked around. Ravi had passed away that evening, so an obituary was being prepared. Soon enough, the text landed on my desk for my attention. I did the needful and phoned my wife.
Ranjana and my son Prem Deep had already left for the cremation ghat. It was Ravi’s advance express wish to have his mortal remains consigned to the flames and be done away with in double quick time. It was typical of Ravi: The Nepali Hindu fatalism was not to be there with last respects being paid by grieving friends and chest-beating close ones, nor his hearse to be bedecked with flowers and khadas and displayed at a public courtyard for long. No fanfare, no long line of funeral procession. I saluted Ravi in my lonely editorial cubicle that night. Though my heart was heavy, I was at peace with myself because Ravi had decided to report to his Maker after his deeds done in an internally shaken and self-enfeebled Nepal. That was the only sad part.
I wasn’t much worried about Ravi’s health either. Ranjana and I were to visit him the previous Saturday. Prior to that, while Ranjana was abroad, my son Prem Deep and buhari Valentina had visited Ravi in his house on our behalf - as part of delegating our responsibilities and obligations to the younger generations. Ravi Uncle was hale, hearty and cheerful though sans hair on his pate. That was the news our children brought home. So I was assured of Ravi’s effective chemotherapy for his lung cancer.
Ravi’s friendship with me began with a sort of confrontation. It was after my hospitalisation following a nasty highway accident at Daunay Hill near Barghat between Narayangarh and Butwal while working for a Thai contractor to build the Hetauda-Narayangarh Highway. It was in early 1976. Convalescing and almost toothless and without eyeglasses, I sauntered into Narayan Sahu’s tharra pasal at Masa Galli to meet my usual evening fraternity. Narayan Gopal, Em Bahadur Khadga, Bhimbar Singh Thapa, Uttam Nepali, Singh Mama and Chandra Dai, Kokil Gurung, Narayan Krishna Shrestha and many other kalakars, as usual, had filled the upfront ground floor. One man, slightly imbibed, quite familiar yet unacquainted, came forward and accused me:
“Ei Peter! You! You took away our dancing partner!”
“What?” I retorted, “Who’re you?” “I’m Ravi Shah. Ranjana’s ex-dancing partner at the Nach Ghar.” He stepped towards me. “That’s why I say: You took her away from us.”
I saw angry tears streaming down his eyes. Then we embraced each other. The cacophonous crowd empathised with us. Ravi and I bought each other drinks and snacks, sealing our new friendship.
It is true that Ranjana was the youngest dancer at the Nach Ghar where her two elder brothers, Ram Krishna “Toofan” and Shyam Krishna Prajapati, were also dancers and actors. They belonged to the then fashionable “Shoukin Kalakars”, hobby artistes, who worked without pay. Young teenager Ranjana danced with such seniors and Gurus as Ravi Shah, Kokil Gurung, Bhim Gurung, Narayan Krishna Shrestha. Bimala Shrestha, Kamala Shrestha, Bhuwan Thapa were other kalakars there.
About his volunteer artiste children, my father-in-law Mr. Sundar Hari Prajapati once quipped to me, “They eat my rice and burn their energy at the Nach Ghar - for free!”
This volunteer system was scrapped soon after Ranjana and I were married in 1969. Yet Ravi Shah missed Ranjana, and still remembered her as late as 1976. Therefore, the hue and cry at the bar. Toofan Dai and Shyam Prajapati were retained as employees at the Nach Ghar. Toofan was the bouncer and crowd controller when the hall had capacity crowds. But he had fallout with Narayan Gopal when the latter became the Hakim there. Narayan promptly sacked Toofan over the issue of “girls”. The rest is history. Toofan said “Good riddance to god-awful Narayan!” and became a businessman and amassed a fortune. Narayan Krishna Dai also entered commerce and became rich.
But Ravi Shah chose not to amass wealth and fortune. A very proximate Shah, Ravi could’ve cultivated further clouts, more connections, and a high post. But no, he preferred to remain a Mr Bojangles. Other artistic avenues also opened up for him. He gave up dancing. When we met, he was minimising stage acting for the celluloid format, then later the small screens. Making lodes of money, having fancy cars, luxurious houses - which he could have attained - were not his forte. He worked with his bare hands and clear conscience. Except for joining the Shahs in essential family festivals and rituals, he mostly rejoiced and regaled with non-Thakuri friends and comrades. I was fortunate to be loved and liked by him.
We became family friends; so the focus also changed. He knew I hated Nepali movies and such film-flam, idiotic and copycat products. Therefore, he stopped inviting me to his location shoots, muhurats and bimochans at the star hotels.
Ravi rarely showed emotions and anger. But I recall a couple of exceptions. One day, he appeared in my house with a little girl. He was visiting his cousin, painter Shashi Shah, nearby at Kopundole. The little beautiful girl, hardly nine, was Shashi’s daughter.
Ravi lamented the disquiet in the nation, which was to lead to the revolution of 1990/91 shortly afterwards. He wept over the chicanery of many artistic people, the deception of the leaders, the decay setting upon Nepal’s arts, literature, drama, films and music. He drank my vodka and replenished his tears before he went back to Shashi’s house with his daughter leading him.
Once he flared up in anger when he learnt of a senior composer exploiting another colleague for errands, shopping and other household chores.
“Jai Nepal, hai!” That was the opening of Ravi’s telephone calls to me. It ended with “Jai hos! Peterko jai-jaikar hos!!” We’ll no more hear such good cheers from Ravi.
Ravi Bikram Shah, veteran dancer, stage, celluloid and small-screen actor, passed away on Tuesday November 18 of lung cancer. He was 62. A Nepali artiste’s 40-year career thus came to an end that afternoon.
Now the more important news - in detail!
(The writer can be reached at<peter karthak @wlink.com.np>)Posted on: 2003-11-25 08:19
Headlines
Advertisements
