Columnist Dinesh Raheja on what made all four film versions of Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's novel so appealing to audiences I saw Nicolas Cage's tremendous, Oscar winning performance in Leaving Las Vegas only recently (watching this <img alt="" src="/imagedata/2009/feb/dev.jpg" align="right" border="1" />depressing '90s film is no day in the park; which is why I had been putting it off). Admiring this doomed romance between a skid-row alcoholic and a hooker, I thought to myself, 'Gawd, at times, even Nicholas Cage seems to be doing a Hollywoodised Devdas, sans Paro.' Devdas, as all those steeped in film culture know by now, has become a commonly applied appellation, a label. It is based on the story of a lover, who turns into a dysfunctional, self-flagellating alcoholic after he rejects his childhood love, Paro, and she marries another. Despite a nautch girl Chandramukhi's valiant effort to bring him back from the brink of despair and steer him away from the bottle, he embraces death at Paro's doorstep. Think about it. The Devdas story holds tremendous appeal that cuts across all class, gender, cultural lines. As many as four major Hindi film versions have been inspired by Saratchandra's lauded novel from the blockbuster 1935 version starring K L Saigal to the 1955 Bimal Roy-Dilip Kumar classic to the contemporaneous Devdas starring Shah Rukh and the just-released Dev D headlining Abhay Deol. Viewers invariably react to the story's innate intensity the heightened romance between Paro and Devdas, and the bond shared by two kindred souls, Devdas and Chandramukhi, who try to salve the other's bloodless wounds inflicted by unfulfilled love. Ironically, all the four Hindi Devdas films have appealed to me... despite Devdas, and not because of him. He makes me impatient though there is no denying that he has a layered and complex character he is an egoist yet needy, arrogant yet emotional, insulting yet sensitive, a self-obsessed, self-pitying man who dies trying to look beyond himself. It's the two women in Devdas' life the steely-backed Paro and the supremely self-effacing Chandramukhi, who both emerge as stronger than him, and, in my opinion, more likeable too. So when Dev D was released this month, I decided to skip it. But my colleagues, Mauli and Mili, echoed, "Sir, this one is excellent. You HAVE to see it." I saw Dev D. Yes, despite the circumscribed parameters set by the story, the film tries its best to be different (moves from Bengal to Punjab), contemporary (it's set in the present) and almost does cartwheels trying to be radical, intellectual, and edgy. Decadence has obviously also kept pace with time; and the now almost innocuous-looking drinking and kothebaazi of yore are replaced by a Molotov cocktail of drugs, permissiveness, phone sex et al. Most refreshingly, it's the first version with a redemption for Devdas. In all the other three Devdas', the central protagonist's death left me with a sense of waste. Though he too is chased by the demons of lost love, Anurag Kashyap's Dev D is a today's man, who is able to draw himself out from the bottom of the (whiskey) barrel. Anurag makes Abhay Deol always carry a college-boy-like sling bag a tangible symbol for the emotional luggage of the past that he carries ever since he separates from Paro and begins his downward spiral. His bag finally gets parted from Abhay when he is kicked out of a bar for nonu2013payment, a car almost crashes into him, and he gets his epiphany! He puts the past behind him and gets his life together. Glib or blasphemous though this redemption may seem to purists, it's welcome because of its novelty after the latest version's forceful yet predictable Paro-Dev portions. The egoistic, love-hate relationship between Devdas and Paro is intriguingly captured in all four versions. In director P C Barua's Devdas, the first dialogue Paro (Jamuna) renders to Devdas (Saigal) is: 'Tumne phir mujhse jhagda karna shuru kar diya.' 20 years later, Roy showed an angry Devdas hitting Paro with a stick, only to then tear a bandage from his own clothes. He's her problem, he's her medicine. In 2002, the master of maximalism Sanjay Leela Bhansali, went in for some fortunate minimalism and captured the distillation of the lovers' quarrelsome interplay with one aptly worded duet 'Bairi piya ... bada bedardi'. While Roy dedicated a tad too much screen time to establish Devdas and Paro's childhood love as a psychological ground for their latter-day obsession, Bhansali just used a shot of the young Paro running while crying 'Devaa' as his story's leitmotif. Effective. Paro, as showcased by the talented newcomer Mahie in Dev D is far more earthy than the petal-soft Paro (Aishwarya Rai) of Bhansali's Devdas; and in touch with physical passion, unlike the restrained and unfailingly dignified Suchitra Sen in Roy's Devdas. While the boldest move Paro made in other Devdas films was initiate a clandestine midnight meet, here she folds and carries a bedding for a romp in the fields with Devdas in broad daylight. It's Chandramukhi who gets the starkest makeover. It's fascinating to see Kashyap's Chandramukhi (Kalki) juggle balls and roles a commercial sex worker (the euphemism is winkingly made fun of), she dresses up as a nurse or a schoolgirl, depending on the tastes of her customers. Unlike the other three Chandramukhis whose descent into courtesanship is not shown, there is a gut-churning episode which shows her as a schoolgirl victim of a MMS scandal. And like the Chandramukhis played by Vyjayanthimala and Madhuri who give up their professions and looked beautifully serene after being influenced by Devdas, Kalki's Chanda too has her soul cleansed. She returns to being a collegian. Unlike all earlier three Devdas versions, however, here Chandramukhi, and not Paro, emerges as Dev's true love! Kashyap's Dev D is more in-your-face funny than the older versions. When an elderly lady commuter in a bus rebukes Abhay for reeking of alcohol, he eats up her bus ticket! As for Chunilal, he goes from being a cad in the Saigal starrer, to the lovable rogue in Roy's and Bhansali's films (where he is played by stars like Motilal and Jackie) to being a pimp in Kashyap's version! Till now, the story of Devdas, whether told by Barua, Bimal or Bhansali, have always been linear. But the innovative narrative style of Kashyap Paro and Chandramukhi meet in a train; and from there on, we are told their individual stories as chapters reminded me of Pulp Fiction. Kidar Sharma has said that for Barua's Devdas, he wrote the language of the people and not that of books or the stage. And there is an economic precision in the usage of the spoken dialogue in Bimal Roy's Devdas that leaves you yearning for more. Dilip Kumar is peerless when it comes to dialogue delivery. Sample this, sighed upon as the ultimate in romance: When the much-married Paro pleads with Devdas to leave alcohol for her sake, he leaves her tongue tied by asking her for a favour in return. He says, "Kya aaj raat ko tum mere saath bhaag sakti ho? (Can you elope with me tonight?)" Roy's Devdas is silently eloquent, in contrast to Bhansali's rather garrulous one. In Bhansali's Devdas, the characters, even the peripheral ones, are verbose. The well-written lines are followed by a blizzard of words. When confronted by her much-older husband, Paro elaborates on her feelings for Devdas. One thing all the four Devdas have shared is memorable music. Acting-singing superstar K L Saigal's on and offscreen rendition of 'Balam aayo baso more man mein' and 'Dukh ke ab din beetat nahi' in the New Theatre's production of Devdas has lived on for 74 years. Composer S D Burman and lyricist Sahir Ludhianvi made Bimal Roy's Devdas an embarrassment of riches. Paro does not sing any song, but the background song, 'Aan milo Shyam saawre' is truly soulful. The Mubarak Begum gem 'Woh na aayenge palatke, unhein lakh hum bulayein' finds its match in Lata's mujras 'Ab aage teri marzi' and 'O jaanewale'. But my personal favourite is 'Jise tu kabool kar le who ada kahan se laoon?' Ismail Darbar's music was in complete tandem with the Bhansali-directed Devdas. And newcomer, playback singer Shreya Ghosal was a revelation. But Dev D is the first musical Devdas with 18 songs and a Greek chorus (possibly for the first time in Hindi cinema) with three blue-tinted men popping up to articulate the hero's feelings. In the musical overdose, Anurag loses the bite that the dialogues provided in Bimal Roy's black and white classic. As to which Devdas is the best, Amitabh had once told me how favourites depend on the age you are born in, "I identified with Dilip Kumar as Devdas, whereas the lady I stayed with, when I first came to Bombay, was of the firm opinion that nobody could play Devdas better than K L Saigal had. We agreed to disagree." I agree with Amitabh. Though, released before I was born, since I saw it an impressionable age, for me, Bimal Roy's Devdas remains the most definitive film on Saratchandra's eternal classic.

Columnist Dinesh Raheja on what made all four film versions of Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay's novel so appealing to audiences

Devdas' cultural impact

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Devdas' cultural impact

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