Honey Irani: ‘Being a child actor wasn’t something I chose’

As child actors, Honey Irani (left) and her sister Daisy were household names in the 1950s and ’60s

The world of cinema has a way of pulling you in, even before you realise what's happening, and overpowering you. For Honey Irani, it began when she was just two and a half years old. She remembers it vividly. ‘I was a tiny bundle of curiosity, scampering around our modest home in Bandra, Mumbai, when a man named Dulal Guha walked into our lives. He was a film producer, there to sign my older sister Daisy for a role in his movie, Ek Gaon Ki Kahani (1957). I was just a bystander, or so I thought, playing nearby as he spoke with my mother.

As he removed his hat, he revealed a bald head, I couldn't help myself. "Mama, yeh toh takla [bald] hai!" I blurted out, pointing at him. The room froze. My mother's face turned crimson, and before I could blink, her hand met my cheek with a sharp slap. "You don't speak like that!" she scolded. But Guha, instead of being offended, chuckled. He looked at me, his eyes twinkling with interest. "How old is she?" he asked my mother. "Two and a half," she replied, still flustered. He paused, then said, "If you don't mind, can I sign her instead of Daisy? I did need someone younger actually."'

Honey Irani acted in films from the time she was two-and-a-half years old till she turned 12 and the offers trickled to an end. Pics courtesy/Honey Irani

And just like that, her life changed. ‘My mother, always quick to seize an opportunity, agreed. I was too young to understand what it meant,' says Honey. And so she was suddenly a child actor, thrust into the dazzling, chaotic world of Indian cinema.

From that moment, right up until she was about twelve, her life revolved around film sets. Within this period, she acted in some seventy films including Chirag Kahan Roshni Kahan (1959), Zameen Ke Tare (1960) and Pyaar Ki Pyaas (1961). Irani also appeared in numerous Tamil, Telugu and Marathi films, each one a whirlwind of lights, cameras and endless takes. Hers was nothing like a typical childhood. There were no lazy afternoons playing with friends, no regular drone of school days, no carefree summers. Instead, her days were filled with call sheets, costumes and the hum of studio life.

‘Schooling was a patchwork affair. I attended Hillview School briefly, then Mount Mary's Convent on Bandstand, but I was never there long enough to settle in. The demands of shooting were relentless, and schools in those days were strict about attendance. A few months here, a few there and then a long gap for filming. Eventually, my mother arranged for home tutors, or sometimes someone would teach me on set between takes. I scraped through fifth standard, but that was the extent of my formal education. Looking back, I don't resent it entirely - it was the price of the life we lived - but I did miss the normalcy of school, the chatter of classmates, the rhythm of a classroom,' says Honey.

Honey Irani

‘Being a child actor wasn't something I chose; it was something that happened to me. I hated the studio gates. The sight of them would make me wail, "I don't want to go!" My mother, ever resourceful, would bribe me with promises of ice cream or a movie, only to deliver me to the set. But once I was there, something shifted. The actors I worked with - legends like Meena Kumari, Dilip Kumar and Nargis - became my surrogate family. They transformed the intimidating world of filmmaking into a place of warmth and comfort.

Meena Kumari, in particular, was her haven. She was more than a co-star; she was a mother figure who enveloped her in love. Honey would ride home with her in her car, stay at her house and fall asleep to her soothing voice. ‘She'd bathe me, feed me with her own hands and tuck me in. One memory stands out. During the filming of Chirag Kahan Roshni Kahan (where she played a boy), we were shooting a scene where I needed to cry. I wasn't getting it right, and the days were dragging on. In a moment of desperation, Meena pinched me - hard. I burst into tears, shocked, and the cameras rolled. Afterwards, she was inconsolable, hugging me and apologising profusely. "I'm so sorry, my bacha," she kept saying, kissing my forehead. That was Meena - professional to a fault, but with a heart that overflowed with care.'

Her mother was the driving force behind her career. She was ambitious, fiercely so, and saw in both Daisy and Honey a chance to live out dreams she'd never realised herself. Daisy, older and more aware, bore the brunt of that ambition. ‘Daisy was protective of me, always keeping an eye out, but her own experiences as a child actor left her with scars I was spared. While I escaped the worst of it, I can't deny that home wasn't always a sanctuary. There were tensions, moments I'd rather not revisit, that made the studio feel like a safer place. I'd rather be on set, surrounded by the camaraderie of actors and crew, than face whatever waited at home.

‘I don't dwell on those memories. They're part of who I am, but I've chosen to focus on the positive. The hardships taught me compassion, resilience and an ability to connect with people. They made me a better mother to my own children, a better person. I'm not bitter about my past - I can't change it, so why let it weigh me down? Instead, I carry forward the lessons and the love I found along the way.'

The sets thus became her playground. They were filled with moments of joy and fatigue, and Honey learnt to welcome both. ‘I remember shooting Pyaar Ki Pyaas [one of my favourites] when I was about seven or eight. I was exhausted, barely able to keep my eyes open and the crew kept promising "one last shot". Fed up, I pulled out my false tooth - a replacement for a lost milk tooth - and tossed it into a pond. Without it, they couldn't shoot. The crew scrambled, and I got my rest. It was a small act of rebellion, but it felt like a victory.'

Then there were other lighter moments, like the lunch breaks during which Dilip Kumar and other actors would fly kites or play cricket. ‘I'd hold the firki [spool] for their kites or cheer as they bowled underarm to us kids. Other child actors became my companions. We'd laugh, share stories and navigate the strange world of fame together. I worked with Babloo and a girl called Purnima. I knew Raja, who played boys' roles despite being a girl, [and she] somehow left a lasting impression. Years later, I ran into her at an airport, where she worked. It was a bittersweet reunion, a reminder of how time scatters us.'

Extracted with permission from Behind the Big Screen by Sunanda Mehta and Suchitra Iyer, published by Bloomsbury Publishing India