Shashi Kapoor taught us how to negotiate modernity
He was India's first international star, The Householder to Leela Naidu's gorgeous young wife in 1963, and the journeyman to Shakespeare Wallah in 1965, becoming a staple of the Merchant Ivory repertory of actors without borders. He was one of India's first feminists, playing the enlightened male to Yash Chopra heroines from the swish Renu of Waqt to the tennis and golf-playing, yoga-loving Sheetal of Trishul.
He was the man who spoke probably Hindi cinema's most iconic dialogue, "Mere paas Maa hai". He was the fair and lovely foil to the dark and brooding Amitabh Bachchan in memorable movies, and more than anything else, he was one of the first youthful and urbane stars, with a gori wife to boot.
Shashi Kapoor was the son of Prithiviraj Kapoor, baby brother of Raj and Shammi Kapoor, and uncle of Rishi Kapoor, but he was more, much more than a hyphen with heritage. His crooked smile, flyaway hair, printed shirts and colour blocked suits were the stuff of girlish dreams. We all admired Amitabh Bachchan, yes, but it was Shashi Kapoor's tilted head that made every woman's heart beat faster. His English wife who put him on a strict diet, his work ethic that got his brother to describe him as a taxi whose metre was forever down, his work to recreate Prithvi Theatre was something everyone was familiar with even in the era before 24X7 celebrity coverage.
What made Shashi Kapoor so iconic? Not just that like Vinod Khanna he was responsible for helping create the legend that is Amitabh Bachchan (there is no Vijay without Ravi in Deewar) but that he was a truly modern man. Modern in his approach to the movies, where he was professional and punctual. Modern in his movie making, putting his hard earned money behind "sensible cinema" like Junoon in 1978 and 36 Chowringhee Lane in 1981. Modern in his attitude towards the arts, which was more than just the movies for him. It was theatre, his first love, which saw him create an institution that is till now a beacon for anyone with talent in Mumbai (and not just because of the inexpensive food at its cafe).
Shashi Kapoor was the man who allowed young men and women to negotiate the authenticity of the '60s, the intensity of the '70s, and the audacity of the '80s. He taught us how to negotiate modernity. He shared a beer with his son in Kabhie Kabhie, slept with his girlfriend before marriage in Aa Gale Lag Jaa, and taught us how to stand up for freedom of the press in New Delhi Times. He was the good boyfriend, the good buddy, and the good son.
He was the man who put his money where his mouth was, standing up for good cinema, whether it was a movie about an ageing Shakespeare teacher's loneliness, directed by a woman, Aparna Sen, or one based on a Ruskin Bond short story set in the 1857 War of Independence directed by Shyam Benegal. He was a man who respected talent, assembling fine actors around him in his movies, clearly a learning from his theatre days.
He was a Kapoor who was perhaps the most devoted to the patriarch Prithviraj's ideals. For him indeed all the world was a stage, all the men and women merely players, and one man in his time playing many parts.
Shashi Kapoor was indeed many parts to us all.
Each one a star.
Each one will be missed.