Vidya Sinha passed away on 15 August 2019. A look back at possibly the most memorable film of her career.

*In Sujoy Ghosh’s 2016 film Kahaani 2, Vidya Balan’s Durga Rani Singh shares a fleeting romantic interlude in what is primarily a dark and tumultuous life. Her suitor plays for her the title song from Basu Chatterjee’s Rajnigandha (1974) on his laptop . When Durga needs a new identity a few twists later, she remembers this moment of rare serenity and chooses to call herself Vidya.
Rajnigandha was possibly the only film along with Chhoti Si Baat where Vidya Sinha was not burdened with laborious melodrama and just allowed to be.
Otherwise in films like Mukti (1977), Karm (1977) , Inkaar (1977), and even Pati Patni Aur Woh (1978), she was only allowed a smidgen of youthful abandon and then saddled with unrelenting sadness.
Sinha was the perfect choice to play Deepa in Rajnigandha because she exemplified both the innocence of the slowly awakening India and also its confusion.
One of the cleverest things Chatterjee did in the film was to show the slow emergence of an aspirational country where a compromise or two was beginning to feel normal.
One of the key moments in the film is when Deepa’s ex boyfriend Naveen, (Played by the always understated Dinesh Thakur) once an idealistic student leader, is shown shooting an ad film in the present because now he is a well-known advertising whiz. He is also a well-connected mover and shaker and can “get things done.”
Chatterjee fleshed out Mannu Bhandari’s story Yahi Sach Hai to tell us the story of India’s shifting sands in the early seventies and to create a heroine who is caught between her past and the promise of a more exciting future.
Deepa was not a regular Hindi film heroine but she was not a groundbreaker either. She is a PhD scholar but we never see her engrossed in any work. She spends her days waiting for her soon to be fiance Sanjay. Unlike in Bhandari’s story, she does not live alone but with her brother and sister-in-law. This is a liberal household where Sanjay (Amol Palekar in his Hindi film debut) is a frequent guest.
Deepa is more keen to get married than to pursue a career but the idea of a lecturership in a different city is tempting. This conflict between the safe and the unpredictable is also mirrored in her love life. She has nightmares about being left alone in a train or being unable to board it. So much before DDLJ and Jab We Met, we saw the train metaphor representing Deepa’s fears of the unknown and also her subconscious longing for something new.
Chatterjee pushed Bhandari’s short story in different directions to ask questions about not just what Deepa wanted from life but also the dilemmas India was experiencing then.
So Naveen is not just a temptation that life throws in Deepa’s path when she comes to Mumbai for her interview from Delhi. He is also the ex boyfriend who sacrificed their relationship over a student strike and who is now pulling a few strings and making calls to “fix” her appointment to a Mumbai college even before her interview.
Deepa does not feel insulted that he thinks so little of her merit but is grateful that he is doing so much for her.
Ira, her friend and hostess in Mumbai unlike her character in Bhandari’s story, is not a home maker but an upfront, confident career woman. But even she thinks merit alone is not enough without ‘contacts’ and networking.
Back in Delhi, Deepa’s current love interest Sanjay is battling favouritism and bureaucracy and is the member of an employee’s union . So right at the onset, we see the two realities colliding before Deepa.
On one hand, is the glamour of a man about town who takes her to ad film shoots, unofficial dates, and parties where his slightly jaded friends discuss European cinema and on the other, is a grounded, uncomplicated suitor who just wants a promotion so that he can start his life with her. He often jokes that if Deepa finishes her PhD, she will be overqualified to marry him and his family may not approve of such a highly educated daughter-in-law. Sanjay’s love is constant like the bunch of tuberoses he brings for her almost everyday. He offers no mystery or romance and is tactless and self-absorbed like a child.
And Deepa’s habitual co-dependence on him fades away when attraction mixed with indecision erupts within her at the sight of Naveen.
Naveen is the boy who broke her heart and he now hovers around her solicitously, showing her his city through his eyes. He is tantalisingly close but still always at a distance.
He is hard to read and a constant conversation goes on in Deepa’s head about just what Naveen wants from her. Why is he doing so much for her? Does he regret breaking her heart? Does he still want her? Why doesn’t he say anything? If only he said something!
In one of the most subtle depictions of suppressed longing, we see Deepa and Naveen in a taxi. He is oblivious to her, as he smokes and looks out of the window. The wind blows her saree towards him and her hand reaches out for him but is frozen in the interminable space between them. Will he look at her? Will he touch her hand? in the backdrop, Manna Dey sings of “mann ki seema rekha,” the boundaries that the heart once in a while wants to leap over.
Deepa displays no interest to nail her interview. She is totally preoccupied with Naveen. It is almost as if her teenage has returned.
When her train finally leaves for Delhi after the interview, and Naveen still hasn’t progressed beyond the niceties, she reaches out to him with tears in her eyes. For an instant, he melts and runs towards her but the train leaves.
Deepa by now has built an entire universe in her head and back in Delhi, she impetuously writes to him and waits for a rapturous confession of love. Finally the much awaited letter arrives.
But there is no intimacy or warmth in it. The few lines inform her of her appointment. And the letter ends with an inconclusive “shesh phir.” More.. later.
The emptiness of this curt reply is countered by Sanjay who arrives just then with the fragrant rajnigandha bunch in his arms. The illusion breaks. The letter falls from her hand.The words ring in her heart, “Yehi sach hai.” This alone is true.
Vidya Sinha did a lot of films subsequently but it was in this one that her luminous, guileless eyes unerringly captured the emotional and social flux of a certain era where it was hard to tell just what was real and what was not.
And finally, it was the fragrant title song that cemented her dewy face in our memory. So even when film makers like Sujoy Ghosh create far more complex female characters now , they perhaps look back at a time wistfully when a Hindi film heroine could spend long, unhurried minutes just listening to a restful song on radio with her face buried in a bunch of tube roses.

Reema is the editor and co-founder of Unboxed Writers, the author of Perfect Eight, the editor of  Chicken Soup for the Soul-Indian Women, a  translator who recently interpreted  Dominican poet Josefina Baez’s book Comrade Bliss Ain’t Playing in Hindi, an  RJ  and an artist who has exhibited her work in India and the US . She won an award for her writing/book from the Public Relations Council of India in association with Bangalore University, has written for a host of national and international magazines since 1994 on cinema, theatre, music, art, architecture and more. She hopes to travel more and to grow more dimensions as a person. And to be restful, and alive in equal measure.