A nostalgic journey from childhood Chitrahaar evenings to Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Jurmana, tracing Bachchan’s evolving image, parallel cinema’s rise, and the director’s compassion in portraying women with dignity amid shifting cinematic landscapes. Satyabrata Ghosh writes…

Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Jurmana (1979) stands as a powerful testament to the filmmaker’s unique ability to blend realism, melodrama, and social critique within mainstream Hindi cinema. At a time when Amitabh Bachchan’s superstar image dominated action-driven films, Mukherjee shaped narratives that revealed his humanity, complexity, and vulnerability. This article explores how Jurmana captured both the charm and flaws of Bachchan’s character Inder, while also offering Rama’s (Rakhee Gulzar) poignant journey of self-discovery. Set against the backdrop of parallel cinema’s rise in the 1970s, Mukherjee’s films demonstrate his sensitivity to women’s voices and his deep understanding of India’s changing moral fabric.

Wednesdays in late childhood always carried a special thrill. Most days were predictable—school, homework, and play. But Wednesday evenings brought something different. At eight o’clock sharp, the familiar sounds of Hindi film songs filled the room as Chitrahaar lit up our newly bought black-and-white television. For half an hour, we were transported into the world of cinema, where songs like Lata Mangeshkar’s Sawan ke jhule pare from Jurmana (1979) seeped into our memory, becoming part of our growing up.

Movies themselves were rare events, carefully filtered by parents who feared “vulgarity” might distract their children. In those years, filmmakers like Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee emerged as guardians of decency in cinema, crafting stories that resonated with values while still engaging audiences. They bridged entertainment and ethics, subtly ensuring that films spoke to both young and old alike.

Parallel Cinema, Middle Cinema, and Hrishida’s Craft

By the 1960s, stars reigned supreme in Hindi cinema, and by the 1970s, Amitabh Bachchan had become the industry’s most bankable actor. Yet alongside the mainstream, a different current was flowing. FTII graduates collaborated with NSD-trained actors to make thought-provoking films, often backed by the NFDC. This “parallel cinema” challenged formulaic storytelling and reflected India’s social realities.

Between the commercial blockbusters and the art-house experiments, a third space emerged: “middle cinema.” Films like Basu Chatterjee’s Rajnigandha (1974) captured everyday characters and dilemmas, finely balancing realism with narrative charm. Hrishikesh Mukherjee became one of the finest architects of this genre. At his creative peak, he crafted beloved classics such as Abhiman (1973), Golmaal (1979), and Khubsoorat (1980), simple yet profound stories that stood apart from the action-packed spectacles of the era. His pragmatic creativity, technical mastery, and insistence on scripts where dialogues grew naturally from characters’ actions gave his films enduring vitality.

In a curious turn of events, Hrishida released Golmaal in April 1979, only ten days before Jurmana premiered on May 1. Production delays—often caused by funding shortages and stars’ overbooked schedules—were common then, and Jurmana was no exception. Yet such challenges never frayed Hrishida’s relationships; in 1982, producer Debesh Ghosh collaborated with him again on Bemisal.  

Bachchan Beyond the Angry Young Man

Mukherjee’s partnership with Amitabh Bachchan was pivotal in shaping the actor’s craft. Before the “angry young man” archetype defined him, Bachchan had played layered, relatable characters in Hrishida’s Anand (1971), Namak Haram (1973), and Chupke Chupke (1975). Even when his career surged with vigilante roles, Hrishida cast him in films like Mili (1975) and Alaap (1977), where he was vulnerable, principled, or quietly rebellious. These roles revealed dimensions of Bachchan often overlooked in mainstream cinema.

With Jurmana, Hrishida allowed Bachchan to explore new territory. As Inder, he flirts with women in a flamboyant Don Juan style, only to be confronted by the consequences of his behaviour. Mukherjee layered this performance with mythological echoes: just as the sage Gautama cursed Indra for debauchery, here Professor Dayashankar Sharma (Shreeram Lagu) grows blind as his daughter Rama struggles against betrayal and loss.

The script by Bimal Dutta placed Rama (Rakhee Gulzar) at the centre of the melodrama. Torn between the affections of Inder and Prakash (Vinod Mehra), she ultimately bore the heaviest cost—reflecting the tragic reality that women often pay more dearly than men for similar actions. Yet Mukherjee granted Rama a journey of self-discovery. When she sings Choti si ek kali thi to her blind father at the climax, the moment carries echoes of Anupama (1966), another Hrishida gem about estranged fathers and neglected daughters.

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Jurmana as Social Critique and Compassionate Cinema

Jurmana was released at a time when the line between decency and indecency in Indian cinema was thinning, with women increasingly portrayed as commodities. Mukherjee, however, continued to create strong, memorable female characters—Matron D’sa in Anand, Manisha in Namak Haram, Sarju Bai in Alaap. In Jurmana, his compassion shines through: rather than ridiculing Inder’s arrogance or Prakash’s entitlement, he compels both to face their guilt.

The film is more than a melodrama; it is a quiet act of resistance. By restoring Rama’s dignity and voice, Hrishida urged audiences to reconsider the ways women were being represented and treated both on-screen and off. In an industry dominated by male-centric narratives, Jurmana stands as a reminder of a filmmaker who believed cinema could entertain while awakening moral consciousness.