Scrapbook
A mood board for Sujata Massey's The Star from Calcutta
As on my Substack
April, for me growing up, had always been either the start of summer holidays or the first month of a new academic year. This totally depends on where in India you grew up, and which school board ruled your life. But whether you were stuck at school, or at home, or out in the open, the sunny days just stretched on, long, warm and languid.
This April, though, it seemed like the month had other plans. I am in a part of India where the weather was all moody and shifty. I’d been expecting bright, hot days, but the last two weeks was nothing but rain and storms. Every day big, dark clouds, filled the sky, rolling in out of nowhere, with sudden hail pounding on the roof. I found myself in a sweatshirt pretty much daily.
With not much going on, I disappeared into books, my favourite kind of rainy weather activity. And the timing was just perfect, because a book that I had on my wish-list for a while just dropped, The Star from Calcutta, which is the fifth book in the Perveen Mistry series by Sujata Massey.
I’ve sort of been crushing on Perveen for a while now, I wrote a piece gushing about the series last year.
April, for me growing up, had always been either the start of summer holidays or the first month of a new academic year. This totally depends on where in India you grew up, and which school board ruled your life. But whether you were stuck at school, or at home, or out in the open, the sunny days just stretched on, long, warm and languid.
This April, though, it seemed like the month had other plans. I am in a part of India where the weather was all moody and shifty. I’d been expecting bright, hot days, but the last two weeks was nothing but rain and storms. Every day big, dark clouds, filled the sky, rolling in out of nowhere, with sudden hail pounding on the roof. I found myself in a sweatshirt pretty much daily.
With not much going on, I disappeared into books, my favourite kind of rainy weather activity. And the timing was just perfect, because a book that I had on my wish-list for a while just dropped, The Star from Calcutta, which is the fifth book in the Perveen Mistry series by Sujata Massey.
I’ve sort of been crushing on Perveen for a while now, I wrote a piece gushing about the series last year.
April, for me growing up, had always been either the start of summer holidays or the first month of a new academic year. This totally depends on where in India you grew up, and which school board ruled your life. But whether you were stuck at school, or at home, or out in the open, the sunny days just stretched on, long, warm and languid.
This April, though, it seemed like the month had other plans. I am in a part of India where the weather was all moody and shifty. I’d been expecting bright, hot days, but the last two weeks was nothing but rain and storms. Every day big, dark clouds, filled the sky, rolling in out of nowhere, with sudden hail pounding on the roof. I found myself in a sweatshirt pretty much daily.
With not much going on, I disappeared into books, my favourite kind of rainy weather activity. And the timing was just perfect, because a book that I had on my wish-list for a while just dropped, The Star from Calcutta, which is the fifth book in the Perveen Mistry series by Sujata Massey.
I’ve sort of been crushing on Perveen for a while now, I wrote a piece gushing about the series last year.
April, for me growing up, had always been either the start of summer holidays or the first month of a new academic year. This totally depends on where in India you grew up, and which school board ruled your life. But whether you were stuck at school, or at home, or out in the open, the sunny days just stretched on, long, warm and languid.
This April, though, it seemed like the month had other plans. I am in a part of India where the weather was all moody and shifty. I’d been expecting bright, hot days, but the last two weeks was nothing but rain and storms. Every day big, dark clouds, filled the sky, rolling in out of nowhere, with sudden hail pounding on the roof. I found myself in a sweatshirt pretty much daily.
With not much going on, I disappeared into books, my favourite kind of rainy weather activity. And the timing was just perfect, because a book that I had on my wish-list for a while just dropped, The Star from Calcutta, which is the fifth book in the Perveen Mistry series by Sujata Massey.
I’ve sort of been crushing on Perveen for a while now, I wrote a piece gushing about the series last year.
Women's entry into Bombay's movie theatres
So picture this: it’s September 1922 in Bombay and Perveen is still the only woman lawyer in the city. We start off right in the middle of monsoons, so everything’s supremely damp and gloriously chaotic. The whole city’s pretty much drowned in puddles of murky water, and there’s this grim mood hanging over it. But nothing can stop Perveen from heading out to work. And she is doing it in those gorgeous green and yellow chiffon saris, all graceful and elegant as she steps around muddy puddles, dashing over for cover when the rain decides to come down without warning.
Her days are packed, leaving barely a calm moment for herself. She visits the coroner’s office, deals with racist colonial officers, dodges the judgy looks of her male peers. I love the quiet bits where we find Perveen daydreaming about her British beau, Colin, her cozy home and a niece she absolutely adores. Perveen’s no ordinary woman as the sole female lawyer, and so her life is made up of hectic, yes, but extraordinary bits which she manages with equal parts grace and grit.
The book kicks off with Perveen being assigned by her dad/boss/co-partner to help Rochna, this huge Calcutta actress who has just landed in Bombay with all the stardust and drama. The excitement to work with a movie starlet has her fired up more than usual. On paper, it should’ve been a straightforward gig for Perveen: untangle Rochna’s studio contracts, smooth her move from one studio to the other. But before Perveen could even get her notes in order, Rochna disappears. And then, of course, someone turns up dead at the studio.
I’m only halfway through the book and I’m already getting that “noooo-don’t-end” feeling. I just know I’m going to miss Perveen’s adventures the second I hit the last page. I’ll miss tagging along with her through 1920s Bombay, and this one’s extra fun because it swoops right into the film world. It all feels so real, walking through studio corridors with Perveen, with the glitz and the cigarette smoke catching the light, I can almost hear the cameras rolling.
There’s this bit in the book where she lands at a movie premier party, a private screening of Champa Film’s Queen of Hearts, and for Perveen it’s like stepping onto another planet. None of the usual rules that tie her down work here. People are kissing in stairwells like it’s nobody’s business, some teenage girl just calls her dad by his first name, the vibe is all casual. The air itself feels loose, boozy, kind of intoxicating. It’s easy to make out that all this gets under Perveen’s skin a little. She’s standing there, taking it all in, fascinated but equally intimidated. But as the night unfolds, she has this moment where she thinks, I wish Colin and I had somewhere like this, somewhere we could just disappear to, no rules, no eyes.
Massey gets into the details of the party, describing the fits, the decor, the whole mise-en-scène. Yet I keep catching myself wanting more. You see, it’s not too easy for me to picture exactly what Perveen’s hair is doing, how her sari falls, how different Rochna’s look is supposed to be.
So I went digging and fell straight down a research spiral into Filmindia, Baburao Patel’s big film journal from the 1930s, poked around to see what I could find. I ended up creating this mood board that pairs perfectly with my reading. Things like what the ladies would’ve been wearing, the sets, the whole glittery, smoky glamour of it all.
Renuka Devi in Bhabi, a Bombay Talkies picture,1939. In my head, Perveen looks a lot like Renuka Devi. There’s something about her smile, and the way her eyes are lit up, still girlish, but a little flicker of maturity behind it. That’s so Perveen to me.
Snehprabha Pradhan and Prabha in Civil Marriage, a Sagar picture, 1939. This still of the ladies just chatting, in what looks like a living room, all chic and put-together, immediately reminded me of this bit in the book, where Perveen visits the Champa studio.
A still from The Secretary, Chaturbhuj Desai, 1938. Perveen hardly ever runs into another woman while she’s working a case, which makes this still from The Secretary less than perfect. But the scene is very much like this bit from the book, the one where Perveen heads to the censor board office to get Champa’s latest film certified.
Gohar Jan in Chandramukhi, Chandulal Shah, 1929. Image source: Pinterest. The second Rochna walked into the scene, Gohar Jan popped into my head.
Renuka Devi and Meera Devi in Bhabi, Bombay Talkies picture. 1939. I love this still of Renuka and Meera, it’s so glittery and glam, exactly how I picture old Hindi cinema in my head. And it’s totally giving the moment Perveen meets Rochna for the first time.
Indurani in Alladin Laila, A.M. Khan, 1941. Image source: Cinemajadoo. Personally, I am not really a fan of those stunt movies, the ones where women are fighting tigers and jumping off speeding trains. But Perveen and Alice are total fangirls for Rochna, who is famous for pulling tough stunts on screen. I’m guessing Massey pulled inspo from real-life firecrackers like Indurani and Nadia.
Husn Bano in Vasant Bengali, Aspi Irani, 1938. Image source: Pinterest. The pose is pure drama, the looks are so captivating and mysterious. The whole image just captures the entire essence of what a starlet must’ve been like back then.
Nargis in the original shelved K.Asif’s Moghal-e-Azam, 1945. When I stumbled on this image of Nargis, it hit me right away, it’s totally like the illustration on the cover of The Star from Calcutta.
This is Nadia, the famous Wadia star, in Lutaru Labia, a thrilling stunt picture, 1937. You can just tell, Nadia feels like a massive inspiration for Rochna’s character.
Still from Baghban, a General Films picture, 1938.
This Filmindia piece from April 1938 reads exactly like something Perveen would be hunting down. I can picture her, flipping pages, looking for anything on her starlet client Rochna, trying to piece together what the press is saying, what’s gossip, what’s real. And that caption under Padma Devi’s photo, “the colour queen is no longer with the Imperial— but where is she going next,” is so gossipy and dramatic. I’m sure Perveen would’ve underlined this twice.
It’s so clear how tactless the press was with women. Baburao Patel’s tone is just ugh! This piece is a perfect example of what film journos thought of Anglo-Indian actresses back then, dripping with misogyny and sexism. It honestly threw me. It reads like he has a personal grudge against these women.
Kokila and Leela Chitnis in Gentleman Daku a Royal Release, 1938.
I love this picture from a 1939 issue of Filmindia. But sadly the caption doesn’t tell who this cool lady is. Instead it throws back at the readers a little quiz: “Guess who she is, Filmindia in one hand and a stick in the other— no prizes offered.”
Sitara and Kumar in Watan, a Sagar picture, 1938.
Still from The Street Singer, a New Theatres picture, 1938.
Rose and Motilal in We Three, Mehbhoob Khan, 1938. Image source: Cinemajadoo
Yeshwant Dave and Husn Banu in Vasant Bengali, Aspi Irani, 1938. Image source: Cinemajadoo
This ad for Maganlal Dresswalla is from 1938. Maganlal Dresswalla is India’s oldest, most prestigious costume supplier and rental house. They’ve been around since 1926 and have dressed everyone, over a century of putting Hindi cinema in costume. From the first Indian talkie Alam Ara in 1931, all the way to Mughal-e-Azam in 1960, and even Lagaan (2001).
Pohoomull’s Silks ad, 1939. In the late 1930s, Pohoomull Brothers had flagship stores right in the heart of Bombay- Colaba and Fort. The Mumbai store was where the British Raj’s elite and wealthy Indian families (like the Mistrys) shopped. The store was the go to place for exquisite silk saris and fabrics, embroidered shawls, high-fashion garments cut for Western tastes, plus luxury handicrafts and jewellery.
Kokila in Repentance, a Tara Films picture, 1938. Outfit reference for the ladies: tasteful, harmonious blending of west and east silhouettes. Peter Pan collared blouse, the pallu pinned with a delicate brooch.
Still from Professor Woman, M.Sc, produced by Ranjit and directed by Mr. Manibhai Vyas, 1938. If I struggle picturing the women in the book, the men are impossible. I just can’t conjure what their fits were like back then, especially the police guys. And Perveen runs into them all the time throughout the series.
Surendra and Bibbo in Dynamite, C.M. Luhar, 1938. Image source: Cinemajadoo
Surendra, Maya Bannerjee, and Panday in Dynamite, C.M. Luhar, 1938. Image source: Cinemajadoo
Ratan Bai and Pramilla in Saheli, a Star Picture, 1942.
Sadiq Ali with Surraiya in Jag Biti, a Din Pictures, 1946. Image source: IMDB
Still from Mukti, a New Theatres release. 1937
And then I tripped over this piece by Sabita Devi in the journal.
Let’s get to know Sabita Devi a little before we get into what she wrote. She was born Iris Maude Gasper, a Calcutta girl from a wealthy Jewish/Anglo-Indian family. But when she stepped into films, back in what people now call the “pioneering” days of Indian cinema, she ditched her flowery name and became Sabita Devi, which means sunshine in Sanskrit. It was a common thing back then, lots of Anglo-Indian stars took Indian names so audiences could feel closer to them. And for Iris it totally worked. Sabita Devi shot right to the top. She became one of the highest paid actresses in India, easily in the top three with Sulochana and Gohar.
Sabita went into films for the most straightforward obvious reason: she wanted her own life, an independent one. It paid better than anything else a woman could do back then. Her family wasn’t too thrilled at first, but Sabita Devi looked at cinema as a lucrative opportunity. And she didn’t just take the pay-check and kept quiet about it. She was one of the fiercest voice in defending her profession, arguing that film was a proper, decent career. And yes, even for women from “respectable families.”
In this piece, Sabita Devi talks about her craft, how she steps into a role, what she pulls from. And tucked in there is her famous defence of cinema too. She calls out how people from her industry get simply dismissed as just “show people,” like they are all surface and no depth. But for her the glamour isn’t something in the costumes or the lights. It’s something internal. And she puts it so beautifully, that the real aura is “the sparkle of art, the glitter of soul.”
She lets us in on a secret for making it work on screen: a tactful balance between realism and performance. Sabita describes it like “moon shining on water” or “a nightingale singing to the rose.”
