No photo did justice to Madhubala's beauty

The name Madhubala conjures up many spectacular images of the iconic actress. Her beauty, grace, comic timing -- everything about her has turned into a legend over the last 40 years.
Strangely, for a celebrity of her stature and repute there's hardly any documentation of the legendary actress' life and time.
That's what pushed Khatija Akbar to take up the task of writing a biography on Madhubala. In “I Want To Live: The Story Of Madhubala”, the author has written about the lesser-known aspects of the actress' life.
Excerpts from the book:
She was perceived as the “Venus of the Indian Screen”, but how was Madhubala viewed by those of her own generation in the film industry?
“She was ecstatically, exasperatingly beautiful,” exclaimed Nadira in her characteristic style.
Nimmi confessed to passing a sleepless night after her first meeting with Madhubala on the sets of their common starrer “Amar”. How would she fare in the film alongside “this apparition, this angel in human shape?”
The feeling of being struck dumb was a normal first-time reaction to Madhubala whether the hapless one was Shammi Kapoor or a casual visitor on her sets. For his first picture with Madhubala, P.N. Arora's “Rail Ka Dibba” (1953), Shammi Kapoor, dialogue forgotten and his mind a blank, could only gaze tongue-tied and lost. His brother Shashi Kapoor regretted the fact that he never got to act with her:
“She had a porcelain beauty, like Dresden china, very fragile, very delicate with a gorgeous infectious smile and very expressive eyes. There was a mystery about her,” producer-director Manmohan Desai remarked. “She was the only true beauty to grace the Indian screen and she was beautiful in every film with no exception.” Well-known journalist B.K. Karanjia discovered on first meeting her that “none of her published photographs did full justice to her quite extraordinary beauty.”
Filmfare, the premier film magazine of the time, wrote: “Her complexion is moon-kissed and the smile, an irresistible come-hither but stay-where-you-are. J.H. Thakker spoke from a photographer's viewpoint: “You could photograph her from any angle without make-up and still come away with a masterpiece. She was a cameraman's delight.”
Madhubala and Meena Kumari were never cast together in any film, and in real life they rarely met each other; but they are often spoken of in the same breath, often compared. A sense of tragedy and doom hangs over the memory of both actresses, for, in their separate ways, they were powerless against the grim realities of their lives.
Meena Kumari hugged her sorrows close to her heart, almost revelling in the sadness. She drenched herself in her poignant verses (she was well-read and a good poetess) and when the barbs of life became unbearable she reached for the bottle and lost herself in its miseries. On screen too she chose to become the symbol of suffering Indian womanhood voluntarily limiting the range of her histrionic capabilities.
If Meena Kumari seemed made for grief, Madhubala was made for laughter. Melancholy was unnatural to her. To her smiles came easily; the tears were thrust on her. She constantly reached out for happiness, and faced the travails of her life with more inner strength. Perhaps the order and the discipline that she was used to made the difference. She lived with the knowledge of a mysterious medical problem.
Madhubala was just twenty, with a natural, buoyant ebullience, when she joined the cast of “Mughal-e-Azam”. Her attitude was initially casual and she had no clear idea of how to approach her role. Once she understood what was expected of her and what the demands of the role were, Madhubala rose to the challenge. She empathised increasingly with the character, breathed life into her portrayal and slowly grew into the role, imparting to it shades of her own personality.
“Mughal-e-Azam” gave her the opportunity of fulfilling herself totally as an actress, for it was a role that all actresses dream of playing. A number of Anarkalis had already been seen on the screen; the character was not new to the public. It was a challenge to take on this well-known, well-loved character and make it successful once again. All doubts were put to rest when Madhubala's Anarkali emerged on the screen pulsatingly alive, vibrant and three-dimensional.
As love stories go, Dilip Kumar and Madhubala's had one essential difference. There were no obstacles to speak of, and the usual encumbrances and thorns in “the path of true love” were hard to find. Both were Pathan Muslims, both at the peak of their careers, their ages were compatible and, most important each was single and uncommitted. Ostensibly, there was nothing to stop them from getting married if they so wished. Yet the two became alienated with a completeness that was unambiguous.
The general reaction to her marriage to Kishore Kumar was echoed in Nadira's incredulous disbelief: “From the sublime to the ridiculous! Oh my God! Madhu what are you doing?”
If Kishore and Madhubala seemed an unlikely pair, that is exactly what they were: A highly ill-suited couple who had married in haste and never found any happiness together.
The marriage was a disaster and Madhubala's most difficult years had begun. A time came when the Venus of the Indian screen could find no one who was willing to go with her when she wished to consult doctors abroad. An old acquaintance was so moved by her plight that she offered to accompany her; Kishore then relented and went himself.
They went to London in 1960 but the doctors who saw her both in India and abroad merely asked her to avoid any kind of stress, strain and anxiety, and to learn the art of relaxation. She was advised against having any children. In short, no hope of any cure was held out. She was told she could live for ten years or die within the year. Surgery for a hole in the heart, which became common shortly after Madhubala died, had not been heard of in the '60s.
Compiled by Correspondent