The man who shot the stars

Come Friday and he would have been 61. Since he’d started shunning celebration, chances are that he would have fled to an undisclosed spot for the day, far away from his ramble of old-worldly rooms on Hughes Road.
Gautam Rajadhyaksha chose to flee earlier. He was stressed out of late. The iconic photographer had complained of body ache, his doctor had advised immediate examination, but then a comprehensive course in photography for Pune’s Symbiosis College had just been templated.

Ironically, the ad announcing “admissions open” for the course appeared in the newspapers the very morning he was found supine on the floor of his “music room”.
He would frequently spend the night in that room — equipped with a state-of-the-art music system — rather than in his capacious bedroom. Of all his earthly possessions, he was particularly peacock-proud of his collection of opera CDs. Maria Callas, Vivaldi and Puccini were his most dependable friends, accessible at the flick of a remote button. He was never alone.
Loneliness? Gautam may have lived alone all his adult life but never once complained of solitude. He couldn’t possibly, what with his armoury of cameras, ready-to-kill-for-him assistants, and, of course, the mutual love shared with the subjects of his portraits: Bollywood stalwarts as well as newbies, artist M.F. Husain, General Maneckshaw, sportstars Sunil Gawaskar and Sachin Tendulkar. Their portraits, on imperishable prints mounted on hardboard, dominate his home’s corridor. Dilip Kumar is caught bemusedly contemplative, a boyish Aamir Khan is cool in a white shirt, no accessories required.
Gautam’s visual instincts, his devotion to image-making and that quest for an uncluttered life added up to a Renaissance Man, rarely emerging from his virtual cocoon of aesthetics. Rigidly a Sobo-ite, he’d hate venturing to the suburbs. If he had to, it would be a safari of sorts, armed with sufficient water and rations, and a raw silk shawl tossed over the shoulder to combat the car’s airconditioning.
His ascent from advertising to glamour photography culminated in the niche of portraiture. He clicked Shabana Azmi, adman Alyque Padamsee, Rishi Kapoor, at the outset, to be shabashed and prodded to the next level by his cousin Shobhaa De. His calling card was his obsession with making every film star look glorious, avoiding the nicks and warts, to enhance their more positive features.
In an era before Photoshop, he ensured that his portraits would be flattering in the style of the Hollywood studio pix of Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly and Elizabeth Taylor. An aficionado of the 1950s movies, his eyes would go soft-focus, especially over Rita Hayworth in Gilda, a vision in black-and-white. The faces he went gooey over were of Nutan, Asha Bhosle, Hema Malini, Madhuri Dixit and Kajol. Vis-a-vis Salman Khan, he actually achieved the impossible: the Khan actually looked vulnerably boyish, clothed from head to toe, and yawning!
Quite naturally, Gautam ruled as the photo-session pasha for movie hoardings. Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Dil to Pagal Hai, Maine Pyar Kiya, Hum Aapke Hain Koun..! and Dil Se.. were just some of the campaigns that carried his signature. And he wouldn’t charge even material cost for upcoming filmmakers. Aditya Chopra’s DDLJ was done gratis, the Chopra scion gifted him a set of cocktail glasses in return. When it came to the stills for my Fiza, he returned the cheque, with the argument, “Don’t be silly!” Despite his shyness, he assented to a cameo portraying himself. The striking portraits of Karisma Kapoor in Zubeidaa, too, were gifts, no returns accepted.
Gradually, Gautam reduced his workload, sticking to portfolios of newcomers and select ad campaigns. Instead, he realised writing a column in a Marathi periodical, published star photographs in brisk-selling coffee table books. He began distancing himself from showbiz. On seeing him light up a cigarette, I’d carp, that’s not good for you, and he’d respond, “But who wants to live?”
A curious riposte that. I chased him time and again to do an exhibition — The Unseen Gautam — of his never-before-published photos of which he had thousands. He was enthusiastic but just about, explaining that he was travelling incessantly, on and off to “safaris” to Pune. Since he could never be pushed beyond a point, I left the photos in his court.
As his body lay, rested and calm, at his Hughes Road home, the stream of his admirers thickened. Political leaders placed flowers at his feet, the same names he had shied away from photographing — because he did not agree with their politics. His movie friends were there, Shobhaa De consoled the mourners though she needed to be consoled herself. She said, “He’s gone… we loved him so, so much.” To that, I could only say, “But then he loved us so much in return.”
And as the morning ended, a CD was played in the music room. Gautam had left instructions that he wanted to hear his Maria Callas before he left home.

Khalid Mohamed is a journalist, film critic and film director