US-based author Anuvab Pal feels Mithun Chakrabarty-starrer Disco Dancer is the worst film of the 1980s. Yet, he chose to write a book on this very film, with the screenplay, trivia, and interviews from the hero Mithun, music composer Bappi Lahiri and director B Subhash.
Pal, incidentally, has also written films like Loins Of Punjab Presents and The President Is Coming.
Here's an excerpt from the book Disco Dancer: A Comedy In Five Acts -- an interview of Bappi Lahiri, who owes his career to this film:
Bappi Lahiri
Music Composer
Padma Bhushan Winner
Composed music for over a 1,000 Bollywood and regional films, including Disco Dancer
A Guinness World Record Holder
No other introduction required
The only direction I had to the legendary Mr Bappi Lahiri's house was that it was near yesteryear star Jeetendra's house in the Juhu suburb of Mumbai. A particular oddity of Juhu landmarks is that they usually centre around forgotten movie star homes, rather than street signs or house numbers or real landmarks like an important intersection or a massive hotel (both of which exist prominently).
So with Mr Lahiri, I was told to take a left from a piano repair shop, follow an arrow leading to a pizza delivery place, ask about Jeetendra's bungalow and then ask again from there. Of course, had Mr Jeetendra (which wasn't even his real name) known the important role he would play in city navigation in the winter of his life, he would have perhaps taken his acting career in B-grade classics like Mawaali (Ruffian) and Justice Choudhury (self-explanatory) far more seriously.
So there I was in front of an imposing bungalow which didn't have a plaque saying 'Jeetendra's Bungalow' but said 'Prem Milan' ('Lovers Unite') instead. A cluster of people who do nothing on every Indian street corner confirmed this was indeed the residence of the star (a home pseudonym, how original I wondered) and then pointed vaguely to some parallel road that led to Mr Lahiri's mansion.
After following their often contradictory and meaningless directions, I found myself outside a bungalow which read 'Lahiri House'. It looked a lot like the bungalows movie people built in the '70s, and often used for shooting in the '80s (as the villain or rich man's house). Two storeyed, art-deco. It was of an India when bungalows rather than luxury apartments with pools and gyms, symbolized wealth.
Inside, I was asked who I was. I told them. The little security room didn't have security guard, it had a man and a woman seemingly terrified. So terrified that after I had mentioned 'Anuvab Pal' about fifteen times and they did manage to connect to the great man himself (who seemed to be sleeping, it was 2 pm, quite natural), they forgot the name out of nervousness. And dropped the phone. Incapable of further language and fearful, they made some sort of head gesture suggesting I should pick up the phone with the subtext being, 'You play with fire'.
'Anuvab Pal,' I said again, still somewhat certain that that my name (although I was beginning to have second thoughts). Instructions were given, I was led to a garden-facing living room on the ground floor.
Excerpted from Disco Dancer: A Comedy in Five Acts, by Anuvab Pal, HarperCollins India, with the publisher's permission, Rs 250.