HINDI cinema icon Amitabh Bachchan has an enviable repertoire of blockbusters that defined his superstardom, but among his most underrated gems is the suspenseful drama Majboor.
Released on December 6, 1974, this gripping tale of a terminally ill man who falsely confesses to a murder to secure his family’s future, only to fight for his innocence after being cured, remains a timeless classic.
To mark its 50th anniversary, Eastern Eye revisits the film’s standout scenes that continue to captivate audiences.
Daydream: Farida Jalal delivers a poignant performance as Ravi’s wheelchair-bound younger sister, whose playful and optimistic spirit shines early in the film. In a memorable sequence, she imagines winning the lottery and escapes into a fantasy of visiting serene mountains. The moment is heartbreakingly interrupted by the reminder of her disability, powerfully portraying the fragile balance between hope and reality.
Trigger point: The story begins with Ravi (Bachchan) suffering bursts of inexplicable pain in the head, leading to a life-altering diagnosis. The sequence where Ravi learns about his brain tumour showcases a range of emotions – from shock and denial to desperate suggestions and reluctant acceptance. His earlier light-hearted conversation about old age with his girlfriend underscores the unpredictability of life.
Self-incrimination: The film’s central plot unfolds when Ravi frames himself for a murder he did not commit. The intricately executed scene sees him planting evidence at a secluded location, leaving cigarette stubs and lighting fires strategically. The audience remains unaware of his intentions until his anonymous call to the police reveals the gravity of his actions.
Farewell: One of Bachchan’s most heartwrenching performances comes as Ravi bids farewell to his family. Unbeknownst to them, he is about to be arrested. Suppressing his emotions, Ravi offers a tearful smile, walking resolutely toward the police. The raw vulnerability in his expression leaves a lasting impact.
Turning point: The story takes a sharp twist when Ravi miraculously survives treatment and realises he must now prove his innocence to avoid the death sentence. The desperation in his emotions as he comes to terms with his predicament signals the monumental task ahead, elevating the film’s tension.
Escape: Ravi’s daring escape from a policeguarded hospital room is one of the film’s most thrilling moments. The clever and calculated sequence, followed by an intense chase, foreshadows similar action scenes in later Bachchan classics like Don (1978).
Expressions: In a deeply emotional family scene, Ravi returns home while on the run, unaware that the police are nearby. His sister discreetly alerts him to their presence without drawing attention. In this tense moment, not a single word is exchanged between Ravi, his mother, and his sister. Instead, their eyes do all the talking, conveying a powerful mix of hope, encouragement, and resilience as they face their challenging circumstances together.
Michael: Pran’s entry as Michael D’Souza is a late but unforgettable highlight. His stylish swagger – cigarette in mouth, hands mimicking binoculars – is both amusing and iconic. The comedic daroo ki botal song adds another layer to his roguish charm, solidifying his presence as a standout character.
Teaming up: Michael’s connection to Ravi’s innocence makes their meeting inevitable. Despite being a thief, Michael has principles and defuses the tension when he learns of Ravi’s predicament. The unlikely alliance between the haughty crook and the vulnerable fugitive adds a compelling layer to the story as they work together to solve the mystery. A particularly moving moment occurs when Michael meets Ravi’s family. Their innocence and anguish touch the hardened rogue’s heart, leading him to sincerely pledge to restore their happiness in a heartfelt and poignant scene
Climax: Pran dominates the film’s final act, with his confrontation with Satyen Kappu marking a pivotal moment. After uncovering the real murderer, Michael’s heroism reaches its peak during the climactic shootout. His determination to hold the culprit captive while fighting for his own life is gripping. True to his word, he fulfills his promise to Ravi’s sister before succumbing, leaving an indelible mark on the audience.
The actor’s evolving style from youth to maturity getty images
Aamir Khan embracing vintage looks with classic charmgetty images
Bold and dramatic changes defining Aamir Khan’s careergetty images
From rugged to refined Aamir Khan’s versatile appearancesgetty images
Memorable film moments showcasing Aamir Khan’s unique stylegetty images
Aamir Khan’s blend of classic and contemporary fashiongetty images
Aamir Khan’s dedication to authentic character portrayals getty images
Cinematic milestones reflected in Aamir Khan’s on-screen imagegetty images
A seated Jain enlightened teacherAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Ganesha from JavaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
A Chinese silk painting depicting the BuddhaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
ArdhanarishvaraAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Head of a grimacing yakshaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
NagaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
The Bimaran casketAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Hunia Chawla
A still from rehearsal
Them performing liveNajmuddin Saifuddin Qawwal Group
The cast of Marriage Material in key moments from the play, including Avita Jay, Kiran Landa, Omar Malik, Irfan Shamji and Anoushka Deshmukh
Sathnam Sanghera’s 'Marriage Material' adapted into bold new play on conformity
The play Marriage Material at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre is Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti’s adaptation of Sathnam Sanghera’s novel of the same name, which first came out in 2013.
She is lucky to have Iqbal Khan direct Marriage Material. The play, a co-production with the Birmingham Rep, is set in the late 1960s. Mr and Mrs Bains (played by Jaz Singh Deol and Avita Jay) run a corner shop in Wolverhampton. Their younger daughter, Surinder (Anoushka Deshmukh), is 16, her sister Kamaljit (Kiran Landa) is just a bit older.
They have a neighbour, Patwant Dhanda (Irfan Shamji), who, as we shall soon see, is not a very pleasant man. In fact, he comes across just as racist as Enoch Powell, who represented Wolverhampton South West for the Tories from 1950 to 1974.
It will be recalled this was a time when Sikhs working on the buses were told they couldn’t wear a turban. That was a hard-fought battle that had to be won.
The Bains, meanwhile, simply want to get their girls married off.
Nothing new here, I thought.
What makes the tale different is that the plot twists and turns down the generations. Mr Dhanda, who has the makings of a paedophile, makes a pitch for one of the girls when Mr Bains dies early in the play. “A life with no man in the house is no life,” he informs the newly widowed Mrs Bains.
Mr Dhanda has a wife but she has returned to India so he considers himself to be a free man.
Surinder’s English teacher from school, Miss Flanagan (Celeste Dodwell), who is also head of the fifth form, tells Mrs Bains about her daughter: “I don’t want to embarrass you, but she is bright. Ridiculously bright.”
She adds: “Mrs Bains, I think it would be a pity if Surinder didn’t stay on at school.” The initial response from Mrs Bains is not encouraging: “Too much education makes people’s brains get mixed up, they don’t sleep at night…”
But she is finally persuaded that Surinder should be allowed to stay on for a while longer before being married off.
Mr Bains was very old school. When Surinder confides she would one day like to be “a somebody”, he is amused that “my daughter wants to be a somebody”.
“Like you,” she tells her father.
Mr Bains consoles his daughter: “We will find a somebody for you to marry.”
At the point of a possible marriage, however, Surinder is sweet-talked by chocolate salesman Jim Wilson (Tommy Belshaw) into running away with him. They share a love of literature, and he calls her “Sue Bains”. But the relationship does not end well.
Once she has left, Surinder is written off as “dead” by her family. The story that is circulated is that she was only 16 when she was killed in a car crash. That’s better than to let on that she ran off with a white man.
By the time she is reconciled with her sister towards the end of the play, a great deal has changed. Kamaljit married Tanvir Banga (Omar Malik), a young man who helped out in the Bains’ corner shop. When the two sisters meet again, Tanvir has also died. But he and Kamaljit had a son, Arjan Banga (Jaz Singh Deol doubles up for this role after the death of Mr Bains). He has come home after his father’s death to help his mother who is still running the family corner shop.
Meanwhile, Mr Dhanda’s business has prospered. He now has a son, Ranjit Dhanda (the role is taken by Omar Malik after Tanvir’s death), and he is nearly as unpleasant as his father.
Arjan has an English fiancée, Claire (Celeste Dodwell). In London, Arjan worked as a creative director. But after deciding to stay in Wolverhampton to help his mother, he decides he cannot marry Claire because she is white. In other words, Asians are not free of racism, either. Happily, at the end, the couple are reconciled.
As for Surinder, she parted company with Jim Wilson after realising he was all talk, depended on her for money and had failed to earn a penny from his literary pretensions. She had prospered, though, as a hotel owner and had been transformed in time into a well-groomed businesswoman. After being tracked down by Arjan, she decides to return to her roots in Wolverhampton and help Kamaljit run the family corner shop. Perhaps 50 years had passed during the passage of the play.
Being subjected to racism turned some Asians into racists themselves. The word goreh (white person) is repeatedly spat out with venom. Maybe it is worth remembering the play’s audience isn’t exclusively Asian – white folk are watching as well. And maybe some of the toilet humour ridiculing white people, which always makes me cringe, could be cut out.
In Sanghera’s novel, there is a quote from Enoch Powell’s speech in November 1968: “The West Indian or Asian does not, by being born in England, become an Englishman. In law he becomes a United Kingdom citizen by birth; in fact, he is a west Indian or an Asian still... he will by the very nature of things have lost one country without gaining another, lost one nationality without acquiring a new one. Time is running out against us and them. With the lapse of a generation or so we shall at last have succeeded – to the benefit of nobody – in reproducing ‘in England’s green and pleasant land’ the haunting tragedy of the US.”
In Marriage Material, where the acting is marvellous (apart from Mr Dhanda’s Indian mannerisms and accent being overdone) we do travel across a couple of generations.
There is a scene when Tanvir rejects Mr Dhanda’s vision of creating a little Punjab in Wolverhampton.
Mr Dhanda wants to take over the Bains’ corner shop and is putting pressure on Tanvir to sign the papers. He says: “In this country, money is the path to freedom.”
“Sign, please,” he instructs Tanvir. “We must make sure our children learn to behave nicely, according to our rules.”
He insists: “We maintain our identity so we can be ourselves.”
Tanvir disagrees: “We can be us here. With the goreh.”
Dhanda warns him: “Then we will be inviting chaos.”
Tanvir’s comment is telling: “You sound like Enoch.”
Kamaljit, who is expecting a baby with her husband Tanvir, says: “I would like my child to grow up knowing the history of the Gurus and to read the Granth Sahib. And to love their culture.”
Tanvir tells his wife: “I would like my child to go to the finest schools, to cheer for England in the World Cup and eat Yorkshire pudding on a Sunday.”
Kamaljit sets out a dream that has perhaps come to pass with many third and fourth generation British Asians: “Maybe our child can do both.” Much, much later, in a throwback to the past, we learn of Surinder’s O-level results: “Biology A, Chemistry A, English Language A, English Literature A, French A, History B, Latin A, Mathematics A, Physics A…”
Kamaljit tells her younger sister: “Never mind about the B.”
And that is quintessentially Asian. Their acting is outstanding.
Marriage Material is at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until June 21, and at the Birmingham Rep from June 25-July 5