Remembering Ashok Mehta

Amit Ashar tells Raj Lalwani about his fond memories of the legendary cinematographer, and how photographing Ashok Mehta, for him, was part remembrance and part eulogy.

There is a moment in the opening few minutes of Gulzar’s Ijaazat, when an oblivious Naseeruddin Shah comes face to face with his former wife, Rekha. They are on a railway platform, right outside a waiting room, a passing train, casting a fleeting rhythm of light and shadow that envelopes the delicate tentativeness of meeting an estranged lover, unexpectedly. A visual can actually move us to such an extreme degree, and it was several years ago when I saw the movie for the first time that I realised the same. If there is poetry in every situation that Gulzar writes, there was poetry in every frame that lingered. I hadn’t met Ashok Mehta at that time, but after that, I never looked at images the same way.

Ashok Mehta was probably India’s greatest cinematographer along with Subrata Mitra, but also the finest person I’ve met in the industry, and definitely, the most enigmatic. He, from the humblest of backgrounds and yet, with great flamboyance, and an accent of his own. He, who would notice my camera from the corner of his eye, and almost subconsciously bring on a bit of a swagger, leaning in and out of the light. He, who would talk to Shashi Kapoor with the same warmth with which he would talk to the guy who would serve tea, and if he didn’t know your name, you’d be called ‘Ramu ki maa’ or ‘Dharam pitaa’. Curious, ambitious, honest and kind, and always striving for excellence... he, Ashok Mehta, my chachu.