What made one of Indian cinema’s greatest sex symbols take her own life? How could a woman who commanded enormous fees and had producers queuing up for her dates feel so powerless in her personal life? Was it depression, mental health issues, or plain loneliness that made her take such a drastic step. Sadly, there’s no way of going back in time. Therefore, we’ll never know the reason. Choreographer Shanthi Kumar, who worked closely with Silk Smitha, remembers a woman whose public image was very different from her private self.
Shanthi, who dropped out of school in Class Nine, began as a group dancer at 14 before becoming an assistant choreographer and eventually a choreographer alongside her husband, Kumar. She remembers working with Silk on several Kannada and Telugu films, particularly the Tamil film Vaazhkai, starring Sivaji Ganesan and Ambika. Shanthi
assisted Tara Masterji on the song Mella mella ennai thottu and was also part of the group dancers.
By then, Silk had come a long way from her early days as a housemaid and make-up touch-up artiste. Her breakthrough in Vandichakkaram had made her a sensation. She reportedly charged between Rs 90,000 and Rs 1 lakh per song, and producers competed for her dates.
“She was showing a very strong side of herself to the industry because she had been treated very badly in her initial days,” recalls Shanthi.
Interestingly, Shanthi doesn’t consider Silk a particularly accomplished dancer. “She was very fragile and delicate. She wasn’t physically strong. She would follow the dance master’s instructions. The rest was her body language and sensuality.” Her grace and screen presence were enough to have men drooling over her.
Silk could be aloof and demanding with producers and directors but was surprisingly warm towards group dancers. She shared her food and make-up with them and was extraordinarily generous. “If you complimented her lipstick, she would immediately offer it to you. She would say, ‘You want one? I’ll buy you one.’”
She also had a distinctive sense of style, designing her own costumes and oxidised jewellery. Her signature dark maroon lipstick was Lakmé’s shade 222. She knew exactly what suited her and developed her own make-up style.
But Silk had a temper. Shanthi remembers an incident on the sets of Vaazhkai when a dance sequence required Silk to sit on actor Ravindran’s shoulders. He apparently held her too tightly to prevent her from falling, and she began hitting him. In the ensuing scuffle, he lost his balance and pushed her down. She retaliated, and he hit her back.
“She became furious and walked off the set. The director and producer were terribly upset. She refused to come out of her make-up room. We had to cajole her. If she decided to walk out, she simply walked out.”
Shanthi once asked Silk why she was so rude to producers and directors when she was so affectionate towards the dancers. Silk reportedly swore in Telugu and replied, “These sons of bitches treated me very badly at one time. Now it’s my turn to get even and show them their place.”
Shanthi believes Silk’s behaviour stemmed from the humiliation and possible exploitation she had endured during her struggling years.
Her personal life, however, was another matter. The man who managed her affairs, whom everyone called Doctor, had become indispensable to her. He reportedly looked after everything from cosmetic procedures and learning English to her banking and finances. He or his son would often accompany her to shoots.
“He was more like her manager. She depended on him a lot. But gradually, he started controlling and dominating her,” Shanthi claims. There were rumours about Silk’s relationship with Doctor and speculation about her closeness to his son. Shanthi also remembers hearing about a popular Telugu actor whom Silk loved and continued writing letters to even after he had moved on.
“During song sequences, many heroes would profess their love to her, and she would believe them. But then they would go their own way. She was lost and hungry for love.”
Meanwhile, the demands of maintaining her glamorous image were taking their toll. Working across several film industries meant long hours, endless costume trials and exhausting make-up sessions. She ate very little, exercised regularly and often slept late only to wake up before sunrise.
Years later, while choreographing Silk for a Malayalam song in director Jayaraj’s Thumboli Kadappuram, Shanthi had a conversation that has haunted her ever since. “She told me, ‘You have a family. You have a child to look after. You have something waiting for you at home. But who is there for me? I don’t like this man. He’s not giving me my freedom.’”
Silk complained that she felt constantly watched. Even when Doctor couldn’t accompany her, his son would sometimes turn up on the sets. Then came a disturbing confession. “She told me, ‘Someday I will die. I will commit suicide. I’m not interested in living.’ I asked her why she was saying such things when she was beautiful, successful and earning so much. She simply replied, ‘You have a family to go back to.’”
Silk had several dogs and enjoyed looking after Doctor’s young granddaughter, but she longed for children of her own. “She told me, ‘Every night, he brings his granddaughter for me to play with. But what about my own life? Don’t I want children? Don’t I need someone to look after me?’”
On another occasion, Silk told Shanthi that if she died by suicide, she should come to her house and take all her make-up and jewellery. Shanthi refused and urged her to bring her mother and brother to live with her. But Silk complained that she had already set up a travel agency for her brother, who continued to depend on her financially. Her mother, she said, was too simple and naive to offer much practical support.
“She was fed up with the monotony of her life. Maintaining her figure, eating very little, exercising, working late and waking up early. I think the loneliness was getting to her. All she wanted was to marry a nice man and have a family. She was an amazing cook, you know. She made wonderful curries.”
Shanthi believes Silk’s dependence on Doctor had left her feeling trapped. She suspects that Silk may never have truly loved him and that her feelings for the Telugu actor remained unresolved. When news of Silk’s death broke, Shanthi was devastated but not entirely surprised. “She kept telling me, ‘I will die soon.’ So when people wondered whether it was murder, I didn’t believe that. She had been telling me for a long time that she wanted to die.”Shanthi also remembers Silk reportedly making a final call to her sister-in-law, Anuradha, who was close to her. Anuradha couldn’t meet her because of personal circumstances. The following day, Silk was dead.
Shanthi was among the first to rush to the hospital. The sight remains etched in her memory. “She was lying outside the mortuary on a stretcher. It wasn’t even a proper stretcher like the ones you see today. I couldn’t believe this was the diva I had once known.”
She still wonders what happened to Silk’s jewellery, bank balance, belongings and large house in Saligramam. She doesn’t know what became of her brother or Doctor either.
“We all went home after the funeral and got on with our lives. There was no social media in those days, and very little came out about her death. There wasn’t much in the newspapers either. She died really unsung at that time.”
Shanthi also dismisses the idea that Vidya Balan’s The Dirty Picture captured the Silk she knew. “It was too filmi. It wasn’t close to the real picture of Silk.”
For Shanthi, Silk remains a woman of contradictions: temperamental yet generous, powerful yet vulnerable, adored by millions yet desperately lonely. Thirty years later, she remembers her through a poem she wrote comparing her to a candle.
“She gave light to others while melting inside. That’s what I felt about Smitha, from everything she shared with me.”
Also Read: Exclusive: She Was a True Diva: Kushboo Sundar Remembers Silk Smitha on Her 30th Death Anniversary
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: filmfare.com
