Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts

Sunday, 5 December 2021

I was adopted, I know the trauma it can inflict

On Wednesday, as the Supreme Court heard oral arguments from state attorneys seeking to uphold Mississippi’s 15-week abortion ban, Justice Amy Coney Barrett kept getting at one question: Why was abortion necessary, when women who do not want to be mothers can simply give their babies up for adoption?

As an adoptee myself, I was floored by Justice Barrett’s assumption that adoption is an accessible and desirable alternative for women who find themselves unexpectedly pregnant. She may not realize it, but what she is suggesting is that women don’t need access to abortion because they can simply go do a thing that is infinitely more difficult, expensive, dangerous and potentially traumatic than terminating a pregnancy during its early stages.


As an adoptive mother herself, Justice Barrett should have some inkling of the complexities of adoption and the toll it can inflict on children, as well as birth mothers. But she speaks as if adoption is some kind of idyllic fairy tale. My own adoption actually was what many would consider idyllic. I was raised by two adoptive parents, Alice and Terry, from the time I was an infant, and grew up in a home where I knew every day that I was loved. A few years ago, I found my biological mother, Maria, and three siblings I didn’t know I had via a DNA test and Facebook.


The first time I spoke to Maria on the phone — she lives in Alabama, not too far from my parents, and I live in Brooklyn — she apologized repeatedly for giving me up and told me she loved me and that I would always be family. “You are blood,” she would say later. I told her, and continue to tell her, every time she brings it up, that the apology is unnecessary. I had a wonderful childhood and I believe she had made the right decision. But she remains heartbroken about the years we missed together.


Damon Winter/The New York Times


Both Maria and my mom, Alice, oppose abortion on religious grounds. My mom is white and Southern Baptist; Maria is Hispanic and Pentecostal. Both like to point to me to justify their beliefs, saying that had Maria gotten an abortion, I would not exist. It’s a familiar argument: The anti-abortion movement likes to invoke Nobel Prize winners who might never have materialized, or potential adoptees who might have cured cancer, if they hadn’t been aborted at eight weeks.


I’m no Nobel Prize winner, but I still resent being used as a political football by the right. I believe that abortion is a form of health care, and that every woman should have access to it if she needs it. But perhaps more than that, I resent the suggestion by people like Justice Barrett that adoption is a simple solution, and I resent it on behalf of Maria, who found the choice she made traumatizing and still feels that pain, 44 years later. Even when an adoption works out well, as it did in my case, it is still fraught.


When I echo Maria in saying that she “gave me up,” the language always rankles adoptive parents, because it introduces an unpleasant complexity — implying that my birth mother was not completely happy with her choice. Or worse, that it made her miserable. But that is sometimes the case, even when adoption is the best option for all involved. Adoption is not always an unalloyed good. It’s a complicated choice in a situation that has no right or wrong answer.


If the court overturns Roe v. Wade, many women will be forced to give birth to children they did not want or did not feel that they could afford to support. While pregnant, they will undergo the bonding with a child that happens by biological design as an embryo develops into a living, breathing, conscious human. And then that child will be taken away.


The right likes to suggest that abortion is a traumatic experience for women — a last resort, a painful memory. But adoption is often just as traumatic as the right thinks abortion is, if not more so, as a woman has to relinquish not a lump of cells but a fully formed baby she has lived with for nine months.


I’m a mother myself, to an adorable 6-year-old self-proclaimed Fortnite expert, and as is often the case, I did not know I was pregnant with him until the usual symptoms appeared a few weeks into the pregnancy. As anyone who has gestated a human will tell you, there is a vast difference between the fourth week of pregnancy and the 40th. By the 40th, you’re familiar with your baby’s regular rhythms of kicking and moving. When I awoke, my son would wake up shortly after and I’d feel him turning and stretching, or less pleasantly, jamming his precious little foot into what felt like my cervix. This is one of the paradoxes of pregnancy: Something alien is usurping your body and sapping you of nutrition and energy, but you’re programmed to gleefully enable it and you become desperately protective of it. It’s a kind of biological brainwashing. And this often happens whether you want to be a parent or not.


Justice Barrett is well aware of the kind of biological brainwashing that occurs during pregnancy; she gave birth to five children. And yet she blithely seems to assume that a mother can simply choose not to bond with the child she’s gestating solely on the basis that she is not ready to be a mother or believes that she is unable to provide for the child. She assumes that the mother will be supported financially and otherwise, throughout the pregnancy, even in a country where maternal mortality statistics are abysmal. And she assumes that children surrendered for adoption will find a home, and not a bed in the foster care system. She probably assumes these things because she cannot fathom being in this position herself. These are assumptions that stem from the privilege of being financially secure, having never needed an abortion, and perhaps the assumption that women who do have done something wrong and must face the consequences.


In my experience, some on the right believe that the trauma adoption inflicts is a consequence of irresponsibility. But unexpected pregnancy is not a de facto function of bad decision making. It can be a failure of contraception, the product of a rape, a mistaken belief that a woman is infertile. There is no justifiable reason to inflict harm on women and the babies they might produce in any of these situations, regardless of judgment.


The trauma doesn’t just affect mothers, either. Researchers have a term for what children who are adopted, even as infants, may suffer from later in life: relinquishment trauma. The premise is that babies bond with their mothers in utero and become familiar with their behaviors. When their first caretaker is not the biological mother, they register the difference and the stress of it has lasting effects.


I probably got off easy in that respect, in part because I did spend a few months with my biological mother before I was adopted, but that had the unintended effect of traumatizing my older siblings, who remember me as a baby who was there, and then suddenly was gone. This was driven home to me by my older sister Bobbi, whose first encounter with me was over Facebook. “All I can say is I remember you,” she wrote. “I have loved you and missed you my entire life.”


What Justice Barrett and others are suggesting women do in lieu of abortion is not a small thing. It is life changing, irrevocable, and not to be taken lightly. It often causes trauma, even when things work out, and it’s a disservice to adoptees and their families, biological and adopted, to pretend otherwise in service of a neat political narrative.


(Source: NYT)

Tuesday, 29 September 2020

Widow wins legal fight for IVF with husband's sperm

 A widow has won a legal battle to have IVF treatment using her late husband's sperm after a ruling by judges.

The man - identified as JB - died from cancer, but had stored sperm in the hope of one day starting a family.


He left instructions in his will, however, he did not sign the necessary forms before his death.


His widow instructed lawyers to go to the Court of Session in Edinburgh, and judges ruled in her favour.


The man lost his life in 2019 after he and his wife, identified as SB, consulted doctors about starting a family.


The court heard that when JB stored his sperm he gave written consent for it to be used for intrauterine insemination - a method of conception where sperm is introduced directly into the uterus.


Following his marriage, JB made a will which stated that his donated sperm should be donated to his wife for as long as possible and for as long as she may wish.


SCIENCE PHOTO LIBRARY



Day before he died

However, medics discovered the day before he died - when he was unconscious - that he had only completed forms which provided consent to intrauterine insemination.


Doctors have told SB that her best chance for conceiving children is through in vitro fertilisation (IVF) - a different technique in which eggs are removed from the body and fertilised in a lab.


However, JB had not signed the necessary forms needed for his reproductive material to be used for IVF.


This prompted her legal team to go to Scotland's highest civil court to obtain an order which would allow JB's sperm to be used in this way.

They argued that JB had given permission in his will for his semen to be used for IVF.


Effective consent

Lawyers for NHS Grampian did not oppose the move but the Human Fertilisation and Embryology Authority (HFEA) was unable to conclude that JB gave effective consent for the purposes of the legislation governing the matter.


Their lawyers stated that the will did not make reference to the creation of embryos or to the purpose to which sex cells were to be used.


However, HFEA's legal team argued that if the court should find the necessary legal requirements were met, the authority considered there would be no impediment for SB to begin IVF treatment.


On Friday, judges Lady Dorrian, Lord Glennie, and Lord Woolman ruled in favour of SB.


Lady Dorrian - who gave the judgement - ruled that the man's statement in the will meant that he intended his sperm to be used in IVF treatment.


The court ruled that the terms of the dead man's will amounted to effective consent to the use of his sperm for IVF treatment.


Lady Dorrian wrote: "It is the sort of provision that would only sensibly be made by a man contemplating his death in the near future, and seeking to make his wishes clear."


(Source: BBC)

Wednesday, 16 September 2020

At 31, I have just weeks to live. Here's what I want to pass on

Now that there’s no longer any way to treat my cancer, I’ve been reflecting on what I want others to know about life and death

At the beginning of April I wrote a piece for the Guardian. If you haven’t read it, the headline pretty much sums it up: “Terminal cancer means I won’t see the other side of lockdown”. Given the pandemic and the announcement of shielding for vulnerable people, I thought I wouldn’t be able to live out my last few months in the way I’d imagined. It seemed like I would be stuck alone, with no light at the end of the tunnel, and without the comfort of friends or family.

Five months on, I’m still here, but much has changed. Thankfully, the experience wasn’t as bleak as you might think. During the first few weeks of lockdown I found I was floating nicely through the time by staying occupied and upbeat. In many ways, you can’t beat the liberation of being able to wake up when you feel like it, having few plans set in stone and being able to do whatever you want with the time you have.

‘I have come to see growing old as a privilege. Nobody should lament getting one year older, another grey hair or a wrinkle. Be pleased that you’ve made it.’ Illustration: Matt Kenyon/The Guardian

Over the past couple of months, though, my energy levels have dropped, and I have started doing less. I look drastically different. I have lost a lot of weight. A 20-minute coughing fit is now part of my morning routine while my chest tries to settle itself. It’s nothing that some steroids, morphine, an iced drink to settle my throat and time spent dry-heaving in front of a bucket won’t eventually sort out, but it can get really distressing – like an intrinsic panic response.

At points I was really struggling. The loneliness of Covid was making me miserable, and I needed company. But my sister came to the rescue at just the right moment. She moved back into our shared flat at the end of June. It made a huge difference, and I don’t know where I would be without her. After months of isolation, having a family member close by changed everything.

At the same time, out of the blue, I was told I was finally suitable for a drug trial that had been dangled in front of me for more than a year. The oncologists made it very clear that this would not be a “magic bullet”, and the goal would be to extend life by a few months. The aim of the treatment would be to stop the cancer stealing all the nutrients and energy my body needs.

But I was not in the same good shape I had been in at the beginning of other treatments; I was extremely short of breath, unable to exercise and felt lethargic. And after pinning my hopes on the idea of a drug trial for so long, it took just over a week for it to batter me. 

My days involved moving from my room to the sofa, feeling like I had flu and struggling with mental fog. Almost immediately I realised I just couldn’t do it. Life for me is about living, not just clocking up the years. And this drug made living almost impossible.

I realised I had to finally accept the inevitable: that there was no treatment. I thought this mindset would leave me feeling completely liberated. I was wrong. With nothing left to fight, it really was just a question of waiting. The battle became emotional and mental. It has forced me to reflect.

Elliot with his sister at Lulworth Cove, Dorset. Photograph: Elliot Dallen

The first three decades of my life were pretty standard. Well, actually they were awesome, and everything was going pretty perfectly with regards to work, health, relationships and friends. I had plans for the future, too: learn some Spanish, see more of central America, and get a bit more out of it with some volunteering too.

I imagined settling down in my 30s or 40s with kids, a mortgage and so on. Or maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe my friends’ children would call me Uncle Elliot as their parents gathered in the kitchen looking slightly concerned about their single 45-year-old friend about to set off travelling around Mongolia. Either way, growing older with my mates and living my life to the full was always my ambition.

Of course, the second part of this storyline won’t be written now. It’s a shame I don’t get to see what happens. But everybody dies, and there will always be places and experiences missing from anyone’s life – the world has too much beauty and adventure for one person to see. I will miss marriage or children, blossoming careers and lives moving on. But I’m not alone in my life being cut short, and I think my time has been pretty good.

At this point I should say a word to my friends. Being this ill complicates all relationships. The rut I found myself in a few weeks back hasn’t lifted. I’ve definitely been “feeling the victim” a lot more than usual. My acceptance that my time and energy is now limited comes with the knowledge that I won’t be able to catch you all properly to give our relationships the time and appreciation they deserve. I get so many messages from you all, which often exceed the energy I have to reply. Where I am able to see people, I’d just say keeping me company and being positive is helpful. I want fun, laughter, happiness, joy. I think it’s very possible to have this kind of death – there is likely to be a shadow of sadness hanging over proceedings, but for the most part I want everyone relaxed and to be able to feel the love.

Because I know that that moment isn’t too far away. I haven’t asked for a specific prognosis, as I don’t believe there’s much to gain from doing so, but I think it’s a matter of weeks. Medicine has luckily turned this into quite a gentle process. That really does take a lot of the fear away. And I’m hoping impending death now grants me the licence to sound prematurely wise and overly grandiose. Because I’ve had time to think about the things that are really important to me, and I want to share what I’ve discovered.

First, the importance of gratitude. During my worst moments – the shock of cancer diagnosis, the mental lows and debilitating symptoms of chemotherapy – it was difficult to picture any future moments of joy, closeness or love. Even so, at those times I found comfort in remembering what I have: an amazing family, the friends I’ve made and times I’ve shared with them, the privilege of the life I’ve had.

Second, a life, if lived well, is long enough. This can mean different things to different people. It might mean travel. I’ve had the good fortune to be able do this, and can confirm that the world is a wonderful place full of moments of awe and amazement – soak up as much as you can. It may mean staying active, as much as possible – the human body is a wonderful thing. You only appreciate this when it starts to fail you. So when you find yourself slipping into autopilot, catch yourself, and take simple pleasure in movement, if you can. Look after your body because it’s the only one you have, and it’s bloody brilliant. Knowing that my life was going to be cut short has also changed my perspective on ageing. Most people assume they will live into old age. I have come to see growing old as a privilege. Nobody should lament getting one year older, another grey hair or a wrinkle. Instead, be pleased that you’ve made it. If you feel like you haven’t made the most of your last year, try to use your next one better.

Elliot in the Philippines. Photograph: Elliot Dallen

Third, it’s important to let yourself be vulnerable and connect to others. We live in a society that prizes capability and independence, two things that cancer often slowly strips away from you. This was naturally a very difficult pill to swallow for a healthy, able late-twentysomething male, but having to allow myself to be vulnerable and accept help has given me the best two years of my life, which was pretty inconceivable at the time of diagnosis. Vulnerability has shown me what phenomenal people my sister and parents are – words can’t do justice to how much they have done for me. The same applies to my friends – what better way is there to spend two years than being surrounded regularly and closely by these people?

Fourth, do something for others. Against the backdrop of Covid-19, Black Lives Matter and the desperate attempts of migrants to cross the Channel, my thoughts really turned to those who have not had my privilege – whether that’s by virtue of socioeconomics, ethnicity or the country I was born in. I always try to remind myself of this.
Fifth, protect the planet – I can’t leave this off because it’s so important. I’ll be gone soon, but humanity will still be faced with the huge challenge of reducing carbon emissions and saving habitats from destruction. In my time here, I’ve been lucky enough to see some natural wonders and understand how precious they are. Hopefully future generations will be able to say the same. But it will take a massive collective effort.

If you asked me what I’d want to leave behind, it would be a new awareness of these things among my friends – and anyone who’ll listen, really. I was astonished by the number of people that responded to my article in April. I now find myself in a position where people are asking me how they can help or what they can do that would make me happy. Apart from the obvious – looking after each other once I’ve gone – I’m going to push for people to give, be that money or time. I’ve already had so many people ask which causes I recommend, and there are loads, but I’d say any that align with the values I’ve sketched out above would have my blessing. Among friends and family there is talk of setting up a small charity in my memory.

Despite some very low times, it’s worth repeating that the period since being diagnosed has been made not just bearable but actually fantastic. I’ve had new experiences that haven’t seemed tainted by cancer – and those experiences were, as always, much better shared. In a situation that is pretty new for most of my loved ones and friends (I am yet to meet anyone I grew up with who has had to deal with cancer or a similar chronic illness at my age), it has been amazing watching them all rise to the challenge. I’m not sure if it’s just that I know a high proportion of amazing people (possible) or if most human beings have this capacity for connecting and recognising what’s truly important (very likely).

After the gut-punch of cancer diagnosis, I’ve really struggled to define a purpose for my own life. I found in time this came naturally. Life is for enjoyment. Make of it what you can.

• Elliot Dallen was diagnosed with adrenocortical carcinoma in 2018, aged 29. He died on the night of Monday 7 September, the day this article was published

(Source: The Guardian)

Sunday, 16 August 2020

'A Hinge date saved my life' and other cancer dating stories

Dating in 2020 is hard enough during a global pandemic - but how do you go about it if you've got cancer to contend with too? BBC journalist Keiligh Baker explores the challenges as she sets out to find love.

I was diagnosed with chronic myeloid leukaemia three years ago, aged 27. I had been with my then-boyfriend for seven months when constant breathlessness, weight loss, unexplained bruising and a dramatic air ambulance rescue from a Scottish island led to my diagnosis.

KEILIGH BAKER
I told him he could leave - he decided not to, but in January our relationship ended.

My leukaemia is a lifelong condition which can be managed, although the daily medication comes with side-effects including fatigue, bone pain and weight gain.

With lockdown prompting unprecedented levels of boredom, I decided to dip my toe back into dating and downloaded some apps, but the trickiest part - how do you tell a potential partner you have cancer?

A quick Google search revealed a lot of US-based advice for older people. That's despite 34 young adults - in their 20s and 30s - being diagnosed with cancer in the UK every day.

So with no relevant advice forthcoming, I tracked down a few singletons with cancer to quiz them on their dating dilemmas.

'We'd been catfishing each other'
EMILY FROST
Emily Frost, 29, from Surrey, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2016, which spread to her lymph nodes. It was caught early, but four years on she is dealing with the side-effects and mental and physical ramifications of her treatment, including medical menopause, fatigue and anxiety.

The chemotherapy she underwent also caused hair loss.

"When you're stuck inside and you're so poorly with no sense of normality, you want to talk to new people," she says. "I downloaded some dating apps and I used pictures from when I had hair."

She chatted to one guy who asked her out. Emily accepted, then panicked about her lack of hair. While she stressed about what to do, he texted her.

"Oh by the way, I've just had to shave my head because I'm thinning," he said.

"Me too!" she replied.

"We'd been catfishing each other," she admits, referring to the lack of being totally honest with their online personas.

The couple dated for three years until Emily's mental health began to affect their relationship.

"When I was at my poorliest, online dating and meeting him was a nice boost. Once the dust settled I realised I hadn't dealt with the demons which came with cancer."

She says side-effects and the "fear of recurrence" really "changes you as a person."

Emily's advice to dating is "go for it, but don't forget you have a different mindset now".

'A Hinge date saved my life'
KELLY CHEUNG
Kelly Cheung, 26, from Skipton, was diagnosed with breast cancer after a date she met on the dating app, Hinge, noticed a lump. She is now in remission.

Kelly had been seeing Tom casually when he discovered a lump and insisted she see a doctor.

"If he hadn't done that I'd never have felt it or known it was there," she says.

At hospital she was told it was a Grade Three growth, which meant it was fairly large and could spread to the surrounding tissue.

"It was fate that I met him, because if I hadn't, I might not be alive today, so a Hinge date saved my life."

Kelly and Tom remained friends, but she says losing her hair and gaining weight as a result of treatment left her feeling "unattractive" and "terrified" of dating.

"How do you tell someone 'by the way, I had breast cancer at 25?'" she asks. "It's really daunting. I'm not looking to date right now. But it's lonely."

'It creates a deeper conversation'
NEIL MACVICAR
Neil MacVicar, 28, from London, works for Shine Cancer Support which offers dating workshops, a job he moved into after he was diagnosed with a brain tumour aged 25.

He says he used to be a "Jack-the-lad" but the cancer knocked his confidence.

"After my diagnosis I had surgery and radiotherapy, put on weight from the steroids and lost my hair. I just felt awful about myself."

He went on some dates but his confidence affected their success so he signed up to a Shine workshop.

"I got loads of practical tips like not travelling all over London for a date but keeping it close. Not getting all dressed up but instead treating every date as practice."

Neil says he learned to tell someone he has cancer on the first date, then change the subject with a question - in turn, the date would often open up to him. If they met for a second time, he'd reveal a bit more.

"It creates a deeper conversation," he says.

'It filters out the dross'
KIRSTY HOPGOOD
Kirsty Hopgood, 31, from Oxfordshire was diagnosed with osteosarcoma - bone cancer - last August and will finish treatment in October. She was worried no-one would be interested in her after she got her diagnosis.

"Everything changes with chemo - I lost all of my long blonde hair, and I was very sporty and muscly and I lost all my muscle. Mentally I changed as well."

Before she became ill, Kirsty loved dating, so when lockdown began she decided to conduct an experiment.

"I made a profile on Bumble with pictures of my bald head and thought, 'I've got tough enough skin if I don't get any likes back', but I actually get a similar amount of matches, it just filters out the dross."

Kirsty's hair has started to re-grow so she may remove the hair-less pictures soon but she says she's "not comfortable" keeping cancer a "total secret".

KIRSTY HOPGOOD
What's next for me..?
Cancer is lonely and can affect how you see yourself. It can feel as though there isn't space for dating or a relationship while you're juggling side-effects and hospital appointments.

But it can be wonderful. It can feel good to get that match, to know someone finds you attractive or interesting and it gives you the chance to dip into normality.

Inspired by Emily, Kirsty, Kelly and Neil, I decided to tell one of my virtual lockdown dates about my condition on our first video chat.

I was pleasantly surprised when he didn't freak out. He was kind, yet unbothered and we have arranged a second date…

(Source: BBC)

Tuesday, 12 May 2020

Drugmakers consider using venom to treat cancer, diabetes and pain

Captopril, an angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor that imitates venom of South American pit viper, was approved by FDA in 1980

Could snake or insect venom yield the next big treatment for diabetes or cancer?

Researchers think so ⁠— and they’re spending lots of time with compounds found in the venom of animals such as scorpions, snakes and snails in the hopes they’ll yield new drugs.

In a feature for the journal PNAS, Amy McDermott explores the trend and its fascinating history.
The science behind venom-derived drugs is complex ( Getty )

“The pharmaceutical industry has a growing interest in venom, as some companies opt to return to drug discovery inspired by natural compounds, a trend that fell out of fashion about 40 years ago,” she writes.

Captopril, an angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitor with an ingredient that imitates the venom of a South American pit viper called jararaca, was approved by the Food and Drug Administration in 1980. Today, it’s one of 10 approved drugs that mimic the compounds that make the bites of snakes and other creatures so effective.

McDermott explores venom’s fall from scientific favour, which researchers attribute to the complexity of the compounds. 

It’s difficult to target drugs to specific body systems without causing havoc in other systems, and researchers are facing thornier challenges as they try to harness venom’s best qualities ⁠— the ability to act on specific biological pathways.

Serious roadblocks remain, but they’re being overcome by a new generation of scientists who think they can tackle the chemistry challenge.

The science behind venom-derived drugs is complex, but McDermott makes it accessible ⁠— and points to intriguing possibilities for patients with cancer, diabetes, arthritis, pain and more. For now, those advances slither just out of reach. 

But if the scientists she interviews have anything to do with it, they’ll soon turn toxins into medical treasures.

(Source: Independent)

Thursday, 30 April 2020

Life itself: Rishi Kapoor (1952-2020) embodied romance and an irrepressible spirit

His output was unwaveringly steady and dependable, the shield of trust that came free with a movie ticket.

Rishi Kapoor, third-generation movie star, unofficial record keeper of Hindi film history, and widely acknowledged bon vivant, died on Thursday in Mumbai. He was 67. He is survived by his wife Neetu, his son Ranbir, and his daughter Ridhima and her family.

Kapoor was battling cancer, and had spent close to a year in New York City in treatment. He returned to Mumbai in September. He had been admitted to a hospital in Mumbai with breathing problems a few days ago.
Rishi Kapoor in Bobby (1973). | RK Films.

According to a statement issued by the family, “Our dear Rishi Kapoor passed away peacefully at 8:45am IST in hospital today after a two-year battle with leukemia. The doctors and medical staff at the hospital said he kept them entertained to the last. He remained jovial and determined to live to the fullest right through two years of treatment across two continents. Family, friends, food and films remained his focus and everyone who met him during this time was amazed at how he did not let his illness get the better of him.”

Kapoor had shot some portions of his comeback film, the comedy Sharmaji Namkeen, in Delhi in February. He was also on track to star in the Hindi remake of the Hollywood comedy The Intern.

His death has robbed show business of a seasoned entertainer. A member of the Hindi film industry’s most storied clan, Kapoor first appeared before the camera as a child in the 1950s. After he started his career in earnest as an adult in the 1970s, his choice of roles spanned romances, comedies, socially themed dramas, thrillers, historicals and melodramas. His films often had impassioned declarations of love, innocence, humour, chart-topping songs, trendy dancing and colourful costumes (most notably a series of bright jerseys).

Whatever the quality or outcome of the project, Kapoor’s output was unwaveringly steady and dependable, the shield of trust that came free with a movie ticket.

Given his spontaneity and ease before the camera, could he have stretched himself further, experimented a bit more? This true believer in mainstream Hindi cinema’s biggest pursuit – a positive commercial outcome – might have punched below his weight, but even in his most trite movies, he was a twinkly-eyed charmer, doing what was required without betraying too much effort.

Rishi Kapoor in Kabhi Kabhie (1976). Courtesy Yash Raj Films.

Some of this professionalism was learnt on the job and some of it was inherited. Like the doctor’s child who is familiar with medical jargon and the policeman’s kids who can distinguish between “handcuff” and “handkerchief”, Rishi Kapoor understood the pleasures, peculiarities and pitfalls of show business very early.

He was born on September 4, 1952, in Mumbai, the third of the five children of Raj and Krishna Kapoor. The family was already heaving with legends. Rishi Kapoor’s grandfather, Prithviraj Kapoor, had been a renowned stage and film performer since the late 1920s. His father Raj Kapoor directed, produced and starred in his own films, and had already rolled out one of his finest works, Awara , the year before Rishi Kapoor was born.

Raj Kapoor’s brothers, Shashi and Shammi, were leading men, and their wives were actresses (Shashi was married to Jennifer Kendal and Shammi to Geeta Bali). Rishi Kapoor’s uncles – Prem Nath, Rajendra Nath and Narendra Nath – were all actors. Rishi Kapoor’s mother, Krishna, was Prem Nath’s sister. Another of their sisters was the wife of screen villain Prem Chopra.

Rishi Kapoor’s brothers Randhir and Rajiv became actors too. Rishi would marry his co-star, Neetu Singh, and his son Ranbir would follow in his parents’ footsteps. So would some of his nieces and nephews, with Kareena Kapoor continuing to rule the roost.

“Acting was in my blood and there was simply no escaping it,” Kapoor wrote in his autobiography Khullam Khulla. The memoir, co-written with Meena Iyer, benefits from Kapoor’s refreshing honesty and prodigious memory. “My childhood was a dream, like an unending mela,” he wrote. “People from the film fraternity constantly streamed in and out of our home… The Kapoors have always been proud of our profession; nobody has ever been apologetic about belonging to the entertainment industry.”

As a child, he was frequently taken to the sets. Along with his siblings Randhir and Ritu, he was featured in the song Pyar Hua Ikraar from Raj Kapoor’s Shree 420 in 1955. Rishi Kapoor also appeared in a couple of plays as a child.

His first full-scale role was in his father’s Mera Naam Joker in 1970. When filming began in 1968, Rishi Kapoor was 16, and was recruited to play the younger version of Raj Kapoor’s character Raju, a circus clown. As a schoolboy, the tubby Raju has a crush on his svelte teacher Mary (Simi Garewal). Rishi Kapoor’s performance won him the National Film Award for Best Child Artist.

Rishi Kapoor in Mera Nama Joker (1970). Courtesy RK Films.

The sparkling eyes, robust complexion, ready smile and selfless romantic disposition were already on display in Mera Naam Joker. In the coming years, Kapoor sealed his reputation as the ideal lover boy, resulting in such popular romances as Hum Kisise Kum Naheen (1977), Laila Majnu (1976), Sargam (1979) and Prem Rog (1982).

“Rishi Kapoor comes across as the nice boy who wasn’t just led by his raging hormones but loved with his soul as well,” Madhu Jain wrote in the biography The Kapoors. “He danced like a dream, effortlessly. The star-crossed or tragic lover label fit him well, especially in films like Laila Majnu. He also came at a time when screen romance was about love, not obsession… He symbolised a sense of masti and youthful energy, not to forget those magic dancing feet.”

Rishi Kapoor hit the ground running with his debut as a leading man in 1973. Raj Kapoor made Bobby, a story of star-crossed lovers, as a way to recoup from the financial debacle of Mera Naam Joker. Rishi Kapoor, now slimmer but still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, played Raj Nath, who falls in love with the Goan Catholic Bobby Braganza (Dimple Kapadia in her screen debut).

Rishi Kapoor in Bobby (1973). Courtesy RK Films.

Although Bobby was a box-office scorcher, Rishi Kapoor was soon exposed to one of the axioms of showbiz – you win some and then you lose some.

“I didn’t have to struggle for fame and fortune,” he said in Khullam Khulla. “But not even my extraordinary family legacy could prevent me from the realities of life.”

Bobby was immediately followed by the flop Zehreela Insan (1975). Rafoo Chakkar (1975), which was based on the Hollywood cross-dressing comedy Some Like It Hot, fared better although, as Kapoor wryly remarked, “…since I was made up like a girl for the major part of the film, I could not be endorsed as a bona fide heart-throb”.


The success of Khel Khel Mein in 1975 wasn’t just a much-needed breather. The romantic thriller cemented the pairing between Rishi Kapoor and Neetu Singh. She was a former child actor who was among the early candidates for the lead role in Bobby. Their shared delayed-1960s sartorial style – bell-bottoms, floral-patterned shirts, mini-skirts, floppy hair, oversized sunglasses – made them “fashion templates for teenagers before the MTV era”, Madhu Jain observed.

(Source: Scroll)

The story behind Irrfan Khan's moving speech in Ang Lee’s ‘Life of Pi’

Edited excerpts from Aseem Chhabra’s ‘Irrfan Khan’ reveal the actor’s contributions to the Oscar-winning movie.

After Delhi-based actor Suraj Sharma was cast to play the 16-year-old Indian boy (Suraj was 19 when the film was released) from the nearly 3,000 auditions, Ang and his casting agents started to look for an actor to play the adult Pi. Irrfan’s name was on top of the list. For one thing, he was taller than Suraj, and that made sense to Ang. The director had already seen Irrfan in Slumdog Millionaire, The Namesake (2006) and A Mighty Heart (2007).
Irrfan in Life of Pi (2012) | Fox 2000 Pictures

‘There were only a couple of actors to choose from in India and he was the top choice,’ Ang says. ‘Obviously I wanted to make an international film, but I also chose him for his good acting. It wasn’t like I had a list of five people to choose from. And his height was working.’ Ang cast another fine Indian actor, Adil Hussain, as younger Pi’s father. Tabu played Pi’s mother. Although the two played mother and son in the film, Tabu and Irrfan did not share any screen time.

Ang says that Life of Pi was ‘unfilmable’ for several reasons, but especially because it challenges the notion of narration. Irrfan’s Pi starts the film with a voiceover, giving the narrative a first person feeling. But much of the narration is also in third person, as we see the actual action taking place with the younger Pi and his lifeboat mate, Richard Parker, the CGI-created tiger. And Irrfan’s toughest task was to wrap up the movie emotionally, Ang adds.

The story that Pi narrates actually forms two narratives—and it is for the audience to believe in one of the two stories. ‘Irrfan had to emotionally develop his character and also grasp, both the philosophical way of the narration and also the trickster kind of a narrator,’ Ang says. And he adds, ‘I told Irrfan that Pi is bullshitting. Because it is tricky to believe in either of the stories. And the question that is asked—‘Which story do you prefer, not like?’—also makes one think.

Irrfan also had to match the innocence of the younger Pi, played by Suraj Sharma, and develop the cynical tone of an adult. ‘People might believe this way or that way,’ Ang says. ‘It has to be right on the edge where it would work for everybody. You can have two versions of the story and they all can debate, make sense. That was the most difficult task, other than creating a tiger in the ocean digitally.’

When the film’s shoot started, Irrfan went to Taiwan. But then Ang and his crew went off to shoot in India and returned to Taiwan to recreate the scenes of the lifeboat lost on the sea. Irrfan returned to Taiwan many months later to shoot the interior Montreal scenes. And later, the crew travelled to Montreal to wrap up the exterior scenes of the film. ‘He had not seen what we had shot and he would not see it until a year later when the film was finished, because a lot of it was going to be digital,’ Ang says. ‘And even I didn’t know how the digital scenes would shape up. I was just guessing. I told him what I had in my mind. I described the story, the pictures, how we were planning to shoot the rest of the film.’

Then came the key scene when Irrfan’s Pi talked about the lifeboat landing on the stranded beach and an emaciated Richard Parker walking away without looking back to say goodbye to his boat mate.

‘I was certain he was going to look back at me, flatten his ears to his head, growl,’ Irrfan’s Pi says in a voiceover, a long monologue, as he narrates his story to a writer, portraying Yann Martel, and played by the British actor Rafe Spall. ‘That he would bring our relationship to an end in some way. But he just stared ahead into the jungle. (By now the camera is on Irrfan’s face.) And then Richard Parker, my fierce companion, the terrible one who kept me alive, disappeared forever from my life.’ Then he adds, ‘I wept like a child. Not because I was overwhelmed having survived, although I was. I was weeping because Richard Parker left me so unceremoniously. It broke my heart.’

It is an emotionally devastating speech and Irrfan actually broke down, crying with tears rolling down his eyes, and it happened twice. Ang says he did not demand the tears from Irrfan. He simply explained the emotions, the background and how he felt thinking about the scene. ‘With actors I just want to see the results,’ he says. ‘I don’t care how they pull it off. What experience they use, they can keep that to themselves. But that was the effect I wanted, what the speech meant to me.’

Despite Irrfan’s fine acting, Ang Lee had to struggle with one concern—that the Indian actor mumbles while saying long dialogues. But Irrfan is not alone, he says, adding, ‘There are other great actors, Robert De Niro for instance, who mumble. It’s not that I couldn’t loop the voice. But it was a long dialogue so I just wanted to make sure that it was clear. He had to be understandable.’

There was also the concern about Irrfan’s English accent. As the film progresses, Pi matures from the teenager on the lifeboat to an adult living in Montreal and how he speaks English also changes. The film’s production team got a Montreal English accent coach for Irrfan. But despite the coaching, Irrfan’s dialogues—emotionally moving as they are—sound like they are being spoken by a man who does not speak English with ease.

At least one admirer of Irrfan was honest enough to say so.

‘I was delighted he (Irrfan) got roles in Hollywood films,’ Naseeruddin Shah says. But Naseer is known to be opinionated, calling a spade a spade. ‘Only in Life of Pi I didn’t care for his performance because he tried to put on a Canadian accent and it didn’t work. Angrezi woh itni achee nahi bolta ke accent badal sake. (He does not speak English well enough to change his accent.) That’s what I told him and he accepted it.’

But Ang Lee will always be grateful to Irrfan for what he did in the film. ‘I thank him for that. It’s very inspiring for a lot of people around the world. His speech was a dream for a filmmaker. He should have been nominated. He should have gotten an award for that speech.’

(Source: Scroll)