Deep Dive: The Wadia Brothers and the Masked Woman

Lollywood: stories of Pakistanโ€™s unlikely film industry

Homi & JBH Wadia

Of the many Parsi clans who leveraged their interaction with the British in Bombay to establish themselves as economic powerhouses, even to this day, the shipbuilding Wadia family is worth a closer look.

Even before the community fled Persia to seek refuge along Indiaโ€™s western coast, the Zoroastrians were renowned ship builders and sailors. During the reign of King Darius (522-486 BCE) the Persians had learned well from the Phoenicians (1200-800 BCE) and become the acknowledged shipbuilding and maritime empire of the epoch.  Though their numbers were tiny in their new home in India, (never more than 100,000) the community kept these ancient skills alive.

Settled and working out of Surat, the Wadia (Gujarati for โ€˜ship builderโ€™) clan, interacted with the various European trading nationsโ€”Portugal, Netherlands, Franceโ€”that sought trade with the Mughal empire and its wealthy business communities of Gujarat. When the rather slow-starting English received the islands of Bombay from the Portuguese, Parsis began to migrate from the hinterland south. One of Suratโ€™s most prominent shipbuilders, a Parsi named Lovji Nusserwanji Wadia who had built ships for a number of European trading firms in Surat, was invited by the English to establish a branch of the family business in Bombay.  And so, beginning in 1736, Lovji along with his brother Sorabji set to work building Asiaโ€™s first dry docking facility where EIC ships could be drawn entirely out of the water to be repaired and refurbished.  This single bit of infrastructure increased the economic and strategic value of Bombay immensely. It brought to the foreground Bombayโ€™s exceptional qualities as one of the best deep water harbours (the city’s name derives from the Portuguese words Bom (good) and Bahia (harbour)) from which the British, with their new infrastructure and world-class Parsi shipbuilders, were able to not only vanquish the Portuguese, Dutch and regional Indian naval powers but also clear the Arabian Sea of pirates which led to a steady increase in traffic and trade.  By the mid-19th century Bombay had become a major international commercial and naval port and the most important city in British India.

By 1759 the dry dock was operational. At the same time the brothers Wadia were providing many of the ships that carried cotton and spices and eventually that fateful black gold, opium, from India to China and other Asian ports.  Given the EICโ€™s monopoly on the Indian trade and the massive growth in the economy opium facilitated, particularly in the first part of the 19th century, the Wadiaโ€™s became immensely wealthy. Theirs was a full-service enterprise, building single-sailed sloops, water boats that managed trade up and down the west coast, beautifully sleek, fast-moving clippers, well armed frigates and man-o-wars for the military as well as cutters, schooners, and eventually steamships for the Asian/Chinese trade. Using teak, rather than English oak for the hulls, the Wadiaโ€™s ships were lighter and more resilient than ships made in Britain. Over the years, the family built over 400 ships for the EICโ€™s Maritime Service and others including their fellow Parsi sethias.

Lovjiโ€™s grandson, Nusserwanji Maneckji continued the family business and in addition to servicing the British became a much sought after local agent for early American traders building up the trade between India and New England. Maneckji Wadia was so well regarded by the Americans that he and his relatives enjoyed a virtual monopoly on the Yankee business with many American traders exchanging effusive letters with him in which his โ€™impeccable characterโ€™ is praised and his family compared to โ€˜satrapsโ€™.  Both sides profited handsomely. In the words of one Yankee businessman, they profited โ€˜monstrouslyโ€™, recovering up to 300% on the Indian textiles and other goods sourced by the Wadias.

HMS Minden in the heat of the Battle of Algiers

One of Nusserwanjiโ€™s sons, Jamshetji Bombanji, was appointed Bombayโ€™s Master Builder[1], a role usually held by an Englishman, but which the Wadia family was to hold for 150 years running.  Several of Bomanjiโ€™s ships found their way into the larger events of the time, including the first man-o-war built in Indiaโ€”a huge warship with three masts and loaded with 74 large cannonsโ€”the HMS Minden.  When it set sail in 1810 a Bombay newspaper, the Chronicle, praised โ€œthe skill of its architectsโ€ and went on to note that with โ€œthe superiority of its timber, and for the excellence of its docks, Bombay may now claim a distinguished place among naval arsenalsโ€.  Several years later, on the night of 13 September 1814, the HMS Minden was tied to a British ship in Chesapeake Bay, along the east coast of the United States, after a local lawyer, Francis Scott Key, had helped to secure the release of an American prisoner-of-war held by the British. Fighting between the Americans and British was intense with the night sky flashing red and yellow.  The frightening spectacle inspired Key to write a poem, The Star Spangled Banner, which was eventually adopted as Americaโ€™s national anthem.

Steel eventually replaced teak in the building of ships and steam took over from wind. The Wadias, like many Parsis diversified initially into textile production where steam-derived technologies helped to propel the Wadiaโ€™s Bombay Dyeing mill into one of the most successful and iconic of Indiaโ€™s modern businesses.  And when the movies came to India, two great-great grandsons of Lovji Nusserwanji took the daring decision to turn their back on textiles and ships altogether and embrace the world of moving pictures. 

Jamshed Boman Homi Wadia, known as JBH, was only 12 when Dadasaheb Phalke exhibited Raja Harishchandra, but spent his youth captivated by the Hollywood films that were becoming an increasingly common form of entertainment in Bombay.   Though well-educated as a lawyer JBH horrified his family with his announcement that he intended to make films for a living.  He quickly found work with the then prominent Kohinoor Studios producing a dozen films for the studio, some of which saw moderate success. But being an entrepreneur JBH didnโ€™t want to work for anyone else, so, joined by his younger brother Homi, launched his own studio, Wadia Movietone in 1933, retaining the family’s shipbuilding past as part of the studio’s logo.

The brothers became icons of the early Indian film history and throughout the 30s and 40s Wadia Movietone was the most profitable of all Indian filmmaking enterprises.

Wadia Movietone studios was financially backed by several other Bombay Parsi families-including the famous Tatas-and grew into one of the most successful and consistently profitable studios of the 1930s. The brothers were basically in love with stunts and action.  They especially adored derring-do characters like Zorro and Robin Hood played by Douglas Fairbanks Jr, and blatantly copied many of Fairbanksโ€™ movies for Wadia Movietone.  When Fairbanks visited Bombay, JBH made sure the actor visited his own studio; so impressed was his American idol that Fairbanks agreed to sell the Indian rights of his mega hit Mark of Zorro to Wadia Movietone.

The brothers proudly low-brow fare of fistfights, speeding trains and masked heroines dominated Indiaโ€™s box offices throughout the 30s and became the most popular genre in India at the time. Sadly, as film historian Rosie Thomas states, Indian โ€œfilm history was rewrittenโ€, by starchy Hindu nationalists who objected that stunt films did not inspire sufficient pride in Indiaโ€™s Hindu classical past.   The whole stunt movie genre was effectively eliminated from most histories of Indian film giving virtually all attention on the more staid and far less fun, middle-class targeted โ€˜socialโ€™ melodramas focusing on family and relationships.  

At their height, however, the Wadia brothersโ€™ studio was the rage of the box office. Their greatest success was without a doubt a series of action films which in todayโ€™s parlance might be called a franchise, starring a stunning white woman they billed as Fearless Nadia.

Mary Evans, a West Australian girl of Scottish-Greek extraction, moved in 1911, at the age of three, to India where her father served with the British army.  Settled and schooled for several of her early years in Bombay, Evans father was killed in 1915 while fighting in France and eventually moved to Peshawar to live with an โ€˜uncleโ€™ who in fact was a friend of her deceased father.  It was the wilds of the NW frontier of India that stimulated Maryโ€™s tomboy personality to blossom.  She discovered a love for the outdoors, sports and horse riding and with a mother who had once been a belly dancer, found herself singing (often bawdy songs) and dancing on stages across the NW and Punjab.  Between 1927 and 1934, Mary performed as a dancer and singer in various troupes and circuses as well as a solo performer, travelling across the Indian subcontinent performing for wealthy maharajas as well as illiterate labourers.  It was a risky job for a slightly big boned, well-built blonde-haired woman, travelling (often) alone across India, speaking only English and Greek, working at night in (often) seedy venues but it was one that seemed to suit her. When an Armenian fortune teller predicted a bright career for Mary, they used tarot cards to select a stage name, eventually settling on Nadia.

Mary Evans aka Fearless Nadia

Sometime in the early 1930s, a Mr. Langa, the owner of Lahoreโ€™s Regent Cinema, saw one of Maryโ€™s stage shows. Given that cinemas in those days regularly booked dance troupes to complement the movie, it is possible Langa hosted Mary at the Regent itself.  Whatever the circumstances, Langa was taken by her presence and striking looks. He offered to introduce Evans to a friend of his, someone named JBH Wadia, who ran a movie studio in Bombay. Was she interested?  With sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair, Nadia hardly fit the bill as the ideal Indian woman but she was not alone. Throughout the silent era and even into the age of Talkies, many of Indiaโ€™s initial generation of female starlets were in fact Anglo-Indian (mixed European and Indian heritage), European and Jewish women. At a time when acting was considered a dishonourable career by most Indians, non-Indian women felt less inhibited socially to take to the stage. Most adopted Indian stage names and worked hard to improve their unmistakably foreign accents.  Still, the basic assumption was that actress was a synonym for prostitute.  German film historian, Dorothee Wenner, whose biography of Evans, Fearless Nadia, sums up the situation as follows:

The connections between theatre, dance, music and prostitution remained so closely entwined well into the twentieth century that any official attempt to limit prostitution simultaneously represented a threat to the dramatic arts. The consequences for cinema were first felt by the father of Indian cinema, D.G. Phalke. He knew that filming made different demands on the realism of scenes than the stage did and therefore he wanted a woman to play the female lead in his first film Raja Harischandra. It was 1912 when he went looking around the red-light district of Bombay for a suitable performer. Although the impoverished director offered the few interested parties more money than they would normally earn, all the prostitutes turned the film work downโ€ฆit was below their dignity!โ€[2]

When they met, Wadia immediately understood Evansโ€™ appeal and potential. He suggested that the Australian change her name to Nanda Devi and wear a plaited dark wig. But Mary refused.  โ€œLook here Mr Wadia,โ€ she said, undeterred of her future employerโ€™s power or status, โ€œIโ€™m a white woman and Iโ€™ll look foolish with long black hair.โ€ As for the name change, she scoffed. โ€œThatโ€™s not in my contract and Iโ€™m no Devi! (goddess)โ€ She pointed out that her chosen stage name, Nadia, resonated with both Indian and European audiences, and also just happened to rhyme with his own name, Wadia. JBH, not used to be spoken to so boldly by an employee, let alone a woman, figured she just might have what it takes to make it in the movies. He hired her on the spot.

An agreement was reached and in 1935 the brothers tested her in a couple of small roles in two films. Her charisma, not to mention her stunning and exotic looks, were obvious. She stood out like a ghost at midnight. Immediately, she was offered the lead in a Zorro-like picture called Hunterwali (Lady Hunter) which became a smash hit and is now considered one of the most significant milestones in South Asian film.   The Wadia brothers had been unable to find a distributor for their extravagant production. Most considered it too radical and unsuitable for local tastes. A white masked woman, cracking a whip, smashing up villainous men, riding a horse and sporting hot pants that revealed her very white fleshy thighs? Absolutely not!

Unbowed, the brothers pooled their resources and sponsored the filmโ€™s premier at the Super Cinema on Grant Road, on a wet June evening in 1935. This was make or break.  The Wadias believed in Nadia even though everyone else did not.  Not without a little trepidation rippling through the cinema the lights dimmed and the show began. Fifteen minutes in, as Nadia pronounced that โ€˜From now on, I will be known as Hunterwali!โ€™, the working class male audience stood up, cheered and clapped and in their own way pronounced the coronation of the Queen of the Box Office, a title she would hold for more than a decade.

The Wadiaโ€™s, as indeed most of their countrymen and women, were politically active (supporting Independence from Britain) and socially progressive. They championed womenโ€™s rights, Hindu-Muslim solidarity and anti-casteism.  Though official censorship prohibited open discussion of these themes the Wadias made sure their superstar made casual references to them. As Nadia herself said, โ€œIn all the pictures there was a propaganda message, something to fight for.โ€[3]

The girl from Perth via Peshawar and Lahore, was now a superstar of action and stunt film with millions of fans.  Known and billed as Fearless Nadia she insisted on doing all her own stunts be it fistfights on the top of a fast-moving train, throwing men from roofs or being cuddled by lions.  She starred in nearly 40 pictures most made by the Wadia brothers (she married Homi in 1961) with such fantastical titles as Lady Robinhood, Miss Punjab Mail, Tigress, Jungle Princess and Stunt Queen.

In 1988 a version of Hunterwali, perhaps the most famous of all of Nadiaโ€™s films was released in Pakistan, starring Punjabi movie icons, Sultan Rahi and Anjuman.


[1] A highly critical and strategic role that oversaw ship design and construction but innovation, compliance with international shipping regulations and development of the shipbuilding industry.

[2] Wenner, Dorothee. 2005. Fearless Nadia: The True Story of Bollywoodโ€™s Original Stunt Queen. Penguin. Pg. 79.

[3] Thomas, Rosie, โ€œNot Quite (Pearl) White: Fearless Nadia, Queen of the Stuntsโ€, in Bollyword: Popular Indian Cinema through a Transnational Lens, ed. Raminder Kaur & Ajay J Sinha (New Delhi: Sage Publications India Pvt Ltd, 2005) 35-69.

Lollywood: stories of Pakistan’s unlikely film industry

Introduction

The bloody cataclysm of 1947 which resulted in the death and displacement of multiple millions of people, the destruction of an ancient cityโ€™s sense of community, the disruption of a vibrant economy and a fundamental reassessment of a peopleโ€™s and cityโ€™s very meaning and identity seemed to signal, beyond any shadow of doubt, the end of Lahoreโ€™s emerging movie making dream.

Within a month of Roop Kishoreโ€™s escape and the razing of his sparkling new studio the guts were ripped out of the entire industry. The financers and producers, most of whom were at least โ€˜nominalโ€™ Hindusโ€™ like Shorey, many of the editors and writers of the cityโ€™s lively film press, actors, music director, playback singers, directors and countless Sikh and Hindu techniciansโ€”cameramen, editors, sound recordists and visual artistsโ€”fled.  While most probably harboured hopes that โ€˜when things calm downโ€™ they would return–โ€˜maybe a few weeks, at most a month or twoโ€™– and pick up finishing the picture they were working on, all except a small handful never set foot in Lahore again. As it happened, Roop Kishore Shorey was one of the few who did. But weโ€™ll get to that a bit later.

By the end of 1947 the writing was on the wall. The exciting glory days of making films in Lahore was over.  The cityโ€™s movie refugees reconciled themselves to re-establishing themselves in Bombay, which except for the biggest names and most established stars turned out to be a struggle. Eventually some made it and went on to become rich. Even giants. Most found work, maybe even had a hit or three, but within a decade, they quietly faded away like the pages of the film magazines that once published their pictures.

Back in Lahore the remnant of the industry had other priorities: rebuilding their city, burying their dead, feeding and schooling their children. Making films seemed frivolous under the circumstances. And already questions were being raised by the mullahs, those who had championed the very idea of Pakistan as a thing, about whether there was a place for such a ridiculous, scandalous and even anti-Islamic thing as movies in the new country.

A number of Muslim actors, directors, producers singers and writers did leave Bombay and Calcutta and move to Lahore. But their number was small, especially in the early days.ย  It is said that Mehboob Khan, one of Indiaโ€™s most revered directors, maker of Mother India, made a quick post Partition foray into Lahore to assess whether he should emigrate. โ€œI need electricity to make films,โ€ he is reported to have snorted upon his return to Bombay.

Yes, Noor Jehan, Indiaโ€™s most famous and beloved singing actress, โ€˜optedโ€™ for Pakistan as did Manto, the incendiary writer, and a few other biggish names but obstacles and hurdles were so many that the idea of putting Lahore back on the film making map seemed the stuff of madmen. Manto drank himself to death, after spending most of his time in court fighting for artistic freedom.

One can empathise with their gloom. The dream had ended not only so abruptly, but too soon.

Films had been a part of Lahoreโ€™s life since at least the 1920s though one source claims that the Aziz Theatre in Shahi Mohalla was converted to a cinema in 1908. The cityโ€™s residents, especially the large number of students who attended Lahoreโ€™s many premier universities and colleges, were instant fans and supporters of the medium. Hollywood movies starring Mary Pickford, Hedy Lamar, Charlie Chaplain, Douglas Fairbanks and especially Rudolph Valentino were hugely popular. Rowdy Punjabi audiences were recognised (and most of the time appreciated) for their unabashed preference for action and romance pictures; by the late 1920s and early 30s the Northwest region of India was the number 1 film market outside of Bombay. The big production centers of Calcutta and Bombay made pictures that would appeal to the Punjabi and Muslim audience churning out Mughal era historicals and recreations of Arabic and Persian folk stories.

In the late 1920s a Bhatti Gate resident, Abdul Rashid Kardar, turned to making his own films. Filmed in open air along the banks of the Ravi river or amidst the cityโ€™s many medieval ruins, the films were well received even if by a tiny local audience. Wealthy businessmen and civic leaders started investing in the new technology. A high court judge invested Rs45,000 in a German Indian co-production called Prem Sanyas (The Light of Asia), a story of the Buddha, that has gone on to be claimed as a classic of world cinema.ย 

When speaking and singing pictures became possible others jumped into the river. โ€˜Studiosโ€™ and production units popped up all over the place in Muslim Town, on McLeod Road, along Multan Road, and especially Laxmi Chowk. Lahoreโ€™s publishing industry sprang into action and began pumping out film magazines in English and Urdu from as early as the 1920s and 30s. Roop Kishore Shorey started making rip offs of American and Bombay action films some of which got fair notices. After a downturn in the mid-1930s by the early 1940s Lahore was fast developing into the B-movie capital of India. A source of talent and story lines (the number of Lahore or Punjab born and or educated actors, directors, producers, singers and writers who made and whose children and grandchildren continue to make Bombay the world leading industry it is, is too numerous to count) Lahore was what the Americans call a farm club. A place where talent was procured tested and then sent up to the big leagues in Calcutta and Bombay.

While the smart movies were made in Calcutta and the big productions came out of Bombay the filmmakers of Lahore in no way suffered from an inferiority complex. They prioritised quantity, action and speed. They prioritised fun. They made money, they drank, they swapped wives, they got divorced, they gambled and raced the horses. They travelled the world looking for money and even produced films for international markets. 

But then the dark clouds of politics rolled in and poofโ€”like the bomb in one of their action movies–the game was up.

Yet, it was in the bloody rubble of Lahore that the seeds of a new industry were born. Not just a minor player, but within a few decades, a booming national film industry. By 1970 Pakistan was the largest film producer in the Islamic world and the 4th largest (by volume) in the world. Without its old stars it produced several generations of superstars, actors, starlets, writers and singers, oh the singers. Not just Noor Jehan, but Mehnaz, Irene, Nahid and the Bengali bomb, Runa Laila.  A lot of them went on to sing for Bollywood and still do (Atif, Adnan Sami, Ali Zafar, Rahat).

That Lahore would be a major world film centre is on the face of it improbable. It was far removed for the colonial power centers and indeed, is the only major south Asian movie city not based in a colonial city, that has survived and thrived. How weird is that? Especially, in such a hostile environment. In a land where official, political and religious biases have constantly been more of a threat than the erstwhile films of India which are forever being outlawed.

To understand this amazing, improbable story we have to start not with Roop Kishore Shorey staring into the ashes of his modern studio but go back in time to the very beginning.