His life has been an eventful journey, enriched by experiences bitter and sweet. Those who have seen him in films or on stage are lucky, but luckier still are those who have heard him read.
ZIA MOHYEDDIN is a star in the true sense of the word. He fulfils Satyajit Ray’s definition of one, that is, a person who remains interesting even when doing nothing. At 75, he is amongst the select few in the acting profession who combine undeniable attractiveness with terrific talent. If he stands quietly in a corner of a large, crowded room, you would notice him. In his own domain on the stage, on screen or before television cameras, he immediately catches the eye even if he is not in the foreground.
Talking to him in Delhi, one discovered a man of wide experience and enduring charm. Although pressed for time, he did not once look at his watch, answered every question courteously, and when the interview ended abruptly with questions left hanging in the air, said: “If there’s anything else you want to know, e-mail me.” Here are some snatches of the conversation:
Asked whether he was from Kotwara, Uttar Pradesh, he said: “People often make that mistake. My first wife was from a Kotwara family. She was the nawab’s daughter and film-maker Muzzafar Ali’s cousin. I was born in Lyallpur, now known as Faisalabad, in 1933. It was built in the early 20th century by Sir Henry Lyall and named after him.”
About his beginnings on stage, he said: “It would be foolish of me to say that my acting career began on the stage in a play, written by my father, at the age of 11. A lot of people who act as schoolboys become lawyers or accountants or insurance agents. But something happened to me during that first experience. I lost all sense of time and space. It was as though I had lost my sense of recognition. The people I had been rehearsing with were strangers whom I had never seen before. As for the actual setting, it appeared to be a space in another world, a dream. And although I spoke my lines, it was quite some time before I realised that it was I who was speaking. For the record, it was not a school play but a public performance.”
Zia Mohyeddin’s father was a lecturer in Lyallpur College and a man with literary ambitions. Zia was brought up in Lahore and read English literature at the famed Government College. He gave up his master’s in psychology to accept an offer to go to Australia under the Colombo Plan in the early 1950s and observe broadcasting methods there on a Frequent Broadcasting Fellowship. Asian students from Commonwealth countries were offered training facilities in the media in Britain and Australia.
His childhood love of the theatre reasserted itself, and he proceeded to London to study at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts (RADA). About his being selected, he modestly declared: “I was lucky enough to be selected.” He was there from 1953 to 1955. Following this stint, he worked with various repertory companies, moved from one to another and considered it as quite a useful apprenticeship. He remembered:
“It was a weekly rep system. We would work through the week rehearsing a play opening on Monday. Come Monday night, one started rehearsing another play, which would open the following week on Tuesday.
“We were paid five pounds seventeen shillings and six pence a week. One could never have a proper meal. Making both ends meet was a problem. One had to decide whether to buy a tube of toothpaste or have an omelette. How one survived is still a mystery....” Survive he did. In his own words he was lucky to meet Jack (John) Briely, who was to write the script for Richard Attenborough’s film Gandhi. “Jack was then setting up plays for American Air Force personnel based in England. I met him at a party. This was in 1956. I was paid £25 a week, so was Larry Hagman, one of the professional actors in the troupe. He went on to become a fine actor. Jack Briely’s budget allowed for only two pros…
“We played in Weisbaden. The engagement lasted for a month. The company was called ‘On Target’. I toured with them for 18 months. Wasn’t bothered by owing too much to the landlady. Father had a coronary attack. I rushed back. He somehow managed to survive. I don’t know how, but he did.
“At Karachi Airport I bumped into a friend who had been with me in Australia. This was at the end of 1957. He wanted me to do a play and get the newly founded Arts Council of Karachi to fund it. I did the first professional production for them, with proper wages for everybody. It was Lal Quila se
Lalu khet in Urdu written by Khwaja Mueenuddin from Hyderabad. Very Chekhovian in spirit, it traced the downward slide of an aristocratic family that had migrated from India…”
He did Jean Anouil’s Ring Around the Moon, Shahr Bano (Romeo and Juliet) and Thornton Wilder’s The Matchmaker for the Pakistan Arts Council in Karachi. Meanwhile, the British Council suggested that he undertake a tour and study the works of theatre directors such as Tony Richardson and George Devine. He worked with the Guilford Repertory Company fairly often, and Philip North invited him to direct Garcia Lorca’s play Yerma. Frank Hauser, a gifted, taciturn man in charge, let Zia Mohyeddin have his way.
In 1958-59, the Oxford Playhouse came to India with a very fine West End cast, including Eric Thompson (a director and actor and whose daughter, Emma, is a famous film actor), Kay Doubleday, Frank Windsor and Nicholas Winfrey. “I went with the company to Pune, lovely train [the Deccan Queen], and then onto Madras [Chennai], Delhi, Calcutta [Kolkata]. In Pune, I spent three to four hours at the wedding of an impoverished couple. Frank was already fascinated.”
In 1960, Zia Mohyeddin came into the limelight playing Aziz in Shanta Rama Rau’s stage adaptation of E.M. Forster’s novel A Passage to India. The production in London took off, and the British stage discovered a really moving actor. The play was an even greater success in New York and Zia was lionised for his performance. “I was the first Asian to have my name up in lights on Broadway,” he said in the course of the interview.
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