In the 1950s, there used to be a yearly ritual for winners of the Filmfare awards. All of them were asked to write at least a page on their work, or in some cases, on intricate details about their craft. The stories used to be ghost written with the winners verbally agreeing to the content.

This practice stopped in the late 1950s. Film personalities, specially leading men of Bollywood, hardly considered it worthwhile to go back in time.

Autobiography? A few surely ventured, but not in the English language. Till an octogenarian, young in both body and mind, decided to change the rule. Dev Anand.

Since then, many others took up the charge of documenting their careers. Prominent among them is a brilliant effort by Nasir, followed by a rather stereotyped account of his life and times by Dilip Kumar.

And now, Rishi Kapoor. Khullam Khulla: Rishi Kapoor Uncensored, jointly written with scribe Meena Iyer, is what you expect from a Kapoor, India’s most well-known film family. Assertive and piercing, at times over the top, but exceedingly sincere and passionate.

A famous star once mentioned that autobiographies are actually a pack of lies. Certainly not when it has a Kapoor writing it.

The book is written in a chronological manner. Mostly. There is a foreword by Ranbir, Rishi’s son and present-day heartthrob of millions, whose reflections establishes something very basic — Rishi the dad is very much the average Indian male, like a coconut, a soft core within a tough exterior. Rishi is more a guide to Ranbir, while pampering is something which Neetu, his mother, takes charge.

Rishi’s recounting of his own relationship with his father — actor-filmmaker Raj Kapoor — echoes similar thoughts. Even after staying in a joint family for decades, he was never at ease with his old man. While it was his mother who literally raised her children single-handedly, it was his father who was the creative of the two. Only that his eccentricities and returning home from work habitually drunk, leading to a brawl with his mother terrified him. On the flipside, memories as toxic as these actually helped him become a good father to his kids later in life, confesses Rishi.

But the distance with his parents remained. On growing up, he would be scared beyond his wits if his parents found him moving around with a girl, and while the world knew of his relationship with Neetu, he found it difficult to break the news to his parents. It was the providence of elders in his family that he actually got married.

Aforementioned narratives lend the star a very human face. Known to be moody and grumpy at times, the book breaks the shell revealing the man behind the mask.

Some of the nicest moments in the book are — the recounting of a childhood which was part fantasy and part miserable, an adolescence which was dotted with romantic and academic failures, a career which had its sinusoidal ups and downs, but was, for most part, either on the rise or steady, and a resurgence in roles which were an actor’s delight.

A veteran of around 150 films, it is but natural that a major portion of the book is dedicated to his life in cinema. Rishi talks extensively about some of his films, right from Shree 420 (1955), when, as a two-year-old, he had to be bribed by Nargis to give a shot, to the details of the tedious makeup sessions he had to endure for Kapoor & Sons (2016). Multiple anecdotes, some interesting, some dear to the writer, have been mentioned in the process. One does have a peek into the world that is Bollywood — how films are made, what are the expectations of a director from his cast and crew, and how personal relationships hardly have a bearing on the profession. One nice anecdote leads us to the blithe song picturisation of Jeevan ke har mod pe (Jhoota Kahin Ka, 1979).

Kapoors are known to be brusque, specially if rubbed the wrong way. Rishi does not break the notion. He rather pours it out — most of it, from bribing an agent to secure the Filmfare award to drunken brawls with others of his fraternity. One learns how Rishi’s skyrocketing into stardom with his very first film in a lead role found him with an attitude that went for an immediate dressing at the nearest dry cleaners, as the films he did next found the financers reeling. Coming to dressing, Rishi mentions how he landed up with a ladies bell bottom pant at Beirut and actually wore it during the sequence of O Hansini (Zehreela Insaan, 1974), probably his most loved song ever.

Rishi makes no bones in accepting that he hardly has been able to cement friendships outside the world of cinema. He defines his friendships as “insular”, and discusses some of them — both of the good and bad days. The only celebrity friend outside the coterie of filmi folks he mentions is Sunil Gavaskar, and some interesting trivia is there for the readers as well.

It takes more rigor than plain guts to put the finger on facts which are considered sacrilege in our society. Rishi, for one, owes no apologies in blurting out that his uncle Shammi Kapoor was no dancer, something most agree today without actually going into the mode of confession. On similar lines, he does not shy away from admitting that he loved it when his mom moved away to a hotel following Raj Kapoor’s affair with Vyjayanthimala — as he was enjoying the attention and the service of the hotel staff, and subsequently rubbishes the actress’ denying the affair.

As an afterthought, the main takeaway from the book is the vulnerability of the star-actor. It expresses itself in the journey involving his career, his relationships, liquor, red meat, diabetes, parenthood and a love affair with his wife which has not always been the smoothest. The afterward is understandably by Neetu.

Like all books, there are some mistakes — which the co-author should have rechecked, as memory is something not always to be relied upon. Also, Rishi’s claim to fame was predominantly as a singing and dancing star, and some more behind-the-scene stories about song sittings and choreography sessions would have added more value. One wishes that the same would be there in the  next edition.

Anirudha Bhattacharjee is a consultant with IBM and the co-author of RD Burman: The Man, The Music and Gaata Rahe Mera Dil with Balaji Vittal