Book excerpt: The complex relationship between Salman Khan and his father, Salim Khan

‘Everything about Salman begins with his father. His story is pure cinema if you think of it. He is a boy who was dismissed as lost, drifting in the shadow of a brilliant man, branded a rebel without a cause. But somewhere along the way, he outran the myth he was meant to follow,’ a veteran journalist once told me while describing what makes Salman who he is.

To me, this sentence felt like a map to understanding the actor. To understand Salman, you have to understand the khandaan (family) and its patriarch, Salim Khan. For India, he is the architect of modern Hindi cinema. A disruptor, who, along with his writing partner Javed Akhtar, constructed the DNA of present-day Bollywood. He is the man Salman hero-worships.

Salim Khan is a complex man to understand. A boy who lost his mother at eight and his father at fifteen, his life was shaped by loss and loneliness. Perhaps that is why he learnt early on to be stoic, and to wrap his pain up in stories. His hardships would eventually become Hindi cinema’s most iconic dialogue: ‘Mere paas Maa hai [I have my mother] …’

Salim is a man born to be seen. Slightly arrogant, with an acerbic sense of humour, he is a charmer who always commands your attention.

And his life has been full of experiences. Some that hardened him, some that made him brave enough to believe that no matter how tough the going gets, it is going to pass. Two months after his father’s death, Salim appeared for his board exams and passed with flying colours. Even at that young age, he didn’t let life beat him.

Becoming a trained pilot, with a hundred hours of flying under his belt, also made Salim a favourite with women. Peers remember Salim as a stud – broodingly handsome and someone who had a way with words. He was great at cricket, like his elder brother Abdul Hafeez Khan, who even played in the Ranji Trophy. His college mates said his coming to college felt like a ‘hero ki entry scene’. He rode into the driveway perched on his Royal Enfield, crisp white shirt and tailored khaki trousers perfectly pressed, and sandals. It is obvious that Salman has inherited the effortless swagger and unmissable devil-may-care attitude of his father.

In 1958, Salim moved to Bombay (now Mumbai) in a bid to try his luck in tinseltown. That’s what good-looking boys in the 1950s felt drawn to – Mayanagri. It took him two years to land a film, and he debuted in 1960’s Baraat as an actor. Between then and 1963, he appeared in Police Detective, Ramu Dada, Professor, Raaka, Kabli Khan and Bachpan. But not everyone is cut out for the big screen, and while he got roles, he knew acting would reduce him to mediocrity – and he wasn’t one to be content being mediocre.

In 1966, Salim met his writing partner, Javed Akhtar. They were two people who elevated each other’s talents and brought out the best in each other. The duo went on to dominate the next two decades in Bollywood with twenty-two blockbusters in a row, starting with Haathi Mere Saathi in 1971.

Together, Salim-Javed defined an entire generation, giving voice to the angst and ambition of the youth and turning the idea of a Hindi film hero on its head. With their writing, Bollywood saw the birth of the iconic new-age version of the hero with a vigilante streak that marked the 1970s. Their signature was that they changed affable men to brooding, invariably played by Amitabh Bachchan, starring as the rebellious protagonist who fought social injustice on his own terms. Their films, such as Zanjeer and Deewaar, gave birth to Bachchan’s ‘Angry Young Man’, a figure who embodied the collective frustrations and aspirations of a restless nation.

Salman’s mother, Salma Khan, entered Salim’s life in 1958, when he moved to the city. Born Susheela Charak, she was the daughter of a Dogra Rajput dentist. Despite coming from different socio-religious backgrounds, they fell in love after courting for five years.

Her father wasn’t happy. When Salim went to meet Salma’s father to persuade him for their alliance, her father said, ‘Every parent wants a good spouse for their children. This relation is not plausible, though you are educated, belong to a good family and your future is promising. You are a Muslim, and this difference cannot be bridged.’

There is a reason Salim went on to become one of sharpest screenwriters India has ever seen. The sting of a lonely childhood and the scars of early loss gave his stories an edge and likely fuelled his art. That same weight bled into his words too. He told Dr Charak, ‘There might be innumerable differences between me and your daughter, but religion would never be one of them.’

In 1964, he married Susheela, who then changed her name to Salma. The Charaks didn’t meet the Khans for ten years, until their youngest son, Sohail, was born.

Their eldest and inarguably their brightest, Salman was born on 27 December, 1965, at 10.45 a.m. in Kalyanmal Nursing Home in Indore. Salim was still struggling at that time. It is said that Salman opened his eyes immediately after birth, unlike many infants who take days, even weeks, to do so. While newborns keep their fists clenched and eyes shut, Salman seemed eager to see the world.

Salman grew up witnessing his father’s rise. It was also understandable that Salim had limited time to give him in his early years. Javed remembers Salman as a quiet and reserved child, contrary to his present-day ‘Dabangg’ image.

Salman was raised in the shadow of Salim. The silent, temperamental, explosive parent is a large part of who he is. The search for that elusive approval became a quiet undercurrent in Salman’s life.

Much of what we think we know about Salman has been written in bold strokes – the bad boy, the generous mentor, the unpredictable star. But very little has been said about the little boy who perhaps never stopped looking for approval from the man who raised him. In that sense, maybe we don’t truly know the man so vilified – and deified – by the world.

A lot of Salman’s home life was dictated by his father’s temperament. Hot-headed and mercurial, Salim’s rage impacted his children.

In his book Hall of Fame: Salman Khan, Biswadeep Ghosh writes, ‘One day, Salman and his brother Arbaaz watched a martial arts film for the first time. Excited, they started imitating the moves at home. Their feet hit the walls, leaving marks. When their father saw the stains, he was furious. The boys ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Their father ordered them to come out, but they refused. Angry, he began banging on the door and even smashed the glass panes with a hockey stick. Terrified, the boys had no choice but to step out. What followed was the worst beating they had ever received.’

Salman’s childhood was particularly tough. As the eldest sibling, he had to be a shield for his younger brothers as he saw his parents slowly become estranged. He and his brother Arbaaz (just a year and a half younger) often witnessed fights at home, which only got more intense with time. The turmoil made Salman grow protective of his mother as well.

Salman and Arbaaz became a unit unto themselves. As her firstborn, Salman shared a special bond with Salma. Growing up as an introverted child of few words, he soon became his mother’s quiet confidante. His quiet nature was often mistaken for arrogance, pushing him further into his shell. In those moments of solitude, Salma became his safe place – the one person he could truly open up to.

It didn’t help that Salim was unbelievably harsh with his eldest son. ‘I wanted Salman to excel so that he could set an example for his brothers and sister. I just couldn’t accept anything less than perfection from him. l admit I was hard on him, behaved more like a coach or a tutor than a father. She [Salma] has always played a buffer’s role when I was angry with him. He shares a closer rapport with her than with me. He can tell her things he’d never dream of confiding in me, he can show his emotions in front of her,’ Salim said in an interview.

As a kid, every time Salma would get ready, Salman would hold on to her pallu and run behind her, crying. ‘I had another habit. My mom used to feed me yellow dal and chawal. I stopped eating that the day she stopped feeding me with her own hands,’ Salman said in an old interview.

Salim often jokes that Salma is the reason Salman is still single. ‘He starts dating an actress and a few years later, he starts to look for his mother in these women, which he is unable to find. This is such a contradiction in him. Pasand aati hai heroine, usme ghuserne ki koshish kartey hai apni mother ko [He likes a heroine and then tries to find his mother in them]…’

Even today, Salma doesn’t go to bed until Salman has slept. Her other sons tease her for being Salman’s watchman.

So much of who we are comes from how we grow up. The way we were spoken to, the love we got (or didn’t), how safe we felt … All of it quietly builds who we become. Many times, we are all just trying to get back to that one person or place that made us feel okay.

For Salman, it was Salma. Her love didn’t have to be earned. She saw him when the world didn’t, heard him when he barely spoke. And maybe that’s why he has always been so close to her.

Excerpted with permission from Salman Khan – The Sultan of Bollywood, Mohar Basu, HarperCollins India.