BENGALURU: Tipaturu Ramaswamy met Muthuraju in the late 1940s, when the latter was camping at Tiptur with his father, Singanallur Puttaswamiah.
One sultry morning, Ramaswamy was walking around the artistes’ camp. Puttaswamiah noticed the young lad, called him over to the house and asked why he was wandering around there.
“I want to meet Muthuraju, I replied,” says Ramaswamy. “Puttaswamaih looked hard at me, then summoned Muthraju and said, “Mutha, I want you to meet this boy. I think he is a cultured, intelligent boy. That you two be friends for a lifetime.”
Thus a friendship that was to last for six-and-a-half decades -- a predestined one, as Ramaswamy describes -- was forged.
The two boys made great companions. Gubbi Veeranna Drama company camped for couple of months at the spot.
“We loved playing in the green fields, swimming in the well in the hot summer months. The afternoon was reserved for practice sessions,” Ramaswamy recalls.
“Muthuraju insisted I accompany him. He would sit by me during the show, with his make up on. We used to sit outside and follow the dialogues that blared through the big loudspeakers,” he continues.
Just ahead of his scene, the child artiste would join the crew, he says.
“By the time the camp shifted from Tiptur, we had developed a strong emotional bond. Then on, every time the company staged the plays in Tiptur, we had rollicking time,” he says.
Muthuraju, says his childhood friend, was a bicycle freak.
“We would hire one and ride to the wooded outskirts, with houses few and far between. We would swim for hours together in a pond -- Ayyanavare Bavi Katte -- cook rice, sambar on its sidewalks and feast on it. We were both foodies,” he says.
Every time he passes through that stretch, his mind slips back to these golden memories.
They exchanged postcards during their time apart.
“Around 1952, the untimely death of Puttaswamih shattered Muthuraju. He had to shoulder the responsibility of the family. It was a tough period for him,” recalls Ramaswamy. “I was not able to attend Muthuraju’s wedding at Nanjangudu in 1953.”
The following year, Muthuraju made his grand debut with Bedara Kannappa.
“I got an invitation to write an article on it for a local newspaper. I always believed that Muthuraju was a brilliant actor, waiting to set the silver screen ablaze, and the success of his maiden movie proved me right,” he says.
Ramaswamy delighted in his friend’s rise to fame in the early 1970s.
“As he was extremely busy, he ensured that his brother Varada Raju and wife Parvatamma Rajkumar were constantly in touch with me. But we yearned to meet,” he says.
The long-awaited reunion took place during a public felicitation. Muthuraju, now Rajkumar, was being awarded an honorary doctorate by Mysore University. The civic body at Tiptur town hosted a grand reception to felicitate him. “I was on the committee too,” he confides.
“I was overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting Rajkumar, but looking forward to meeting my good old friend Muthuraju,” he differentiates.
Dr Rajkumar was to be ushered in on an open chariot through the main road to venue by the town’s bigwigs. “Varada Raju and Parvatamma had told me to keep myself free the entire day. Rajkumar, they said, was keen to meet his childhood friend,” he says.
On the designated day, Ramaswamy chose to watch the procession as a commoner. No sooner than it began, thousands poured on to the streets.
“I saw Muthuraju waving at the surging crowd. Then I knew he would scale to great heights. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the procession, walking all the way,” he says.
However, he noticed that Muthuraju was uncomfortable. “His eyes were scanning the crowd, trying to catch sight of me.” The ceremony over, the dignitaries began to assemble for lunch. That’s when I decided to show up,” says Ramaswamy. As my wife and I entered, one of the organisers called out, ‘Dr Rajkumar is trying to reach you, Ramaswamy,’”, he narrates.
But he was unsure of what kind of reception he would get from the star. “And I didn’t know weather to address him as Muthuraju avare or Dr Rajkumar,” he says.
Even as he pondered on it, a guest yelled out: “Ramaswamy has arrived!”
“Muthuraju, seated on a sofa, savoring a pakoda, jumped up unmindful all else, and threw open his arms, engulfing me in a tight embrace,” Ramaswamy says with feeling.
A teary-eyed Rajkumar then said, “Ramaswamy avare, how are you, it has been so long, but you were always in my thoughts. Thank God, we meet at last.” “I was left speechless at his humility. Moments later, I blurted out, ‘I don’t know what to call you anymore -- Dr Rajkumar or Muthuraju?’”
To this, the doyen of cinema said, his hand in his friend’s, “You are my biggest strength, and our good old days are a treasure of sweet memories. We are friends for a lifetime as my father wished.” Tears of joy rolled down Ramaswamy’s cheeks. “I was happy that he remained my simple friend, Muthuraju.”