Note: This post is from the perspective of a true-blue fanboy. Do not come looking for any kind of objectivity in this one.
[Image courtesy: Google Images]
260+ films in a career spanning 51 years. An awards list longer than her own cascading-waterfall, raven-black locks. Regular—and effortless—eclipsing of her super-illustrious male co-stars like Kamal Haasan, Rajinikanth, Mithun Chakraborty, Rajesh Khanna, NTR and Amitabh Bachchan. Being recognized by colleagues, critics and audiences alike as “the only female superstar of Indian Cinema” and “the best Indian actress of all time”.
All this together serves to describe but a little part of the phenomenon, the one-woman army that Sridevi was. For she was much, much greater than the sum of her parts.
The oval-faced, olive-eyed beauty who drove men to heights of such romantic frenzy that they would forget their marital status and pursue her (she ultimately married two of them over the span of a decade in her life, with the first ending disastrously). Actress par excellence, who incited such insecurity among her co-stars—heroes and heroines alike—that they would actually avoid being cast in a movie with her, for she left nothing for others to do once the camera was switched on. Refusing to accept inconsequential, glamour-only roles, even if they came with blank cheques and/or were opposite the mighty Bachchan. And driving millions of her fans, nay, devotees, to throes of ecstasy with her monolith-melting performances over and over again, with her unique blend of talent of a god-level prodigy, innocence of a child, face of an angel, and body of a supreme seductress.
Au revoir, goddess. There shall be, there is, not one other like you. Not one other shall command our unswerving, unwavering devotion like you did. And do.
And shall keep doing. Forever and ever.
[Image courtesy: Google Images]
