Every Sunday at 7pm, the latest Kannada cinema, fresh off the talkies, would play on Doordarshan, after the classical music program. An event my grandfather frowned upon, since such ‘anti-intellectual’ activity would corrupt our moral fibre (which only greatly increased our fascination). Despite his tacit disapproval – stylish ambassador cars screeched in a hot chase, ladies picked up phones and said ‘Hello Operator’ to Rajkumar in bell-bottoms, Rebel Star Ambarish played a pink-suited secret agent. As a 10-year-old, I searched for myself in the leading ladies of these blissful Sunday movies of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. After an initial burst of promise, all of them annihilated their personhood to become good wives, mothers or sisters. To my utter disappointment, they sacrificed regularly, won over evil mothers-in-law through goodness, were stalked and conquered, and gave birth to baby boys post their ‘first nights’. They upheld every patriarchal definition of womanhood, chastity, and virtue. It was at this time that Umashree burst into my life and I vividly recall the shock of first watching her on screen.

In Ravichandran’s ‘Swabhimaana’ (1985) Vijay falls in love with Vani, during a prize giving ceremony where Vani has won first place in Debate, Sports, Embroidery, Drama, Painting and Drawing. Smitten, Vijay marries Vani, who proceeds to ably manage his estate, accounts and business, alas drawing Vijay’s jealousy. Ignored by the very man she loves, Vani tries to bring a change in him, as Vijay plays squash and rejects her tear-filled appeals. In the same film, Umashree plays the estate maid, with an endearing husband (played by her favourite co-actor NS Rao), who is cursed with impotency, an affliction she is resolved to cure. In her comedy track, Umashree is firmly in charge of making her husband the stallion he is meant to be, blows the pungi to ‘wake his snake’, cooks him meals of sorekai (snake gourd), buys tonics guaranteed to ‘make him a man’. I vividly remember the scene where Umashree stands provocatively at the door of their bedroom, after one such attempt. NS Rao sits coyly on the bed like a bride on her ‘first night’. Umashree, full of desire, wrestles him onto the bed which breaks and as the lights go out, we hear NS Rao giggling, saying ‘spare me, dear lord’.

Although never cast as the lead­, Umashree had a monopoly in Kannada cinema since the early 80’s to the late 2000’s. She starred in over 400 films. There was no actress who was even a distant second. In an interview with Suvarna Kannada, she says “I was never the heroine, but for several years, the films ran because the public didn’t ask who the hero or heroine was. They asked, ‘is Umashree in it’”