His name spells magic. Because, Shammi Kapoor was, in his prime, one of a kind: his own. A birthday tribute.

No yesteryear hero holds as much appeal, for an entirely new generation, as Shammi ‘Yahoo’ Kapoor. More so, because, in the late 1950s and 1960s, Shammi established a niche of his own: a sparkling chemistry of his own unique persona, on the screen, which was not only exclusive and refreshing, but also inimitably boisterous.

Born on October 21, 1931, in Mumbai, Shammi joined Prithvi Theatres, in 1948, as a junior artist. His salary: a princely Rs 50 per month. He stayed with Prithvi, for four years, and when he left, his salary had reached a handsome figure of Rs 300.

Shammi made his debut in Jeevan Jyoti. And, during his early years, he also acted in Rail Ka Dibba, and Laila Majnu, with Nutan and Madhubala, and others, including a few nondescript films. However, his career was quite disastrous - especially, in the beginning.

When he married Geeta Bali, he was, again, just Shammi Kapoor. Not a sensation, yet. And, with the release of Tumsa Nahin Dekha in 1957, after five frustrating years, Shammi had come of age. Sans his elder brother Raj Kapoor’s ‘aura,’ Shammi found his feet, thanks to his novelty of histrionic and acrobatic representation - his own prescription in all its myriad forms: or, call it aggressive romanticism.

Shammi, thereafter, never looked back, until the turn of the 1970s, when his growing girth, in tune with his family’s genetic order, could not breathe the usual mercurial flow, or ‘biff-bang’ element on the silver screen - his hallmark, the apogee of his amazing versatility. Of uplifting, flexible, and sensitive alchemy. Shammi gave up wisely when he knew he had lost his innate capacity, his ardent and innovative pattern of conceptualisation and emotive rapture.

To go back a bit, the overall transformation in Shammi’s psyche, on celluloid, was inspired by Geeta - his talented wife, and actress. She initiated Shammi to shed his family ‘hangover:’ to foster his own sense of individuality on the screen. The outcome was stupendous. Musical hits followed one after the other. Not only that. Shammi also launched many an attractive face towards stardom. From Asha Parekh, Saira Banu, Sharmila Tagore et al. The lone exception, maybe, was Kalpana. Following her success in Professor, she’s never able to scale as much adulation without Shammi, even though she did get noticed in a few films with other stars.

And, now the megabucks rolled. Shammi was the toast of an entire generation. He had changed the face of Indian cinema like never before. On the basis of two, but unique, factors: one, by way of his breezy melodic component, with which his image blended so harmoniously; and, two, a simply-woven script, devoid of ennui, in spite of a commonplace storyline.

A music buff himself, Shammi vibed well not only with filmmakers, but also music directors: foremost among them being Shankar-Jaikishan, his favourite composers. And, yes, there’s that fabulous Mohammed Rafi effect, the very soul of Shammi Kapoor’s songs, ushering a cult of its own, the ‘Yahoo’ way. Tunes that will last till kingdom come; they are as inimitable and melodious with every hearing. Rafi and Shammi were perfect partners: akin to what Mukesh was to Raj Kapoor, and Kishore Kumar to Rajesh Khanna.

What made Shammi so special was his adaptability. He’d be so jovial, so carefree, so comical at one moment, and so emotional and pathetic, the next. He teamed superbly with Rajendra Nath, Mehmood et al: the duo, in question, taking viewers to the seventh heaven of laughter, with the comedian, in each case, going out of his way to helping his pal in every love, or ‘unmasking-the-villain’ situation.

The Shammi of yore may not be visible now. However, shades of his old self still remain: on the big screen, TV, or even in a commercial. Because, he’s distinctive: something different and special. Because, Shammi was also the first ‘Jumping Jack,’ the James Dean, or the Elvis Presley of the Indian screen. The last of his type, perhaps, as well, even though his physique now reminds us of another big Hollywood name of yore: Bud Spencer.

When Geeta died in 1965, Shammi was shattered. He was desolate. But, the show had to go on, notwithstanding a personal tragedy. Geeta was gone, not vanished from his heart. He waged a lone battle in his mind, and he came up with blockbusters like Teesri Manzil, Tumse Acchha Kaun Hai, Pagla Kahin Ka, and Andaz, to mention a few. The year 1968 was memorable: Shammi won the Filmfare Award for the Best Actor. The film: Brahmachari.

In 1969, Shammi married again, and ventured into film direction, without measurable success. Soon, he began to play character roles and the effect of his talent was obvious. He was honoured with the Filmfare Award for the Best Supporting Actor in Vidhaata. He had a short stint on TV too, and also produced his own video entertainment magazine, and topped it all with Prem Granth. And, even if TV may not really be back on Shammi’s agenda, today, he seems to be enjoying his new passion: surfing on the Internet, and involvement with Yahoo[India]!.Com

When Shammi won the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award, a few years ago, it was a tribute not only to his style, and achievement, but a big way of saying thanks to his immense contribution to Indian cinema. Something which is worth a tug or two on his famous beard - a career, or path, with many memorable moments, moments of magic and pleasure to both his ardent fans, and film buffs, or viewers, within India and abroad. What’s more, the Shammi of the 1950s-60s could have been a big hit in Hollywood, if he wanted. He had all the credentials, and more, by way of his handsome face, a wide range of acting talent, and even a sense of his own brand of jesting, and penchant for restrained slapstick - the Junglee, and Budtameez, fusion.

It is but amazing that when Shammi was at his peak, a glut of films were made with other male actors in lead roles - roles tailor-made for Shammi, otherwise. Ditto, for songs: many of them, too. To take a dekko at some of the lilting numbers, sung by Rafi, for Joy Mukherjee and Biswajit. Those evergreen Rafi songs from movies like Love In Tokyo, Phir Wohi Dil Laya Hoon etc., were typical Shammi songs. You can visualise Shammi in them - even subconsciously.

That was the Shammi upshot. Also, his mosaic. Immense. Imperishable.