Chatting with Shiamak Davar is like chasing a flitting butterfly. He seldom completes his sentences. And he jumps from one topic to the next with no thought for niceties, or necessities, like connection or flow! Perhaps, his coming from the family that owns and runs the Davar's College of Commerce, famed for its courses in secretarial training, has influenced him more than he would like to concede. For he talks in short hand. So, here we are, decoding an interview that was breathless, entertaining, insightful and great fun. Quite like his stage performances.
He's fresh from the stupendous success of the second run of 'I Believe' in Bombay, which he grandly titled 'A Shiamak Davar Spectacular'! But he lived up to the claim. Undoubtedly a feast for the senses and the soul, his basic premise that the human heart can survive and thrive despite the vagaries of destiny, told through a tableau of song, dance and personal narration, with extravagant sets and costumes, and a back-up chorus of phenomenally talented young people, packed in the opera theatre at the haloed National Centre for Performing Arts night after night. Not a ticket was available, and all those who attended raved and craved for more.
While his basic song-and-dance gig is pretty much just-so, it's his presentation that catapults it to another stratosphere. Not just the staging, which is always razzle-dazzle, but his ability to make people feel special. In his book, nothing is a handicap. Not physical affliction, not mental illness, not terminal disease. He brings forth special people, especially children, on to the stage with touching empathy, believing in their inner strength, empowering them to express themselves with joy. And he dances and prances through the aisles in every performance, coaxing the old and the intimidated, the jaded and the jittery to drop their guard and groove.
The dishy Davar has that effect on people! Into his late forties, he's sprightly, youthful, still retains a head full of glossy, floppy hair, and has a rather hot bod. "Darling, come here," he beckons, "touch my thigh. Come on…" Intrigued, a tentative jab reveals muscle with a solid-steel feel. "Not bad…" he beams, "not bad for 47?" Okay, Mr. Arcelor, what do you eat! Nails for breakfast? No, five egg whites, scrambled, with lots of chopped green chillies and coriander, and some whole wheat bread or a bran chapatti. "I eat up to 12 egg whites a day. I adore eggs," he adds. Now that we're talking food he emphatically declares, "I'm an absolute foodie, I just loooove food."
Since it was 10.30 p.m., and our interview was only half-way through, he gallantly offers to share his dinner. Tangy french beans and chapatti are all one can have, in addition to his exasperation over vegetarianism, while he proceeds to polish off the second course comprising chicken curry and a bowl of unpolished rice. Blessed with a healthy appetite, and this is said politely, he's a one-man demolition squad with a dinner plate in front of him! Affirmation comes from his mother, Puran, who walks in while we're at the table and declares aghast, "Areey Shiamak, tu soo karech (what are you doing), you just had a full dinner before she came." "But Mumma, I'm hungry again," he protests.
Eyes smarting with the spice I've just ingested, I prompt him to declare, "I just love, love, love spice and lots of chillies. I must have my achhar every day. Bland food is so blah."
Another Shiamakism is loads of lemon squeezed on top of everything. The meal was served with three large lemons, wedged and arranged in a small bowl, which he wrings out in seconds. Lo and behold, a little later he yells, "Limboo laaoo," and the same drill is repeated. Lemons depleted, in a bit, he asks for yet some more! This is in addition to a lime shot he gulps at the start of our interview - the juice of three lemons, not even a drop of water added, swigged neat. "Darling, very good for acidity - but very bad for my bones, you know - so much limboo. But I don't need Zintac anymore."
His lovely mother, the adorable 80-something Puran, who had him (the youngest of three) after she turned 40, is an integral part of his life and, hence, our interview. Persuaded into changing and posing for pictures, much against her protests, she confesses that Shiamak's love of food has very little to do with her modest culinary skills! But they've always had good cooks, although Shiamak is non-fussy. "He's so simple," she smiles, "never demands anything. The only change in him through the years is that he has become more giving." She does concede, though, that he has a penchant for Parsi food.
Shiamak pipes in to add that Goan food is another favourite, especially squid curry. He doesn't drink, with the exception of tea. "Darling, I'm a tea addict. I must have at least five cups every day with lots of lemon grass and phudina (fresh mint)."
He keeps his lunch simple, although that's more by compulsion than choice. It's generally lots of vegetables, cooked in olive oil, and some vegetable juice. "I don't like it, but one has to look after one's health." He then confesses, "I could eat junk food all the time!" Here's his evening snack list: bhelpuri, pani puri, pav bhaji, or if he's at the Willingdon Club then chicken-on-toast or their famous Kejriwal (fried egg with toast and cheese, garnished with chopped green chillies).
Shiamak says he's more disciplined now, and doesn't eat very late into the night. Dinner is often at home, although he does go out. When in Bombay, he enjoys eating at Royal China (especially the duck, lamb and fish soy chilli), Goa Portuguesa, Ling's Pavilion, Golden Dragon ("I love Chinese food, but only Indian Chinese - and I hate sushi"), and Shatranj ("I still go there when I'm in Bandra!").
Pizzas at Trattoria ("I only eat pizza at Trats or in New York") and the fresh 'gutli pav' from City Bakery is always on his list of must-dos, as are meals at the homes of close friends like Zareer Lalkaka, who he rates as one of Bombay's best cooks.
"I don't like Cordon Bleu cooking," he reiterates, "with the exception of Lobster Thermidore." From the sublime to the ludicrous, he shares his wistful longing for street food. "There was a time when I used to eat off the street without worrying about hygiene. How I miss my kachchi kairi and sing (peanuts) with masala, my sheekh boti and golas…"
Guilty treats now comprise pretzels and chocolates, although cheese is eschewed in deference to his migraines. Considering there are very few self-imposed restrictions on his diet ("Darling, I hate the word, it has 'die' in it"), he compensates by vigorously working out. "I exercise every day," he affirms, "I follow my own programme that I devised 29-years-ago, a mixture of Pilates, yoga, jazz ballet and contemporary dance. I don't use weights. If my muscles bulk up, I won't be able to dance. I use my own body weight to build stamina and muscle instead."
On most days, his work is his workout. As he trains his dancers, he could be at it for four hours continuously. Right now he's busy choreographing a new Yash Raj project with Shah Rukh Khan, Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, and in July he heads off with Amitabh Bachchan on the 'Unforgettable World Tour'.
Shiamak travels abroad a fair bit with his shows, and lives in Vancouver for several months a year as he runs his classes there too. Understandably, he's glum about his restricted diet on foreign shores! "I eat the same crap for months, grilled chicken and salad - what else?" he huffs.
But man doesn't live by bread alone, and Shiamak, more than most, knows that. Nourished by a spiritual quest that has been as much a mainstay as his work, he met his spiritual guide, the late Khorshed Bhavnagri, many years ago. With her, he was drawn to automatic writing. He says that spiritual messages, conveyed to him through his regular writing sessions, have helped not just him alone but loads of others as well. "I'm energised when I pray and do my spiritual work," he concedes.
He's hesitant to talk about it, yet it's no secret that he is very philanthropic by nature, helping children at risk with HIV, the Hellen Keller Institute's wards, infants battling cerebral palsy, as well as street kids. In fact, his Victory Arts Foundation has been set up precisely for this purpose, and he devotes a lot of time and compassion to the causes he champions. Working with children, from all sections of the social spectrum, has sensitised him to the pressures they face, and he's glad he can do his bit. "A few days in my classes and they're blooming, never mind whether they are poor and abused, or rich and neglected," he exults.
An absolute movie buff, with stacks of DVDs by the LCD in his bedroom, he recalls how he used to go to Basant Studios as a seven-year-old and watch his grand uncle, Homi Wadia, make movies with his grand aunt, Fearless Nadia. "I think I was born for films," he declares dramatically. Incidentally, his first film as choreographer, Dil To Pagal Hai, won him a National Award. He now has offers to direct a film, but isn't sure if he's ready.
What he is ready to do is go back to television some day, emboldened by his experience as a celebrity judge on Jhalak Dikhla Ja, where his nonsensical Hindi was hilarious!
Showbiz, stage, celluloid… yet he remains grounded. Happy to share his insights he says: "You should never lose your joy, and you cannot depend upon anyone else for your happiness. Unless you go within, you'll go without. Each of us has to find our own answers - that's why we're here."