Never Give Up

By Big M Productions

This is the inspiring true-life story of one woman, four children and an uncertain future as South Africa found itself on the verge of transformation from the ruthless apartheid regime to the grandiose promises of a democracy.
For Pingla “Pinky” Mothie, her journey to 1990 exacted a hefty toll on her for while she and her husband, Mr D Mothie shared a quarter of a century of success in promoting the performing arts, they were denied the realisation of their dream of building a “City of Multi-Cultural Artists.”

The restrictions, prejudices and segregationist laws hampered their progress through decades. But they persisted in their journey and when death struck the head of the family, it was up to his wife, Pingla to continue and to fend for her four children.

Her hard fought battle is a story of courage, tenacity and an inner strength, which enabled her to brush away the tribulations and continue on her journey, which has now brought them to the 50th anniversary of the entry of the family into the fantasy world.

They created glittering stages, promoted talented performers and launched so many careers among women and men to become technicians, stage hands, actors, dancers, musicians, stage managers, chorographers, script writers and anyone who wanted to do something in the entertainment industry.

The book also tells of the pain, sacrifice and the ongoing struggle of a woman who simply refused to give up on life.

Learn about the story of how a father’s vision never dies and lives through his son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Big M Productions
• Release date: May 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463873762

Book preview

Never Give Up

A Memoir of Pinky Mothie

Copyright © 2020 Big M Productions

Published by Big M Productions and Rajiv Mothie Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Big M Productions and Rajiv Mothie

using Reach Publishers’ services,

Edited by Colleen Figg for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: [e-mail]

Special Thanks to Mr Farouk Khan

Content

Forward

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Foreword

It was during the fiftieth year of the anniversary of my marriage that I finally received confirmation that Mothie’s dream was going to become a reality. This was a happy occasion, but also a sad one as my husband was not here to see it happen. D. Mothie, as he was known, had departed from this world twenty-seven years before, leaving me to realise the impossible dream on my own.

I was a mother to four children, in a hostile world but I had a passion to make my late husband’s vision a reality. This, if realised, could turn out to be the largest job creation programme since democracy. The Film City is not yet a reality, but this would be the third movie from my children and me, as we struggled to give life to Mothie’s dream for a movie industry where people of all colours, creeds and persuasions would be able to find a home.

Our latest release, Never Give Up, is based on my life and tells of my struggle in the South African world of show business, which at one time was beset with apartheid, racial prejudices and arrogant executives who brandished banknotes if your colour was right and withheld them if it was not. Of even greater satisfaction is that we auditioned over two hundred people from the streets of the townships and working-class suburbs to fill the parts of 60 characters.

Just two of the four leading characters are from India; in fact, we owe the Motherland more. Samvedna Suwalka, a Bollywood starlet, was eventually chosen to play my role in the movie, she is a doctor turned actor who is destined for greatness and she landed the role after a series of auditions in South Africa and India. The other is Akshay Lutchman, a talented magician from Mumbai, who was chosen to play my brother, Danny.

Going further afield, we found Pranesh Maharaj, who is from Durban, and he landed the role to play my father. The hunt for two more actors to play Rajiv, who is my only son and youngest child and Mothie, proved more difficult. The search seemed to go on interminably and if we hoped to have got the movie going on schedule, then drastic action was needed.

Eventually, the director Amit Chheda came up with a somewhat surprising idea: he suggested that Rajiv plays his father and himself in the movie. A double role. Amit was confident that it could be done and assured us that the abilities of the make-up team would make the difference hard to detect. At last, that settled the matter of the cast.

Earlier on in the process, Rajiv and I had gone to India, booked into a five-star hotel and called for nominations for a top-flight crew, including an executive producer. We interviewed fifteen applicants, all of them with impressive credentials. It took us two days to finally make our choice. We chose Mr Preshant Srivastava whom we believed would be the best person for the job. The location of the movie would be South Africa, and this meant the operation would be headquartered in Durban. Every last detail had been worked out; there were no surprises and the contracts were clear cut and uncomplicated. The actual shooting time was going to be six weeks and the deadline was met.

It was a good feeling knowing that what started as a casual conversation with my grandchildren resulted in this movie. Way back in 2014, the conversation was initially about writing a book and my daughter, Sarah, started working on it. Then came a change in direction when the three generations of the family felt that a movie was a better idea. Sarah started work all over again. We spent a lot of time together on the project and in 2016 the script was ready. It was now time to put the infrastructure into place. While all this was going on, the family also felt that it would be an even greater idea for a book to be released simultaneously with the movie.

Introduction

Every sugarcane plantation had a band of Sirdars – a sort of paramilitary unit of men who were imported from India to be trained to be merciless and ruthless when it came to the treatment of indentured labourers in the cane fields of the then Natal province. My father and those who came from the House of Sirdar believed that they came from a ‘high caste’ – and while the indenture system was abolished in 1911, he imposed that lifestyle on us. He believed that he was the single and highest authority who determined the destiny of his children; especially so when it came to me. My father claimed that he had the right to decide even my death. He decided that I was going to be a doctor and when the time came, he would choose my husband. He was one of four men who played crucial roles in my life and was the hardest, toughest and most uncompromising man I knew. Yet, I loved him dearly for he was my father, and he was the only parent I had. My mother had died when I was just four.

Then there was my brother, Danny, who loved, cherished and protected me throughout his life. His dedication, kindness and his bravery in defending me and keeping me from harm’s way enabled me to make progress as an individual. When it came to me making decisions about real life issues, his wisdom often turned out to be the signpost I needed to take the right road.

The third man was Mothie – my husband, who created the environment for me to excel in all that I wanted to do. He insisted that I acquire a tertiary education. He set standards which enabled me to take my art form to the most famous venues in the world; to meet with luminaries and share ideas with scholars. We were partners for a quarter of a century before he left this world. He took me from the township of Northdene, which was one of four that made up the small town of Malvern, south of Durban, to the capitals of the world. He taught me that no dream has a limit; there was no such thing as a ceiling, and that there was nothing stopping me from achieving whatever I desired. Everything is possible; even miracles even though it may take two minutes longer.

The fourth man is my son Rajiv, whom I believe was born to transform our dream of a Film City into a reality. His role is only just beginning and I believe that he will make us proud. His work ethic is strong, so is his commitment and he has vision.

I have also been blessed with my three great friends; all of them my daughters, Veena, Leena and Sarah. Each one of them, no matter their youth, rose above everyone else to comfort me in times of need. They have showered me with love throughout their lives, presented me with grandchildren and carved out careers, which made them role models.

This book tells my story.

We have embarked on a journey to tell the stories of influential people in the community to motivate our future leaders.

I only hope that the lives of all those entertainers that passed through my passage of time had their lives recorded. History would probably forget many of them; they were heroes who made a difference to successive generations. In many cases their ancestors all featured on stage during their own eras.

None of it is recorded. I hope a special effort would be made by researchers and writers to document their contributions. If there is anything that I have learnt during my journey, it is that opportunities do not come knocking on doors. It is up to the individual to be innovative, to take what you have and make it better.

Chapter 1

I was just ten years old, but I knew for sure that there was a greater world out there with much, much more promise. There was never any doubt in my mind that I needed to get there. In this world, I would be able to be of service to all God’s creation. I would help to create pride in people no matter their station in life. I would enable them to laugh even during times of strife. I would offer them leadership, give them some education but above all else, I wanted to entertain. Dance! Music! Song! Drama! And I wasn’t only thinking of the stage but also the silver screen. Even if there were tears in that world, I would have the ability to comfort, console and give refuge to those who suffered.

The key came sooner than I expected and in the least likely of places. Mr John Naidoo was one of the more talented teachers at the Malvern State Aided Indian School. To raise funds for the betterment of the community, he wrote a play, Mageshweri - The Great Goddess. My oldest sister, Sheila landed the leading role and I was chosen to perform the opening dance, a rock and roll routine to the hit song, Marianne. My partner for the dance was the mischievous Abass Mohamed who made everybody’s life a misery at school. Now I was landed with him at rehearsals each day. We got on fine and working on the intricate routine kept us occupied meaningfully. After all, we were just ten years old at the time.

Opening night was at the Indian Cane Growers’ Hall, which had only just been built as part of the M.L. Sultan Technical College, which was situated in the city. Being at this institution was an honour, especially since it was a unique place of learning. Mr M.L. Sultan came to South Africa in 1890 as an indentured labourer to work for the South African Railways. Throughout his life he toiled, saved his money and invested wisely.

He became one of the richest men of his generation, yet he gave all of his wealth to build places of learning and social services for the community. Mr Sultan was among those who readily came forward to give a substantial donation to build Sastri College, the first high school for Indians. He also came up with the idea of a Medical School in Durban and donated the first twenty thousand pounds sterling towards it. In those days, it was a great sum of money. He was the single largest donor for the building of the Technical College. Indian sugarcane farmers joined together later and built the hall in which we were going to perform.

That for me was another success story. Here were people who came to this country who earned a very humble wage and were successful. They were able to save and buy land and grow their own crops. Not only that but some even made enough money to be generous and make donations for the building of essential community facilities for the people. This was compassion it its true sense. I felt a profound sense of gratitude that all of these people had made it possible for us to have such a wonderful institution.

On our arrival we were ushered into a dressing room where the make-up artists would get to work. I was made to sit in front of a mirror while the lady got to work with my hair. I’d never seen so many brushes, combs and curlers in my life. Then came the hair spray. What a culture shock! Next came another expert who worked on my face. I could not understand it. I was fair in complexion, had natural brown hair and big, bright eyes. In fact, by this time and for this reason, I had acquired the nickname, Pinky. But they felt that I needed some powder on my face, something called rouge and of course the lipstick. I simply loved all of it. This was attention, which I had never previously received in my life. The dresser came up next with my crepe paper costume and I was transformed to look like a typical teenager from the United States of America.

I looked at myself in the mirror and it seemed that there was a new Pinglawathie Rambharose. But I liked what I saw. This girl in the mirror was more like me than the one that lived in the wood-and-iron house in Northdene. I stood in front of the mirror and I did not want to move. But it was time for the curtain to rise and the countdown started and suddenly, the bright lights bathed the stage floor, the speakers came alive blaring out the all-time favourite, Marianne. It was my cue and I glided onto the stage holding Abass’s hand. The audience simply went wild with excitement, some of them stood up and all of them roared. As if that was not enough when we moved into our first steps, the hand clapping added to the beat and I slipped into this new world. There was a rhythm in my body and I moved as it dictated, no matter how intricate. We weaved patterns on the floor and the energy we gave out of our small bodies had the audience on their feet. I knew that I had all the attention and I revelled in it. But Abass got his moment when this line in the song came:

"Marianne, Oh, Marianne, Oh, won’t you marry me?"

He certainly turned on the style and his boyish grin even had me blushing. I gave him that moment.

For the rest of the dance, we let the energy flow and I gave it my all. I was not going to be outdone; I had taken control of this dance and made it mine. This was the key that I was looking for to enter that great world, where I would be a face that drew crowds. I no longer wanted to wait in the queue of life for its bounties.

I had a right to be happy and to be in a place where I could make progress.

Four lines from that song stayed with me forever:

When she walks along the shore

People pause to greet

While birds fly around her

Little fish come to her feet.

Maybe, that was asking for too much, but then I did not have anything else. As a ten-year-old girl, all I wanted was for my family and I to be in a safe place. I wanted to be self-reliant. I did not want to be dependent on anyone; neither did I want my siblings to have to go to someone else for a favour. I wanted us to be in a position where we would be able to not only fend for ourselves, but to have enough to share with others.

There were so many people like us who had to eke out a living and to put up with the harsh realities, which often left us wondering whether we would see the next day.

That night, at the Indian Cane Growers’ Hall, fate told me that I could be that person. I had no idea how I was going to do it or how long it was going to take. I did know that it would happen. And each subsequent night that I took to the stage to dance to Marianne, my commitment grew firmer. My belief grew stronger. That rhythm in my body was gaining momentum and it was developing its own beat. Although for the first time, I was appreciating western music, dance and drama. I was not out of my depth. I took to it without any prejudice, nor did I look at it as a foreign culture. In fact, I welcomed it and learnt to appreciate it as entertainment. But I also believed that it would teach me about this new world that everybody was talking about, a world where we were going to be more ‘western’ and much, much more ‘modern’. I started thinking that my life was about to get even more interesting and that I would have the leading role. There was no need to tell anyone about it, just yet. I was in charge of my thoughts and for the time being it was a secret. But at long last there was a very clear plan in my mind.

The popularity of the play brought adulation from the entire Indian community, not only those who lived in Northdene or Malvern, but in the greater Durban area. The fact that more than five hundred people turned up every night to watch this play which was performed by school children, told me that there must have been some substance in it. Mageshweri is indeed the Great Goddess. Now that my destiny was being defined, it was time to take a long, hard look at my past.

My grandfather, Rambharose (one who is reliant on God) and his wife arrived in Durban, South Africa at the turn of the twentieth century to work on the sugarcane plantations of what was then the province of Natal.

With a name like that, obviously he might have believed that he did not need anyone else for support.

He must have been a religious man to bring his young wife on a month long, hazardous sea voyage from the east coast of India to South Africa.

They were assigned to the Dooneside Sugar Estate on the south coast, a picturesque, green, rural area lying on the Indian Ocean. They came from Surat. Men who were recruited from that state were regarded to be naturalborn managers. They were known for their dedication to serving their masters and when it came to enforcing the work ethic on the fields, they were ruthless. These were the men known as Sirdars and their jobs were to ensure that the boss got more than just a full day’s toil from each cane cutter. They wore a special uniform, donned turbans, and, armed with whips they rode on horseback, patrolling the fields. They were a law unto themselves and history has it that most of them were cruel and took advantage of those under their command. There is also a rumour that they took advantage of the women; it did not matter whether they were married or not. Age did not even come into it. The Sirdars were protected by the farmers.

Above all else, as I mentioned, the people of Surat regarded themselves of being from a superior caste. They demanded aristocratic status. They claimed royalty in their lineage. They saw their task in South Africa as a duty to Buckingham Palace and they believed that they served a far greater, if not the greatest. government in the world.

These men and their families had better quality homes, earned more money and enjoyed privileges which the cane cutters could only dream about. This select band of people strictly prohibited social mixing with the labourers. They spoke Gujarati, which was a language all of its own even though they used the Hindi alphabet. As strict vegetarians, they made sure that their utensils were kept away from anyone who ate flesh. No visitor was permitted to use their crockery and cutlery either. They were so particular that they would not even allow any Hindi-, Urdu- or Tamil-speaking Indians to wash their cutlery and crockery. Remember, they had communal taps in those days.

My grandfather was among those that stayed away from the so-called low caste. Every opportunity he got, he made it clear that he certainly was from the very top drawer of society. He made sure people knew that his ancestors had served at the very highest levels of government in India. He also mentioned that they were officers in the armed forces, served in the diplomatic corps and were emissaries for royalty. Back in India, they owned land, grew their own food and lived in mansions, which were their ancestral homes for hundreds of years. He hammered home this point and brainwashed every single member of his family including my father. They were not fair skinned for nothing; the people of Surat were beautiful, blessed with the good life and were born to rule.

On the estate, he must have flexed his muscles and thrown his weight around. I suppose that was his job and he was out to impress his employers. Besides his colleagues were no different and they too probably demonstrated their prowess. They answered to nobody except to the farmers and even then, some of them were not keen to get involved or dare take a stand against any of their enforcers. It was they who kept the law and order on the estate and ensured their brand of safety all round. Some farmers even trained some of their more trusted Sirdars in the use of firearms while others acquired superior skills in horsemanship.

There were also Muslims who came from Surat, but they did not work on the estates. Almost