Literary Pursuit (Short Story)
A Nugget of Nostalgia: Revisiting Raydom After 33 Years....
More than three decades have clocked past since his demise in 1992 on April 23. Now in the run-up to the commemoration of his 104th birth anniversary come May 2, 2025, the globally-acclaimed phenomenon called Satyajit Ray is still intact. His vibe and appeal refuse to fade over time even in this e-era with a promise to glow brighter like that of pure gold, which never loses its shine or forgets to sparkle despite being buried under the thick layers of dust. It regains its sheen with a fresh coat of polish. The filmmaker extraordinaire interminably inspires generations with legions of die-hard fans, staunch loyalists and avid cinephiles among them. Once more celebrating the indelible influence of his craft, his undying aura and the incredible creative genius that he was, a humble homage is being paid in his memory. The master’s illustrious repertoire of screen classics, musical compositions, literary works, illustrations, calligraphy, et al entwines an array of gems like Charulata, Goopi Gyne Bagha Byne, Shatranch ke Khiladi, Pather Panchali, Sadgati, the sleuth-series on Feluda and the science fiction stories revolving around veteran scientist Professor Shonku only to name a few. His amazing bouquet of laurels is also heavy with a bevy of national awards, international honours and prestigious citations. A recipient of the supremely esteemed Dadasaheb Phalke Award (India's highest reward for cinematic excellence), Bharat Ratna (the Government of India's highest civilian award) and the much-coveted Oscar statuette (Academy Honorary Award), Ray’s arena is an epitome of magical charm and infotainment in its own right. PRAMITA BOSE pens a heartfelt tribute to this cinematic auteur.
I stood stupefied in silence at the corner of the lane, which would
lead me to his formidable address. No, this isn't an ordinary stretch that is
forgettable like any other mundane pace up and down an urban street. This is
somewhat special and something to pride over as a Kolkatan and of course, as a true-blue Bengali.
Open at both ends, whichever direction you may want to take as its
head or tail, the entire route calls for a moment's pause and an undivided
attention it deserves to be treasured forever. It is like wonder at every step
along the pavements on either side that you look to leisurely stroll on. The
remarkably designed movie posters of his timeless jewels dot the road from
start to finish, throwing the passing denizens into a fit of reverie and a warm
haze of nostalgia.
The city that has weathered many storms across centuries is a
cradle to a galaxy of luminaries across the length and breadth of its 336
year-old history that is preserved in the threadbare, dog-eared folds of
documented chronicles. The man in question is one such august personality from
the annals of ‘world cinemaspace’ who had cast a magical ray of hope over
Bengali chhayachhobi during his
lifetime, thus steering it to the overseas hall of fame, glory and critical appreciation
as an outstanding art form. Still guessing his name? No prizes for that even if
you know it. Yessss, it is the Academy Award-winning auteur Satyajit Ray!
Ganashatru, Charulata,
Parash Pathar, Mahanagar, Nayak, Devi, Asani Sanket, Goopi Gyne Bagha Byne,
Jalsaghar, Shatranch ke Khiladi, Pather Panchali, Chidiakhana, Joi Baba
Felunath, Agantuk, Abhijaan...you may continue to
unlock the oeuvre at regular intervals as you advance slowly under the light
posts and benches placed aside. The loud red lip color squarely staring out of
a black-and-white backdrop, the chequered chess board, the hero with shielded
eyes behind his dark pair of shades, the half deified visage of a newly-wed
bride, the wide-eyed discoverer of a touchstone which turned metals into gold,
the doomed patriarch of aristocracy now in visible ruins, the innocuous village
boy Apu with his mother and sister, all emerge one after another as you move
ahead as a curious gazer, stopping under each notable work of art by the
inimitable director.
More popular as the Bishop Lefroy Road, this region was always
well known for its landmark residence of the reputed Rays. Re-christened as
Satyajit Ray Dharani in present-day metropolis, the promenade is like a slice
of magic realism, cut out of a chaotic city with cacophonic sounds seething
with a flurry of activities in every nook and inch.
The adjoining office area, the busy thoroughfare with teeming
pedestrians; the underground tube rail passengers crawling up on the surface;
the pan shop; the cheap liquor store from where tottering/toddling feet seen streaming
out in a huddle; the nearby swanky watering hole with neon signboard lights and
pulsating music hosting nocturnal revelers; the card players ganged up to gamble
over a game; the honking vehicles caught in heavy traffic snarls for long hours;
the occasional drizzle; the sun playing hide and seek from behind a curtain of
clouds in the sky; the poochka vendor
selling those irresistible round, crispy balls stuffed with mouth-watering
fillings, dipped in tamarind water and served in sal leaf bowls alongside churmur
while other street food kiosks doling out daily staples from sumptuous afternoon
lunches on steel plates to a paper cone of plain puffed rice with nuggets of
chickpeas and slices of coconut on top or a spicy version with onion rings, a
sprinkle of oil, salty tidbits and green chillies plus savoury evening fritters
fried in large cauldrons of blackened oil and peppered with tasty spices…the
street theatre stitches a colourful marquee of life appliquéd with interesting facets
and fragments of daily events and experiences.
Quite oblivious to all this business-as-usual routine, the
creative remnants of the revered genius lay still, bearing their own eminence
and testimony to his legendary skills. One day when the sun was down and
darkness fell all over like the drop of drapery on stage post a theatrical performance,
I then grabbed a golden chance to marvel at those illustrations, mix of
colours, stylised fonts, credits in detail….well, every specimen could be an
exemplary textbook for any aspiring motion picture poster designer. Albeit the
age-old craft of poster painting faded into extinction over the years, in
today's era of aggressive film promotion, PR campaigns and advertisements,
these rare pieces do come in as priceless precious gems to the inquisitive eyes.
I froze there in absolute astonishment with boundless admiration
for the master's excellent repository that sets his class apart. Watching and
reading carefully every printed line on the posters, I tried visualising the
involvement of other contemporary technicians and established artistes of the
times. It was as if a constellation of renowned stars converged to collaborate
over a project, which is a trove for cineastes to check out and ruminate over
for eons to follow.
Suddenly a voice boomed right behind me. The deep baritone felt
familiar to my ears. It uttered with an emphatic composure: "33 years have
gone and they still remember me!" Astounded, I turned back only to catch a
flitting glimpse of the tall towering stalwart clad in complete white. Blimey!
Were I hallucinating? I muttered under my breath. I quickly rubbed my eyes to
gain a clearer vision and try to make sense what I perceived was true but to no
avail. The awe-inspiring figure gradually blurred and silhouetted under the
glow of the street lamps' halogen bulbs and disappeared into a pall of gloom.
It flashed again on the other side of the gate that led to his mansion and
vanished forever with a trail of smoke dissipating into the atmosphere.
I was numb for some minutes and then got jolted out of my daze
with a car horn, realising in a fraction of a second that I almost strayed into
the middle of the road. I just fancied crossing the compound walls of the
massive edifice with British-styled colonial architecture and knocking at his
doorstep. I mutely mused: “Would the maestro open it himself as other
celebrities would often narrate that goosebump-giving, starstruck experience?”
The question lingered at length in my mind until I walked a few metres away and
reached the bus stop only to return home after a tedious day at work.
That thrilling psychological encounter had reinvigorated me like a
fresh cool breeze does to one’s corroded nerves. Believe it or not, it seemed
like a dream to me, a much unexpected tryst with the impossible-made-possible.
The vignettes of the director's receiving the prestigious Commander of the
National Order of the Legion of Honour, the highest award in France and the
tightly-gripped Oscar statuette held close to his chest from the sick-bed of
Bell Vue nursing home in his last days, while delivering his thanksgiving,
acceptance speech, came alive at once. Who can forget the momentous moment as
an Indian when the late distinguished Hollywood actress Audrey Hepburn
presented the very deserving awardee on a giant screen from the Academy Awards
event stage, back in 1991? That particular video footage is permanently etched
in every resolute Ray devotee's heart till eternity. A big salute to you Sir!
The above-depicted quintessential Bengali bhadralok with an Anglicised demeanour and discipline has remained
an idol for ages in Bengali consciousness. It is not easy to erase such a marvel
from our memory! More so, if the man himself has been a sheer motivator, iconic
figure and a stimulus to impact generations of directors and artistes in the
domain of narrating stories on celluloid. A filmmaker, music scorer, scriptwriter,
dialogue writer, litterateur, painter, illustrator, designer, intellect — his
multifaceted brain left no pie untouched to be explored on the miscellaneous
chart of varied visual and performing arts.
From helmer Anik Dutta to Sujoy Ghosh, the self-proclaimed steadfast
addicts of Manikda as he's fondly
called, have time and again admitted to be influenced by his signature traits
and have also shown proofs through their filming craft and scene composition.
Once I remember two ladies from London had mistaken him for a
Frenchman at an exhibition of his photographs clicked by the eminent lensman
Neemai Ghosh at a reputed cultural hub of the city for his striking looks and a
steep nose. No wonder in his prime, he used to be hailed as one of the most
desirable tall, dark and handsome men of the last century and was even
romantically linked to a leading yesteryear screen siren. Rumour mills were
rife on this supposed liaison.
Years fly by, changes creep in as a constant factor but some
things stay static as an everlasting element. Guess, the Raydom is one such
realm of wondrous aesthetics to ceaselessly cherish and learn from.
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