Tag: Charulata

Essay

Take One by Ratnottama Sengupta

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date March 14, 2025
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A stock taking of women in Bengali cinema – as protagonists, actors and directors – by Ratnottama Sengupta

“Mother, allow me to go and get a slave for you,” this conventional line may have been uttered by the husband essayed by Anil Chatterjee in Mahanagar (The Big City, 1963), as he set out to marry Aarati alias Madhabi Mukherjee. Women of those years had no problem accepting such husbands as their Lord and Master. But the lead actress of Ray’s film evinced determination of a different order. That’s why even today, 52 years after its release, Mahanagar remains so contemporary.

Time was when women in Indian — rather than just Bengali — films were typecast as mother, sister or beloved of a male character. The mother would sacrifice her creature comforts, her career, her every happiness for her son — but if she cared for her brother, she would be rebuked (Mejdidi, Second Sister, 1950; 2003). If she offered shelter to her orphaned sister, she would have to ‘repay’ her in-laws for the favour by making her work overtime (Streer Patra, The Wife’s Letter, 1972). It was ‘her’ responsibility to stay ‘pure’. If she were ‘tainted’, she had no option but to embrace death. The long-suffering Indian woman has left way behind her ‘helpless’ (abala) definition: No Nirbhaya needs to die of shame if she’s the victim of rape. The silver screen is reflecting this transformation. She’s no goddess (devi) nor a slave (dasi) — she’s proud to be what she is: a woman (nari).

But a woman is always more vulnerable, more fragile compared to a man. Reason? Could be biological, economic, social structure, or her lack of confidence born of mental malnutrition. Perhaps that is why women have provided material for intense human drama. At times she is Lady Macbeth or Lady Chatterley, at other times she is Mrinal (of Streer Patra), or Ashapurna Devi’s Subarnalata (1981). Besides, Bengal worships Goddess Durga — in this state, women are simultaneously Saraswati, the goddess of learning; Lakshmi, the deity of prosperity; and Kali, the icon of destruction. That may be why, from the beginning of Bengali cinema, lead personalities have enjoyed multidimensional projection. Sometimes a mere ‘actress’ becomes a mouthpiece for a socially sensitive and relevant issue, sometimes she is the face of psychological conflict, sometimes she is a philosopher, preacher.

Un-Covered

There are many different ways to approach the projection of women in Bengali films. Literature has always been the first to convey their self-sufficiency — be it on this soil or elsewhere. Gems mined from Bengali literature provided the raw material for pioneers like Naresh Mitra (1888-1968), Pramathesh Barua (1903-1951), Debaki Kumar Bose (1898-1971), Nitin Bose (1897-1986), Bimal Roy (1909-1966) — giving us landmarks such as Jogajog (Connections, 1943; 2015), Durgesh Nandini (Queen of the Fortress, 1956), Bishabriksha (The Poison Tree, 1922; 1983), Debi Chaudhurani (1974; upcoming 2025), Biraj Bou (Biraj, the Wife, 1972), Pather Dabi (The Right of Way, 1977), Udayer Pathey (Towards the Dawn, 1943). However, the minute we utter the two words — ‘women’ and ‘literature’ — in one breath, we think Pratham Pratishruti (The Early Promise, 1971) and Subarnalata (1981). Together they are a flawless portrayal of social transformation and women’s emancipation.

Dinen Gupta had filmed Pratham Pratishruti even before Ashapurna Devi had won the Jnanpith Award. Its protagonist Satyawati kept at it but did not succeed in altering the social dynamics of Women’s Education. Her daughter Subarnalata is married off in her childhood, into an urban family with rustic mindset. Alone, unsupported she fights the male chauvinists (and this includes the women too!) who were unfamiliar with the word ‘self-identity’; whose only understanding of women’s honour, sanman, comprised of ghomta-sindoor, the veil and the vermilion. Despite her efforts, how often do we hear of a Bakul (Subarnalata’s daughter) who rides a bike to drop off her elder brother to his college?

Streer Patra devolves around ‘Mejo Bou’ Mrinal (Madhabi Mukherjee). She has the freedom to offer shelter to her sister-in-law’s sibling but not to love, educate, and honour her. When the sister, pushed into marriage with a mentally deranged person, commits suicide, Mrinal leaves home in protest. But her protest is not a sentimental reaction, so she does not end her life in the ocean. Nor does she sign off her letter as ‘Mejo Bou’ — the Second Bride of the joint family – which was till then her only identity. She is now ‘Charantalashray Chinna Mrinal’, one who has lost the protection of her husband’s feet.

Long before Purnendu Pattrea, Bimal Roy had set an example in ‘deconstructing’ the well-entrenched structure of male domination even in wealthy families. When it came in 1943, Udayer Pathey had broken several norms: Jyotirmoy Roy was an unknown writer, Binata Roy was not a conventional beauty. As the daughter of an industrialist — read, a 20th century princess — she takes up the fight for labourer’s rights and leaves the shelter of her father and brother to make a home with a ‘hired’ writer. She was emboldened by her predecessors like Kanan Devi who became a star in Mukti (Liberation,1937).

Rebellion need not necessarily be a battle — won or lost — as Sujata (1974) showed. Litterateur Subodh Ghosh, who created the character, imagined her as a sweet, caring persona, who is alert to every little need of her foster family. But, despite all her care and love, she doesn’t become ‘a daughter’ to the parents she dotes on. Her fault? She is born of ‘untouchable’ genes. An even bigger fault? She is loved by the man whom the foster parents want to see as the husband of their biological daughter. Film director and writer, Pinaki Mukherjee, fired away with this double-barrel gun although he knew it was impossible to overshadow Nutan’s performance in Bimal Roy’s Sujata (1959).

Director is Special

Follow the director and you land at the door of Satyajit Ray. If his filmography opens with Pather Panchali (Song of the Road, 1955), his depiction of the mother, Sarbajaya, opens the pantheon to women who are found in any middle-class home. Women who are not dressed like the shiny stars of saas-bahu shows but cringe nevertheless when it comes to feeding their aged mother-in-law. Women who have no big dreams for their children but to protect them from any hint of slander by the neighbours.

Half a century later Mahanagar remains a head-turner. Its protagonist Aarati is a working woman whose pay-cheque keeps the kitchen fire going. But this does not place a halo around her head. Instead, society crinkles its brow at her. Still, she does not shy from protesting a wrong done to her colleague. Still, she does not think twice before turning in her resignation. She is not scared of the dark days ahead — because she has light within. She has confidence in her own entity.

Prior to that Ray had etched with care the homemaker Charulata (1964). She too is a housewife but from another world, in terms of both time and social status. The educated wife of a wealthy intellectual — an editor who has no time to chat with his wife or hear her out — she sews, she writes, she is published in journals… If the devotion of such a woman finds an anchor in her brother-in-law, what would the world say of the ‘homebreaker’?

Charu’s husband Bhupati must shoulder the blame for wrecking the marriage, but Nikhilesh (Victor Banerjee) of Ghare Baire (The Home and the World, 1984)? The zamindar stood by his wife when Bimala (Swatilekha Sengupta) stepped out of the inner courtyard and wedded herself to the nationalist fervour of Sandip (Soumitra Chatterjee). Perhaps that is why, when she realises that Sandip loves himself far more than his motherland, the disillusioned wife returns to her original ‘guru’ — her husband. There is no shame nor despondency of defeat in this, for this is not regressive, it is merely a ‘course correction’.

Ritwik Ghatak, a contemporary of Ray, envisaged women as the Lakshmi-Saraswati-Kali of a partitioned Bengal.

Nita (actress Supriya Devi) in Meghe Dhaaka Tara (The Cloud Capped Star, 1960) earns to feed her parents, marry off her sister, build her brother as a vocalist… But who cared for her love? Her dreams? Her sheer desire to live? At the other end of the spectrum is Sita (Madhabi Mukherjee in Subarnarekha, 1965). She had held her fatherly elder brother’s hand when the child had to seek refuge across the barbed wires. She sacrificed that secure shelter (of her brother) to her love. When that love proved ephemeral, she sought survival in the world’s oldest profession. When that profession placed her face to face with a fallen angel — her brother — she turned into Kali, the destroyer.

Mrinal Sen’s Baishe Shravan (The 22nd of Shravan, 1960) was an essay in marital discord in the disjointed times of war. But times change, and with that going out to work becomes routine for women in Bengal. No one looks askance — so long as she returns home by nightfall. For, that is one routine that hasn’t changed: even today, exceptions to it are meant only for men. Even today, if a Nirbhaya is gang-raped, many react by asking, “Why was she out so late?!” So, when the breadwinner daughter in Ekdin Pratidin (And Quiet Rolls the Dawn, 1979) does not return home, she is branded a siren even before she is given a hearing.

Tapan Sinha has repeatedly pointed to women’s vulnerability. His Nirjan Saikate (The Desolate Beach, 1963) depicts the barren lives of single women, be they widows or spinsters. Jatugriha (The Inflammable Home, 1964) paints the pangs of legal separation and divorce. Adalat O Ekti Meye (The Law and a Lady, 1981) highlights the legal ‘molestation’ of a rape victim. Aapanjon (Dear Ones, 1968) bestowed a new kind of dignity on the uncared for senior widows. Wheel Chair (1994) became the symbol of struggle when a chairbound woman fights the injustice of a rape that leaves her incapacitated for life. Antardhan (Missing,1992) opened our eyes to the base trade in human flesh. And the Daughters of This Century (Satabdir Kanya, 2001)? Better not talk of them, Sinha might say, for like Kadambini of Jibito O Mrito (Alive and Dead), they have to die in order to prove they were living!

Aparna Sen, as a popular actress, did characterise some women of substance. She charmed us in Ekhane Pinjar (Caged Here,1971)as she slaved to provide her family a life of some worth. Much seen? Yes, it was a much seen reality in our midst. Shwet Patharer Thala (The Marble Plate, 1992), Prabhat Roy’s adaptation of Suchitra Bhattacharya, showed that despite the changed times, a widow’s is still a solitary struggle. A single shot in Paramitar Ekdin (House of Memories, 2000), under her own direction, makes her unforgettable. As the mother-in-law who loves fish, she’s chewing on a fishbone with deep satisfaction when she learns her husband is dead. “Over,” says the blank expression on her face, in her eyes, in her entire being, “no more fish.” That single look bespeaks sadness, disappointment, vacuum in the life of a Bengali widow. Why is it that a man does not stop having fish when his wife dies?

As a director Aparna uses the same fish, to establish a progressive mindset. When her daughter-in-law, Paromita (actress Rituparna), takes her to a restaurant and treats her to a fish fry, we viewers are delighted. She herself has suffered, so the daughter-in-law understands the mom-in-law’s suffering. Not for her the ‘revenge’ story of family dramas.

At the very outset Aparna Sen had given a fair indication of the road ahead. Elderly and lonely, Ms Stoneham in 36 Chowringhee Lane (1981) is poised against her ebullient, self-centred, even ruthless student Debasri Roy. The two worlds of seniors and youth clash again in Goynar Baksho.(The Aunt Who Wouldn’t Die, 2013). But this child widow, Pishima (the aunt), extracts every inch out of life. Even after death she demands her pound of flesh: she smokes, she bikes, she zealously guards her dowry, streedhan. She even encourages extramarital love! But, perhaps, Aparna Sen’s boldest statement is Paroma (The Ultimate Woman, 1985). Should a woman bury her sexuality simply because marriage has turned her into someone’s aunt or a sister-in-law? “No” — comes the unflinching reply.

Women are deprived, exploited. They protest, they rebel. They stride ahead alone and draft a path for others to follow. Their confidence gets a boost, they enlighten hide-bound males, transform mindsets. This is how we see women in Rituparno Ghosh’s oeuvre. He drew our attention towards several issues, but the empathy in his tenor led us beyond the immediate pre-occupation and endowed his scripts with such universality that free-thinking men, too, had no issues with them.

In Unishe April (Nineteenth April, 1994), the national honour of a Padmashri for Sarojini angers her daughter. Because? She chose to be a danseuse rather than a homemaker, and sent her daughter to a hostel so that she could dance on. Dahan (Crossfire,1997)sees Ramita molested by strangers on the street, but the man in her bedroom? What about him? Surely you won’t construe a ‘husband’s conjugal right’ as ‘marital rape’?! On the other hand, Jhinuk has to pay a price as the witness. She is put in the dock by the law of the land, and dropped by her boyfriend. Banalata in the Bariwali (The Landlady, 2000) has aged but not married. Her dreams of a family are somewhat fulfilled when a film unit comes to shoot in her ancestral mansion. She drapes a red-bordered sari and dons sindoor in her hair too, for a single shot. But that’s mere acting! The director’s praise and love for her too was acting! Kiron Kher as Banalata realises this when she sits in the darkened theatre, and finds the scene has been clipped out of the film. How many times will you be shortchanged, lady, emotionally too?

In Antarmahal (The Inner Chamber, 2005), Zamindar Jackie Shroff authorises a sacrificial yagna to ensure the continuity of his line with the birth of a son. And what is that sacrifice? In the presence of his first wife (Rupa Ganguly), he will copulate with his child bride (Soha Ali Khan). Night after night. Isn’t this mental as well as physical torture? So what! Isn’t he a zamindar and the husband too!

Dosar (Companion, 2006) sees the husband (Prosenjit Chatterjee), a corporate bigwig, returning with his secretary from a weekend retreat in his love nest. A massive accident leaves the woman dead, the husband bedridden, and the wife in a fix. Should she leave the helpless man, or restore life in the faithless marriage?

Even when All his Characters are Fictitious (Sab Charitra Kalponik, 2009), Rituparno Ghosh speaks an Eternal (Abahoman, 2009) truth: Women’s efforts to create an identity for themselves have been wrecked by men. Women have had to confront layer after layer of inhibition, prejudice, agony. But it is much worse to be a woman trapped in a male body, Rituparno showed in his last film, Chitrangada (The Crowning Wish,2012).

Bengali cinema was meant to be thus: modern, lively, brilliant. Viewers have said this time and again. After the release of Anuranan (Resonance,2006) Antaheen (The Endless Wait, 2009), Aparajita Tumi (You Undefeated, 2012) this was said for Aniruddha Roy Chowdhury. He has continuously shown that women ‘culture, nurture, explore’ life. Viewers had applauded when Bappaditya Bandopadhyay (1970-2019) handed over the right to ‘give away the daughter’ in marriage to the mother in Sampradan (The Offering, 2000). The director of films like Kaal (An Era, 2005) on human trafficking and Kantataar (Barbed Wire, 2005) on illegal migration, Bappaditya was ecstatic that in the present century, women are being recognised as ‘Researcher in Child Development and Interpersonal Relationships’. Women are morally superior, declares Srijit Mukherjee in Autograph (2010), when the jean-clad Srinanda (Nandana Sen) leaves her live-in partner (Indraneil Sengupta), for encashing the accidentally recorded confession of the star Arun Chatterji (Prosenjit) in an inebriated moment of weakness. Somnath Gupta projects a mofussil girl in Aadu (2011) who does not hesitate to write to the President of America to find out the whereabouts of her immigrant husband who went missing in Iraq after the outbreak of Gulf War 1. With Shunyo E Buke (Empty Canvas 2005), Kaushik Ganguly raises a question that still seeks an answer: Is a big-hearted woman less attractive than a big-chested one?

We have watched films that break stereotypes in startling ways. The protagonist of Atanu Ghosh’s Rupkatha Noy (Not a Fairy Tale, 2013) is a bride who flees home; an IT professional who admits to taking a life, and a gritty though little educated delivery girl at a petrol pump. Judhajit Sircar’s Khasi Katha (Saga of a Goat, 2013), centres around Salma, the motherless daughter raised in a convention bound Muslim family who works in a leather factory to feed her unemployed father and brother but fights to become a professional boxer!

The Actor is the Star

Irony, thy name is cinema. For, here, the deception of ‘acting’ must turn imagination into ‘real’. The personas are imagined, but they are rooted in our soil. Naturally, some characterisations remain with us forever. Thus, some actresses become the voice of women’s fight for emancipation. Suchitra, Supriya, Madhabi, Arundhuti, Aparna, Rituparna, Paoli –any of these actors in the central role promises a powerful document in the fight for women’s rights.

* It started even before Suchitra Sen (1931-2014), when Kanan Devi (1916-1002), Bharati Devi (1922-2011), Chhaya Devi (1914-2001) and Sabitri Chatterjee (1937) were playing at New Theatres, Chhayabani, Radha Films. We will return to Kanan Devi but meanwhile, let’s revisit Suchitra Sen. A married woman, mother of one, Mrs Sen became — and still remains — an icon, not only in the two Bengals but pan India. No gossiping with unit members, the detailing of her character, its costume, its co-actors kept her busy as long as she was in the studio. Understandably, her fame ignited jealousy and she was tarnished as temperamental, aloof, selfish…

Yes, unwilling to compromise in matters pertaining to her role, Mrs Sen would not spare even haloed producers like R D Bansal or Haridas Bhattacharya. But her glamorous dignity ensured a so-far unknown respect for actresses in Bengali filmdom, especially when her name was printed above Uttam Kumar’s, in posters pasted all over the town. Nylon sari, sunshades, short hair, sleeveless blouse — every expression of ‘modernity’ became Mrs Sen. She came to personify the middle-class Bengali woman who — married or not — could be a professional: journalist, nurse, doctor, singer, lawyer… On the other hand, the single-minded determination that characterised courtesan Pannabai and her hostel-educated daughter Suparna (Uttar Falguni, In Her Autumn, 1963), Rina Brown (Saptapadi/ Seven Steps, 1961), Archana (Saat Paake Bandha, Knotted by the Vows, 1961), and Radha (Deep Jwele Jai, To Light a Lamp, 1959) only reflected Mrs Sen’s own firmness of intent.

One Meghe Dhaka Tara alone was enough for Supriya Devi to shine through the annals of Bengali cinema. Add to that the appeal of Komal Gandhar (Soft Note on Sharp Scale, 1961). In many a film she is the beloved of matinee icon Uttam Kumar. What firmed her position was her boldness in accepting roles with negative shades. Be it Lal Pathar (The Red Stone,1964), Sanyasi Raja (The Monk Who Was a Monarch, 1975) or Mon Niye (All About Her Heart, 1969) — her presence gave a shine to both, the persona and the film.

* Sharmila Tagore went away to Bombay and Bollywood gobbled her, but she remains evergreen as Aparna of Apur Sansar (The World of Apu, 1959), the newly wedded bride in Devi (Goddess, 1960), the journalist in Nayak (The Hero, 1966), the questioning eyes in Seemabaddha (Company Ltd, 1971) and the irrepressible, dark-complexioned tomboyish Ghetu of Chhaya Surja (Overshadowed, 1963). If Ray films cast her as the silent conscience speaking mainly through her eyes, Partha Pratim made her unforgettable in casting her in an opposite role.

* For a while, Tanuja ruled the Bengali heart from the theatre chain of Minar-Bijoli-Chhabighar. The frothy actress from Bombay became a hit with the superhit musical romance, Deya Neya (Give-n-Take, 1963). Uttam Kumar’s Antony Firingee (1967) immortalised her as Saudamini. And Nandini of Teen Bhubaner Pare (Beyond Three Worlds, 1969) broke new grounds in a society where it was customary for men to marry illiterate women, but unthinkable for an academic woman to marry an unlettered, alcoholic blue-collar worker. Husbands, after all, had to be superior, right? That’s why the highly educated princess of Ujjain during the Gupta period (3-4 CE) was ‘taught a lesson’ by being fooled into marriage with the worthless Kalidas, who eventually rose to be the peerless poet of Sanskrit classics like Abhijnana Shakuntalam and Meghdoot!

* In recent decades, Debasree Roy bagged the Golden Lotus through significant films like 36 Chowringhee Lane (1981), Unishe April (19the April, 1994), Asukh (Ailing, 1999), Ek Je Achhe Kanya (There’s This Girl, 2001), Dekha (Vision, 2001), and Nati Binodini (The Actress, 1994). Her contemporary, Rupa Ganguly scored nationally as Draupadi in the television serial Mahabharat (1988). The riveting beauty of the epic had ruled the five Pandava brothers who took on the male order of the Kauravas — the clan that de-robed her — even as their patriarchal head remained a silent spectator. Rupa endowed the persona with a rare dignity that came to the fore again in Antarmahal (The Inner Chamber, 2004) saving it from becoming voyeuristic. Instead, she evoked pathos and a certain sadness in us when her husband proceeded to copulate with a younger wife in front of her eyes. Again she won our applause and institutionalised laurels in Abosheshey, (Finally, 2011) as the mother whose separated son, raised in America, comes to know her heartbreaking love for her child after her death. And in Sekhar Das’s Nayanchampar Din Ratri (The Tale of Nayanchampa, 2019) she breathes life into the marginalised character who epitomises the multitudes that travel from the suburbs to serve as maids in urban homes.

Rituparna Sengupta, the first of the divas from Bengal today, wears the mantle of Kanan Devi. Like the icon, she excelled in acting, bagged the Golden Lotus for her performances, and then started a production house, Bhavna Aaj O Kaal. This has enabled her to get a veteran like Tarun Majumdar to direct her in Aalo, (Light, 2003) and a young Ranjan Ghosh to explore her creativity in Aaha Re! (Wow! 2019).

Form and Content Too: Actor Turns Director

Roopey tomay bholabo naa – I will not entice you by looks alone, women directors have been saying for long. Thus, Manju Dey (1926-1989) not only starred in Jighansa (Blood Lust 1951), Neel Akasher Neechey (Under the Blue Sky, 1959), ’42 (1942, 1951),her Abhishapta Chambal (The Blighted Ravine, 1967) based on Tarunkumar Bhaduri’s accounts. recounted the life of legendary dacoits of Chambal who paved the way for Phoolan Devi.

Arundhati Devi, (1924-1990) the unforgettable Bhagini Nivedita (1962) who lives on through Tapan Sinha’s Kshudhita Pashan (Hungry Stones,1960), Jatugriha (1964), Harmonium (1976), turned director with Megh O Roudra (Clouds and Sunshine, 1969) to highlight a young widow’s quest for education. Apart from making Chhuti (Vacation, 1967) and Padipishir Bormi Baksho (The Burmese Casket, 1972), she also composed music for Shiulibari (The House of Jasmines, 1962) and produced Bicharak (The Judge, 1959). In her personal life the independent minded actress-director had divorced writer-director Prabhat Mukherjee to marry Tapan Sinha — later highly decorated — in the-then convention-bound Tollygunge. Prior to her only Kanan Devi, the singing star of New Theatres classics who was celebrated across India, had taken upon herself the onus of producing films, by setting up Srimati Films.

Coming after them, Madhabi Mukherjee did not produce films. But the “beautiful, deep, wonderful … (lady who) surpasses all ordinary standards of judgment” justified the praises heaped on her Charulata by not merely acting in Baishey Shraban (22^nd Srabon— July-August, 2011) Mahanagar, Subarnarekha, Kapurush (The Weakling, 1965), Dibaratrir Kabya (The Poetry of Everyday Lives, 1970), Streer Patra, Biraj Bou, Utsab (The Festival, 2000). She also took on the then chief minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharya in an election.

* Aparna Sen has been an inspiration to an entire generation of women directors. Satarupa Sanyal has garnered praise in the multiple roles of an actor, producer, director and editor. Her Anu (1998) exemplifies an idealist who is raped by the political opponents of her incarcerated fiancee. It is a crime they perpetrate, but a greater crime is perpetrated when her fiancée, Sugato, refuses to marry her because she has been raped!

* With financial help from NFDC, Urmi Chakravarty made Hemanter Pakhi (Autumn Bird, 2003). It offered another new experience. A housewife shoots into the limelight by authoring a book, but her middle-class husband and sons are not thrilled. They would rather she remained the demure housewife, cooking and caring only for them.

* Aditi Roy won Rupa Ganguly a Lotus through her Abosheshey. Meanwhile Anumita Dasgupta won awards with Jumeli (2012) that tells the story of a tribal woman whose husband turns her pain of losing her child into a business commodity. How? The only balm for her pain lies in breastfeeding newborns. So? Get her pregnant, repeatedly, and get her to abort, again and again! The impact on her health? Her morale? Her childbearing ability? Who cares!

* Now we have Nandita Roy and Sudeshna Roy. Both are creating a buzz with their co-directors Shiboprasad Mukherjee and Abhijit Guha respectively. Nandita-Shiboprasad have come out with Icche (Desire, 2011), Muktodhara ( The River of Freedom, 2012), Accident (2012), Alik Sukh ( Unreal Happiness, 2013), Ramdhanu ( Rainbow, 2014) — all of which including their latest Amar Boss (My Boss, 2024) focus on various walks of our social life, be it education, accident, medical ethics, or jail reforms.

* Sudeshna-Abhijit started with focusing on the sexually free relationship of gen-next, or the unrestricted use of abuses by urban youth, and graduated to Jodi Love Diley Na Prane (If There’s No Love, 2014), which shows that even undying love, once behind us, should be left behind. They used Chaplinesque spoof to tell the story of Hercules (2014), the power within us, which alone can give us the strength to fight bullies. Their latest Aapish (Office, 2024) recounts the plight of working women, whether they belong to the upper class or come from the suburbs.

Post Script

To conclude: Be it men or women, as director or actor, or even a writer like Suchitra Bhattacharya — they have all made it clear — that women in Bengali films are not mere sex objects. Yes, many films still use ‘item-numbers’ to titillate the male fantasy. But then, with Takhan Teish (When He Was 23, 2010), Atanu Ghosh records the attitudinal change in our men — through a woman protagonist who is a professional porn star. Rightly, then, we may say that Bengali films carry on the tradition of Kanan Bala who outclassed her humble origins to become the revered Kanan Devi.

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and writes books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award.

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Tags 36 Chowringhee Lane, Aapish, Abosheshey, Accident, Aditi Roy, Alik Shukh, Amar Boss, Anthony Firingee, Aparna Sen, Arundhati Devi, Atanu Ghosh, Bengali, Bimal Roy, Biraj Bou, CBFC, Charulata, Dibaratrir Kabya, Ghare Baire, Goynar Baksho, hemantar Pakhi, Herculese, Icche, Jackie Shroff, Jodi love diley Na Prane, Jumeli, Kalidas, Kanan Devi, Kapurush, Mahabharat, Mahanagar, MMahabharat, Mrinal Sen, Muktodahara, Nandita Roy, National Films Awards, Natoi Binodini, Nutan, Paroma, Pather Panchali, Prosenjit Chatterjee, Ramdhan, Ratnottama Sengupta, Rituparna Sengupta, Ritwik Ghatak, Rupa ganguly, Satyajit Ray, Sharmila Tagore, Soumitra Chaterjee, Streer Patra, Subarnarekha, Subodh Ghosh, Suchitra Bhattacharya, Suchitra Sen, Sudeshna Roy, Sujata, Supriya devi, Takhan Teish, Tanuja, Tapan Sinha, The Times of India, Ujjain, UtsabBuddhadeb Bhattacharya, Uttam Kumar, Victor Banerjee

Conversation

‘Soumitra Chatterjee was my father first and then everything else’

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date March 14, 2025
No Comments on ‘Soumitra Chatterjee was my father first and then everything else’

Poulami Bose Chatterjee converses with Ratnottama Sengupta

Young Soumitra Chatterjee with his daughter, Poulami. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

“All the recovery Rono Bhaitu[1]( Soumitra’s grandson) has made, is entirely due to his mother,” Soumitra Chatterjee (1935-2020) had said to me when I met him before Covid set in. His voice was laden with deep affection and paternal pride for his daughter. Deservedly so, as the world has been witnessing since the star actor passed away in November 2020. Poulami took upon herself the male mantle of lighting her father’s pyre.

An older Soumitra Chatterjee with his grandson, Ronodeb Bose. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

But that was neither the beginning nor the end of her duty towards her father. I had seen her perform on stage alongside the thespian in Homapakhi [A Legendary Bird] that had explored the complexities of a society trying to reconcile its modern aspirations with traditional roots.

And last November she directed Janmantar [Rebirth], an original play Soumitra Chatterjee had written in 1993 but was never staged before. Seen through the eyes of a matinee idol who is visiting a remote village in Purulia, it focused on ills like child marriage, witch hunting, clash between and land owners and cultivators. “Unfortunately, 30 years later too, all the ills are still thriving on that soil,” Poulami said to me.

Poulami with Soumitra. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

And in January, even as the definitive biography Soumitra Chatterjee and his World was being launched in the Kolkata Literary Meet, she staged Chandanpurer Chor [The Thief of Chanderpur], his light hearted transliteration of Jean Anouilh’s Carnival of Thieves[2], to mark his birth anniversary.

On the eve of the International Women’s Day I conversed with Poulami, whose parents have been an integral part of my life too.

Ratnottama Sengupta: Who is Poulami? A Bharatanatyam dancer? A theatre person? Mother of an actor with a brief trajectory? Or, daughter of Soumitra Chatterjee?

Poulami Bose: I think Poulami is a bit of all this — along with a passionate theatre practitioner. I am my mother’s daughter too. I hope I am a loyal friend to my friends. But above all I’m myself. I like to think of myself as a free spirit — absolutely totally in love with my daughter and son and music and dance and theatre and all that is wonderful in the world.

RS: When did you first realise that your father was not a 10-5 pm office going father like that of other girls? That he was a star?

PB: For a long time in my growing up years I actually didn’t realise how big a star he was. He was a very loving, hands-on father, very involved in our lives. I always knew he was an actor but didn’t realise the magnitude of his stardom. He never brought that aspect home. Our home was always filled with lively discussions, about books, music, paintings, dance, theatre, cinema, the environment, travel… It was a beautiful childhood, very loving, very secure.

Bapi [father] and Ma were always introducing us to new things. Encouraging us to embrace the world. I thought that was normal and that’s what every father was like. Only after I grew up did I realise his impact on the Bengali moviegoers’ lives.

RS: What did a ‘cine star’ mean to you when a) you were learning Bharatanatyam under Thankamani Kutty? b) Studying? c) Getting married to Ruchir Bose?

PB: The word ‘Cine Star’ didn’t matter much when I was learning dance or studying because I was treated just like any other student, by my teachers and my friends. In fact my father didn’t believe in the word ‘Star’. He maintained that he was a professional actor — and we were certainly not encouraged to have airs and graces about us. So we interacted normally with people, and people did likewise. Some people were of course star struck but they didn’t make a difference to me. As for getting married to Ruchir: he was and still is a very down to earth person, far removed from the film industry, very humane. He and his family have always accepted me and treated me for who I am rather than who my father was.

RS: Who was a bigger star for you — Soumitra Chatterjee or Satyajit Ray?

PB: Of course Satyajit Ray! Soumitra Chatterjee was my father first and then everything else, whereas Satyajit Ray was larger than life. We grew up hero worshipping him. Our whole family was absolutely in awe of him — as a person, as a filmmaker, an author and the rest. We were influenced a great deal by his way of life. His sensibilities. In fact we still idolize him.

RS: Which films of Soumitra Chatterjee have you loved most?

PB: Oh there are so many! Apur Sansar, Sansar Simante, Jhinder Bondi, Koni. Ekti Jiban, Dekha, Mayurakshi, Agradani, Ashani Sanket, Abhijan, Sonar Kella, Ganadevata, Atal Jaler Ahwan, Aparichita, Teen Bhubaner Pare, Baghini, Basanta Bilap, Shakha Prasakha, Charulata, Kapurush, Akash Kusum, Dwando, Borunbabur Bondhu…[3] I can go on.

The most impressive thing for me was his versatility. He was different in all the films that I have mentioned above. He was one actor who didn’t have mannerisms. He always became the character. I have seen him doing a lot of homework, research to delve deep into the character’s psyche. Acting was his passion and that was evident in whichever role he played.

RS: Which film of your father has impacted you most? One that moved you at a personal level, perhaps because you identified with it most?

PB: I think Koni. His now iconic dialogue, “Fight Koni, fight!” has stayed with me till this day. Whenever I feel low or face any kind of obstacle, I always remember him in the film. How the human spirit is capable of rising against all odds. How hard work and determination can carry you forward. It inspires not to give up without a fight.

RS: Soumitra Da was a Master in Bengali; Deepadi[4] in English. Who guided you in your studies? Who selected what books you will read?

PB: My parents, like I said earlier, were hands on parents. They, both, helped me with my school work. The atmosphere in our house revolved around books, so we read a lot while growing up. Ma had done her MA in Philosophy. She and Bapi introduced me to both English and Bengali literature. Bapi was more strict, he expected me to read classics and serious books. Ma was more liberal, she let me read anything I wanted to, including romance novels which my father thought were a waste of time.

Soumitra and his wife Deepa. Photo provided by Soumitra Chatterjee

RS: So who are your favourite authors?

PB: I am eclectic in my choice. I read classics as well as bestsellers, plenty of them. My favourite authors are Tarashankar Bandopadhyay, Bibhuti Bhushan, Manik Bandopadhyay, Jibanananda Das, Shakti Chattopadhyay, Sunil Gangopadhyay, Charles Dickens, O Henry, Oscar Wilde, Maupassant, Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay, Samaresh Basu, John Grisham, Pablo Neruda, Gabriel García Marquez, Arundhati Roy, Agatha Christie, Akhtaruzzaman Elias, Humayun Ahmed, Jeffrey Archer, Khaled Husseini, Chitra Divakaruni Banerjee, Satyajit Ray, Sukumar Ray, Saradindu Bandopadhyay, Paolo Coelho, Gerald Durrell, Charlotte Bronte, Emily Bronte, Lewis Carroll… to name a few!

RS: Soumitra Da was a poet. He also translated plays — classics of world theatre — into Bengali. What was he most happy to do — act in movies? Write and direct plays? Or retire to the inner world of poetry?

PB: All three. I’ve never seen him sit idle or waste time. It depended on his mood — he loved doing all three. But I must add: theatre was, always, his first love. He was deeply influenced by Sisir Bhaduri (1889-1959), with whom he had started out. He directed plays for Pratikriti, a group that Ma had — and he directed plays for Abhinetri Sangha, set up by the actors of Tollygunge.

RS: Deepadi was an ace badminton player. Did she give up her own world to be Mrs Soumitra Chatterjee?

PB: She gave up her career primarily for us. Bapi was at the peak of his career and was naturally very busy. Ma felt we needed to have at least one parent around, always. In retrospect, I realise it was a huge sacrifice. But I have to say, both my brother and I needed her. I think she realised that and did what most mothers do: she prioritized us over her career.

Ma had the biggest heart ever. She was more intelligent than the three of us put together. And she was non-judgmental about who she was reaching out to. So many sportswomen she helped, on her own. And I vividly remember this young Muslim boy in New Market who always carried her shopping to the car. One day Ma learnt that he had TB. She immediately brought him home and organised a room on the terrace for him to stay until he recovered. She didn’t hesitate because she had children, she didn’t seek the advice of doctors, she didn’t think twice because her husband was a star!

RS: Why did you choose to carry forward Soumitra Chatterjee’s legacy on stage rather than on screen?

PB: Theatre kind of seeped into me. I used to watch Bapi – when he was idling, he would arrange the empty cigarette and matchboxes to design sets. I have been on stage ever since I could walk. It is my first love. I’m passionate about live performances, be it dance or theatre. Not that I didn’t get offers for films but I never actively pursued them. I married relatively early and had both my children by the time I was 26. Stage was always more accommodating and easier to manage. And till now the magic of the stage hasn’t worn off. I am still madly in love with the stage. Screen just didn’t happen… no particular reason, really.

RS: Soumitra Da was proud of his grandson’s screen presence. And he was extremely proud of the manner in which you handled your son’s unfortunate accident. Would you like to talk about it?

PB: Bapi had high hopes for Ronodeep. He felt Rono was a very sensitive actor perfectly suited for the screen. He was devastated by Rono’s accident. It was the most tragic thing to have happened in all our lives. But I have come to terms with it. I count my blessings — it could have been worse! Rono is with us — a bright and wonderful boy, sensitive and sweet, full of love and empathy. He still has a long way to go in terms of recovery and health but he’s getting there, one step at a time…

I have learned a lot from this phase of my life. I continue to learn every day. It has also shaped me, moulded me as a person. Bapi-Ma told me always to have grace even under pressure, to be always dignified. I have tried to follow them.

RS: Can you recount one cherished moment with your father?

PB: In May 2020, months before he passed away, during Covid, Bapi and I were just sitting and talking about various things. Suddenly he told me, “Mitil I have never said this to you before but I want you to know that I am very proud of the way you have conducted yourself during Bhaitu’s accident and every day since then. Your dignity and your grace has made me really happy. I’m so proud that you have turned out to be the person you are!”

All through my life I will cherish this one moment.

RS: In today’s world many daughters are taking up the responsibility of carrying forward the legacy of their fathers. What, in your opinion, has brought about this social change? Did Soumitra Chatterjee raise you to (consciously) fight patriarchy?

PB: I guess the world is waking up to the fact that what sons can do, daughters can do better! I really don’t know what exactly has brought this social change but I definitely welcome it. My daughter is a great source of strength for me. She is my best friend. My father had raised my brother, Sougata, and me as equals, maybe favouring me a tad more!

Bapi was always ahead of his times. He always told me, “The sky is the limit, you can do whatever you set your mind to.” But it was Ma who very consciously taught me to fight patriarchy. She was a champion for the girl child.

RS: Soumitra Da was never lured by the reach and fame of Bollywood? So, why did he direct Stree Ka Patra[5], the telefilm he made for the national television, in Hindi?

PB: Bapi believed that he could deliver best in his own mother tongue. Besides, he was not enamoured of the kind of films made in Bollywood at that time. He loved his life here, his theatre, his poetry, and co-editing Ekshan, the culture magazine that first published Satyajit Ray’s script. Going to Bollywood, he felt, would put a stop to all his literary and theatrical pursuits.

However, he got the offer to direct Stree Ka Patra for National Doordarshan, and it came with the clause that it had to be in Hindi. The other telefilm he directed, Mahasindhur Opar Theke [ From the Other side of the Ocean] was in Bengali

RS: Many uncharitable people say that Soumitra Chatterjee wasted his talent by limiting himself to Bengali films and by indiscriminate selection of roles — because of his family responsibilities. Your response to this?

PB: Limiting himself to Bengali films was a conscious decision he made. And I have just elucidated the reasons. Yes he wanted to provide for his family, and he did so the only way he knew to — by acting. He never shied from saying that he was a professional actor. And if he wanted to take on the responsibilities who is anyone else to talk about it?

He could have abandoned his family like many others. He chose not to. His family, his life, his choices… that’s all I can say.

RS: You have grown up in close proximity with stars like Sharmila Tagore, Madhabi Mukherjee, Sandhya Roy, Tanuja, and directors like Tapan Sinha, Ajoy Kar, Tarun Majumdar, Rituparno Ghosh. Please share some memories/ anecdotes with us.

PB: The only name in the list who I have grown up in close proximity with is Tapan Sinha, whose birth centenary is being celebrated. He was a wonderful human being! While we were growing up we didn’t interact much with people from the film industry. We certainly met them but at parties, weddings, social events…

My parents had a huge circle of friends. A doctor’s group. My mum’s friends. Poets like Shakti Kaku and Sunil Kaku. My dad’s friends like Nirmalya Acharya, the co-editor of Ekshan. Directors Ajit Lahiri, Ashutosh Mukherjee, Nripen Ganguly who was fondly called ‘Nyapa Da.’ Friends from theatre. His childhood friends. It was a vast cross section of people, so it was wonderful, happy and great fun growing up around so many amazing people.

RS: Gaachh [Tree], the documentary by Catherine Berger, focused only on his stage life. Abhijan[6][The Expedition] directed by renowned actor Parambrata Chatterjee, did not excite cineastes who have adored Soumitra Chatterjee, honoured with Dadasaheb Phalke for cinema, Sangeet Natak award for theatre, decorated with the Lotus award of Padma Bhushan and the French Order des Arts et des Lettres. Will you give us a biopic of Soumitra Chatterjee on stage?

PB: I am not in favour of a biopic for someone like Bapi. On the other hand, a stage production would be limiting. He was a multihued talent. It is difficult to capture so many facets of his personality. It is a daunting task to encompass every nuance, every shade of such an extraordinary life in a single film. A biopic should not be made if it does not do justice to the magnificence of the man.

[1] Ronodeb Bose, grandson of Soumitra Chatterjee, had a bike accident in 2017

[2] Jean Anouilh (1910-1987), Carnival of Thieves(1938)

[3] Bengali films in which Soumitra Chatterjee played the lead.

[4] Deepa Chatterjee, wife of Soumitra Chatterjee

[5] A pun in the heading. Stree is woman, Patra is vessel as well as a prospective groom. So, a Woman’s Vessel or Prospective Groom

[6] Soumitro Chatterjee played the lead in the 1962 Abhijan, directed by Satyajit Ray

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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Tags Abhijan, Abhinetri, Agatha Christie, Agradani, Ajoy Kar, Akash Kusum, Akhtaruzzaman Elias, Aparichita, Apur Sansar, Arundhati Roy, Ashani Sanket, Atal Jaler Ahwan, Baghini, Basanta Bilap, Bengali, Berger, Bibhuti Bhushan, Borunbabur Bondhu, Carnival of Theives, Catherine, Chandanpurer Chor, Charles Dickens, Charlotte Bronte, Charulata, Chitra Divakaruni Banerjee, Dekha, Dwando, Ekshan, Emily Bronte, English, Gaachh, Gabriel García Marquez, Ganadevata, Gerald Durrell, Homapakhi, Humayun Ahmed, Janamantar, Jean Anouilh, Jeffrey Archer, Jhinder Bondi, Jibanananda Das, John Grisham, Kapurush, Khaled Husseini, Kolkata, Koni, Koni. Ekti Jiban, Lewis Carrol, Madhabi Mukherjee, Manik Bandopadhyay, Maupassant, Mayurakshi, O Henry, Oscar Wilde, Pablo Neruda, Paolo Coelho, Poulami Bose Chatterjee, Ratnottama Sengupta, Rituparno Ghosh, Ronodeb Bose, Samaresh Basu, Sandhya Roy, Sansar Simante, Saradindu Bandopadhyay, Satyajit Ray, Shakha Prasakha, Shakti Chattopadhyay, Sharmila Tagore, Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay, Sisir Bhaduri, Sonar Kella, Sukumar Ray, Sunil Gangopadhyay, Tanuja, Tapan Sinha, Tarashankar Bandopadhyay, Tarun Majumdar, Teen Bhubaner Pare, Tollygunge

Slices from Life

A Towering Inferno, A Girl-next-door & the Big City

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date May 15, 2023
No Comments on A Towering Inferno, A Girl-next-door & the Big City

Ratnottama Sengupta time travels fifty years back as famed actress Jaya Bachchan recounts her first day on the sets of Satyajit Ray’s Mahanagar

In this event, Jaya Bachchan recounts her days while acting in Satyajit Ray’s award-winning film *Mahanagar* or The Big City. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

When Shanti Di, my eldest aunt’s eldest daughter, had got married in 1964, she was already working. So she did not have to face the resistance Arati, the pivotal character of Mahanagar had to face from her in-laws and son. But prejudices and cryptic comments she did face — from her male colleagues. “Women in workplace? They only deprive deserving men of a livelihood,” they would say. “Because, men have to run entire households on their earnings while women work only for the ‘sauce’ — jewellery and saris!”

*Mahanagar* poster designed by Satyajit Ray. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

I remembered this at the screening of a restored print of Mahanagar (The Big City, 1963) at Nandan, the West Bengal Film Centre, to mark the 102nd birth anniversary of Satyajit Ray. Based on Narendra Mitra[1]‘s novel, Abataranika (Staircase), the film followed the trials and triumph of Arati, a housewife who steps out of the narrow domestic walls when she finds her husband Subrato bending under the weight of fending for a superannuated father, an aged mother, a school going sister, and their little boy along with themselves.

But once she starts working, she enjoys her new role of conversing with and convincing women with deep pockets to buy her products — and soon her confidence in her work grows along with her empathy with other women who are yet to be empowered like her sister-in-law, Bani, her mother-in-law, Sarojini, her Anglo Indian colleague, Edith Simmons… When her husband loses his job, Arati firmly negotiates a raise. And when Edith is fired for absence due to ill health she takes up cudgel for the ‘insult’.

The remarkable sensitivity and the eye for details with which Satyajit Ray etched the ordinary lives of a middle class family earned him the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival 1964. The director’s son, Sandip Ray, remembers attending the ceremony with his parents. “Why were you not there?” a voice from the audience asked Jaya Bachchan, who was in conversation with the maestro’s son, now a renowned director in his own right. “Why would they invite me, who was just a ‘cameo artiste’ as someone mentioned this evening?”

Jaya Bachchan and Sandipt Ray conversing at the event on May 1, 2023.

Jaya Di[2] — as I am privileged to address her, much like Sandip ‘Babu’ Ray — was much more than a cameo artiste in Mahanagar. Her ‘Bani’ was a flesh and blood character as she brought to life a marriageable sister who, in my childhood and not just in Bengal, was a part and parcel of any Indian household. Bubbly, sincere, attached to her Boudi as much as to her little nephew whom she mothers when the housewife is earning the family its bread, she is pampered by her brother even as she is being trained by her mother to pick up the haata-khunti…spatula-spoon…in the kitchen!

“I distinctly remember the first day of shooting in Indrapuri Studios. It marked my debut in films. Madhabi Di and Anil Kaku were in that shot which is reproduced whenever something is written about Mahanagar. I am at the study table, trying to write something. Those days I used to wear specs when I was reading. Manik[3] Kaku must have made a mental note of that, he said, ‘Don’t take off your specs, keep them on for the shot.’ I didn’t have any dialogue for the scene. So, although I had not even been on stage before this, I didn’t feel that I was acting. The camera in front of me with Subrata Mitra behind it was not daunting. I was comfortable, just my usual self…”

Little did Jaya Bhaduri know, then, that this ‘girl-next-door’ identity would become her calling card in the years to come, storming even the glamorous boulevards of tinsel town Bollywood.

How did Jaya reach the sets of Mahanagar? She didn’t: Ray had sent for the girl in her teens. In all probability, she was recommended by Robi Ghosh and Sharmila Tagore. “They were shooting for Tapan Sinha’s Nirjan Saikatey (1963) when I had gone to Puri with my father, Tarun Bhaduri,” Jaya Di recounts. “We met them and on their return to Kolkata both Robi Kaku[4] and Rinku[5] Di told Manik Kaku that ‘the girl for that role (of sister) has been found at last!'”

The first time she met Ray he did not ask her anything special. Nor did he ask her to do anything particular on the set. Young Jaya was told to read her lessons aloud, which she did, just as any school going child in Bengal did half a century ago. “I remember that Baba told Jaya Di to continue reading after the camera had moved on because he wanted an audio track of her reading in the background,” Sandip recalled in the course of the conversation. “She continued to read, but suddenly there was a sound of coughing. What happened?? In reply to everyone’s anxious query she coolly replied, ‘Why? Can’t a fly wing its way into my mouth while I’m reading?'”

Jaya Di herself has no recollection of this prank, but she vividly remembers that she would pester people on the set, incessantly asking questions. She especially questioned Subrato Mitra for taking time to light up! “It was as if we were out on a picnic,” she smiles. “The entire unit indulged me like a little girl. I was very comfortable because I had no burden to carry. In the presence of major actors I was required to do very little!”

Jaya Bhaduri was not given any express direction — neither about how to speak her lines nor about action or emotion. She had full freedom to interpret the scene and react to the other characters. “Manik Kaku used to call all the artistes and read out all the dialogues to us. His intonation would give us an idea of what he wanted from us. We interpreted the scene according to our capacity and gave our best shot. He went about canning it, he never had any problem with my delivery.”

But lessons in acting she did learn on the sets of Mahanagar — by observing how the director groomed the lead actress. “I have seen Manik Kaku directing Madhabi Di to grow into the role of Arati. He literally groomed her in acting. ‘Look this way, through the corner of your eyes. Turn your head like this. Say it like this. Wear the sari in this manner…’ The fact is that Satyajit Ray had a strong visual sense. He envisaged how the character would look and behave at the outset, how she would change, how she would resolve her dilemmas.”

In other words, his actors were not puppets: he allowed the spontaneity of some, like Jaya; he moulded the emotive action of some, like Madhabi Mukherjee who would soon storm the silver screen as Charulata (1964).

“Mahanagar was a very modern film, and not just at the time it was made,” Jaya Bachchan observes. Her critique of Ray’s first urban development film gains greater weight from the fact that, in the intervening years, she has ‘grown up’. From a school girl to a trained actor. From the heartthrob of every Indian family in 1970s to the heartthrob of her ‘Lambuji[6]‘ — Amitabh Bachchan — whose charisma straddles two centuries, three generations, five continents. From a reclusive personal life to a vibrant political presence in the upper house of India’s Parliament.

Young Jaya Bhaduri (now Jaya Bachchan) in between lead actress Madhabi Mukherjee and Anil Chatterjee. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

So let me elaborate on her observation, taking off from a scene between her and Subroto, her elder brother in Mahanagar, enacted by Anil Chatterjee.

Subrato has come home from work and his sister asks him for his pen as hers has run out of ink. He enquires when her exams are to commence, then he comments, “What use is this reading and writing? Sei toh henshel thelte hobey, you’ll end up dealing with only pots and pans!”

“Sekhaay toh,” Bani is quick to revert. “They teach us that too – it’s Domestic Science.”

That statement portrayed Ray’s attitude towards housewife. It was and still is a commentary on the identity — role — of a contemporary wife. It is in fact every woman’s attitude in contemporary India,

Jaya Di has observed: “Today every woman also has to and does work. Not only for economic reasons but for identity, purpose in life. Those who have had higher education, certainly do. Those who have not studied much, who help with housework also have such dignity. I see their confidence in the way they carry themselves. They know their mind and they don’t hesitate to say up front what work they will do and what they won’t; how much time they will apportion to a household and when they will leave. And like urban working women, they too save a little from their earnings, use some of it and keep some for emergencies.”

Ray’s masterstroke is seen in the way he sketched the nuances of the bank clerk husband, complete with his angst and jealousy. He is proud of his wife’s charming appearance, he is confident she can steer herself through the career of a salesgirl, he is happy when the second income flows in. Yet — and especially when he loses his job — he suffers from insecurity, jealousy, suspicion. To the extent that the man who wrote her application letters, goads her to write a resignation letter. He is redeemed by the stand he takes at the very end when she gives up her much-needed job to protest a wrong against a colleague.

Critics have found Ray to be more kind to the protagonist than Narendra Nath Mitra, the Bengali author who also penned Ras[7] (made into the Hindi film Saudagar (Trader, 1973) which again builds upon how economic realities can make or mar a marriage. About a decade later Jaya Bachchan co-starred with husband Amitabh Bachchan in Abhimaan[8] (1973). In it Hrishikesh Mukherjee takes to an extreme the consequences of a husband’s ego trip when his wife fares better than him, professionally and financially.

Earlier Hrishikesh Mukherjee had, in Guddi (1971), given the young sister of Mahanagar a full canvas to come into her own as an actor. The same bubbly girl matures into a woman who can differentiate between love and infatuation. “After Mahanagar I was very selective. I chose to work only with directors who had a ‘Bengali’ sensibility,” Jaya Di says without a hint of hesitation.

And the rapport she struck with Ray? It lasted a lifetime. When she joined the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII) she asked her Manik Kaku for a letter of commendation to go with her biodata. He wrote back saying that she doesn’t need an institute but join it, “it is the place for you”.

She went thinking she would not last beyond a few months but with batchmates like Anil Dhawan, her co-star in Piya Ka Ghar (1972), and Danny Denzongpa, she stayed the full course. “And when Manik Kaku came with the print of Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne (1969), I felt so proud! I went to the airport to pick him up!”

That bonding would show every time they were in each other’s vicinity, Sandip Ray reiterates. “Once we were in Bombay and Baba stepped out of the Taj Mahal Hotel to leaf through books in the stall just outside. Suddenly a shrill voice screamed, ‘Manik Kakuuu!’ Jaya Di was passing by in her car and had spotted him!” “And I hugged him!” Jaya Di adds, “I took liberties others would hesitate to.”

So why was she was not seen in his films again? “There were talks of casting me in Pratidwandi (1970) opposite Dhritiman Chatterjee,” Jaya recalls, “but I was in FTII then. Later I accosted him for not giving me a thought (for the role) – ‘You could have at least called me!’ His reply? ‘It was not necessary.’ That’s all!

“As if to add insult to injury, Manik Kaku got Amitji to do the voice over for Shatranj Ke Khilari (The Chess Players, 1977) but a role for me? No! I was so angry I went and met him in Rajkamal Studio. His reply? ‘ Ha ha ha…’ Not a word more.”

Amitabh Bachchan doing the voice over for Satyajit Ray in Shatranj Ke Khilari. Picture from Bachchan’s FB, provided by Ratnottama Sengupta.

That did not stop Jaya Bachchan from going to Bishop Lefroy Road every time she happened to be in Kolkata. She had, after all, seen the films the ‘Towering Inferno’ made even before Mahanagar. “Every time I watched a film by Ray I felt this is his best. Until the next one came along…” So, when Charulata came, Mahanagar paled. But wait, to this day Debi (The Goddess, 1960) continues to haunt Jaya Bachchan.

And to think that, when Ray had sent for her, the young girl growing up in Bhopal was beset with doubt and hesitation. “I was studying in a convent school, and I feared that the nuns would disapprove of my acting in a film. But my father said, ‘It’s the opportunity of a lifetime — don’t let go of it.'”

Cut to the convent when she went back after Mahanagar. The same austere nuns came and said, ” ‘You have acted in a Satyajit Ray film?! You are so lucky!!’ That is when I first realised, even before he was crowned in Berlin, what a major director my Manik Kaku was!”

Jaya Bachchan on 1/5/2023. Photo provided by Ratnottama Sengupta

[1] Bengali writer (1916-1975)

[2] An honorific for elder sister

[3] Satyajit Ray was Manik to his friends.

[4] Uncle, father’s younger brother

[5] Sharmila Tagore

[6] Tall man

[7] Juice

[8] Pride

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Essay

Moving Images of Tagore

By Ratnottama Sengupta

Rabindranath Tagore spells different things to different people: National Anthems; the Nobel, Rabindra Sangeet, a veiled woman, Sriniketan or Santiniketan. A cineaste might think of Charulata or Kabuliwala, Chokher Bali (Best Friend) or Kadambari. But the subject ‘Tagore and Cinema’ would mean talking of Tagore’s exposure to cinema, his interest in the medium, the fate of his involvement with celluloid, the films based on stories penned by him, their interpretation in a world that is so far removed from his, in historical, economical, and cultural terms… In other words, it would mean talking of what about Tagore endures — and why it reaches out to the wide world of humanity.

To me, it is Tagore’s awesome, inspiring humanism that offers us immense scope to transcreate, reinterpret, relocate the socially relevant developments and rooted characters again and again onscreen. Like Shakespeare, his works are universal in terms of age, geophysical location, terrain of the mind and tugs of emotions…

Rabindranath was almost seventy when he exhibited his paintings that were so radically different from the style associated with the Tagore family artists, Abanindranath, Gaganendranath, Sunayani Devi, or Nandalal Bose. For, if the Bengal School looked East and sought inspiration in delicate miniatures, Chinese watercolours or the sparseness of Japanese zen, Tagore absorbed the boldness of German expressionism and created a unique style. It’s impossible for someone so open to avant garde trends to take no interest in cinema, the 20th century art form that was silently taking its juvenile steps in India when Tagore won the Nobel.

When he visited Russia, he watched Battleship Potemkin, the classic ‘handbook for editors’ (to quote Phalke winner Hrishikesh Mukherjee) that influenced a long line of filmmakers in India too. By 1931, the year when Alam Ara (Hindi) and Jamai Shasti’(Bengali) turned ‘movie’ into ‘talkie’, Tagore was in the last decade of his life. So, when he directed Natir Puja (The Dancing Girl’s Worship) at New Theatres, he was substantially assisted by Premankur Atorthi, who was the first to direct a film based on a Tagore composition. This was the only time when the Renaissance personality directly interacted with the celluloid medium. His nephew Dinendra wrote the screenplay, albeit under Tagore’s guidance, and students of Santiniketan acted in it. More importantly, Tagore himself essayed an important role in the dance-drama which was shot with a static camera over four days. However, the result was more a staged play than cinema. A greater tragedy is that the reels perished within 10 years, when a fire ravished the New Theatres Studio in 1941.

Atarthi’s own direction of Chirakumar Sabha (1932) set off a tradition that received a robust boost, first in the 100th year of the poet’s birth, and again in 2011, when he turned 150 and further. If literary treasures like Gora (1938) and Chokher Bali (1938) were adapted onscreen by Naresh Mitra and Satu Sen, they were remade and reinterpreted by Rituparno Ghosh who veered towards Tagore rather than Saratchandra, the more popular litterateur of Bengal who was a staple of Tollygunge for years. In fact all major names of Tollygunge, from Nitin Bose, Agradoot, Tapan Sinha, to Purnendu Pattrea, Partha Pratim Chowdhury and Rituparno Ghosh have announced their coming of age in cinema with a film based on a Tagore composition.

It is interesting to note that when Tagore visited Russia in September of 1930 members of the Cinema Board who had a conversation with him regarding his “new film stories” were deeply impressed by the short versions of the stories (as narrated) by the Poet, and they met him at his hotel to discuss in detail the possibilities of filming them. Tagore himself had enough interest in cinema to visit the Amalgamated Cinema Union, where he was received by its president M Rutin and was shown Eisentein’s Battleship Potemkin and portions of Old and New, we learn from his Letters from Russia.

Although evoking the Bengal of his time in divergent hues, Tagore’s stories continue to inspire man to go beyond divisions of nation, religion, caste or gender, perhaps because they explore how society shapes our love and relationships. This essay dwells on films that highlight the pervading themes of feminism, humanism and universalism in Tagore’s literary works.

Not Slave, Nor Goddess

The champion of women tells us to enunciate aami nari, I am a woman … with pride, because a woman is not a slave nor needs to be the other extreme, a goddess. That it is right for a woman, whether young, maiden, or widowed, to be a person of flesh and blood. That Tagore empathised so deeply with his women characters that today’s social historians are talking of an androgynous strain in the humanist.

* When Satyajit Ray filmed Ghare Bairey (The Home and the World), we got a glimpse of the regressive practices that ailed even the wealthy and educated households. However the most symbolic scene was the one where Bimala is inspired by Nikhilesh to step out of the inner quarters of the zamindar’s household. Even Sandip, the false god, hails it as a ‘social revolution’. Tagore the author goes on to criticise the pseudo rebel but at no point does he criticise Bimala — not even when her sister-in-law cautions Nikhilesh about the freedom his wife is abusing. We find a repeat of this theme in Char Adhyay (Four Chapters) – but we’ll come to that later.

* Chokher Bali, first filmed in 1938, turned the spotlight on the deprivations young widows were subjected to even after the reformist crusades of Raja Ram Mohan Roy and Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar. Very sympathetically, and most aesthetically, it held a brief for their sensuality — even sexual needs, especially when Rituparno Ghosh filmed it in 2003. But even here, before Mahendra’s mother dies, she urges that in her memory he should host a feast for widows — “people feed Brahmins, beggars, even animals, but never for the unfortunate widows,” he underscores.

* Nitin Bose’s bilingual Noukadubi was probably the first to take Tagore to Hindi cine-goers. Incidentally Rituparno and Subhash Ghai’s Noukadubi were also bilingual. In 1944, Milan afforded Dilip Kumar opportunity to mature as an actor, for here Ramesh upholds the flag of humanism. After being boat wrecked he comes home with Kamala, the ‘bride’ he has not deigned to look at, and realises that she is in fact someone else’s wife. The gentleman in him decides to take her to a convent and give her not just protection (from a par purush, stranger) but also proper education — even at the cost of his own spotless reputation and his chances of finding happiness with his beloved, Hem Nalini.

* In Charulata (1964), although Satyajit Ray continues to unfold her story from Amal’s point of view, his sympathy without reservation lies with the lonely wife. For half a century and more viewers have no doubt that Charu was an alter ego for Tagore’s Natun Bouthan – his sister-in-law Kadambari Devi, who took her own life. This story has inspired Bandana Mukherjee’s Srimati Hey and Suman Ghosh’s Kadambari (2015). Ray underscores this aspiration aspect in the film when Charu writes, gleaning from her experiences, and her writings are published in a magazine. This was unthinkable in the 19th century — and only a deeply humane soul could understand that a woman too needed to express her intellectual and creative self. (This aspect is completely missing in Charulata of 2011, directed by Agnideb Chatterjee, although it unfolds from the woman’s perspective and unabashedly speaks of her physical intimacy with Amal.)

* For Tagore, perhaps the stifling of this intellectual self was as great a tragedy as the ‘burying’ of her potentials within the walls of domesticity. In the poem ‘Sadharan Meye’ (Ordinary Girl), he urges his contemporary Sarat Babu to write a novel where the protagonist — a scorned woman — goes on to study, travel abroad, re-valued by several admirers, including the man who ditched her for being an ‘ordinary’ woman. The core thought of this poem had inspired a script by Nabendu Ghosh, an altered (and unacknowledged) version of which was made by Hrishikesh Mukherjee as ‘Pyar Ka Sapna’ (Dream of Love, 1969). In recent times the theme has been most successfully revisited in Vikas Bahl’s Queen (2014).

* In Megh O Roudro (Clouds and Sunshine), Rabindranath’s short story creates a protagonist whose struggle to affirm her dignity in the British ruled 19^th century prompts her to read and write under the tutorship of a stubborn law student who is jailed for constantly challenging the discriminatory ways of the imperialists. By the time he is released, she is a prosperous widow who courteously acknowledges his role in her achieving self-confidence. In 1969, Arundhuti Debi, herself raised in Tagore’s ethos at Santiniketan, chose this for her second outing after Chhuti (Holiday) and her lyrical treatment brought her recognition as a director of substance.

* But what happens when a woman cannot fulfill her destiny, as in Streer Patra (A wife’s Letter, 1972)? How did Rabi Babu want his Mejo Bou — haus frau — to behave when the acutely male dominated household turns a blind eye to the injustice of marrying off the hapless orphan Bindu to a lunatic? Not drown her woes in the vast ocean at Puri but to slough off, in a moment of illumination, the shell of ‘Mejo Bou’ and become Mrinal, a woman with .her own soul and individual identity Why must she end her life like his Natun Bouthan — “Meera Bai didn’t,” he points out. And to us, even by today’s standards, it is the ultimate expression of feminism.

* Perhaps because of the class she belonged to, and with the support of a rebellious brother, Mrinal could do what Chandara couldn’t in Shasti (Punishment, 1970). Tagore knew that neither his ‘Notun Bouthan’ nor his own wife Mrinalini got the opportunities enjoyed by his ICS brother’s wife. Far from it: Chandara’s husband Chhidam places the burden of his Boudi’s death at the hands of his elder brother on his wife. In the prevailing patriarchal society it wasn’t unthinkable: a wife was expendable because you could get another, but not a brother. But the unlettered Chandara has her own estimation of the sanctity that is the conjugal bond. When her husband comes to meet the wife condemned to hang, she denies him the right of visitation by disdainfully uttering a single word: “Maran!” How should we read it today? Go, drop dead or go hang yourself!

* Jogajog (Connection) was written in 1929 in a society where there were caste/ class distinctions even amongst zamindars. Tagore had first-hand experience of this within his family. His crude protagonist is a johnny-come-lately who seeks revenge by marrying the educated and cultured Kumudini. He cannot stand any expression of respect for her brother and feels belittled at the slightest hint of will in his wife. Matters go so far that in the 2015 film, director Sekhar Das can effortlessly trace moments of marital rape in their conjugal discord.

* Chitrangada had poised the question: where lies a woman’s true beauty – in her outward appearance or her inner worth? Should the princess, raised to be as good as a prince, deny her essential self to please a man? Or is she wrong to sacrifice her being for one she loves? In 2008, Rituparno Ghosh gave a whole new androgynous reading of the dance drama, with Madan/ Cupid becoming a psychoanalyst.

Child — The Father and Mother of Man

Robi, who immortalised his childhood in Chhelebela (Boyhood), could never forget the restrictions imposed by adults and the suffocating effect it had on an imaginative soul. Therefore in Ichhapuran (Wish Fulfillment,1970), directed by Mrinal Sen for the Children’s Film Society of India, he effected a role reversal whereby their bodies get swapped. The naughty child Sushil becomes the father and the senior who covets the youthfulness becomes the free spirited son.

The comical confusion this ensues in the village leads both to realise the importance of their individual positions in life. They get back to their original self with the profound lesson for humanity – that each one of us has a place in the world no one else can ever fulfill.

* Of course the best known child in Rabindra Rachanabali (Creations of Tagore) is Amal. Essentially Dakghar (Post Office) was a testimonial against the crushing of childhood Tagore suffered. In the recent past actors Chaiti Ghoshal and Kaushik Sen have proved the enduring appeal of Dakghar — she in the form of a recorded audio play (CD); he on stage. Chaiti Ghoshal interprets the protagonist she had played with Shambhu and Tripti Mitra not as a Rabindrik character but as any child today, familiar with cricket and computer. Manipur’s Kanhailal has used elements of dance and drama to reinforce this message of freedom beyond frontiers. And, following the 2007 police firing in Nandigram (that killed 14 persons who were opposing state officials on land acquisition drive), Kaushik Sen had interpreted Amal’s desire to send a letter as a message to every household to raise awareness.

Sen’s Dakghar, then, was not about death but about liberation from life in bondage. “Perhaps that’s why, a day before Paris was stormed during WWII, Radio France had broadcast Andre Gide’s French translation of the play,” Kaushik had said while staging the play. “Around the same time, in a Polish ghetto, Janus Kocak had enacted the play with Jewish kids who were gassed to death soon after.” After such multi-layered readings of the text, Dakghar as filmed by Anmol Vellani in 1961 remains a simplistic viewing — perhaps because it was made for the Children’s Film Society.

* In The Postmaster the child – an illiterate village girl in this instance – metaphorically becomes a mother and a priya , or beloved, of the pedantic city boy who is stirred by beauty of the moon but can’t wait to go back. When he falls critically ill she dutifully serves him and cares for him like a wife. When he is set to depart by simply tipping her with silver coins, the child with a maturity beyond her years refuses to say goodbye. Rejection doesn’t need words: she can negate his very existence by her silence.

* Samapti (Finale) the concluding story of Teen Kanya (1965) remade by Sudhendu Roy as Upahaar ( The Gift, 1975), builds on the flowering of a woman in an unconventional girl child. Mrinmoyee is certainly not a Lakkhi Meye…a good girl , she’s a scandal in rural Bengal of 100 years ago. She escapes her wedding night by climbing down a tree, she spends the night on her favourite swing on the riverbank, she snatches marbles from her friend, a boy… When they try to tame her by locking her up in a room she throws things at Amulya. But when he returns to Calcutta and she’s sent back to her mother’s, she realises grown up love for the man she’s married to, and sneaks into his room by climbing the same tree!

* Buddhadev Dasgupta had woven Shey from Tagore’s late novel written for his granddaughter, and then scripted a feature based on 13 poems by the bard. When we read a poem, certain images arise before our mind’s eye. The director interprets Tagorean poetry through such images and experiences. “It is about how a poet responds to another poet,” he explains.

Of Zamindars and Servants

Robi, the ‘good for nothing’ youngest son of Debendranath, had to prove himself in his father’s eyes by successfully performing the job he was entrusted with – that of collecting taxes, ‘khajna’, from the ‘prajas’, subjects, no matter how impoverished they were. We all know that in doing the job he came across a vast cross section of people of the land whom he would not otherwise get to know so intimately. And while he could not be lenient as his father’s representative, he created caring characters like the zamindar in Atithi ( The Guest) who brings home a vagabond, gives him education, and even prepares to give his daughter in marriage to the free spirited boy whose restless soul drives him away…

* But having seen the reality of the lives of the subjects Rabindranath also created uncaring zamindars like the one in ‘Dui Bigha Jami’ (Two Bighas of Land) that had inspired the Bimal Roy classic Do Bigha Zamin (1953), set in a post-independence India that was rapidly industrialising. Debaki Bose attempted a more literal visualisation as part of Arghya, his Centenary Tribute to Tagore, along with his poem ‘Puratan Bhritya’, (Old Retainer).

* Robi, the motherless child who was raised in a large household in the rigid care of servants, said ‘Thank You’ to them through characters like Kesto, the old family retainer who refuses to leave even when he’s dubbed a thief or driven away. Instead, he saves his master from small pox at the cost of his own life. Tagore, in fact, goes a step further in his short story, ‘Khokababur Pratyabartan’. The trusted servant even raises his son to eventually give him up as the master’s child lost to a landslide in the river!

Oppression of Religion

Pujarini (Worshipper) was immortalised by Manjushri Chaki Sircar’s dance. Although set in the revivalist times of Ajatshatru who was set upon putting the clock back and wipe out the Buddhist tenor of his father Bimbisara, we can easily identify with Rabindranath’s condemnation of any excess – violence in particular – in the name of Religion. Visarjan (Immersion) too raises consciousness against violence in any form, against even animals, in the name of religion.

* Nor can we overlook instances where he raises his angst ridden voice against the inhuman treatment of humans on grounds of caste or creed. In Chandalika, the untouchable gets a new mantra to live by when the Buddhist monk Ananda says “Jei manab aami sei manab tumi kanya (You, lady, and I are part of the same humanity).” The act becomes a beacon for Sujata, the eponymous protagonist of Bimal Roy’s film, who is on the verge of ending her life (following casteist discrimination).

* Tagore’s poem called ‘Debatar Grash’ (God’s Greed), lashes out against the cruelty people can unleash through the heart rending plight of the mother whose child is snatched from her and thrown into the raging waters to appease the villagers superstitious belief in god’s wrath. Shubha O Debatar Grash (Shubha and God’s Greed, 1964) remains a signature film of Partha Pratim Chowdhury.

* Tagore questioned the very concept of belonging to ideological boxes. His time-transcending novel, Chaturanga (Four Quartet), points out that human experiments (like, say, Communism) have failed because they put ideology in watertight boxes that do not have any room for flexibility. This inspired Suman Mukhopadhyay to film it in 2008. Tagore, who himself created walls and broke them, questions this through Jyathamoshai, his uncle, and Sachish, who invite Muslim singers and feed them at shraddha or funeral as much as through Damini, whom Sachish wants to domesticate much against her wish. She even questions her husband’s authority to will her away along with his property, to his religious guru. Tagore uses the graphic imagery of a hawk and a mongoose that Damini has as her pet (it is well known that these animals cannot be domesticated).

Nationalism to Internationalism

‘Where the world has not been fragmented by narrow domestic walls, and the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habits: into that heaven of freedom’ Tagore, forever and always, wanted his compatriots to awake. That is why Nikhilesh, in Ghare Bairey, does not condone violence even in the name of nationalism. That is why he decries Sandip, who uses the passion of young freedom fighters and the wealth of the poor to fill his coffers.

Beware the false god: Tagore repeats the criticism in Char Adhyay. In 2012 Bappaditya Bandopadhyay revisits the novel filmed by Kumar Shahani in 1997, the golden jubilee of Independence. But Ela’s Char Adhyay review it for its politics, its backdrop of ultras and violence, for the debate that acquired a new validity in the world after 9/11. Tagore was much in favour of non-violence, so much so that he criticised the nationalist movement too when it turned violent. How much of a visionary he was to ask a full century ago: “What will be the state of the nation that is based on violence?”

Young filmmakers are amazed by Tagore’s vivid criticism of the deterioration of party structures although he himself never belonged to any party. Sarat Chandra’s Pather Dabi (Demands of the Path), written about eight years before Char Adhyay, had taken a populist stand while Tagore didn’t hesitate to say through the protagonist Atin, ‘I am not a patriot in the sense you use the term.”

* That Rabindranath was against any form of regimentation is well established. His play, Tasher Desh or the land of cards, perhaps, written to criticise the submission of the conscience in Hitler’s Germany, remains the ultimate critique of regimentation. Directed by Q in 2012, the text layers his criticism of contemporary society by “trippy” visuals. By Q’s own submission, it is a “quirky” retelling of the Tagorean allegory.

* Gora (directed by Naresh Mitra in 1938) goes further: He bows to his adopted mother, hails her as his Motherland and says, every child is equal for a mother, she does not differentiate on any ground. Tagore here gives us a blueprint for an ideal Republic where a hundred flowers can fill the air with a hundred different colours.

* Perhaps the ultimate example of Tagore’s humanism is Kabuliwala, directed in Bengali by Tapan Sinha in 1958 and in Hindi by Hemen Gupta in 1961. An Afghan selling his wares in a Calcutta 150 years ago and striking a friendship with a child who reminds him of his own daughter back home, is a story that will strike a chord in anybody, anywhere in the world, at any given point in time — even in a world swamped with internet, chat rooms, mobile phones and multimedia messaging.

All of this reiterates the ‘forever-ness’ of Tagore. It also redefines the need to interpret his farsightedness, his comprehensiveness, his universality for our own times, in our own terms. Tagore himself had observed in a letter: “Cinema will never be slave to literature – literature will be the lodestar for cinema.” So we may conclude that since Tagore was primarily delving into human emotions, into the psyche of men and women placed in demanding situations that forced them to measure up to social, political, cultural or gender-based challenges, films based on his stories not only continue to be made but find an ever-growing audience in the globalised world.

(Courtesy: Tagore and Russia: International Seminar of ICCR 2011 held in Moscow. Har Anand publications, 2016. Edited by Reba Som and Sergei Serebriany)

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award.

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Tags 2016. Edited by Reba Som and Sergei Serebriany, Abanindranath, Andre Gide, Anmol Vellani, Arundhuti Debi, Battleship of Potemkin, Bengal, Bengali, Budhadev Dasgupta, Chandalika, Charulata, Chaturanga, Chitrangada, Chokher Bali, Dakghar, Devtar Grash, Dilip Kumar, Do Bigha Zamin, Dui Bigha Jami, Eisenstein, Ghare Bairey, Gora, Har Anand publications, Hemen Gupta, Hindi, Hrishikaesh Mukherjee, Ichhapurna, Janus Kocak, Kabuliwala, Kadambari, Kaushik Sen, Manipur, Megh O Roudro, Moscow, Mrinaal Sen, Mrinalini, Nandalal Bose, Natir Puja, New Theatres, Noukadubi, Pather dabi, Phalke winner, Pujarini, Puratan Bhritya, Rabindrarachanabali, Raja Ram Mohan Roy, Ratnottama Sengupta, Russia, Rutin, Sampati, Santiniketan, Saratchandra, Satyajit Ray, Shambhu Mitra, Sriniketan, Tagore, Tagore and Russia: International Seminar of ICCR, Tapan Sinha, Teen Kanya, Tripti Mitra, Vidyasagar, Visarjan

A Special Tribute

In Memoriam: Star of the Stage Shines on Screen

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date June 14, 2022
1 Comment on In Memoriam: Star of the Stage Shines on Screen

Ratnottama Sengupta trains the spotlight on actress Swatilekha Sengupta(22^nd May 1950- 16^th June 2021)

Swatilekha Sengupta in action in *Shanu Roy Chowdhury.* Photo sourced by Ratnottama Sengupta

“Swatilekha is more talented and far better actor than I. Still, everyone keeps asking for me!” Rudraprasad Sengupta was not boasting to me – the helmsman of the celebrated Nandikar Theatre Group was citing just one instance to show that “women in theatre still suffer bias[1].”

He wasn’t far from the truth: Swatilekha Sengupta, who passed away exactly a year ago on June 16 at 71, had graduated in English, mastered Western classical music in England, received guidance in theatre from iconic names like Tapas Sen, B V Karanth and Khaled Chowdhury. She composed music for, directed and carried on her shoulder Nandikar productions like Madhabi, Shanu Roy Chowdhury, Pata Jhore Jaay (Dry Leaves Fall), Naachni(Dancers).

Madhabi was adapted from Bhishm Sahni’s Mahabharat based play; Shanu Roy Chowdhury was adapted from Willy Russel’s Shirley Valentine; Naachni encapsulated the exploitation of the nautch girls of tribal Purulia. She wrote some, she composed the music for some, she travelled to UK and USA, Germany and Norway and Scotland… with husband Rudrapasad, with daughter Sohini, even to stage a one-woman play. Yet, she is most recalled for playing Bimala in Satyajit Ray’s Ghare Baire (Home and the World, 1985) – although, ironically, she faced fierce criticism for its critical failure!

Growing up in Allahabad Swatilekha – then Chatterjee – had repeatedly watched Charulata (1964) and Mahanagar (1963) with her school friends. She even wrote to Ray seeking an opportunity to work under him. Of course the letter went unanswered – or perhaps it went astray? For, Ray watched Swatilekha in Nandikar’s Galileo and zeroed in on her for the dream role of Bimala: the wife of a forward-thinking zamindar, Nikhiliesh, whose concern for the welfare of the peasantry under his care is critiqued and upended by an upstart revolutionary, Sandip.

Tagore had written the novel, told through the personal stories of the three protagonists, in 1916 when the Nationalist movement was peaking. The 1905 Partition of Bengal had outraged both, the Hindus and the Muslims, and the protests against the religion-based partition also saw Tagore set Bankim Chandra’s Vande Mataram to music and singing the song to protest the imposition of foreign rule. But after the ‘administrative division’ was rescinded, the call to boycott foreign goods in favour of Swadeshi, indigenous, appealed to the masses – and that led to tensions between the anti-British activists and the idealists. Swadeshi was critiqued as being unaffordable for the peasantry by Nikhilesh in the film and by Tagore, who contended that humanity came before nationalism. Effectively, then, the drama had pitted the conservative versus the radical, rational versus the emotional, East versus West. In short, the home versus the world.

So keen was Swatilekha’s appetite for the character that, on the first day, she’d defied a local bandh[2] and walked from her home in north Calcutta to the legend’s Bishop Lefroy address across the city. On learning that she’d not read the Tagore classic the iconic director had insisted that she should NOT read it. On noticing that she was staring at a harpsichord Ray had asked her if she could play it, and on hearing that she played the piano he’d asked her to play a Beethoven and he had himself whistled along!

Swatilekha Sengupta & Soumitra Chatterjee in Satyajit Ray’s 1985 film, *Ghare Baire*. Photo sourced by Ratnottama Sengupta

All this camaraderie must have passed on to his actor: when the film released to the world, a prestigious American newspaper praised the “immense grace” of the “pretty, surprisingly wilful Bimala”. But the demanding viewers at home tore her to pieces saying “she neither lived nor looked the role”. Suddenly her ‘home’ had turned into a horrid world… “I sunk into depression and wanted to end my life!” Swatilekha had confessed to my young screen-writer friend, Zinia Sen, while preparing to return to the screen 30 years later — with the same co-star, Soumitra Chatterjee, in Bela Sheshe (In the Autumn of My Life, 2015), which is now considered a cult film.

The story of Arati and Biswanath Majumdar takes a curious turn when, on the eve of their 50^th anniversary, the husband seeks to divorce his wife. Because? Arati, a typical, traditional housewife, happily spends her life cooking and cleaning, washing and nursing. For, in her vocabulary, those are just other words to say ‘I love you’ to her husband; for looking after her in-laws; for expressing her concern for her daughters and son and grandchildren… This is a far cry from her husband’s definition of a dream partner. For Biswanath, the proprietor of a fabled bookstore, has unending curiosity about the world and wants to travel beyond the map…

The five relationships depicted in the film attempt to define the life-long companionship we brand as marriage. Do marriage vows ensure the fairy tale ending of happiness ever after? Is married life built upon promises kept and love requited? Or do unfilled expectations and unarticulated expressions also cement the friendship? Is it possible to walk into the sunset hand in hand?

Soumitra Chatterjee and Swatilekha Sengupta in *Belasheshe*. Photo sourced by Ratnottama Sengupta

Bela Sheshe made on a budget of Rs 1.1 crore reaped Rs 2.3 crore. More importantly, while reviving faith in institutionalised partnership it also breathed new box office appeal in the screen partners, Soumitra Chatterjee and Swatilekha Sengupta. In Belashuru (A New Beginning, 2022) the latest outing of Nandita Roy and Shiboprasad Mukherjee, the director duo have again cast them as Arati and Biswanath. This time, though, it is a new beginning for the husband is eagerly striving for his Alzheimer afflicted wife to recognise that the ‘stranger’ who follows her everywhere, even her bed, is her now-aged groom. For, Arati now lives in the past she left in Faridpur, along with the pond she’d fish in with Atindrada and the textile shop of her comrade in crime, when she got married…

The film pivots on Arati, and Swatilekha outshines one and all in the cast. Not surprising: the actor’s total commitment to the character is borne out by Zinia. She recalls that, “when the rest of the unit sat listening to Soumitra Da’s [3]enthralling anecdotes and Kharaj Da’s [4] humour filled recitation, Swati Di[5] refused to join in. Instead, she retired within herself, just as Arati would.”

Swatilekha Sengupta as Ammi in Dharma Juddha, a film that will be released in August 2022. Photo sourced By Ratnottama Sengupta.

This is echoed by Raj Chakraborty, the director of Dharma Juddha (Religious War ) which was screened in the recent Kolkata International Film Festival. He recounts that the film was shot in Purulia that suffers extreme summer, but “since the sequence was set on a winter night, she kept her warm clothes on all through the shoot. Such was her dedication to the character and the script!”

Having followed her theatre over a long time Raj counts it amongst his blessings that he could work with her. “I’m certain there was more left to learn,” he sighs as he awaits the masses’ response to the film which once again, rests on the sturdy shoulder of Ma/ Ammi/Dadi[6]. Raj could envisage none but Swatilekha as the protagonist who shelters to two sets of men and women when Ismailpur is seized by an apocalyptic night of communal rage. The pacifier succeeds in instilling brotherhood in the four victims from rival camps – until the tragic truth about her son’s death is revealed. It drives home the realisation that the foremost religion is humanism.

Like Swatilekha, Soumitra Da too had a strong presence on the stage. And fortunately, the screen pair’s daughters – Sohini and Poulami, respectively – are also deeply into theatre. “I had chosen theatre when I wanted to direct,” he’d said to me when Sangeet Natak Akademi had decorated him, “because, if I make films, people will always compare me with Manikda [7].”

That is why I am doubly delighted that the makers marked the release of Bela Shuru [8]– the duo’s last film – around Swatilekha’s birth anniversary[9], with a unique exhibition. it showcases Soumitra’s typewriter, the script he penned for a play, a collection of pipes acquired on travels abroad; his paintings, poems, letters to his daughter from his Jaisalmer shoot for Sonar Kella (1974)… And it showcases Swatilekha’s violin and mouth-organ; the costumes she wore in Nachni and Bela Shuru; and, a congratulatory letter to Swatilekha, from a star admirer — Amitabh Bachchan…[10]

Soumitra Chatterjee and Swatilekha Sengupta in Bela Shuru. Photo Sourced by Ratnottama Sengupta

Surely a far cry from the bias that you lamented when you celebrated the 150^th birth anniversary of Notee Binodini [11] in 2013, Rudra Da[12]?

Yes, theatre people the world over agree, that the ‘Moon of Star Theatre’ was deprived of her rightful honour when the theatre that was founded by her not named after her. Why? Because “the aristocrats would not like to enter a place named after a noti.” Thespian Noti Binodini might have been, but she was a fallen woman, wasn’t she? So what if this contemporary of Tagore was the first South Asian actress to pen her own story – Aamar Katha — a lucid memoir that portrays the 19^th century society in Bengal which was at ease with European ideas but confined women to homes. So what if the sage Ramakrishna had gone into a trance as he watched her essay Chaitanya Mahaprabhu (1884)? Such was her portrayal that thespian Amritlal Bose wrote, “Whenever I bow to any wooden or painted image of Sri Chaitanya, I see Binodini before my eyes.”

Binodini Dasi had gone onstage at age 12, under mentor Girish Ghosh (1844-1912), and her career had ended when she was just 23. Merely 11 years, but those were the years when the proscenium theatre modelled after European convention was spreading in Bengal. In those 11 years Binodini enacted 80 roles, playing Sita, Draupadi, Radha, Kaikeyi or Pramila, Mrinalini, Motibibi, Ayesha. Please note: She pioneered modern stage make-up by blending European and indigenous styles.

“Because of this, people who had seen her in one role could not recognise her in another,” Girish Ghosh himself wrote. Yet this same stalwart of theatre, to please whom Binodini had drained her own resources and founded Star Theatre in north Calcutta, refused to write a foreword for My Story as it contained uncomfortable truths about Binodini’s patrons!

Why did the chroniclers of Bengal Renaissance overlook the contribution of this marginalised star to the land’s cultural mileu? “Because of the class-caste divide,” Soumitra Chatterjee suggests in his foreword for the memoir. “How could the Brahmo-Brahmin dominated upper crust acknowledge the talents of a lowborn ‘prostitute’?”

More than a century later, Swatilekha took it upon herself to train the spotlight on the fact that the years had failed to change the plight of another set of dancing artistes – the Nachnis.

[1] Women in Theatre suffer bias.’ – quoted from Times of India, article by Ratnottama Sengupta.

[2] Strike where transport was halted

[3] Soumitra Chatterjee (1935-2020)

[4] Kharaj Mukherjee : Actor and comedian

[5] Swatilekha Sengupta (1950-2021)

[6] Grandmother

[7] Satyajit Ray

[8] Release date: 20.5.2022

[9] 22. 5. 1950

[10] Amitabh Bachhan, one of the most nationally and internationally awarded and influential actors

[11] Play based on the life Binodini Dasi

[12] Rudraprasad Sengupta, husband of Swatilekha and a theatre personality

Ratnottama Sengupta, formerly Arts Editor of The Times of India, teaches mass communication and film appreciation, curates film festivals and art exhibitions, and translates and write books. She has been a member of CBFC, served on the National Film Awards jury and has herself won a National Award. Ratnottama Sengupta has the rights to translate her father, Nabendu Ghosh.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Contents

Borderless February 2022

Winter in Africa. Painting by Sybil Pretious.

Editorial

‘What’s Love Got to Do with it’ … Click here to read.

Interviews

Sriniketan: Tagore’s “Life Work”: In Conversation with Professor Uma Das Gupta, Tagore scholar, author of A History of Sriniketan, where can be glimpsed what Tagore considered his ‘life’s work’ as an NGO smoothening divides between villagers and the educated. Click here to read.

Akbar: The Man who was King: In conversation with eminent journalist and author, Shazi Zaman, author of Akbar, A Novel of History. Click here to read.

Translations

One Day in the Fog, written by Jibananda Das and translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Mahnu, a poem by Atta Shad, translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

A Superpower in the Pandemic, written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Eyes of the Python, a short story by S.Ramakrishnan, translated from Tamil by Dr.B.Chandramouli. Click here to read.

Raatri Eshe Jethay Meshe by Tagore has been translated from Bengali as Where the Night comes to Mingle by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Pandies’ Corner

These stories are written by youngsters from the Nithari village who transcended childhood trauma and deprivation. The column starts with a story, Stranger than Fiction from Sharad Kumar in Hindustani, translated to English by Grace M Sukanya. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read

Rhys Hughes, A Jessie Michael, Jay Nicholls, Moonmoon Chowdhury, Mike Smith, David Francis, Ananya Sarkar, Matthew James Friday, Ashok Suri, John Grey, Saptarshi Bhattacharya, Candice Louisa Daquin, Emalisa Rose, Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Nature’s Musings

Penny Wilkes explores dewdrops and sunrise in A Dewdrop World. Click here to read.

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

Rhys Hughes explores the paranormal with his usual wit in Three Ghosts in a Boat. Promise not to laugh or smile as you shiver… Click here to read.

Musings/ Slices from Life

Requiem for the Melody Queen

Ratnottama Sengupta sings her own paean in which a chorus of voices across the world join her to pay a tribute to a legend called Lata Mangeshkar. Click here to read.

Forsaking Distant Hemispheres for the Immediate Locale

Meredith Stephens introduces us to the varied fauna found in South Australia with vivid photographs clicked by her. Click here to read.

Breaking the fast

P Ravi Shankar takes us through a breakfast feast around the world. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Life without a Pet, Devraj Singh Kalsi gives a humorous take on why he does not keep a pet. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Bridging Cultures through Music, author Suzanne Kamata introduces us to Masaki Nakagawa, a YouTuber who loves Lativia and has made it big, playing for the President of Lativia at the Japanese coronation. Click here to read.

Essays

Farewell Keri Hulme

A tribute by Keith Lyons to the first New Zealand Booker Prize winner, Keri Hulme, recalling his non-literary encounters with the sequestered author. Click here to read.

Satyajit Ray’s Cinematic Universe: Can Isolation Lead to a New World?

Rebanta Gupta explores two films of Satyajit Ray, Kanchenjunga & Charulata to see what a sense of isolation can do for humans? Click here to read.

‘What remains is darkness and facing me – Banalata Sen!’

Rakibul Hasan Khan explores death and darkness in Fakrul Alam’s translation of Jibanananda Das’s poetry. Click here to read.

Dhaka Book Fair: A Mansion and a Movement

Ratnottama Sengupta writes of a time a palace called Bardhaman House became the centre of a unique tryst against cultural hegemony. The Language Movement of 1952 that started in Dhaka led to the birth of Bangladesh in 1971. In 1999, UNESCO recognised February 21 as the Mother Language Day. Click here to read.

The Observant Immigrant

In To Be or Not to Be, Candice Louisa Daquin takes a close look at death and suicide. Click here to read.

Stories

Navigational Error

Luke P.G. Draper explores the impact of pollution with a short compelling narrative. Click here to read.

The Art of Sleeping

Atreyo Chowdhury spins an absurd tale or could it be true? Click here to read.

Dear Dr Chilli…

Maliha Iqbal writes of life as a young girl in a competitive world. Click here to read.

The Literary Fictionist

In Missing, Sunil Sharma gives us a long literary yarn. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

Two Banalata Sen poems excerpted from Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems with an Introduction, Chronology and Glossary, translated from Bengali by Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Mahasweta Devi, Our Santiniketan. Translated from the Bengali by Radha Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Indrashish Banerjee reviews The Best of Travel Writing of Dom Moraes: Under Something of a Cloud. Click here to read.

Gracy Samjetsabam reviews Masala and Murder by Patrick Lyons. Click here to read.

Rakhi Dalal reviews Kavery Nambisan’s A Luxury called Health. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Growing up Jewish in India: Synagogues, Customs, and Communities from the Bene Israel to the Art of Siona Benjamin, edited by Ori Z. Soltes. Click here to read.

Special Issues

Cry, Our Beloved… Click here to read (For Peace)

Born to be Wild …Click here to read (World Wild Life Day)

Tags A History of Sriniketan, A Jessie Michael, Akbar: A Novel of History, Ananya Sarkar, Ashok Suri, Atreyo Chowdhury, B Chandramouli, Banalata Sen, Bengali, Bhaskar Parichha, Candice Louisa Daquin, Charulata, David Francis, Devraj Singh Kalsi, Dom Moraes, Emalisa Rose, Fakrul Alam, Grace M Sukanya, Gracy Samjetsabam, Growing up Jewish in India: Synagogues Customs and Communities from the Bene Israel to the Art of Siona Benjamin, Ihlwha Choi, Indrashish Banerjee, Jay Nicholls, Jibanananda Das, Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems with an Introduction, John Grey, Kanchenjungha, Keith Lyons, Keri Hulme, Korean, Lata Mangeshkar, Mahasweta Devi, Maliha Iqbal, Masaki Nakagawa, Masala & Murder, Matthew James Friday, Mitali Chakravarty, MoonmoonChowdhury, Nithari, Patrick Lyons, Penny Wilkes, Rakhi Dalal, Rakibul Hasan Khan, Ratnottama Sengupta, Rebanta Gupta, Rhys Hughes, S Ramakrishnan, Saptarshi Bhattacharya, Satyajit Ray, Sharad Kumar, Shazi Zaman, Suzanne Kamata, Sybil Pretious, Tagore, Tamil, The Best of Travel Writing of Dom Moraes: Under Something of a Cloud, Uma Das Gupta

Essay

Satyajit Ray’s Cinematic Universe: Can Isolation Create a New World?

Post author By borderlesssg1
Post date February 14, 2022
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By Rebanta Gupta

The Hungarian Marxist philosopher György Lukács coined the term “transcendental homelessness” in his essay The Theory of the Novel, to explore the feeling of homesickness prevalent in the arena of modern philosophy. The ecosystem of the epic was governed by the cosmic laws of fate, the transcendental signified was ever-present to protect mankind, and the human soul found a transcendental home in that cosmic destiny. The celebrated Postcolonial scholar Edward Said, in his essay, ‘Reflections on Exile’ observes, “Classical epics, Lukács wrote, emanate from settled cultures in which the values are clear, identities stable, life unchanging.” Novel, the brainchild of modernity, is the site where this “transcendental homelessness” functions. The European novel emerged out of a changing society, where the omnipotent figure of God had been effaced, with the invasion of skepticism and rationality. Novels germinate from a societal structure, Said writes, “in which an itinerant and disinterested middle-class hero or heroine seeks to construct a new world, that somewhat resembles an old world left behind forever.” A sense of retrogression, an insatiable urge to return to that erstwhile home haunts the modern world, which suffers from an ontological homelessness. The shadow of this sense of homelessness and estrangement also haunts cinema, which has a novelistic structure. Cinema, which is engraved on celluloid, is written by an auteur, the director, who is analogous to the author of a novel. The characters of the celebrated Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray’s films suffer from a sense of perpetual homelessness; pangs of isolation and estrangement haunt their sinews and nerves, in the midst of a kaleidoscopic world. This essay would focus on two of Ray’s films: Kanchenjungha (1962) and Charulata (1964) and try to analyze how they create an atmosphere of isolation and estrangement.

Satyajit Ray. Courtesy: Creative Commons

Kanchenjungha (1962) narrates the saga of a wealthy aristocratic family, during the final lap of their vacation at Darjeeling. Inclement weather has shrouded the peak of Mount Kanchenjungha with mist, and a parallel mist of confusion, contradictions, unrequited desire, and unspoken words has enveloped the characters. The film describes the primacy of the father figure in the family ecosystem through the character of Indranath (played by Chhabi Biswas), who is a snooty, pompous, and authoritarian figure, who wants his daughter Manisha (played by Alokananda Roy), to marry a wealthy man whom he has hand-picked for her, but she seems to be reluctant to accept this unilateral decision of her father. William Wordsworth, in the poem Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey (1798), had instructed his sister Dorothy to believe in the ways of nature, which fills the mind “with quietness and beauty” and “lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men” can demotivate her. But Indranath, it seems, stands vertically opposite to the arena of Wordsworthian exhortations; he is completely alienated from nature, his materialistic drive has effaced his capacity to appreciate the beauteous aspects of Darjeeling and the Himalayan wildness. When the ornitho-enthusiast Jagadish, his brother-in-law (played by Pahari Sanyal) talks about his search for a bird, Indranath nonchalantly asks, “Roast hoy? (Could it be roasted?”). He is marooned in his sequestered island of materialism, and his desire to catch a glimpse of the snow-clad Kanchenjungha is basically a competitive desire to acquire a coveted product, real love of nature is not associated with that. He has high opinions about Banerjee (played by N. Viswanathan), the potential groom for Manisha, because he has a starting salary of twelve hundred rupees, which was indeed a handsome amount in the postcolonial context of the film. Indranath’s wife Labanya (played by Karuna Banerjee) is a subjugated woman, who has a feeble presence before the domineering existence of her husband, and her subjectivity finds no outlet. She, therefore, sits on a bench by the abyss, and at the hour of descending fog, sings the Tagore song E Parabase Rabe Ke Hay (“Alas, who will live in this forlorn and alien land”), set in the Hindustani Classical Raga Kafi, which uses the notes komal gandhar (E-Flat) and komal nishad (B-Flat). The raga creates a melancholic mood, as the song touches the somberness of gandhar and the solitary bohemianism of nishad (which is widely used in the mercurial and melancholic Bengali folk music), and it reflects the alienated state of a woman, who has not had her share of love from her husband. Fog dilutes the outlines of the horizon, as her hopes slowly get extinguished and desperation reigns supreme, and the last line, “Temon apon keho nahi e prantare hay re (There is no one dear and near in this alien world)” mingles with the fog to create an atmosphere of perennial loneliness. Jagadish’s comment, “You have sung after such a long time,” indicates that Labanya’s daily hectic life and Indranath’s iron fist have isolated her from her artistic persona. Rabindranath Tagore talks about the importance of aesthetics in his seminal work Japan Jatri (Travels through Japan, 1919) if humans become too much obsessed with the utilitarian domain, they become machine-like entities, whereas the domain of aesthetics is the area where they can actually realise the true nature of their existence, leading to the experience of the Lebenswelt (life-force)described by Edmund Husserl. The song not only translates Labanya’s melancholia into musical notes, but it also signifies her urge to rediscover her real self, as she expresses concern over the possibility of the smothering of Manisha’s artistic qualities and urges after the marriage. The golden Kanchenjunga, which appears in the last few frames of the film, signifies that cosmic home, the abode of hope, which has hitherto remained elusive to the characters. But in this journey to the cosmic abode, the rogue Indranath is left behind, as he frantically searches for his compatriots, and a terrifying wave of isolation hits him, along with a mocking, derisive tune of a hilly song.

Charulata (1964) is widely regarded as one of the premier achievements of Ray. The film, which is based on the 1901 novella Nashtaneer (The Broken Nest), written by Rabindranath Tagore, narrates the heart-wrenching saga of the eponymous heroine (played by Madhabi Mukherjee), who walks down the solitary passages of an aristocratic house like a spectre. Her husband, Bhupati (played by Shailen Mukherjee), the editor of a political newspaper, nurtures the dream of expanding his business, while Charu suffers from lovelessness; sexual and intellectual dissatisfaction simmers within her. The much-lauded opening scene sets the melancholic tone of the film. The scene where Charu is seen knitting the initials of Bhupati’s name on a handkerchief might remind the audience of Alfred Tennyson’s Lady of Shalott, who is imprisoned in an island castle. She weaves a colorful web in her solitary chamber under the shadow of an unknown curse, which will befall her, if she looks down at the city of Camelot. She can only catch glimpses of the “shadows of the world” in the mirror that hangs before her. Charu, like the Lady of Shalott, is imprisoned in an urban mansion, where household chores are managed by a fleet of servants. She watches the activities of the outside world through binoculars, in an effort to reconcile the differences between the home and the world. The images of the palanquin bearers, a man with monkeys, a fat man with an umbrella crossing the road- all these are reminiscent of the “shadows of the world” in Tennyson’s poem written in 1842, which have now appeared on the glasses of Charu’s binocular. But the Lady of Shalott had to pay the price for abandoning her loom and looking down at the blooming water lilies and the “helmet and the plume” of the gallant knight, as Tennyson writes,

Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Similarly, the curse of infidelity and adultery hits Charu, with the arrival of Amal, her attractive brother-in-law (played by Soumitra Chatterjee). He enters her life in a tempestuous way, which echoes the knight’s entry into the lady’s life. Charu’s isolated state makes her desperate to efface the boundaries separating the home and the world, and the entry of Amal signifies the eruption of the outside world in Charu’s domestic discourse. Ray portrays the psychological gulf between Bhupati and Charu by making Charu stare at the fleeting image of Bhupati through the binocular. He is engrossed in his world of political journalism with no time to accompany his wife, while the latter tries to find solace in literature and other artistic works. But the binocular episode underscores the irreconcilable differences between them. The camera unprecedentedly backtracks, as she lowers the device and stares at her husband with a note of derision in her eyes. This derision anticipates the arrival of Amal, who will occupy the void left by Bhupati will emerge as his sexual and intellectual rival.

The last scene, which incorporates the freeze-frame technique, is reminiscent of the final scene of François Truffaut’s film The 400 Blows (1959) where the teenage protagonist Antoine Doinel stares at the audience by rupturing the fourth wall, and the camera zooms in on his face and refrigerates time, to show the signs of discontentment on his face. Charu and Bhupati face each-other, and the latter’s heart is exploding because of his wife’s supposed infidelity. Though a note of reconciliation is hinted at, when Charu invites Bhupati inside, the frame eventually freezes, the music halts, and Bhupati cannot hold Charu’s extended arm, underlining the impossibility of their conjugal bond. Antoine’s discontentment, along with a sense of guilt, now appears on the couple’s faces, as the word Nashtaneer or “Broken Nest” appears on the screen.

Tagore had celebrated the grandeur of a peaceful abode when he wrote the song “Ohe sundar mama griha aji paramatsaba rati, rekhechhi kanaka mandire kamalasana pati (Beauty, I have laid down the bed of lotus in the golden pagoda for you, on this auspicious night of festivity)”. But Charu and Bhupati fail to construct that resplendent home, since they are separated by circumstances. They could be inhabiting the same house, but with an abysmal gulf between them, they would be suffering from a sense of metaphorical homelessness. In this regard, Charu, Bhupati, and Amal anticipate the ménage à trois between Bimala, Nikhilesh, and Sandip in Ray’s Ghare Baire (1984). Bimala (played by Swatilekha Sengupta) too becomes a victim of the broken nest syndrome, as her nationalistic aspirations are at loggerheads with her conjugal fidelity.

These two films illustrate the urge to reach a cosmic abode of love, unity, and security, which is throttled by the constraints of worldly relationships and circumstances. Charu is searching for that elusive home, where she can find her true self, and fine-tune her soul with the ethereal harmony of the universe, but her failure to touch the perimeters of that utopian abode fills her hearts with pangs of isolation and estrangement. Labanya’s personal moments of discovery through the song by the abyss marks the intersection of solitude and loneliness; solitude has a personal dimension, when an individual can explore the hidden self away from the worldly bustles, but loneliness has an excruciating and universal dimension, that unravels her marooned condition, when materialist forces have encroached and decimated her subjectivity. Kanchenjungha and Charulata underscore the desire of these characters to travel from the world of loneliness and estrangement to the world of solitude, where they can re-explore and rediscover themselves to understand the divine mechanisms of the universe. It is an inward spiritual journey, which intersects with the journey of Christian, the protagonist of John Bunyan’s magnum opus The Pilgrim’s Progress (1678,1684) who had embarked on a quest for the Heavenly City.

Rebanta Gupta has completed his Postgraduate studies in English Literature from Presidency University, Kolkata. He is interested in Literary Theory, Hindustani Classical Music, Hermeneutics of Film, Narrative of Bengal, and Cultural Studies.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Tags Camelot, Charulata, Edmund Husserl, Francois Truffaut, Ghare Baire, John Bunyan, Kanchejunga, Knachejungha, Lady of Shalott, Nashtaneer, Rebanta Gupta, Tagore, Tennyson, The 400 Blows, The Pilgrim's Progress