Poetry, prose — all art forms — gather our emotions into concentrates that distil perhaps the finest in human emotions. They touch hearts across borders and gather us all with the commonality of feelings. We no longer care for borders drawn by divisive human constructs but find ourselves connecting despite distances. Strangers or enemies can feel the same emotions. Enemies are mostly created to guard walls made by those who want to keep us in boxes, making it easier to manage the masses. It is from these mass of civilians that soldiers are drawn, and from the same crowds, we can find the victims who die in bomb blasts. And yet, we — the masses — fight. For whom, for what and why? A hundred or more years ago, we had poets writing against wars and violence…they still do. Have we learnt nothing from the past, nothing from history — except to repeat ourselves in cycles? By now, war should have become redundant and deadly weapons out of date artefacts instead of threats that are still used to annihilate cities, humans, homes and ravage the Earth. Our major concerns should have evolved to working on social equity, peace, human welfare and climate change.
One of the people who had expressed deep concern for social equity and peace through his films and writings was Satyajit Ray. This issue has an essay that reflects how he used art to concretise his ideas by Dolly Narang, a gallery owner who brought Ray’s handiworks to limelight. The essay includes the maestro’s note in which he admits he considered himself a filmmaker and a writer but never an artist. But Ray had even invented typefaces! Artist Paritosh Sen’s introduction to Ray’s art has been included to add to the impact of Narang’s essay. Another person who consolidates photography and films to do pathbreaking work and tell stories on compelling issues like climate change and helping the differently-abled is Vijay S Jodha. Ratnottama Sengupta has interviewed this upcoming artiste.
Reflecting the themes of welfare and conflict, Prithvijeet Sinha’s essay takes us to a monument in Lucknow that had been built for love but fell victim to war. Some conflicts are personal like the ones of Odbayar Dorj who finds acceptance not in her hometown in Mongolia but in the city, she calls home now. Jun A. Alindogan from Manila explores social media in action whereas Eshana Sarah Singh takes us to her home in Jakarta to celebrate the Chinese New Year! Farouk Gulsara looks into the likely impact of genetic engineering in a world already ripped by violence and Devraj Singh Kalsi muses on his source of inspiration, his writing desk. Meredith Stephens tells the touching story of a mother’s concern for her child in Australia and Suzanne Kamata exhibits the same concern as she travels to Happy Village in Japan to meet her differently-abled daughter and her friends.
As these real-life narratives weave commonalities of human emotions, so do fictive stories. Some reflect the need for change. Fiona Sinclair writes a layered story set in London on how lived experiences define differences in human perspectives while Parnika Shirwaikar explores the need to learn to accept changes set in her part of the universe. Spandan Upadhyay explores the spirit of the city of Kolkata as a migrant with a focus on social equity. Both Paul Mirabile and Naramsetti Umamaheswararao write stories around childhood, one set in Europe and the other in Asia.
Do pause by our contents page for this issue and enjoy the reads. We are ever grateful to our ever-growing evergreen readership some of whom have started sharing their fabulous narratives with us. Thanks to all our readers and contributors. Huge thanks to our wonderful team without whose efforts we could not have curated such valuable content and thanks specially to Sohana Manzoor for her art. Thank you all for making a whiff of an idea a reality!
Ratnottama Sengupta introduces and converses with a photographer who works at the intersection of art and social issues, Vijay S Jodha
S Vijay JodhaLines, Shapes & Forms – Vijay S. Jodha’s group show is on view at Museo Camera Gurgaon till May 26, 2025Photo Courtesy: Vijay S Jodha
Vijay S Jodha was yet to become one of India’s leading lens-based artists at the intersection of art and social issues. Back then, in the 1990s, he had no inkling that 30 years later he would be the chairperson of UGC-CEC[1] jury for selecting the best educational films made in India. Or that he would be the national selector and trainer in photography for the National Abilympics Association of India.
When I first met him, he was mounting a collaborative exhibition of his work with the elderly, their contribution to society and the care they deserve. Little did I know that the entire bent of this journalist-turned documentary filmmaker-turned photo artist would go on to focus on subjects ranging from mob violence, riot victims, farmers’ suicide, 75 years of Indian constitution to Joys of Christmas and the Bus Art of Tamil Nadu.
Photo Courtesy: Vijay S Jodha
Not surprising that the International Confederation of NGOs has honoured Vijay with the Media Citizen Award for using media to drive social change. And it is only one among hundreds of honours he has received in two dozen countries. These include awards and grants, from Swiss Development Agency to Ford Foundation and Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation. Screening of his films on 75 channels worldwide and in 250 festivals in 60 countries.
These seem tedious details? So, interestingly, two public showings of his work have been vandalised. And a false police case against him took eight years to be thrown out by India’s courts!
Conversation
Vijay how did you come into photography?
I’m a trained filmmaker – I mastered in film production – and have been making films for two decades. My films have shown on 75 stations including Discovery, CNN, BBC. But training in photography I have none. All my photography is non-fiction work. Actually my films are also non-fiction or reality based work. I just find still photography very relaxing because, unlike films where a director is responsible for so many things, here I’m on my own. But there’s no production deadline. No huge budget is needed. I can address any subject that catches my fancy and pursue it over several years, without any worry. Otherwise it’s the same: photos or films, you’re storytelling around substantial issues that interest you, in a manner that does justice to those issues, and — hopefully — engaging to the viewers.
So who was your inspiration?
In photography it is obviously the greats who defined the grammar of the medium itself such as Robert Frank[2] and Cartier Bresson[3]. They’ve inspired us all in some manner. I’m fortunate that, as a part time journalist in New York decades ago, I got to meet and interview top filmmakers and photographers like Gordon Parks and Richard Avedon.
I once did a course at New York’s School of Visual Arts where they honoured Mary Ellen Mark and she had come across. As a journalist, I covered Sebastião Salgado’s launch of his workers’ project that put him on the map (of photography). I met Raghubir Singh while doing a project on Ayodhya in India, and again in New York where we put up the same exhibition. He also photographed some of us – myself, Siddharth Varadarajan, the editor-publisher of The Wire who was then a student at Columbia University, and other Indian students — were protesting some human rights issue.
I’m also fortunate to have our finest photo-journalists and lens-based artists as friends. I can take across my work to get a feedback or pick their brains. This beats the best photo schools in the world. In fact years ago I did a book which had photos from all of them! This was the biggest photo project on the Tiranga[4] as listed in the Limca Book of Records. They have all done many books on their own but this is the only one where all these masters appear in a single volume, their works united thematically. Apart from Raghu Rai, Ram Rahman, Prashant Panjiar, Dayanita Singh, T Narayan, and the late TS Satyan, I’d also interviewed people across India, from the then Prime Minister Vajpayee to those selling flags at traffic lights for a few meagre rupees.
You did not go to any international school to train in the art or the technology aspect. So what prompted your PhD?
Three decades back when I decided to go into mass communication as a career there were few computers, no internet, no private TV channels, or mobile phones. Sorry if that makes me seem Jurassic but it was a world with very few media opportunities. Post college, I had got admissions into a trainee programme with a newspaper as well as in the MA programme in International Relations at India’s premier Jawaharlal Nehru University. My father felt that a masters and exposure at JNU would be a better investment for journalism – probably the single best advice I’ve got in my entire career — and I followed that.
Then for some time I worked in print media: I freelanced for newspapers, edited and published a journal for a business house, scripted for a film and worked on a book with one of my journalism heroes – late Kuldip Nayar. But in the pre-internet era newspaper articles had a very short life, so I felt the need to produce something that would last longer such as film. So I decided to get a degree in Film. It also encompassed all my interests, from writing to art to music, travel and photography.
You’ve not been a photo-journalist working for any journal or newspaper. Yet you felt inclined to do projects on environment, elder care, survivors of riots and mob violence, farmer suicide, art that travels. Was it inevitable, given your father’s background?
Actually I’ve done a bit of photo journalism too. During my film school days at NYU I was a writer-photographer for their student-run newspaper, Washington Square News. I’ve also been a stringer for mainstream dailies including The Economic Times where I shot images parallel to my writing. I did stills for Mira Nair’s Monsoon Wedding and of course stills for my own film projects. So I’ve a lot of published images in papers worldwide though my main gig has been films.
Frankly I don’t see much difference between these mediums. Be it words, stills or moving images; an academic paper, photo books, or films, short or long – all this is story telling. I’m a story teller.
And subjects? I’ve filmed every possible subject except wildlife: I just don’t have the patience for that. Otherwise everything, from artist biopics — on Paritosh Sen and Prokash Karmakar, whose inaugural screening you also attended in Calcutta years ago — to films on environment. My The Weeping Apple Tree (2005) was among the first ones on climate change in India. It won the UK Environment Film Fellowship Award 2005 and had multiple screenings on Discovery, with an introduction by Sir Mark Tully.
At that time, few knew about climate change. So Delhi govt organised a special screening for their MLAs and officers of water, electricity and sanitation departments. It was screened at UNEP headquarters in Nairobi and in various festivals. UNIDO and other grassroots level NGOs used it to create awareness. Some years back an IFS {Indian Forest Service} officer told me that Himachal government uses it to train their forest officers.
My film on gender, Pedalling to Freedom (2007) revisited an old initiative in one of the poorest parts of the world. It traced the life-changing impact of teaching 100,000 women to ride the bicycle. That film is in the US Library of Congress. It was also chosen for archiving at OSA Budapest, world’s premier repository of materials dealing with human rights.
Then there are films that get food on the table. Training films. Corporate films. I once did a ‘funeral film’ on a well-known personality whose passing received a lot of press coverage in India but the NRI son could not come for the funeral.
What motivates you Vijay — money, international honour, or the possibility of social change?
Well, all this is livelihood so the money part is important. But doing work that gets recognised far and wide, that is substantial, to hold good for a long time – that’s a huge motivator.
I have a slightly spiritual take towards this. I feel that regardless of our profession we are all bound by a dharmic or sacred duty. A teacher’s duty is to teach and a doctor’s is to heal. For those in the business of storytelling — including photographers — the sacred duty is to document, bear witness, push things forward. And believe you me, this has little connect with means or accessibility.
To give you an extreme example: After the Nazis lost the war and Berlin fell, soldiers from the victorious allies army raped virtually every woman in Berlin. Few rapists were taken to task and to top it, despite all the extensive coverage of the allies victory by forgotten photographers as well as superstars like Margaret Bourke-White (known to us through her famous Gandhiji with charkha portrait) or Robert Capa (regarded as the greatest war photographer of all time), there was no coverage of this mass outrage in Berlin by anyone be it in photo essays in Life Magazine, or World War photo books. It appears in no Hollywood film or TV series.
Likewise, fifty years ago, when India came under the draconian Emergency, our courts also endorsed the robbing of our Constitutional rights. Nobody documented, then or since, the forced sterilisation of 6,000,000 who were stripped of their reproductive rights. We, as photographers and filmmakers, failed on this front.
The First Witnesses is my project around farmer suicides. It is not an unheard issue nor something hard to get access. But how many have found it worth their while to document the issue? How many are documenting a disappearing art form or livelihood? Or our urban heritage being torn down? Our movie theatres once represented cinema as an inexpensive and readily accessible mass culture. Now they are being torn down even in smaller towns. Each had a unique character. Is anyone documenting that?
I documented Durga Puja in Kolkata 20 years ago when I was working with painters there. Durga astride a tiger, slaying the demonic Mahisasur emerging out of a buffalo: these elements get interpreted in hundreds of ways across the city each year. Each pandal has a different aesthetic interpretation, inside and outside. The religious aspect is no less important. But these are also like site-specific installation art works shaped by the imagination of so many talented people but designed for impermanence. How many books of photos exist around this work now recognised by UNESCO as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity?
How successful have you been in achieving this?
The merit of my work is for others to judge. I’m happy that, though India doesn’t have many foundations or support for non-commercial oriented art, I’ve been able to do at least a few things that are genuinely pathbreaking, substantial and have gone around the world. To be invited to UNESCO headquarters in Paris to screen a film and address delegates from 193 countries, or be honoured by our President for India’s best ever performed at Abilympics — these are certainly my career highlights.
Vijay S Jodha at UNESCO introducing his film. Photo provided by Vijay S Jodha
My work has received over a hundred honours across 24 countries, but what truly motivates me is when people I look up to, my heroes, appreciate what I do. That kind of recognition carries a different weight. For instance, Magsaysay awardee P Sainath, whose ground-breaking reportage has long inspired me, saw my farmers project when it was exhibited alongside his photographic work at the Chennai Photo Biennale 2019. We hadn’t met before, so when he praised my effort, it felt like receiving a medal.
Another moment that has stayed with me was post my time at NYU. My professor, George Stoney, referred to as the father of public access television and mentioned in history books on documentary cinema, mentored Oscar-winning directors like Oliver Stone, Martin Scorsese, Spike Lee, and Ang Lee. When he watched The Weeping Apple Tree, he said, “Vijay, this is better than Al Gore’s An Inconvenient Truth. That was a glorified PowerPoint by comparison.” That one comment meant more to me than most awards ever could.
As a photo artist what is the biggest moment of joy for you — technical hurray or the joy of the subjects?
As I just said, recognition and praise of my heroes gives the maximum joy. There are other honours. Two photo projects listed in Limca Book of Records for being the biggest and path breaking. The first was on ageing that I did over eight years with my brother Samar Jodha – he did the images while I did the concept research, writing and interviews. The other was the aforementioned Tiranga. My film Poop on Poverty (2012) won a Peabody award, the oldest honour for documentary films, and more international honours than any non-fiction film produced out of India.
After landmark exhibitions in Hong Kong and New York I donated two complete sets of The First Witnesses, my farming crisis project, to two farmer unions including our oldest and biggest All India Kisan Sabha (AIKS). They are using it for awareness raising across villages. That’s a real high as a photographer.
Then there’s high coming from those we pass down our expertise to. Among those I’ve taught or mentored is a highly talented though physically challenged youngster from Vijayawada with missing digits and motoring issues. His family runs a Kirana shop. When he started school, they sent him back saying he cannot even hold a pencil. He won a bronze medal in photography for India at the last Abilympics in France. Another student has himself become a photography teacher in a school for hearing impaired. This is the kind of stuff that gets me very excited.
Thirty years ago as a volunteer writer and researcher I helped Sanskriti Foundation set up India’s first international artist retreat. That novel venture raised crores in grants and set up three museums. Today it is being scaled back as its founder O P Jain is in his 90s. But that idea caught on and you have scores of artist retreats across India.
How has digital technology influenced photography as an art form? Has it done more harm? Or widened its spread?
Digital has been a mixed experience. It democratised the process of production and dissemination — be it still images or movies. This is a fantastic thing. But it killed a lot of the processes and livelihoods such as the printing labs, film production and processing facilities. It has also killed an art form like print making. It’s a specialised skill in itself, so a lot of artistry, understanding, appreciation and sustenance of it has got compromised.
The emergence of deep fake images and piracy of work is bad news too. But it has allowed more people to become story tellers. They now bear witness, as filmmakers and photographers, of issues and events that was earlier impossible.
I can cite examples from my work. I’m National Selector and Trainer in photography for National Abilympics Association of India (NAAI) and my students are in different parts of India. Two are hearing impaired, two others have motoring issues and physical challenges. Thanks to digital tools, we’re running long distance classes every week. NAAI provides me sign language interpreter but I can send and receive digital files, use zoom to conduct classes, use google translate to send instructions in Tamil, English and Marathi to my students. Now one student, despite hearing challenge, is running a photo studio. The student who has issues with his leg also works as wedding photographer. Workshops with institutions and festivals, within and outside India, are now easy and inexpensive thanks to these digital tools and communication modes.
Has selfies on mobile camera shortened the life of portraiture?
It has certainly democratised the process while the average person’s patience to study or appreciate any art work — portrait or landscape photo — is shrinking by the minute. Of course, good portraiture requires some skill to make as well as appreciate – that cultural literacy is a challenge everywhere, not just in photo medium. As a seasoned art critic you would have noticed that in the world of painting and sculpture too. Sadly we don’t have that education in our schools.
You have continued with still images even after doing many documentaries. What is the joy in either case?
I’m doing still photography and movies parallel to each other. Last month I had a book on public policy, as I mentioned. Also launched last month – by our defence minister –was my film on our Armed Forces Medical Corps – it’s one of the oldest divisions in the world, going back 260 years. I’m working on a project on the Indian Constitution and a biopic on Amitabh Sen Gupta, the artist whose retrospective exhibition this year is organised by Artworld Chennai. My still photography project on the farmers crisis is also going on for the past 7-8 years.
All projects are joyous and offer their own challenges. It’s like bringing children into the world. You do the best you can, hope they’ll do well and go far, but you don’t know which one will. Regardless of their line of work you feel happy with each of them and what they achieve.
What is the future of Arriflex, Mitchell, Kodak Brownie? And that of Yashica, Nikon, Canon, Leica, Olympus…?
Some old camera brands like Konica and Minolta have merged, or evolved into digital Avatars like Arriflex. Others, like Kodak, have faded into history. Interestingly, a small Indian company has licensed their name to market TVs under Kodak brand name now. For those of us from the analogue generation, it’s a bittersweet feeling. When a beloved brand disappears, it feels like saying goodbye to an old friend. But such is the nature of change.
My friend Aditya Arya, one of India’s eminent photographers and a passionate camera collector, has created a remarkable space to preserve this legacy. He established the Museo Camera in Gurgaon, a non-profit centre promoting photographic art, which has become not only a camera museum but also a leading art and culture hub in the Delhi national capital region. If you’re an old time photographer passing through Delhi, it’s a wonderful place to revisit these “old friends.”
[1]University Grants Commission-Consortium for Educational Communication
[2] Robert Frank (1924-2019) was a photographer and documentary filmmaker.
[3] Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004) was a humanist photographer, a master of candid photography, and an early user of 35mm film. One of the founding members of Magnum Photos in 1947, he pioneered the genre of street photography, and viewed photography as capturing a decisive moment.
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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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Poems of Longing by Jibananada Das homes two of his poems translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Clickhereto read.
Four cantos from Ramakanta Rath’sSri Radha, translated from Odiya by the late poet himself, have been excerpted from his full length translation. Clickhere to read.
Naramsetti Umamaheswararao takes us back to school. Click here to read.
Conversation
Ratnottama Sengupta talks to filmmaker and author Leslie Carvalhoabout his old film, The Outhouse, that will be screened this month and his new book, Smoke on the Backwaters. Clickhere to read.
Offerings during Qing Ming Jie, a festival honouring ancestorsSongkran(Thai New Year) CelebrationsFestivals in April: From Public Domain
April is a month full of celebrations around the world. Asia hosts a spray of New Year festivities. Then there are festivals like Qing Ming Jie, Good Friday and Easter. All these are in a way reminders of our past. And yet, we critique things as old fashioned! So, where does tradition end and ‘outdated’ or ‘outmoded’ start? Meanwhile we continue to celebrate these festivals with joy but what happens to those who have lost their home, family and their living due to war or climate disasters? Can they too join in with the joie de vivre? Can we take our celebrations to them to give solace in some way?
In our April issue, we have stories from climate and conflict-ridden parts of the world. From Bangkok, Amy Sawitta Lefevre gives an eyewitness account of the March 28th Earthquake that originated in Myanmar. While in her city, the disaster was managed, she writes: “I’m also thinking of all the children in Myanmar who are sleeping in the open, who lost loved ones, who are feeling scared and alone, with no one to reassure them.” As news reels tell us, in Myanmar there have been thousands of casualties from the earthquake as well as shootings by the army.
From another troubled region, Pakistan, Zeeshan Nasir gives a heartrending narrative about climate change, which also dwells on the human suffering, including increase in underage marriages.
Human suffering can be generated by rituals and customs too. For instance, if festivals dwell on exclusivity, they can hurt those who are left out of the celebrations. Odbayar Dorje muses along those lines on Mongolian traditions and calls for inclusivity and the need to change norms. On the other hand, Devraj Singh Kalsi hums with humour as he reflects on social norms and niceties and hints at the need for change in a light-hearted manner. Farouk Gulsara makes us laugh with the antics of his spoilt pet cat. And Suzanne Kamata dwells on her animal sightings in Kruger National Park with her words and camera while Meredith Stephens takes us sailing on stormy seas… that too at night.
Art is brought into focus by Ratnottama Sengupta who introduces artist Haren Thakur with his adaptation of tribal styles that has been compared to that of Paul Klee (1879-1940). She also converses with filmmaker Leslie Carvalho, known for his film The Outhouse, and his new novel, Smoke on the Backwaters. Both of these have a focus on the Anglo-Indian community in India. Also writing on Indian film trends of the 1970s is Tamara Raza. Bhaskar Parichha pays tribute to the late Ramakanta Rath (1934-2025), whose powerful and touching poetry, translated from Odia by the poet himself, can be found in our translations section.
We have an excerpt from Professor Fakrul Alam’s unpublished translation of Tagore’sRed Oleanders. It’s a long play and truly relevant for our times. Somdatta Mandal shares with us her translation of Tagore’s essay called ‘The Classification in Society’, an essay where the writer dwells on the need for change in mindsets of individuals that make up a community to move forward. A transcreation of a poem by Tagore for his birthday in 1935 reflects the darkness he overcame in his own life. Two poems expressive of longings by Jibananada Das have been translated from Bengali by Professor Alam aswell. From Balochistan, we have an excerpt from the first Balochi novel, Nazuk, written by the late Syad Zahoor Shah Hashmi and rendered into English by Fazal Baloch. Among contemporaries, we have a short story by Bitan Chakraborty translated from Bengali by Kiriti Sengupta, a poignant story that reflects on gaps in our society. And a Korean poem by Ihlwha Choi rendered to English by the poet himself.
This issue has been made possible because of support from all of you. Huge thanks to the team, all our contributors and readers. Thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her fabulous artwork. Do pause by our contents page as all the content could not be covered here.
Perhaps, world events leave a sense of pensiveness in all of us and an aura of insecurity. But, as Scarlett O’ Hara of Gone with the Wind[2] fame says, “After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Looking forward to a new day with hope, let’s dream of happier times filled with sunshine and change.
Ratnottama Sengupta tracks the journey of Leslie Carvalho over a quarter century
Leslie CarvalhoPhotos provided by Ratnottama Sengupta
It seems like only the other day. The International Film Festival of India, IFFI, 1998 was on. Along with a colleague, I was seated on the steps outside Siri Fort I auditorium connected to a long corridor going to Siri 2. Someone introduced Leslie Carvalho. “Aha! The young filmmaker from Mangalore?” I responded. “There’s a write up on you in The Times of India today. It says there’s a lot of expectation from The Outhouse.”
The “delightfully sweet” film had lived up to the expectation of the critics. It was bestowed the Aravindan Puraskaram, presented by the Kerala Chalachitra Film Society to commemorate the iconic Malayalam director, and the first Gollapudi Srinivas award, another national level award to recognise filmmakers marking their debut in Indian cinema. So I was not surprised to meet him next as a co-member of the jury for the National Film Awards 2000.
The Tennis coach who is also a German language teacher with a passion for painting has now published his first novel, Smoke on the Backwaters. It centres on Rosa, a twenty-year-old from Mangalore, who is forced to flee overnight because of the storm of gossip, fear and shame unleashed by a single incident in her life. Her unexpected journey across continents becomes a path of healing. Seven years later, armed with education and maturity, she returns home, determined to pursue her purpose in life. But how much had the town she left altered from its old ways?
RS: Leslie, before we talk Backwaters, can we briefly revisit The Outhouse? From where did you derive its content? And what was your compulsion for choosing that subject?
Provided by Ratnottama Sengupta
LC: The Outhouse was a simple, linear narrative about moving on in life despite the odds. A young mother’s need to gain economic independence to supplement the family income; the help she received from her financially independent sister; a kind hearted Bengali landlady’s generosity which causes stress and violence in the Anglo-Indian couple’s day to day life, and how it affects the two children growing up.
RS: Why did you choose this subject as your debut vehicle? If you were to travel in a time machine, would you choose a ‘mainstream’ subject?
LC: I chose this subject as my debut vehicle as I had seen quite a bit of violence in the Anglo- Indian community in the Lingarajapuram area of Bangalore I grew up in.
I was itching to make a movie after my six-month course at the New York Film Academy. As I was working on a very tight budget, I just stuck to what was taught — to keep it simple, straightforward and just tell a story using the various tools of cinema — in short, to make it cinematic.
If I were to go back in time, I don’t think I would have chosen a ‘mainstream subject’. I derived immense satisfaction along with the cast and crew as we felt we were working on something we were passionate about. We all felt drawn towards the characters, the story and the theme of the film.
RS: How did you get interested in cinema? And what were the problems you faced while filming The Outhouse – in terms of funding, casting, shooting location, distribution?
LC: I grew up watching Tamil, Kannada, Hindi, a couple of Konkani and lots of Hollywood films. My mother tailored clothes at home, and she taught a whole lot of women stitching. They were fans of Tamil cinema, especially of Sivaji Ganesan, MGR, and the heroes of Kannada cinema, Dr. Rajkumar and Vishnuvardhan. She also enjoyed the Hindi films of Rajesh Khanna, Dharmendra, Hema Malini, Amitabh Bachchan, Sanjeev Kumar, Jaya Bhaduri and Rekha — that is the popular cinema.
And my father, being an Army person, took us to see English films, like The Ten Commandments, The Bible, Hatari, To Sir, With Love[1]. Also, St. Germain’s School where I studied, screened English films every Friday afternoon in the Hall, from spools off a projector that made a jarring sound. It was an amazing experience — black and white Charlie Chaplin, Laurel & Hardy films and also Patton with all the bad words. Later, when in college, we would bunk classes to watch most of the popular Hindi and English movies.
At the New York Film Academy, I was exposed to an entire range of the world’s best in cinema. Satyajit Ray, Akira Kurosawa, Ingmar Bergman, Antonioni, John Ford, William Wyler, Fellini, Jean Renoir… And I watched a whole lot of films on the American Movie Chain (AMC). There I discovered all of Spencer Tracy’s films and fell in love with his sense of timing and under playing. It was also a time when I discovered Guru Dutt and marveled at his brand of filmmaking from Pyaasa, Kaagaz Ke Phool, Chaudhvin Ka Chand, Sahib Biwi Aur Ghulam to Aar Paar and Mr & Mrs 55[2].
It is hard to believe I began the shoot for The Outhouse on September 18, 1996, and completed it in 14 days – on October 1. After we went through the rushes, we required two more shots to link the gaps. Since I was on a shoestring budget of a few lakh rupees, I had rehearsals with the cast for close to three months. I doff my hat to them in gratitude as 90% of the film was canned on first takes. I could not afford retakes, and I worked with a brilliant cameraman, S Ramachandra, who was very supportive and encouraging. He shot most of B V Karanth, Girish Karnad, and Girish Kasaravalli films as well as the popular tele-serial Malgudi Days[3]. A number of first-time directors like myself, had benefitted immensely by his generosity and patience.
Since it was an independent film, whatever little finance I had, I sunk into the film. And then it took me a year to complete post-production for lack of finance.
I was particular about the casting. I wanted the Anglo-Indian look, feel, mannerisms, costume, interiors to be authentic. I met each cast member and spoke to them at length about the vision I had for my film. Almost all of them were from the Bangalore English Theatre, and all of them were cooperative. Moreover, Cooke Town is a quaint little place with many English bungalows and outhouses. After some struggle, I found one on Milton Street which suited my story perfectly.
After The Outhouse was selected for the Indian Panorama in IFFI ’98 and received the two national awards, I just walked into Plaza Theatre on MG Road in Bangalore and met the owner, Mr Ananthanarayan. He had heard about the film and asked me to meet the distributor, Nitin Shah of Hansa Pictures in Gandhi Nagar, the biggest distributor of English films. He put it on for a noon show for three weeks while Fire was on for the matinee and evening shows. The distributor then put it in Mangalore and Udupi for a week. And when I received the Gollapudi Srinivas National Award in Chennai, Aparna Sen was one of the honoured guests. She saw a small portion of the film and said that she would speak to Mr Ansu Sur to screen it at Nandan in Kolkata — founded by Satyajit Ray to help screen small independent films. A theatre owner in Kolkata recommended a person who took the film to the North East. It was also screened in parts of Kerala.
Coincidentally, this April 30th, The Outhouse will be screened in the leafy neighbourhood of Cooke Town next to the outhouse where the film was shot.
Still from The Outhouse, provided by Ratnottama Sengupta
RS: In the last 50 years we have seen films by directors like Aparna Sen, Ajay Kar, Anjan Dutt. Even before these, Ray had touched upon Anglo Indians in Mahanagar. These are all films made in Kolkata. Is it because this is the erstwhile capital of the Raj?
LC: Many of the films on Anglo-Indians were based in Calcutta. It was the influence of the British Raj and its culture that was so much a part of their long history of ruling there. Of course their influence was in other parts of the country as well like Madras, Hyderabad, Bangalore, Whitefield and Kolar Gold Fields, the railway colonies all over the country, the hill stations, and many other cities which has pockets of Anglo-Indians.
RS: I remember one Hindi film, Julie that had an Anglo-Indian protagonist. How has the community been projected in popular culture? Was it lopsided or biased?
LC: Throughout our film history Anglo-Indians have played bit roles here and there. Some significant roles came their way in Bhowani Junction, the teleserial Queenie, 36 Chowrighee Lane, Bow Barracks Forever, Bada Din, Cotton Mary, The Outhouse, Saptapadi, Mahanagar, Julie, and Calcutta I’m Sorry[4].
Some of the characterisations have been quite biased; some not well fleshed out; some in passing fleeting moments of drunkenness, prostitution. The song and dance sequences have not helped the community, sadly.
RS:What led you to writing? The screenplay for The Outhouse?
LC: I wrote the screenplay of The Outhouse on plain A4 sheets of paper, on both sides. This is not done but I did it to save on cost. I gave the screenplay to my cinematographer S. Ramachandra, and in his generosity he understood my purpose. I went by what was taught at the New York Film Academy. Of course, I had to combine all the elements to make it whole. The idea of the screenplay came to me while I was at the film school in 1995.
RS: What was the trigger for writing Smoke in the Backwaters?
LC: As an artist, filmmaker, and writer, I have tried to combine all the elements of story-telling – fact and fiction — keeping in mind the flow of ideas, pace and momentum to engage and interest my audience and readers.
I remember beginning to write the novel two decades ago when my mother — who studied in Kannada medium — said, “I hope you will write it in simple English so I can read it too.”
And I wanted it to be reader friendly with regard to the font size, the brightness of the paper, the spacing, the clarity and the size of the book. I was lucky my publisher ‘Anglo-Ink’ was supportive and combined well to find that centre.
Provided by Ratnottama Sengupta
RS: How are you marketing the book? Through Litfests? Bookstore readings? Airport bookstalls? A H Wheelers?
LC: Since Anglo-Ink is a small-time publisher, we’ve had a dream launch in my hometown Bangalore at the Catholic Club. My book seller is Bookworm on Church Street in the heart of Bangalore and for people in Cooke Town it is in The Lightroom’ library.
We are looking at launches in various cities as well, through book readings, LitFests, Airport book stalls, AH Wheelers, readings at schools and colleges.
Since a major portion of the novel is set in Germany, we are looking at translating it into German. I hope to get it translated in a few Indian languages as well.
RS:Since the sunset decade of 1900s, Anglo Indians have been migrating to Australia and Canada. What triggered this migration? Economics or politics?
LC: The migration of Anglo-Indians was inevitable. It was bound to happen for reasons more than one, be it political, economic or social. First under the ‘Whites Only’ policy, many fair skinned Anglo-Indians migrated — the brown and dark skinned were left behind. Slowly they opened up and even they left. Some felt they would adapt better to a western culture, and have adopted their new country as their homeland.
RS:You were a big support for me when my son joined NLSUI in 2000. Again, when I curated Anadi, the exhibition of paintings by Contemporary and indigenous artists from MP and Chhattisgarh. Bangalore has since become an international megalopolis. How has life changed for the locals?
LC: Bangalore has changed dramatically and drastically. The change was bound to happen because of its growing prominence of an International City. The IT industry brought jobs, slowly other industries, started picking up from real estate, fashion, digital technology and social media platforms, start-ups, academics, sports, games, recreational and tourism.
The moderate climate was a huge bonus that attracted people from all over. Bangalore has always been cordial, encouraging and accommodative of people from all over through their mild manners, hospitality and gentleness.
Today Bangalore is unrecognisable. Still, some pockets retain that old world charm of neat, clean and green Bengaluru from the old Pensioners Paradise of Bangalore.
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[1]The Ten Commandments (1956), The Bible (1966), Hatari (1962), To Sir, with Love (1967)
[2]Pyaasa (Thirsty, 1957), Kaagaz Ke Phool (Paper flowers, 1959), Chaudhvin Ka Chand (The Full Moon, 1960), Sahib Biwi Aur Ghulam (The Master, the Wife and the Slave, 1962), Aar Paar (This shore or that, 1954), Mr &Mrs 55 (1955).
[4]Bhowani Junction (1956), TV miniseries Queenie (1987), 36 Chowrighee Lane (1981), Bow Barracks Forever (2004), Bada Din (1998), Cotton Mary (1999), Saptapadi (Seven Steps, 1981), Mahanagar (The Big City, 1963), Julie (1975), and Calcutta I’m Sorry (2019)
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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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Jibanananda Das’ poems on war and for the common masses have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.
A Scene with an Aged Queen, a poem by Ihlwha Choi has been translated from Korean by the poet himself. Clickhere to read.
Tagore’sEsho Bosonto, Esho Aj Tumi(Come Spring, Come Today) has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.
Pandies’ Corner
For Sanjay Kumar: To Sir — with Love has been written for the founder of pandies’ theatre by Tanvir, a youngster from the Nithari village where pandies’ worked with traumatised victims. Over time, these kids have transcended the trauma to lead fulfilling lives. The late Sanjay Kumar passed on this January. This is a tribute to him by one of his students. It has been translated from the Hindustani original by Lourdes M Surpiya. Click here to read.
Drops of water gather to make a wave. The waves make oceans that reshape land masses over time…
Five years ago, on March 14th, in the middle of the pandemic, five or six of us got together to start an online forum called Borderless Journal. The idea was to have a space that revelled with the commonality of felt emotions. Borderless was an attempt to override divisive human constructs and bring together writers and ideators from all over the Earth to have a forum open to all people — a forum which would be inclusive, tolerant, would see every individual as a part of the fauna of this beautiful planet. We would be up in the clouds — afloat in an unbordered stratosphere— to meet and greet with thoughts that are common to all humans, to dream of a world we can have if we choose to explore our home planet with imagination, kindness and love. It has grown to encompass contributors from more than forty countries, and readers from all over the world — people who have the same need to reach out to others with felt emotions and common concerns.
Borderless not only celebrates the human spirit but also hopes to create over time a vibrant section with writings on the environment and climate change. We launch the new section today on our fifth anniversary.
Devraj Singh Kalsi with a soupçon of ironic amusement muses on humans’ attitude to the fauna around him and Farouk Gulsara lays on a coating of sarcasm while addressing societal norms. Meredith Stephens brings us concerns for a green Earth when she beachcombs in a remote Australian island. Prithvijeet Sinha continues to familiarise us with his city, Lucknow. Suzanne Kamata, on the other hand travels to Rwanda to teach youngsters how to write a haiku!
Professor Fakrul Alam takes us to libraries in Dhaka with the hope that more will start writing about the waning of such paradises for book lovers. Other than being the month that hosts World Environment Day, March also homes, International Women’s Day. Commemorating the occasion, we have essays from Meenakshi Malhotra on the past poetry of women and from Ratnottama Sengupta on women in Bengali Cinema. Sengupta has also interviewed Poulami Bose Chatterjee, the daughter of the iconic actor Soumitra Chatterjee to share with us less-known vignettes from the actor’s life. Keith Lyons has interviewed Malaysian writer-editor Daphne Lee to bring to us writerly advice and local lores on ghosts and hauntings.
We also have a translation by Lourdes M Supriya from Hindustani of a student’s heartrending cry to heal from grief for a teacher who faced an untimely end — a small dirge from Tanvir, a youngster with his roots in Nithari violence who transcended his trauma to teach like his idol and tutor, the late Sanjay Kumar. With this, we hope to continue with the pandies corner, with support from Lourdes and Anuradha Marwah, Kumar’s partner.
Borderless has grown in readership by leaps and bounds. There have been requests for books with writings from our site. On our fifth anniversary, we plan to start bringing out the creative writing housed in Borderless Journal in different volumes. We had brought out an anthology in 2022. It was well received with many reviews. But we have many gems, and each writer is valued here. Therefore, Rhys Hughes, one of our editorial board members, has kindly consented to create a new imprint to bring out books from the Borderless Journal. We are very grateful to him.
We are grateful to the whole team, our contributors and readers for being with us through our journey. We would not have made it this far without each one of you. Special thanks to Sohana Manzoor for her artwork too, something that has almost become synonymous with the cover page of our journal. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
Wish you all happy reading! Do pause by our content’s page and take a look at all the wonderful writers.
A stock taking of women in Bengali cinema – as protagonists, actors and directors – by Ratnottama Sengupta
Actress Rituparna SenguptaLate actress Kanan Devi (1916-1992)From Public Domain
“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.
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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’.
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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.
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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).
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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 (22nd 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.
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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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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
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 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.
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[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.
[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
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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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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Tumi Kon Kanoner Phulby Tagore andAnjali Loho Morby Nazrul, love songs by the two greats, have been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click hereto read.
One Life, One Love, 300 Children : Keith Lyons writes of Tendol Gyalzur, a COVID 19 victim, a refugee and an orphan who found new lives for many other orphans with love and an ability to connect. Click here to read.
When West Meets East & Greatness Blooms: Debraj Mookerjee reflects on how syncretism impacts greats like Tagore,Tolstoy, Emerson, Martin Luther King Jr, Gandhi and many more. Click here to read.
Dilip Kumar: Kohinoor-e-Hind: In a tribute to Bollywood legend Dileep Kumar, Ratnottama Sengupta, one of India’s most iconic arts journalists, recollects the days the great actor sprinted about on the sets of Bombay’s studios …spiced up with fragments from the autobiography of Sengupta’s father, Nabendu Ghosh. Click here to read.
Are Some of Us More Human than Others ?: Meenakshi Malhotra ponders at the exclusivity that reinforces divisions, margins and borders that continue to plague humankind, against the backdrop of the Women’s Month, March. Click here to read.
Reminiscences from a Gallery: MF Husain: Dolly Narang recounts how she started a gallery more than four decades ago and talks of her encounter with world renowned artist, MF Husain. Click hereto read.
Baraf Pora (Snowfall) by Rabindranath Tagore,gives a glimpse of his first experience of snowfall in Brighton and published in the Tagore family journal, Balak (Children), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Clickhere to read.
Cherry Blossom Forecast: Suzanne Kamata brings the Japanese ritual of cherry blossom viewing to our pages with her camera and words. Clickhere to read.
Two Pizza Fantasies, Rhys Hughes recounts myths around the pizza in prose, fiction and poetry, Click here to read.
An Alien on the Altar!: Snigdha Agrawal writes of how a dog and lizard add zest to festivities with a dollop of humour. Click here to read.
Where it all Began: Sybil Pretious recounts her first adventure, an ascent on Mt Kilimanjaro at the age of sixty. Clickhere to read.
Conversations
Rabindranath Tagore: A Universal Bard.: This conversation between Aruna Chakravarti and Sunil Gangopadhyay that took place at a Tagore Conference organised by the Sahitya Akademi in Kochy in 2011. Click here to read.
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. (Review & Interview).
In conversation with the late Akbar Barakzai, a Balochi poet in exile who rejected an award from Pakistan Academy of Letters for his principles. Click here to read.
Jim Goodman, an American traveler, author, ethnologist and photographer who has spent the last half-century in Asia, converses with Keith Lyons. Click here to read.
InBridge over Troubled Waters, the late Sanjay Kumar tells us about Pandies, an activist theatre group founded by him that educates, bridging gaps between the divides of university educated and the less fortunate who people slums or terror zones. Click here to read.
In Lessons Old and New from a Stray Japanese Cat, Keith Lyons talks with the author of The Cat with Three Passports, CJ Fentiman who likes the anonymity loaned by resettling in new places & enjoys creating a space for herself away from her birthplace. Click hereto read.
Fiction
Aparichitaby Tagore: This short story has been translated as The Stranger by Aruna Chakravarti. Click hereto read.
Hena by Nazrul has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click here to read.
Playlets byRabindranath Tagore: Two skits that reveal the lighter side of the poet. They have been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.
Abhagi’s Heaven, a poignant story by Saratchandra Chattopadhyay translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read.
An Eternal Void, a Balochi story by Munir Ahmed Badini translated by Fazal Baloch. Click hereto read.
The Witch, a short story by renowned Bengali writer Tarasankar Bandopadhyay (1898 to 1971), translated by Aruna Chakravarti. Clickhere to read.
I Grew into a Flute: Balochi Folktale involving magic retold by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.
Give Me A Rag, Please:A short story by Nabendu Ghosh, translated by Ratnottama Sengupta, set in the 1943 Bengal Famine, which reflects on man’s basic needs. Click here to read
Rakhamaninov’s Sonata: A short story by Sherzod Artikov, translated from Uzbeki by Nigora Mukhammad. Click hereto read.
The Magic Staff , a poignant short story about a Rohingya child by Shaheen Akhtar, translated from Bengali by Arifa Ghani Rahman. Click here to read.
Khaira, the Blind, a story by Nadir Ali, has been translated from Punjabi by Amna Ali. Click here to read.
The Browless Dolls by S.Ramakrishnan, has been translated from Tamil by B Chandramouli. Click hereto read.
No Man’s Land: Sohana Manzoor gives us surrealistic story reflecting on after-life. Click hereto read.
The Protests Outside: Steve Ogah talks of trauma faced by riot victims in Nigeria. Click here to read.
Flash Fiction: Turret: Niles M Reddick relates a haunting tale of ghosts and more. Click here to read.
Henrik’s Journey: Farah Ghuznavi follows a conglomerate of people on board a flight to address issues ranging from Rohingyas to race bias. Click hereto read.
Does this Make Me a Psychic?; Erwin Coombs tells a suspenseful, funny, poignant and sad story, based on his real life experiences. Click here to read.
Phôs and Ombra: Paul Mirabile weaves a dark tale about two people lost in a void. Click here to read.
A Queen is Crowned: Farhanaz Rabbani traces the awakening of self worth. Click here to read.
Borderless 