When I met Ritwik Da and Satyajit Ray ..
I have never actually craved meeting big shots; even as a kid I have
never enjoyed collecting autographs of Actors, Cricketers but still I
have bumped into many, mostly per chance. It was just one of those
days at The Film Institute that having got up late, around lunch
time, I was escalating down the road from Boy’s Hostel toward the
Canteen for some Puri Bhaji & Chai that I noticed, none other
than Satyajit Ray, in person emerge out of the corner Mutari, cross
over toward Studio #1 and walk up the side staircase doubtless
towards the guest rooms upstairs. I think he was on the first landing
when I caught his sight and greeted him from ground level, looking
up. He looked down upon me hesitating and halting his step so I said
that I am a resident student of Film Direction and would like to meet
him with some of my class fellows. He refused to meet us, point
blank, in a clipped, Oxonian accent resuming his ascent to the guest
room. (period) End of meeting ! Later, I was told there was a
convocation and he’d come as chief guest to distribute Diplomas.
That, I believe, was his one & only visit to the FTII.
Another fine morning, in the Canteen, I was finishing my Puri Bhaji &
double Chai when someone said, “Look ! That’s Ritwik Ghatak !
Sitting under the Wisdom Tree !” I looked out the window and saw an
old man in Kurta Pajama was indeed sitting crouched, knees level with
his chin, facing the main gate, smoking .. and I noticed the black
frame of his glasses in profile. He was just sitting alone, there was
no one else under the wisdom tree just at that moment. I couldn’t
believe my eyes; I thought, ‘Ritwik Ghatak ! Is that him?’ ...
but I got up at once, carried my half finished glass of tea to the
door of the Canteen and then across the road, looking at and
approaching the Man. He just kept staring right ahead, blankly as
though he was expecting someone. Placing my glass on the plinth I
said, “Namaskar Dada” with joined hands and sat down next to him.
His vibe was so close & cool, he almost felt like an old relative
of mine ! Soon someone brought him some Chai, Old Kokje, the
projectionist emerged from Main Theatre and said projection was ready
and we all drifted in. Dada still smoking and carrying his cup of tea
went straight down the isle to the middle seat in the front row, (my
seat!) and we looked at what he was watching, say reel #3 of
“Viridiana” ...
Later, we went to the Book Library at the rear of Studio # 1,
opposite the Sound Dept. He pulled out some twenty or thirty volumes
from many shelves and asked Madam to send them to his Guest Room. In
the evening when we went to see him there was a record player &
Western Classical music, many open, half read books scattered upon
the carpet and table, a bottle of wine from which he swigged without
offering a drop to anyone else ... and HE TALKED ! He rambled, he
kicked anyone who asked a stupid question and we sat upon the floor,
transfixed, just imbibing I know not what all that he spoke about
between swigs from his bottle of wine.
This went on till late, very late in the night. The next morning
getting up late as usual, when I twaddled down toward the canteen for
Puri Bhaji he was up there on the balcony ! A bottle of wine clutched
in one hand and a bidi stuck between his middle & fourth finger,
nearer the cleft. He was loudly showering his blessings upon passers
by. And then more films, marathon sessions; none of the films will
he watch completely; “THAKO !” He will shout over the projector
noise and sound track and we will all repeat the command till Kokje
will stop the projector. He will then demand to watch reel# so &
so from so & so movie !! While Kokje and the assistant from The
Archive, search and thread the new order, he will talk, talk like a
good Bengali, he will speak in English, standing facing us with his
bottle in his hand and his bum resting on the edge of the stage, the
screen behind his tall figure. He was a man with long limbs, like
Siddhartha, The Gautama Buddha.
This went on, day & night for a timeless period of time and one
fine morning there was no Dada upon the balcony, smoking &
drinking & cursing and blessing us all, those who were passing by
down below upon the central sloping street of the then Film
Institute.