Aaj jemon kore gaichhe akash/temni kore gao go
I have always tried to keep
myself detached and indifferent to any mrityusangbad.
I have seen many people, near and dear ones, die but in most cases I have stayed
away from their funerals or sraddha.
The news came and went not leaving a long-lasting impact on my mind. There have
been only sudden attack of memories that tell me about their absence in my
life. Off late I have realized I fear death. I am scared of facing death in any
form.
But a person’s death, quite
surprisingly, has left me devastated. I never realized how much the person had
filled my heart and mind with his life and work. At 10 in the morning, one of
my journalist friends told me, “hey Rituparno is no more”. I could not believe his
words. After crosschecking the information, when I called my newsdesk, as the
phone at the other end was ringing, I wondered if I was about to give them correct
information or if it was a rumour. I doubted myself. The news of course came as
a surprise to all. No one thought that the man would leave us so early. That
was the moment since when the mon
kharaper dista started piling up. I started missing him terribly. It was as
if I had to speak to him, but I missed the bus.
In my journalistic career I had
the chance to speak to him three or four times. It was for purely professional
reasons. Many a time he refused to speak. But that was not the connection I had
with Rituparno Ghosh. At the end of my school life, Unishe April, made its
appearance on the big screen. Rituparno made his appearance in the industry in
a big way and in my life as well. One of my uncle-friend actually took me
inside Rituparno’s world as I watched one film after another. He taught me how
Rituparno delved into women’s psychology and handled relations in his films,
how he took care of details like Manikbabu used to and what his language of
cinema was.
Apart from his films, my bonding
with Rituparno’s thoughts was first through his chat show on Bengali channels
and then his editorials in Sangbad Pratidin’s Sunday magazine Robbar. I have found
he had a huge fan following of First Person, the editorial column. His style of
prose and personal intimate words were really refreshing. His attachment to his
parents, his loner-self, the symbols of Bengali middle class sentiments was
evident from his writings. Probably that is the reason why I could probably
relate to him, his world.
His immense knowledge about
almost everything, his way of internalizing Rabindranath Tagore, his interest
in Mahabharat, his sense of beauty, his dream to do films with Hollywood stars
sitting in Kolkata and, most importantly, his desire to be a woman and subtle
support to the LGBT movement through his own life were all signs of his
superior intellectual self. His achievements were not his films but his life as
a whole. A star has fallen off the sky of Bengal’s intelligentsia.
Standing in front of his house on
that cloudy and gloomy Thursday morning, I realized I used to adore Rituparno
Ghosh silently. I actually wanted to listen to him silently. I wanted to read
as he did. I wanted to enrich myself following his words, works and apparent
discipline in life like a voyeur. He had a lot more to give us. Like most of
the talented rebels, Rituparno left us too early.
As his body was being taken out
of his home, he was still smiling with his eyes closed. The sorrow was deep
inside my heart. The painful feeling lingered.
A song still hovers in my mind as
I look back to his face at the last journey:
Bonomali tumi porojonome hoiyo radha.
