Satyajit Ray: A Look Into The Man Behind The Maestro
Beyond the towering reputation of the filmmaker lies a more intimate story—of a husband, artist, collaborator and dreamer, seen through the eyes of a trusted companion
A clichéd way of describing the relationship between photographer Nemai Ghosh and legendary filmmaker Satyajit Ray is that the former was a ‘Boswell’—working with camera rather than pen—to the latter. From their first collaboration in 1968, on the sets of Ray’s classic fantasy Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne, a kinship formed: Ray appreciated the shooting stills taken by Ghosh, and for the next 24 years Ghosh would devotedly chronicle the life and art of the man he admired so much.
But a more amusing description of their working relationship can be found in the book Faces and Facets: Satyajit Ray in Colour, published by DAG (formerly Delhi Art Gallery) to accompany an exhibition of Ghosh’s photos that was held in the gallery from 8 May to 4 July this year. Ray—no doubt with great affection—once said, “Nemai is like a bug on my windowsill.” It’s a droll image that makes sense when you look at these images, which are intimate and expansive at the same time, effortlessly bringing together Ray the person and Ray the multi-talented artist.
Though many of Ghosh’s Ray photos have been displayed before, this exhibition presents a series of carefully restored colour photographs, divided into two broad categories. The first comprises solo images of the maestro in various moods, ranging from pensive to busy to goofy, as well as family photos; the second category centres on the films themselves, capturing behind-...
A clichéd way of describing the relationship between photographer Nemai Ghosh and legendary filmmaker Satyajit Ray is that the former was a ‘Boswell’—working with camera rather than pen—to the latter. From their first collaboration in 1968, on the sets of Ray’s classic fantasy Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne, a kinship formed: Ray appreciated the shooting stills taken by Ghosh, and for the next 24 years Ghosh would devotedly chronicle the life and art of the man he admired so much.
But a more amusing description of their working relationship can be found in the book Faces and Facets: Satyajit Ray in Colour, published by DAG (formerly Delhi Art Gallery) to accompany an exhibition of Ghosh’s photos that was held in the gallery from 8 May to 4 July this year. Ray—no doubt with great affection—once said, “Nemai is like a bug on my windowsill.” It’s a droll image that makes sense when you look at these images, which are intimate and expansive at the same time, effortlessly bringing together Ray the person and Ray the multi-talented artist.
Though many of Ghosh’s Ray photos have been displayed before, this exhibition presents a series of carefully restored colour photographs, divided into two broad categories. The first comprises solo images of the maestro in various moods, ranging from pensive to busy to goofy, as well as family photos; the second category centres on the films themselves, capturing behind-the scenes vignettes from such works as Shatranj ke Khiladi, Sonar Kella, Ashani Sanket, Agantuk, and Sadgati.
We see Ray at work, as well as in quotidian situations. Here he is, consulting the rough-bound notebook—or the kheror khata—that he maintained for each film, full of his storyboards, scribbled ideas and stated intentions for each scene. In another photo he is painting, with his own hand, the opening title of Joi Baba Felunath on a Varanasi ghat—a reminder that he wanted to be involved in every aspect of his cinema, even making the promotional posters and booklets. There are images with Hindi-film actors such as Sanjeev Kumar, Amjad Khan, Smita Patil and Om Puri, who were among the few Bombay stars who got to work with him. Elsewhere, he rehearses with an orchestra, supervising musical arrangements for a film.
One striking image from the Ghare Baire shoot has Ray seated by a river bank, having walked away to be by himself; in his notes, Ghosh said he was like a rishi in meditation here, but this might also be a view of a troubled artist in a predicament, trying to find a solitary space away from the hurly-burly, even as he practised a collaborative art.
There are location photos too, such as a group shot with the great dancer Balasaraswati during a beach shoot in Tamil Nadu for Ray’s documentary Bala—evidence of the director’s admiration for artistes in other fields, including classical music. Or a shoot in Rajasthan with camels in the background, where Ray apparently joked—alluding to his budget constraints—that he had to make do with one camera set-up for an adventure film like Sonar Kella, while someone like Akira Kurosawa would have used nine.
And then there are the more personal photos, including the wedding anniversary pictures that Ghosh took of Ray and his wife Bijoya over the years—images which Ray was reticent about, asking that they not be published at the time.
Worshipful as Ghosh was towards his subject, much of his work also performs the function of demythologizing an artist whose very name can be daunting for some people (especially those who have only grappled with the reputation of ‘Satyajit Ray’ without experiencing his work, which is usually tender and accessible). For instance, in some photos, taken just months before Ray’s death in 1992, we see him at a point when his health was deteriorating fast. One poignant photo has him walking in his verandah to get the exercise he needed because of his health problems—an unusual image, given that most shots of him at home show him at his desk, surrounded by creative tools. To see him older and frailer is to be reminded that everyone slows down, and even the greatest achievers eventually do only a fraction of what they set out to do.
Many film buffs are familiar with the phenomenon of a second-hand ‘nostalgia’ for a place and time that they never actually lived through: certainly, many of us have wondered what it would be like to be a fly on the wall (or a bug on a windowsill!) when Satyajit Ray was in full flow in his study, or on set. These photos give us many iconic moments frozen in time, with much to relish and revisit—not just for the Ray fan but for anyone who worries about the carelessness and neglect that has marked cultural documentation in India.
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