With a first-person account published in Mumbai Mirror on February 21, 2018, Shabana Azmi had recounted her visit to the filmmaker to present him with the Filmfare trophy. We reproduce it as her tribute to him
MUMBAI MIRROR (December 31, 2018)

“Would you like to present Filmfare’s Lifetime Achievement Award to Mrinal Sen?” asked Jitesh Pillai, editor of Filmfare. I jumped at the offer. “He isn’t keeping well and his son Kunal is wary of cameras and crew invading his privacy. But when he got to know that it was you who would be the presenter, he relaxed,” added Jitesh.

A few days later, after Kunal and I had exchanged a few emails and I’d assured him that we would be discreet and sensitive, I got permission from his doctor and was on my way to Kolkata, completely prepared that anything could go wrong, and we might have to return disappointed.

It was with great trepidation that I entered Mrinal da’s home. This was a flat I’d never visited, but the sketches and photographs on the wall were comfortingly familiar. With his back to the door, he was sitting at the dining table with Dr Adhrishya, a friend of many years. I sat down beside him gingerly. “Ah Shabana!” he exclaimed and held my hand tightly. I wasn’t expecting this. I had been told his memory is fading and my heart leaped with joy as he recognised me.

I presented the award to him, draped a shawl over his shoulders, offered a bouquet and sat down next to him. He hugged me, not once or twice, but several times, touching my face tenderly like my mother does. My tears dropped silently on the table. Mrinal da is as fond of me as I am of him, but in all the years that I’ve known him, there had never been such an open display of affection. I was overwhelmed!

The first question he asked was “Did you think Gita was a good actress?” His wife, Gita, his muse, his critic and his steadfast partner, had passed away some months ago. Kunal had told me that Mrinal da misses her every minute. And now he wanted validation for her. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I said, “Gita di was a brilliant actress and a lovely human being.” His face lit up with a broad smile. I then narrated how Gita di, who had played my invalid mother in Khandhar, had given me acting tips which I use to this day. He listened like a proud mother listening to the accomplishments of her child, basking unabashedly in the reflected glory.

Pointing to a big photograph of himself, he asked, “Do you know who that man is?” “Mrinal Sen,” I replied, “a terrific filmmaker and a wonderful human being.” He responded in a soft voice, saying, “It’s not good to live so long. Do you know I’m 90 years old?” He didn’t sound broken, only matter-of-fact. I hugged him tightly and we sat there wordlessly.

Dr Adhrishya whispered that I should try and make him speak because he has become very quiet. The effort to engage is fatiguing. I tried to make some conversation, even Jitesh asked me a few questions about my experience of working with Mrinal da. I answered distractedly, before I asked him, “Which is your favourite film, Mrinal da?” “A difficult question to answer,” he replied, and I knew that it was not right to have him prod his memory.

I could see that he was getting tired and it was time to go. Dr Adhrishya brought out a copy of his memoirs, Always Being Born: Mrinal Sen, and I asked him to sign it for me. It was a huge effort. He scrawled something indecipherable and then signed off with ‘Mrinal Sen’ in that familiar handwriting. I took the pen and told him, “I will keep this with me, always.” Along with the wonderful memories I have of working with Mrinal da in three films; Khandahar, Genesis and Ek Din Achanak.

The world might know him as this effusive, confident man, often with his foot in his mouth, an iconoclast. But during the making of Khandahar, I discovered that Jamini, the character he had written for me, was also drawn from the recesses of Mrinal da’s being. He is gentle and shy too — a facet he liked to keep hidden from the world. And in these contradictions lies the strength of Mrinal Sen, the filmmaker.

This once garrulous man has fallen silent, but his films will continue to speak to us....
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Shabana Azmi pens a personal tribute to the giant of world cinema, Mrinal Sen, who passed away on Sunday
Shabana Azmi (MID-DAY; December 31, 2018)

I cannot separate the man from the filmmaker. He was like his films, a bundle of paradoxes - strong but gentle, urbane but rustic, both a creator and an iconoclast who was very sensitive and very human.

He was deeply invested in the world around him, and did not hesitate to question his own frailties through his films. That's what made his such a strong voice. I remember a very moving afternoon during the making of Ek Din Achanak. Mrinal da was in an unusually quiet mood. When I asked what was bothering him, he said, "Perhaps the character [played by Dr Sriram Lagoo] disappears in the film because he has come to terms with his own mediocrity. Maybe it's time I face my own.

I didn't say anything, only sat by his side holding his hand. I knew he needed quiet time. Mrinal Sen was by no means mediocre. But the fact that he had the courage to question himself, with objectivity, made him who he was. I drank back the tears that had filled my eyes, and quietly started humming a tune. We sat there, hand-in-hand, for what seemed like an eternity.

He loved his wife Geeta, and would always look for her approval. He'd often get impatient when it took its time to come. Theirs was a beautiful relationship. They depended heavily on each other, but both had strong individual identities. When I last met him earlier this year, he could speak very little. Geeta di's name came up frequently. It was obvious hers was the presence he missed the most.

He wore his fame lightly, but when attacked, would fight back tooth-and-nail. That's what kept the child in him alive, I guess. Mrinal da was an extraordinarily important filmmaker, because he had a maverick streak that made his films edgy and unpredictable. Most of the times, they worked. Sometimes, they didn't. But they could not be ignored. His body of work is prolific. Kharij, Ek Din Achanak and Khandhar are my favourites. I loved working with him in all three films - Khandar, Genesis, and Ek Din Achanak. I consider Khandar to be the film in which I made the least number of mistakes. The protagonist, Jamini, is a character I love deeply, and, strange though it may seem, saw a lot of Mrinal da in her - her vulnerability, self-respect, her refusal to be a victim.

I was traumatised when Mrinal da decided that my last shot in the film Khandar - where my face appears to be embedded into the ruins - would be shot first. I protested, but he would have none of it. In hindsight, I think that is what helped me internalise Jamini. It was a risk, but it worked owing to his confidence that he could pull it off! I was surprised to discover that, on the outside, I may have a gregarious front, but there is also a shy Jamini in the recesses of my being. I'm thankful to Mrinal da for helping me discover that.

I am deeply saddened by Mrinal da's loss. But I seek consolation in the fact that the last time I met him will be the one I will always cherish. I was asked to give him the Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award and was warned he was frail and uncommunicative. I approached him with some trepidation, but was delighted to find that not only did he recognise me, he also hugged me warmly. We spent time holding each other's hands in silence, as we had once done.