National Award-winning director Buddhadeb Dasgupta on his Uttara actor Tapas Pal
Hiren Kotwani and Jayatri Nag (MUMBAI MIRROR; February 19, 2020)

Sixty-one-year-old actor and former TMC MP Tapas Pal passed away on Tuesday at 3.30 am. He is survived by his wife Nandini and daughter Sohini.

Pal had a history of heart ailments and was also suffering from nerve-related problems. He was on his way to the US to meet his daughter when ge fell ill and was admitted to a Mumbai hospital on February 1. The funeral will be held in Kolkata this evening.

Pal started his journey in Bengali films with Dadar Kirti (1980) opposite Debashree Roy and entered Bollywood with Abodh (1984) with another debutante Madhuri Dixit. His memorable films include Guru Dakshina, Amar Bandhan, Parabat Priya, Bhalobasa Bhalobasa, Anurager Choyan and Amar Bandhan. Veteran actor Soumitro Chattopadhyay was shattered by his death and Debasree was so distraught she couldn’t say a a word.

National Award-winning filmmaker Buddhadeb Dasgupta (right), who collaborated with Pal in Uttara and Mondo Meyer Upakhyan, described him as one of the finest actors he’s worked with. “A director only had to find an interesting role for Tapas. He grasped what was required during the narration itself,” he raved, recalling that after the premiere of Uttara, when he was honoured with the Special Director Award at the Venice Film Festival in 2000, an excited Tapas was dancing on the streets. “It was his way of expressing his joy. I had to go out and stop him. We spoke six months ago, he was losing his memory. It made me so sad.”

Pal graduated in EOM Bio Science. He joined the Trinamool Congress in 2000 and was elected from the Alipore Assembly seat as MLA the following year. He was elected to the Parliament (MP) from Krishnanagar for two consecutive terms. He was arrested by CBI in connection with multi-crore Rose Valley chit-fund scam in December 2016. Following his release from jail, after 13 months, he had distanced himself from both films and politics.

Pt Vishwa Mohan Bhatt (above) holds a Grammy he won in 1993 at his Jaipur residence; (below) Bhatt’s son Salil

Top artistes end up with many trophies in their lifetimes, leaving no room for them
Priyanka Dasgupta (THE TIMES OF INDIA; February 3, 2020)

On a December evening that marked the first anniversary of film-maker Mrinal Sen’s death, his Chicago-based son and daughter-in-law opened the door of their Kolkata flat to friends and well-wishers. In an act of unusual generosity, the duo decided to give away the maestro’s possessions, including some of the trophies awarded to him.

Apart from awards like Dadasaheb Phalke, Padma or National Awards, an increasing number of honours — medals, figurines, framed citations — are bestowed on doyens in the film industry. Consequently, celebrity households often run out of storage space and have to constantly devise ways to preserve their prizes.

While trophies awarded to director Buddhadeb Dasgupta were remodelled as door handles of a bungalow he once owned in Kolkata, another veteran director had melted medals to make dining plates. “Preservation of awards is tricky,” said Poulomi Bose, daughter of Dadasaheb Phalke winner Soumitra Chatterjee, admitting the actor — who worked in 14 Satyajit Ray movies since his debut in 1959 — receives 15-odd recognitions a month.

“My father doesn’t like to display or discard them since they’ve been given with love and respect. Many awards are kept in my mother’s almirah or father’s office. We’ve carved out space to keep some at the landing near the staircase. Now he even keeps some underneath his bed,” she said. That seems to be a popular choice of space. Mrinal Sen also kept some awards under his bed.

But Dasgupta, who has 32 National Awards including seven Golden Lotus Awards (Swarna Kamal) to his name, has used some of his trophies for interior decoration. “While some figurines were turned into door handles, others are mounted on the wall,” he said.

The director recounted how once at a party in Raj Kapoor’s house, he found the actor’s awards sitting atop a rotating disc. “I don’t attach much importance to awards and can’t think of displaying them in such a way,” said Dasgupta. His wife and director, Sohini, added she has even given away some awards to relatives and domestic help due to space crunch.

Many other celebrities are also reluctant to turn their residences into a museum of sorts with a “display of achievements” so they put their awards to other uses.

Film-maker Rituparno Ghosh had once narrated how a renowned director served him dinner on plates made from medals he had won and each plate had the year of the award inscribed on it. He had also mentioned that another director — like Dasgupta — had had his awards turned into door handles of his farmhouse.

The celebrities, however, agree on one thing — special awards do get special treatment. Mohan veena player Pt Vishwa Mohan Bhatt has kept the Grammy award that he received in 1993 in the drawing room of his Jaipur residence along with his Padma Shri, Padma Bhushan and Global India Music Award. “Initially, I kept my Grammy in an almirah. Later, I made a glass case as so many people wanted to see it. I also have a theft alarm at home,” said Bhatt.

Satyajit Ray’s family has kept the honorary Oscar that was awarded to him in 1992 and the Golden Lion for ‘Aparajito’ from the Venice Film Festival in a vault. But at home, no one is surprised with a trophy popping out of every cupboard.

With his son director Sandip Ray winning awards too, Sandip’s wife Lalita said storage was becoming a problem.

So sometimes the A-listers part with their awards as soon as they are received. “Carrying home framed citations is difficult since the glass is fragile. Sometimes, I give them away to students in the city I am performing in,” Bhatt told TOI.

Durga Jasraj, daughter of 90-year-old vocalist Pt Jasraj, said awards he won have been distributed to music schools across the globe. “Once when heavy artefacts were awarded to performers at a concert in Mumbai, a certain musician mentioned his humble home was too small to keep them. But the organisers took offence and banned the musician from performing at their institute.”

Some organisers are aware of this challenge, but say appearances have to be kept up. “It’s difficult to carry heavy metal trophies past security checks at airports. But as a festival organiser, I can’t give light-weight trophies since they will look cheap,” said Sangeet Natak Akademi winning sarod player Tejendra Narayan Majumdar, who also organises music festivals.

Shawls that accompany awards hardly take up space. And it’s common practice to distribute them. At Sen’s house last month, a shawl had been kept aside for actor Nandita Das while other belongings went to ordinary people, giving them a chance to own a piece of cinematic history.

Dadasaheb Phalke awardee and last of the triumvirate that included Satyajit Ray and Ritwik Ghatak, is no more
Jayatri Nag (MUMBAI MIRROR; December 31, 2018)

The legendary Mrinal Sen passed away at his South Kolkata residence on Sunday following cardiac arrest. The 95-year-old filmmaker is survived by his son, Kunal. His actress-wife, Gita Sen, passed away in January last year.

As the third pillar of the triumvirate that included Satyajit Ray and Ritwik Ghatak, Sen narrated contemporary realities of life through his films and was one of the pioneers of the Indian newwave cinema.

Winner of innumerable national and international awards, Sen won the highest film honour, Dadasaheb Phalke award, in 2005. He was honoured with the Padma Bhushan, India’s third highest civilian award, in 1983.

Sen won five National Awards, for Akaler Sandhane, Chorus, Parashuram, Kharij and Khandahar, and one National Award for his Telegu film, Oka Oori Katha (1977).

The auteur made his first film Raat Bhore in 1955, with Uttam Kumar, and gained international recognition in 1960, with Baishey Shravan. Mrigaya (1976), which portrayed the plight of tribals in rural India, marked the debut of Mithun Chakrabarty. His 1986 directorial Genesis, featuring Naseeruddin Shah, Om Puri and Shabana Azmi, also told a story of slavery and freedom. His last directorial was Amar Bhuvan in 2002.

Born in Bangladesh’s (erstwhile Bengal) Faridpur in 1923 on May 14, Sen had arrived in Kolkata to study Physics at Scottish Church College and Calcutta University. After completing his education, he was forced to take up a job as a medical representative but he eventually returned to Kolkata to work as an audio technician at a city film studio.

President Ram Nath Kovind condoled Sen’s death on Twitter, sharing, “Sad to learn of the passing of acclaimed film-maker Mrinal Sen. From Bhuvan Shome to the Calcutta trilogy, his penetrating and sensitive portrayal of social realities made him a fine chronicler of our times. A loss to Bengal, to India and to the world of cinema.”

West Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee said, “Mrinal Sen’s death is an immense loss to the film industry.” Filmmaker Buddhadeb Dasgupta called it an “end of an era.” Union Minister Rajyavardhan Rathore and Sitaram Yechury also condoled his death. Veteran actor Soumitra Chattopadhyay was at a loss of words. “I have no words to express my grief.” Shabana Azmi was distraught. “I am deeply saddened by the news. Mrinal da was a very important filmmaker because he had a maverick streak in him that made his films edgy and unpredictable. He was deeply invested in the society around him and did not hesitate to question his own frailties through his films. He was deeply sensitive and humane. I consider Khandhar to be the film in which I have made the least number of mistakes (as an actress). Undoubtedly, he will live on through his films. My deepest condolences to Kunal and Nisha (Sen’s son and daughter-in-law).”

She may have disappointed her father, who wished to see his classical pianist daughter receive a standing ovation at the Albert Hall, but she currently has half a million people, including A R Rahman, cheering her score for the new mob drama Sacred Games. Meet Alokananda Dasgupta, one of a handful of female music directors in Bollywood, who tells Mohua Das about going it alone in a man’s world, conjuring music from noise, and the need to bring background scores to the foreground
Mohua Das (THE TIMES OF INDIA; July 21, 2018)

The apocalyptic chorus in the opening credits of Sacred Games is turning out to be as intriguing as the Laurel-Yanny audio illusion! From kahwa and waah waah to Wadala and Wai Wai, speculation is rife. Please solve this puzzle.

It’s aah waa anne yawa tyu aai — absolute gibberish. I wanted to create a chant with a religious aspect, but at the same time I did not want it to be associated with any religion or country. I wanted it to sound pagan but not witchcrafty. So, I mouthed some nonsensical words on the soundtrack and it fit. A very anti-climactic mystery, actually!

Rahman graciously welcomed you into the “scoring club” on Twitter. But why do you think background scores are still overlooked?
I’ve wondered too. Despite Ilaiyaraja, Satyajit Ray and A R Rahman having set the bar high, it’s only songs that are considered to be music. Even at award shows, it belongs in the technical category. What part of the creativity do they not see? In the West, soundtracks are available in isolation. It’s like the bassline in a rock song. You don’t need to hear it but without it, the song would fall apart. But I think that’s changing now. I’ve never received so much praise for a soundtrack.

You tend to use unconventional sounds — trap rap, water drops, clanging metal, creaks, drones, thuds — alongside classical strings, winds and keys. What guides your musical instincts?
The classical bit comes from my background in piano. Secondly, I’ve been suffering from a noise problem. It started some years ago and it ate me up to an extent that I was hearing noise all the time, be it construction, traffic and motor sounds or the elevator announcement: ‘Please close the door.’ I got my ears tested, checked for Vitamin B deficiency, went to a shrink until I couldn’t deal with it anymore and decided that instead of dreading it, I would look forward to it. I started recording noises and recreating them as musical rhythms. Some of the steel and rubble sounds in Trapped are actual noises from the construction below my floor. It was a personal trip to see if dissonance can attract people and it worked.

How do you define your creative idiom?
I can never let go of my roots in Western classical, Indian folk and attention to melody. Above that bedrock are the ups and downs I’m facing in life, new music and films, people I meet, and the indigenous instruments I discover. To me the sound of the cello is as fascinating as the instrument used for beating cotton mattresses. I think my forte lies in my strong sense of cinema. I really understand narrative and like to defamiliarise the familiar. Anything that you’ve listened to in the past, I want to morph differently.

That sense probably stems from growing up with a famous filmmaker father (Buddhadeb Dasgupta). How did you take to music?
There were many other influences at play. My mother’s grandfather was Rajanikanta Sen (Bengali renaissance poet and composer) and my sister and I were naturally into dance. I was going to take up Odishi as a career but Baba introduced us to piano. We did it as a chore because we weren’t good performers. Then Fauzia Mariker, a music teacher in Kolkata inspired me to study music, for which I went to York University in Toronto. Over time, I realised my happy zone was in the compositional part. I landed in Mumbai to work, assisted Amit Trivedi and then two Marathi films Shala and Fandry came my way. Having grown up on foreign films, a different language or culture didn’t pose a problem. Instead, it opened doors.

We’re seeing women directors, cinematographers, editors; why not more music directors?
I don’t understand why it has been so male dominated for generations although there shouldn’t be anything holding women back. There might be aspects considered easier for men, like handling long and late hours though in a city like Mumbai it isn’t really a problem. There’s also this intimidation of technology. But that’s not imperative to producing good music. I started by writing notations on paper and gradually moved to computing and programming. It can easily be learnt on the job. The craft has nothing to do with gender.

But does it get more difficult when you belong to a minority in an industry within the industry?
Oh yes, there’s definitely an inequality that you know exists but once you get into it, you can change things for yourself. I’ve never faced gender discrimination in terms of wages or work respect. I was always like Matangini Hazra (freedom fighter), expressing myself if I felt something was unfair.

Natasha Coutinho (MUMBAI MIRROR; August 1, 2016)

Pawan Malhotra may not have chased stardom, but his 25-year-old career and a retrospective on it in Delhi, is proof that it’s long overdue
Aastha Atray Banan (MID-DAY; January 3, 2016)

“It was the 70s, and Delhi theatre was at its peak. Plays like Begum Ka Takiya and Mukhyamantri were being staged and names like Pankaj Kapoor were acting,” says Pawan Malhotra, recalling that his acting career began on the stage. “I acted in a play called Father, and there was a line printed in a newspaper that said ‘Pawan Malhotra is impressive as an orderly’. I read it again and again for an entire week.” Today, over three decades later, Delhi’s India International Centre’s Film Club is organising a retrospective on Malhotra’s 25-year journey in films from January 11 to 21.

If you don’t know of Malhotra’s National Award-winning movies like Bagh Bahadur (where he plays a man who paints himself as a tiger and dances in rural Bengal), or Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (where he plays an angry roadside underworld don), you will know him at least for the more commercial roles like Black Friday, Jab We Met, Don and Bhaag Milkha Bhaag. And, of course, you will remember him as Hari from that seminal TV show, Nukkad.

As a part of the retrospective, six movies, including Bagh Bahadur, Children of War, Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro and Brothers In Trouble will be shown. There will also be a seminar, titled Unmasking Pawan, which is a session with Saeed Mirza, Buddhadeb Dasgupta, Amit Rai, Mrityunjay Devvrat, Rakyesh Omprakash Mehra, Faisal Alkazi and Khalid Mohamed talking about the actor’s journey and the characters he has made immortal.

He describes his journey as a quiet one, only because he says he was so busy doing his work that he forgot to market himself. “Lots of people have told me that there’s a reason it’s called show business. After all, it is about selling yourself, making money. But, I feel I just did my job, and never wooed the press. If they talk about me, they would be doing their job." The son of a successful machine tools businessman, Malhotra was expected to join the family business after he graduated from Delhi University’s Hansraj College. “I was doing theatre in college but I never thought of taking it up as a profession. One day my father told me to come to the factory and learn the ropes,” says the 57-year-old, adding, “and around the same time a friend asked me to work in the costume department of the movie Gandhi. I told my dad ‘this one last time’ and off I went. When the crew shifted to Mumbai, so did I, and then I never looked back.”

He followed it up with working on costumes for Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, and then started working as a production assistant. His first big acting role, as Hari in Nukkad, was also a fluke. “The camera guys have to check sync of the dialogue and mics. So, they need a person to talk to continuously for one minute and they asked me. I started talking about Mumbai, which director Saeed Akhtar Mirza saw. He told me ‘you are an actor’. I didn't even audition for Hari, but for some other small role in Nukkad. But, the actor who had to play Hari didn’t like his role, and so I got it.”

The role made him a household name, and when he bagged Salim’s role in Mirza’s Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989), about the Hindutatva movement in Mumbai and the lives of underworld goons, he shouldn't have been surprised. “But, I was. I asked him, ‘are you sure?’ He said, ‘start working on your character, Mr Malhotra’. So I took fellow actor Makrand Deshpande and we went to places like Dongri and Chor Bazar for a ride. We based our characters, small-time goons, on people we saw there. We all had droopy moustaches and were cocky. The smaller you were, the cockier you were.”

This brought him his other landmark movie, Bagh Bahadur, directed and written by Buddhadeb Dasgupta, where a man paints himself as a tiger and dances in a village in Bengal. "Buddhadeb saw me on the cover of a magazine and said, 'I loved your eyes'. I had to learn Chaau dance. It was a hard role. At the end of the day I would be rubbed down with kerosene, and my back ached all the time thanks to the dance,” he says, and then pauses, “I guess what's worked for me is that I have no set mannerisms or way of talking. I can be any one. As a part of the retrospective, they have made a 17-minute film that has clips of all my movies, and I realised that my mannerisms and way of talking change with every scene. But, sometimes I think a star is only one who can be mimicked, right?”

In Childern Of War (2014), which was about the Bangladesh Liberation War, he plays a tyrant who thinks Pakistani soldiers raping Bangaldeshi women is justified. “After a screening, a woman told me that she was scared of me, but had still told her daughter to watch the film for me.” He also released Punjab 1984, about the insurgency’s impact on social life. Right now though, he is on a high with his retrospective. “People have been telling me it’s taken too long to come.” But he sees it as an honour. “For a retrospective, you need a body of work, and a body of different kind of work. I don’t have lakhs of people running after me, but I know there is an audience that enjoys my work. That’s enough for me. I have enjoyed this immensely.”

Avinash Lohana (MUMBAI MIRROR; October 17, 2015)

Chandan Roy Sanyal is set to wrap up the shooting of Buddhadeb Dasgupta's Tope in a record 10 days in Purulia, Bengal. "These guys are really fast. I've been giving one-take shots. I haven't bathed for 10 days and my hair is so rough," the actor sighs. He plays a postman in the film, who takes all the letters from the post office and seeks refuge in a tree, refusing to come down. "I've shot most of the film in the tree with some monkeys," he reveals.

Chandan is elated to work with the National Award winning director. "He is 71, walks with a stick and is a true genius. His approach is completely different from the others," he says.

Avinash Lohana (MUMBAI MIRROR; September 21, 2015)

Shakti Shetty (MID-DAY; May 15, 2014)

The 67th edition of the Cannes film festival kicked off yesterday with the screening of the Nicole Kidman-starrer, Grace of Monaco.

Uday Chopra happens to be one of the producers of this biopic. However, he’s not the only Indian face at the French Riviera this year. Along with the usual dose of Bollywood glamour (read: Aishwarya Rai-Bachchan, Sonam Kapoor and many more), this year will see director Kanu Behl keeping his fingers crossed even as his film Titli competes in the Camera d’Or category, which acknowledges the best debut effort.

Interestingly, over the years, several films have been screened at Cannes but none have won an award in the competitive categories. hitlist takes you down the memory lane to look at films from India that were not only screened at the prestigious film fest but also won laurels...

'Neecha Nagar' (1946)
Director: Chetan Anand
The lowdown: When the Cannes Film Festival was held for the first time after the World War II in 1946, this Hindi film bagged the Palm d’Or (Golden Palm) along with 10 other entries from around the world.

'Do Bigha Zamin' (1953)
Director: Bimal Roy
The lowdown: Heavily inspired by Bicycle Thieves (1948), this Bengali film — starring Balraj Sahni and Nirupa Roy in leading roles — won the Golden Palm along with eight other movies.

'Boot Polish' (1954)
Director: Prakash Arora
The lowdown: A Raj Kapoor production, the film’s socialist approach was difficult to ignore but its story won the audiences over. To add to this, the festival made a special mention of child actress Naaz who rendered a heartwarming performance in the film.

'Pather Panchali' (1955)Director: Satyajit Ray
The lowdown: This film is counted among Ray’s best works. At the Cannes film fest, it unanimously won the Best Human Document award.


'Gotoma the Buddha' (1956) 
Director: Rajbans Khanna
The lowdown: The film’s title may have not been conventional but its message was clear. This feted documentary was nominated for Palm d’Or and it won a special mention for the director who, interestingly, never made another film.

'Kharij' (1982)Director: Mrinal Sen
The lowdown: This Bengali film was nominated for the Palm d’Or, which was won by the Japanese film, The Ballad of Narayama. However, Sen didn’t return home emptyhanded as he was awarded the Jury Prize.

'Salaam Bombay!' (1988)
Director: Mira Nair
The lowdown: Before it became the second Indian film to be nominated by the Academy, this Camera d’Or (Golden Camera) winning film bowled over critics as well as the public at Cannes.

'Piravi' (1989)
Director: Shaji N. Karun
The lowdown: Just a year after Salaam Bombay! took the honours, this Malayalam feature film — it deals with rural and urban disparity — earned a special mention in the Camera d’Or category.

'Marana Simhasanam' (1999)Director: Murali Nair
The lowdown: This Malayalam film threw light on the relationship between elections and idiocy in the country. It won the Camera d’Or — a feat yet to be repeated by an Indian film.

'The Lunchbox' (2013)
Director: Ritesh Batra
The lowdown: Although it didn’t win a major award in the competition category at the 66th Cannes Film Festival, it bagged the Grand Rail d’Or.

Filmmakers speak out: Why aren’t we winning top honours lately?

Roshmilla Bhattacharya (MUMBAI MIRROR; April 24, 2014)

Globally acclaimed (he is the recipient of three Lifetime Achievement awards at international film festivals) and 11 times National Award-winning filmmaker, Buddhadeb Dasgupta is livid following a six-month battle with the Central Board of Film Certification over half-a-dozen objections to his upcoming Hindi film, Anwar Ka Ajab Kissa. “I used to believe that filmmakers in Mumbai enjoy excessive freedom but for the first time in a career spanning almost five decades, I had to surrender to the diktats of the Board because I couldn’t put my producer through this agonising wait,” rages the filmmaker who had to edit out a scene and alter a word in a dialogue for his film to arrive at the “verge of clearance”.

The scene in question features three ghostly characters sharing their woes. One moans that he hasn’t had a bowel movement in two days, another complains that she’s not slept in a decade and the third whines with his hands inside his trousers, “Teen saal mein maine kisiko lagaya nahin.” “They made me change ‘lagaya nahin’ to ‘kiya nahin’ even though the words are simply a translation of lines from my own book of verse, Crap Series, which has never sparked off any kind of controversy,” says the veteran director. Even more ludicrous is the objection to the scene which he had to edit out. A prospective client is called away while visiting a prostitute whom he obviously knows well. The disgruntled woman says, “Aag to tumne laga diya, ab tum hi ko bujhana hai.” An aggrieved Dasgupta cannot believe that today anyone would be outraged by brothel talk, pointing out that a recent Bengali film, Cosmic Love, which took physicality to the extreme, got the nod. “My Mondo Mayer Upakhyan had far more explicit scenes and no one objected to it,” he retorts.

Dasgupta believes that it is imperative that honorary members of the CBFC, who have no grounding in Indian or world cinema, should be put through a orientation course before they take charge. “Just an hour or two for a week would give them a broader perspective and help them see beyond antiquated censorship guidelines which date back to the ‘40s,” he reasons.

To add to his woes, Dasgupta who shot one of his five National Award winning films, Bagh Bahadur, in ’89 with a real tiger, suddenly found that casting a pet dog with whom his detective shares his drunken loneliness also set his film back by three months. “Even after getting the green signal from the animal welfare associations before and during the shoot, nowadays you need to get a vet to certify that the animal was not harmed during the filming,” he sighs, adding that when he mentioned this to Columbia University film students during a lecture they laughed for five minutes because even in the US, where they are very protective about animals, the whole process doesn’t take more than an hour. Dasgupta says he will film his next with a real tiger flown down from Bangkok.

Pointing out that filmmakers today have become soft targets in the country, he adds, “If someone like me who has won so many national and international honours, been on the jury of several prestigious film festivals have to go through this, I can only imagine the harassment the young filmmakers face. I plan to take up this issue with the CBFC on a war footing in the future, irrespective of which government comes to power at the Centre,” he warns. 

Rakesh Kumar, CEO of the CBFC, chose not to respond to our text.