THE MAN WITH MANY FACES

What first caught the viewer’s attention was not the mellow, cultured, baritone; not the sinewy, definitely un-Bonglike, well-exercised physique; nor the chiselled, symmetrical features. It was the eyes — large, sensitive, all-seeing eyes that observed and expressed with an intensity rarely encountered in cinema. Moreover, these are protean eyes that could metamorphose and alter their gaze with the demand of the character.The inquisitive, piercing gaze of Pradosh ‘Felu’ Mitter (Sonar Kella, Joy Baba Felunath) was very different from the cunning but innocent rusticity of Gangacharan the village priest (Ashani Sanket). The cynical and mocking gaze of the bohemian Mayurbahan (Jhinder Bandi) was completely at odds with the angry, frustrated stare of truck driver Narsing (Abhijaan), or the shifty, nothing-to-lose desperation of the thief Aghore (Sangsar Simantey). Coach Khidda (Koni) peered at his trainee in the swimming pool with a mad fervour which contrasted totally with the dignified but defiant gaze of Dr Mitra (Wheelchair).
With the possible exception of Tagore, Bengalis love to dwell in binaries. Who plays better football, Mohan Bagan or East Bengal? Who is the better director, Ghatak or Ray? Who is the better poet, Shakti or Sunil? The more popular novelist, Shirshendu or Sunil? The more versatile singer, Hemanta or Manna? Soumitra, much against his will, became the counterpoint to one such binary — who is the better actor, Uttamkumar or Soumitra? While the other debates have waned with the passage of time, the last-mentioned shows no signs of easing off (I myself had witnessed battles of epic proportions at my own home in my formative years between my father — an Uttam adherent and my mother — a Soumitra fanatic). But even the most diehard fans of the ‘mahanayak’ cannot but agree that nobody played across a greater spectrum of roles with more assurance and authenticity than the poet-editor-stage thespian from Krishnanagar.
While Kumar, as the reigning heart-throb of Tollywood, carefully cultivated a starlike persona, aloof from the foul rag-and-bones of everyday reality, Soumitra sought to retain his quintessential boy-next-door ‘Apu’ identity almost with a vengeance. Perhaps his lifelong mentoring by the easily-accessible but breathtakingly myriad-minded genius of Ray also stimulated a desire in the disciple to articulate himself through various media — cinema/stage, poetry, painting — and yet retain his essential empathy with the grassroots. Ergo, he could be found smoking and arguing with fellow intellectuals in the fabled Coffee House at College Street, had no qualms about pushing the trolley in a film set when the occasion demanded, visit tardy contributors of his literary journal Ekkhon and harangue them in person. One suspects that the accuracy and nuance one notices in his more mature performances (Dekha, Podokkhep, Mayurakshi) evolved out of this rare ability to willingly suspend his notion of superstardom and celebhood and mingle with the masses.
For, make no mistake, a superstar he was, right up to his final days. One who made no less an individual than Prof Mahesh Elkunchwar go all starry-eyed when Soumitra dropped in at the latter’s residence for lunch with the hidden agenda of seeking his permission to stage Elkunchwar’s Atmakatha in Bengali. (Only twice before had I seen the great playwright reduced to a similar fanboy state — in the presence of two equally illustrious luminaries: Dr Sriram Lagu and Vijaya Mehta). When I ribbed Dada about this transparent adoration, he scolded me, “Gadhva, mahit ahe toh kone ahe? Maestrocha protégé!” This in a way, was the ultimate tribute to Soumitra. Like the Bergman-Sydow, Kurosawa-Mifune, Scorsese-de Niro collaborations, the Ray-Chatterji partnership too is one for eternity (14 films together!). But the other actors, while not denying their formidable skill sets, never quite became as integral a part of a people’s consciousness as Soumitra did for the Bengalis over the years. Everyone who spoke the language prayed for his recovery during the weeks he spent in his hospital bed; everyone, from the chief minister to a commoner walked the streets during his funeral procession in a spontaneous outpouring of love and grief for this most nonheroic of heroes.
Soumitra Chatterji, pleased, would have broken out in that famously toothy grin!
(Supantha Bhattacharyya teaches English at Hislop College)