MANIK-DA

An experimental biography

There’s seldom a chance for Satyajit Ray to sit back and relax in the comfort of his modestly luxurious home on Cornfield Road in Kolkata. It was no one’s fault but his entirely, though he would never use the word ‘fault’ publicly. You see, Ray was an artist and his art consumed him lock, stock and barrel. What was his art? Oh, everything that comes under that vast umbrella. Ray hated being idle, being left alone with the bane that was unproductivity. So, he wrote and wrote and wrote, something he knew he did best. He wrote for children, for adults, for screen, for stage, for his wife on their anniversaries, and for his kids on their birthdays. He drew, he published, he composed, he directed. All in all, he LIVED.

Presently, he stood on the sidewalk of College Street with his assistant directed, facing the famed Coffee House. He was in a Shakespearean turmoil, to go in or not to go in? His purpose of being in this overwhelmingly crowded place at peak noon was austere – to scout for potential actors. Currently, he was writing a romantic piece for the silver screen. Along with writing it, he was producing it, directing it, casting for it, you name it. He never bragged about his talents but for him it was only an outlet for the bustling creativity inside of him. It was for one such product that he required a female lead to play the role of a homely housewife in the film Apur Sansar.

Seeing his hesitance, the middle-aged man next to him turns and says softly, “Manik-Da, a lot of people come here after work or university. You will surely find what you are looking for.”

Only a few people had the privilege of calling him by his nickname – Manik, although every person in the city knew about the name. Ray didn’t respond immediately. He took in a deep breath and huffed. Ray quickly realized that this could be misunderstood by his companions, so he clapped his left hand on the lad’s shoulder and smiled fondly.

“Sen Babu, let us hunt then.”

Ray was no common-looking man. A 6-feet 3-inch tall, strapping man in his late thirties, a lit cigarette almost always perched on his lips, and a bass booming voice. He demanded attention anywhere he went. In the Coffee House, he got a tremendous amount of the same. Unfazed by the commotion he created, he calmly strode towards an empty table towards the windows which provided views within and outside the place. Trailing meekly behind him, Ramesh Sen glanced around with his camera ready in his hands. It was in his job description for the day to capture anybody who Satyajit deemed fit in the frame of the camera.

Ray sat for hours, sipping cup after cup of piping hot tea that was speedily brought out by a young and nerve-riddled waiter at regular intervals. He waited for one, any one striking woman to catch his eye. Someone he would lay his eyes on and know that this was the fated woman to fill the shoes of his character, Aparna. Occasionally, Ramesh would point out a young lady coming in, departing, or just chatting heartily with her friends, but Ray would shake his head dejectedly.

“How about that lovely lady in the mauve silk saree over by the snacks counter?” Ramesh offered helpfully for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

“No, too rough around the edges.” Ray rejected yet another potential actress.

Just when the sun had begun to set outside and Ray was another cup of tea away from giving up his mission, his eyes snapped to the street outside the Coffee House. There she was, strutting hurriedly down the street towards the main crossing of College Street, clad in a plain cotton cream-coloured saree and carrying a worn-down purse. Ray shot up, his eyes glinting in the setting sun, and without warning to Ramesh, strode out of the shop with long strides.

“There, Sen Babu, her! Quick take a picture!”

Ray glanced at Ramesh from the corner of his eye, not losing sight of the woman for even a second. Ramesh, in the suddenness of the action fumbled with his camera. Ray grimaced.

“Bah! Forget it. After her!”

And with that he was off, chasing the unknown lady, and Ramesh squeaked out a small, “Manik-Da!”, before running behind him too.

Ray managed to close the distance between him and her fairly quickly, owing to his long legs, but the lady quick-footed and the bustling crown didn’t aid Ray either. Ray noted amusedly that she had increased her pace subtly after realizing that Ray was after her. He chuckled audibly as he jogged behind, not really blaming her for being on guard. He was, honestly, suspicious. He imagined himself being chased by a mystery man of his stature down a public street at dusk. No, the woman was right to be scared.

However, to Ray, this woman was the final piece in his filmy puzzle. He was not going to lose her, not after the long wait.

“Excuse me, miss! Please do not be afraid! I just want to talk to you!” He called out over the ruckus of the street.

That achieved nothing, Ray thought desolately, as the lady glanced over her shoulder fearfully and picked up her pace again. But he wasn’t one to give up. He yelled out to her again and again till his voice grew hoarse.
Finally, she stopped. This is it, Ray thought excitedly, and slowed to a stop a few feet away from her. She turned around, her honey-glazed eyes piercing a threatening gaze towards Ray. He felt even more assured that this was the woman he was looking for.

In pure polite Bengali, the woman said, “Sir, I do not know why you are following me. You look like a respectable man and such behavior does not suit you. Please, it is time for you to head back.”

She folded her hands into a Namaskar and spun around on her heels to swiftly walk away into an alley.
Ray was shocked. Not at the fact that the woman failed to recognize him, but at the unpolluted strength in the small doe-eyes. The tiny figure of 5’2 undauntedly stood up tall against a massive man the likes of Ray and flatly refused to back down. Ray burst out into hearty laughter, doubling over himself at the mouth of the alley the woman had disappeared into.

When Ramesh caught up with his Manik-Da, he was panting and even more confused than he had ever been. The lady was nowhere to be seen and here Ray was, having a laughter fit.

“Manik-Da, are you-“

“Oh my dear God, Sen Babu. I have lost an absolute uncut gem today. But I’ll tell you what, I gained a muse. God bless her!”

He placed his arm around Ramesh Sen and turned both of them around to walk away and towards home. Now, instead of a cigarette, a new melody lingered on his lips, an ode to the encounter, waiting to be penned down in his diary. The image of the lady bowing in Namaskar was etched in his mind and his fingers tingled to recreate it in his sketchbook.

A muse, she was.