But then there was no more news from him. Prankeshto-babu agreed to finance the film. He showed deep interest after listening to the script from Bansi-da. There was a distributor called Prankeshto Datta. Manik-da did not even have the entire script written down – only pages of a visual script. At times I used to go to Manik-da to inquire whether he had managed to get a financier. There were days when even that much fund was not available. I used to take the tram back home, travelling second class. Editing work used to be done on Saturdays and Sundays. Though Manik-da was drawing a monthly salary of Rs 1,800, which was quite substantial for the time, there were days when they did not even have money for regular household expenses. But never did I succeed in getting him to address me as ‘tumi’.Īfter some time, the shooting stopped for want of money. Manku-di would prepare shingara, malpoa, patisapta, which I devoured. Sandip started working with me right from his young days. I was with him right from Pather Panchali to Agantuk. From the very first day he used to address me as ‘apni’. On his way to Boral, where the film was being shot, Manik-da used to pick me up. Kanu-babu, Karuna-di, Rumki (the child Durga), Chunibala Devi. I was introduced to other members of the unit. Given the assured manner in which he shot the film, it never felt like Manik-da was a new director, and this was his first film. I was even bold enough to address him as Manik-da. The more I saw Manik-da, the more I admired him. I had grown accustomed to working in a particular way. I found editing his film a little difficult. There was a particular tradition in Indian films before the advent of Manik-da. I said only one thing, ‘You have used the same frame for “out” and “in”. Wall camera was commonly used for newsreels at the time. The scene was of a kaash forest, shot with a wall camera. I had by then been working in the field for a while, had assisted in many films, but had never witnessed such photography. Subrata Mitra brought out a small print wrapped in black sheet from the lab. We’ll see a small piece.’ Manik-da came exactly at five with Subrata Mitra. Bansi-da said, ‘Manik will be there by five. It was to be shown in Bengal Film Laboratory. Then they shot about 400 feet of the film. They had shot some part of the film in 16 mm but didn’t like it. Manik-da and Bansi-da were doing some research work before starting the film. He said, ‘I’ll inform you through Bansi once work on the film begins.’ ![]() ![]() He clarified that there would be no dubbing in the film. The novel – rural background, Apu, Durga could it be adapted into a film? After being silent for a while, I agreed. But I had read Pather Panchali many times. ![]() I was the editor and Bansi-da was art director in the film. I had earlier worked on a film with Bansi-da – Bhor Hoye Elo. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. The novel – rural background, Apu, Durga could it be adapted into a film? Will you work on it? I’ll take you there on Sunday.’ Manik-da said, ‘I am working on a film, Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay’s Pather Panchali.’īut I had read Pather Panchali many times. Bansi-da had earlier told me, ‘A friend of mine is working on a film, entirely outdoor. Walking in, I saw a gentleman in pajama-punjabi – slim and tall. From there I heard a deep voice saying, ‘Has he come? Why did you leave him outside? Bring him in.’ Bansi-da seated me in the outer room and went in. Anyway, with the fan on full speed, I somehow managed to dry my clothes and went on foot with Bansi-da to Ray’s house nearby at 31A, Lake Avenue. Of course, Bansi-da did not tell me where and to whom he was taking me, nor for what purpose. Keymer and Sunday was the only off day in the week. How will you go?’ It was a Sunday morning, 27 July 1952. Drenched to the skin, I somehow reached Bansi Chandragupta’s house, travelling all the way from Chetla. From a producer who wanted a song in the film to a chief minister who asked why a particular shot was upside down to getting the final cut ready against a seemingly impossible deadline and the agony of a first show in an empty hall, Satyajit Ray’s long-time editor Dulal Dutta reminisces about the trials and tribulations on the film that changed the face of Indian cinema.
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