In 1979, Basu Chatterjee made Baaton Baaton Mein and unobtrusively brought to us the dating and courtship rituals of a community that was till then either caricatured or just overlooked in Hindi cinema.
Nancy Perreira and Tony Braganza were regular young people, seeking love and financial independence in a busy metro. They fleetingly locked eyes in a local train, talked during a walk back home or in a noisy cafe before work.
All the while dealing with parental interference and trying to carve a life of their dreams through occasional heartbreak and disillusion.
Somewhere in the middle of the film, I noticed that the sofa in Tony’s home was wrapped up in a plastic sheet. Was it to indicate the suffocating nature of Tony’s mother or just a continuity lapse, I could not figure but that was the beauty of Basu Chatterjee’s cinema.
You didn’t watch his films for production values, lavish sets, glamour and larger-than-life perfection. You watched them to feel at home.
In fact, in his debut film Saara Akash (which in 1969, became the precursor to middle of the road Hindi cinema ), Basu da insisted upon shooting in author Rajendra Yadav’s old family house in Raja Ki Mandi, Agra. The film was based on Yadav’s novel. Legendary cinematographer KK Mahajan whose lenses would frame the story, went around the house to understand its character. When you see films like Sui Dhaga and Dam Laga Ke Haisha now, you understand where the inspiration for lived in, cramped spaces and a hunger for self expression is coming from.
Basu da’s characters resided in overcrowded chawls and craved for breathing space, for intimacy (Piya ka Ghar and Saara Akash), dreamt of a better life and sang, “jis din paisa hoga, woh din kaisa hoga,” (Khatta Meetha), became rudely aware of financial disparity after falling in love heedlessly (Manzil).
His song picturisations like his films were also intimate. They did not have choreographed dancers. They captured little, fleeting moments when the inner and the outer world of his characters merged in a perfect whole.
Watch how Shabana Azmi’s Saudamini in the otherwise oppressive narrative of Swami, discovers her femininity on a terrace as she sings “Pal bhar mein yeh kya ho gaya.” She caresses a saree drying on a clothesline, she walks unseen in lush green wilderness, picks flowers, day dreams next to a cup of tea.
Or when Amitabh Bachchan and Moushumi Chatterjee (Manzil) explore Bombay in monsoon and make you wonder what they are whispering about as they finally huddle on a bench, drenched with happiness.
Or when the couple in Baaton Baaton Mein chat each other up to the tune of “suniye, kahiye, kahiye suniye” while the local train hurtles from Bandra to Churchgate, and conversations bloom on sidewalks, and in cafes.
Watch also how a young couple in Priyatama celebrate their wedding not with an alpine honeymoon but with a bunch of friends one of whom strums his guitar and sings, “koi roko na, deewane ko.” The song seamlessly then segues into the routine of their domesticity as they eat breakfast, manage their home, talk and share their lives.
Or Rajnigandha, where the unspoken tension from an unresolved past is summed up in “Kai baar yun bhi dekha hai,” as the heroine and her former lover share a taxi , her saree skimming his face in the wind, his hand almost touching hers while they spend a day together sightseeing.
Or Dillagi’s song ‘Main kaun sa geet sunaoon’ where an introverted Chemistry scholar/hostel warden and a Sanskrit professor confront their feelings for each other on the banks of a river during a family outing.
Or Chitchor where a jeep ride to a picnic spot tests the conflicting emotions of love and loss and joy in three characters.
There was no hectoring in his cinema, no hard edges, no agenda except to show us how beautiful “ordinary” lives are. And no matter what they faced, Basu da’s characters never lost their innate idealism and innocence.
He showed us that popular cinema need not always replay cliches and could have integrity, soul and truthfulness.
Only occasionally, he strayed into the darker realms as in Sheesha (1986), where he showed the cruel machinery of male entitlement, slut shaming and sexual harassment at the work place.
Or the deeply insightful Ek Ruka Hua Faisla (inspired by Twelve Angry Men) where cognitive biases collide while a human life hangs in balance.
Or Kamla ki Maut which explored the hypocrisy of middle class morality.
But the overwhelming note of his cinema was hope, optimism and the beauty of human connections.
His cinema was like that song in Chhoti Si Baat that celebrates the arrival of happiness with spring flowers and this line, “dekho basanti basanti hone lage mere sapne.”
His brush with television was memorable too and Byomkesh Bakshi and Rajani have now become unforgettable milestones.
With him, an era of conscientious film making has passed when films may have varied in their quality but they never wavered in the intention to connect people to humanity, their own and that of others. Films that made us laugh and cry together. And reminded us that no matter how hard times were, life was beautiful because, “thoda hai, thode ki zaroorat hai..zindagi phir bhi yahan khoobsurat hai.”
So long Basu da and thank you for the wonder years.