In the middle of a lot of work, a wrapped up shoot, an ongoing edit schedule, a hardworking artistic human being's rarely found night of sleep, Rituparno Ghosh passed away. Rituparno Ghosh or Rituda. My mother calls him Rituda. She used to work with him in the same office, ABP. Ma would tell me...'Today Rituda told me that I was looking very nice. He said he loved my sari, and the way I wore it...' The comments he made never sounded like here was a man interested in a woman, rather here was a human being, interested in the being of a woman. I would not say that he was stuck in a man's body, I don't think he would say that too. I remember reading somewhere, after having gotten his surgeries done, he said he was happy with his state of being. 

Many laughed, some controlled as the respect for the being was so high that anything else could be smudged away. 

Since Ma called up today morning to give me and Baba the news, I have been sad. Mourning. As if I have lost someone very close to me. How but? His films? His philosophies? His boldness? His understanding of both the genders? 

Back in childhood when Ma made me watch 'Unishe April' I'd tell her "Ma, why on earth is the sound of a cup being kept on a table, a spoon circling inside a tea cup, all this so important? I will never make films that will have the character
half-hidden in the dark"....

I was never child enough to not understand all this. Somehow I had grown out of details as that is all Bengal was making cinematically those days. I grew up on Rituparno Ghosh's films, like all of us who grew up in the 90s did. 

But is it really true that an artist touches more hearts than a banker? Is it really true that the only way to defeat death is to touch as many lives as possible? Yes, it is. 

The first time I met him, he looked at me, cuddled me like one cuddles a kid normally. After that, often I would mimic the way he spoke to me and make a nice joke about it. It was a standing joke. People would ask me to repeat it in functions, social gatherings. Later the joke withered away. 

I have been sad since morning, I completely forgot I had at all met him in my entire life. Just before I started writing this post (it is evening now) I remembered, he had touched my chin and told my father, 'Ki mishti dekhte tomar meyetake' It was a saraswati puja. Random memory. Not so random today. It's scary how memories die down.....

There is a concept called, 'Ardhanarishwar' . I belief that was/is Rituporno Ghosh to Indian/Bengali cinema. I did not know this before today morning, but I will miss you Rituda.

I choose to call you Rituda hereafter since Ma calls you so, and since you left before I could call you anything else. 

I will miss you, your women, your desperation. 

Bonomali, tumi pawro jawnome hoyo Radha :

'Patience', I can conclude is a very snob virtue, and she has her brother walking up the hill with her, Mr. Faith. Both of them together make a rocking human being. Ask me, I have none of them. I suffer like a lunatic who does not know if this is really the way on earth or she had read the wrong user manual. 

But I have seen people who have both. Lucky buffoons. And the combination is interdependent. If you're patient, you definitely are so because you have faith in it. And if you have faith, then you have patience enough to push the envelope as much as you can(more than you can). Result: You look mature, chilled out and people want to be like you. 

If you have none, you become a desperate/ obstinate/ foolish... sulk-ster.

Give me faith Lord. And in the process give me patience. Or vice verse; which ever way it works for you. 

I wish every day, I could record the random shit I think about. More interesting is the leaping of genres. Now I am thinking of clothes, now I'm thinking of how cotton is made. I wish, like in films, one could get so close to seeing what is being thought of or being imagined. What if I thought of a person, and like in films, I could actually go back and touch that moment when me and that person where in the same space? What if that person who I can never touch in my life again, never listen to the voice of again; for death has done us apart, what if I could go hold his finger? feel the texture of his skin... caress the affection that was undivided? 

I understand that these are desperate times and in desperate times one thinks of the most unattainable of solutions (problems too). I also understand that the day I stop making an effort, the problem shall slyly solve itself. But life's a sadist. You expect her to be ruthless about the amount of botheration any descent change should cause.

Perhaps, it scares me. I am no God, and unfortunately I am human. Being human gives me the capability of joining too many dots. Constellations. Now now now....
what a clutter, isn't it?

I-s-o-l-a-t-i-o-n is not good for me. 
I-s-o-l-a-t-i-o-n...
 i don't want to sit on the lemon tree :|