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New Indian Express
04-07-2025
- Entertainment
- New Indian Express
The mirror of revisited classics
It's been a summer of classics for me. A series of events made me peer beyond the here-and-new into the phenomenon of enduring works of art. In May, Satyajit Ray's 1970 classic, Aranyer Din Ratri (Days and Nights in the Forest), was screened at the Cannes Film Festival in the presence of actors Sharmila Tagore and Simi Garewal after the film had gone through a six-year-long restoration process. A month later, an uncut, restored version of Sholay was unveiled at the Rediscovered Cinema festival in Bologna at a memorable setting—an al-fresco screening at dusk on the city's central piazza, with a full crowd watching the classic on the 50th anniversary of its release. A few days earlier, on the 50th anniversary of Indira Gandhi's Emergency rule, Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi (A Thousand Wishes Like This) became the buzz. Interestingly, Sudhir Mishra's 2003 film, like Ramesh Sippy's 1975 film and Guru Dutt's Pyaasa (1957)—whose restored version was commercially re-released this April and showcased at Cannes later—had initially opened to tepid audiences, but became all-time classics with word-of-mouth promotion. But then, this is not just about movies. Be it movies, music or books, the phenomenon of classics begs questions on their enduring mystique, without any answer that involves mathematical certainty. However, with the wisdom of hindsight, I dare say there are several explanations that are equally fascinating. The most obvious one is that some creative works have a timeless appeal based on human emotions that cut across generations. The cry for justice, the longing for love, childhood innocence, character flaws, and awesome heroism are identifiable across cultures. Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea is not about fishing, as a casual reading might show, but about endurance and the human spirit. A favourite anecdote is about screenwriter Jean-Claude Carrière, who is said to have remarked that he wrote the script for a stage adaptation of the Mahabharata by Peter Brook in Paris because 'when you see a character, you can say, There goes Shakuni'.
Time of India
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
From ‘Aranyer Din Ratri' to ‘Raghu Dakat', Tollywood faces heat challenge
Kolkata: During the presentation of 'Aranyer Din Ratri' at Cannes, Sharmila Tagore remembered how difficult it was to shoot for the film in May, 1969. It was so hot that the unit could shoot only between 5:30 am till 9 am and then between 3 am to 6 am. Tagore stayed in a chowkidar's (guard) room, while Samit Bhanja, Subhendu Chatterjee, and Rabi Ghosh stayed in a room with a tin roof. Cut to 2025, and the temperature this summer has not been kind either. Though no unit member will now stay in a room with a tin roof during shooting, Tollywood is still facing the heat. Shooting in summer has always been tough, and production houses keep an adequate supply of water, ORS and coconut water. "In this unbearable heat, I did fight scenes. That was excruciating. I sustained injuries too. We literally turned warriors while shooting this summer," said actor, Om Sahani, who was shooting for 'Raghu Dakat' under extreme conditions. One of the biggest casualties for production designers this summer was when unannounced thunderstorms washed away huge sets. "Shooting in Bolpur and Purulia is about facing the dry heat. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Top 5 Dividend Stocks for May 2025 Seeking Alpha Read Now Undo But shooting outdoors in Kolkata means battling heat and humidity. Earlier on, we knew that the thunderstorms would be part of the calendar between the end of April and May with few aberrations. Now, cyclones have become part of our lives. That has a severe impact while shooting outdoors, especially on sets," said 'Raghu Dakat' director Dhrubo Banerjee. Director Raja Chanda has been shooting in a jungle in Ilambazar for some time now, where the temperature was bordering on 40°C. "We are shooting for 14 hours at a stretch with mashals (fire torches) without setting a single leaf on fire. It is difficult for artistes to not let their energy levels sag.," Chanda said. The cameras are heavy, and transporting them is a massive task for the unit. Though high-end cameras now have great sensors, the current weather conditions are still challenging. "These cameras have in-built fans. Yet, I prefer to keep them under shade once a shot is taken and the next one is being prepared. We turn on a pedestal fan," said cinematographer Soumik Halder, adding that cameras can't be kept in air-conditioned facilities due to lens fog issues. Unlike the times of 'Aranyer Din Ratri', when the cast and crew would have to stay in rooms with tin shades, the production houses are now more vigilant about choosing an outdoor location. "During recce, no location is chosen that is more than 45 minutes away from where the unit stays," Halder added.
Yahoo
09-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Wes Anderson Shares How Indian Cinema Legend Satyajit Ray Shaped His Aesthetic
When Satyajit Ray's 1970 film Aranyer Din Ratri (Days and Nights in the Forest) returned to Cannes this May, it was far from a faded relic. Restored by Shivendra Singh Dungarpur and the Film Heritage Foundation, the film, in ravishingly revived form, was selected for the prestigious Cannes Classics section as a testament to Ray's enduring influence on world cinema through classics like 1955's Panther Panchali, which is the first film in the director's celebrated Apu Trilogy. To mark the occasion, The Hollywood Reporter India spoke with three individuals deeply touched by the film and its creator: legendary Indian actress Sharmila Tagore, a frequent Ray collaborator; Wes Anderson, whose work bears Ray's influence; and Dungarpur, whose archival work revived the film. More from The Hollywood Reporter How Angel Studios Is Spreading the Gospel of "Faith-Friendly" Cinema Spotify Unveils Cannes Lions Spotify Beach Lineup (Exclusive) Mubi CEO on Pushing Into Production and That Huge Cannes Haul 'I watched [Ray's 1961 title] Teen Kanya first, just because it happened to be available in a video store in Texas,' Anderson recalls. 'That's how I became interested in his films. I saw images from Ray's work and thought, 'That's the way I want to be.'' But Days and Nights in the Forest was elusive for years. 'It was virtually unavailable, and the copy I saw was a poor one with a translation done by someone who probably didn't speak Bengali or English,' Anderson says, laughing. 'But I loved it. It reached me anyway.' The film, a philosophical meditation on masculinity and disconnection, also marked a turning point for Ray's creative methods. 'He had complete control over his craft. I've never seen a more hardworking director,' Tagore says. 'In Days and Nights in the Forest, [cinematographer and frequent Ray collaborator] Subrata [Mitra] wasn't there, so he was also operating the camera himself. From that film onwards, he practically went solo.' Adds Tagore: 'We'd get handwritten scripts, and we weren't encouraged to memorize them. [We] could improvise, but Soumitra Chatterjee was not allowed to move even slightly away from what was prescribed,' she says, explaining Ray's meticulous methods and his preferred directing style for his regular leading man. Yet Ray's warmth remained evident. 'He was never imposing,' Tagore recalls. 'He was also very good with kids on set.' Anderson agrees: 'You can feel his gentleness come through in every frame.' Dungarpur recalls long hours spent restoring the film, reflecting on Ray's meticulous attention to detail and how every frame was carefully storyboarded. 'Ray lives in these details, and it's in those details that you can find him again.' The Hollywood Reporter India's full Cannes conversation with the trio of Ray devotees is below. Shivendra, for the fourth year in a row, the Film Heritage Foundation has a film in Cannes Classics. This year, you have two films. SHIVENDRA SINGH DUNGARPUR One of the big things for the foundation now is to support films not just in India, but across the world, especially those films that people find difficult to see. Aranyer Din Ratri is not just my creation. It's the creation of the Criterion Collection, the Film Heritage Foundation, because they put the force behind it. I was just the one doing the restoration. The restored film begins with a special thanks to Wes Anderson. Wes, you've spoken about the influence that Satyajit Ray had on you. WES ANDERSON The first Ray film I saw was Teen Kanya, when I was probably 18 years old. I watched this film knowing nothing about who that is, or even how to say the name. I was very taken with these stories and these actors. In the course of time, I saw Pather Panchali and the Apu films, which have now been restored for quite a long time. Back then, the copies were bad. But I got to know, through the films, a filmmaker who I felt worked in the most independent way, a most intelligent kind of writer. I also saw images of Ray, and I thought, that's what I want to be like, if I can be like that. Sharmila, there's a scene in where your character is speaking about the death of her mother and brother, and the camera is just on your face. You see the tears, but they don't fall. What do you remember about shooting that? SHARMILA TAGORE [Satyajit] never over-instructed. All of us got his handwritten, bound scripts that we were supposed to read, but we were not encouraged to memorize any of the dialogues. So when this particular scene was happening, I was told not to prepare for it. And then he just came very close to me and narrated it in a way that I could visualize it. I cannot explain the chemistry, or how he managed to get through to me, but he did. Could you create dialogue? Was he okay with that? TAGORE When we were playing the memory game [a revealing game the characters in the film play], Rabi Ghosh could improvise. But with Soumitra Chatterjee, he wouldn't let him move his hand from here to there. Even in Shatranj Ke Khilari, the Hindi film that [Ray] did, Sanjeev Kumar told me later that if he had moved his elbow from here to here, he would object. So, I think his framing was very important. He had complete control over his craft. In, his director of photography Subrata Mitra wasn't there. He was operating the camera himself. From , he went solo. ANDERSON I think he did even the titles. TAGORE He was in advertising, so he had that talent. Every aspect, even the set [design] — what art directors do — even that was his. In Hirak Rajar Deshe, he did the costumes as well. I can't think of any other director who covered all aspects. ANDERSON When you decide you're going to make a film and you have never done it, you have to be some kind of impresario in a way to force the thing to happen, to get the people together and do it. TAGORE But so gently. You never felt the pressure that he's directing you or he's confining you. He would come very close — he was a tall man, right? He would bend a little bit and whisper in your ear what he wanted done so that nobody could hear, especially when he was working with a child. But he was not imposing. We never felt the pressure of working with Satyajit Ray. ANDERSON Yes, you feel gentleness in his films. That comes through. But his physicality is quite And the voice, yes. You recreated the memory game in ANDERSON Yes, well, stole it. The concept of the scene is very odd because it's a game. But we learn about these characters so much while they play these games. And then the way it's photographed — the cast is obviously a special cast — but the way it's photographed is very striking. This is a scene that I love. In fact, my family and I began to play this game. After I first saw the movie, I started sharing this game, because you learn about each other. Shivendra, you said that every restoration has its own challenges, right? What were the specific ones in this film? DUNGARPUR When we started the process, it was during Covid. I remember I had to take a flight to go and see this negative. In India, because most of these films are shot on acetate, it's very hard to find the original camera negative. I went all the way to [Kolkata]. I found the film in one of the storerooms. And it was the original camera negative. I couldn't believe it. So, when you find the original camera negative, you want to begin. I was excited that I wanted to do it. And then, of course, thanks to Margaret [Bodde] of the Film Foundation, Pia Becker and Filmico, we started working on it. It took us a while. Most of the restoration was done in Bologna. But the challenge was the color grading. Because how do you grade a Satyajit Ray film? I kept Subrata Mitra's work in mind and the work we did in the early films, especially the Apu trilogy. ANDERSON But you have no other reference. You have to make those choices. DUNGARPUR So, I was making that reference. Because even [his son, Sandip Ray,] said, 'I was not on that shoot. I don't know.' Also, the subtitling — it was not easy, because we were trying to locate the original subtitles. We couldn't find the original. So, we got one of Indrani Majumdar's, who was the only person he trusted with his work. It was an amazing experience. What is so lovely about [doing this] work is that you get to see the film shot by shot. You're going back and forth and you continue to learn and learn. I think that's so lovely about restoration. TAGORE I remember seeing [1960's] Devi before it was restored. The first scene of the visarjan, nothing was sparkling. It was all dead. The audio wasn't clear. And then when you saw the restored version… So really, thank you. ANDERSON I do remember getting the email from Margaret when you had found those cans of green plastic cases. I still have that email. At that moment, I thought, it's really going to happen, because I'd been asking about it for some time. DUNGARPUR It was to just get clearances. In India, it's not easy to get through to people. Because when you say you want to restore, they think you want to make lots of money. They don't realize that we have to be realistic. And also, restoration is all about not doing too much. You cannot alter it. You've got to envision what Ray would have thought all the time. And I had that vision. I used to keep that storyboard. I used to keep his notes. I wanted to take a decision as somebody who's just helping [recreate the film] how Ray would have loved to see it. ANDERSON [To Tagore] What was the dynamic with him? TAGORE I worked with him when I was 13 in The World of Apu. He introduced me to film, so I always treated him with a little bit of awe, a little bit of respect, like we give to our fathers. So, I never really became a pal. It was such a wonderful outdoor [shoot]. But you just cannot imagine how hot it was. He wanted that time because the trees were leafless. Skeletal trees. He wanted a particular look, only possible in that month. Because then the rains came soon after. Can I end with a question to you, Wes? After , film critic Richard Brody said this about you in : 'He doesn't create and direct a scene for any outer dramatic necessity, but under the intense inner urgency of what it means to him personally. Every dot of paint and detail of hairstyling is invested with the fervour of his own emotional memory. He himself, not his cast, is the supreme method actor of his own films.' Does this ring true to you? ANDERSON I love the idea of being seen that way. I sort of relate to what he describes a bit, too. But I would feel uncomfortable saying more than that. Best of The Hollywood Reporter 13 of Tom Cruise's Most Jaw-Dropping Stunts Hollywood Stars Who Are One Award Away From an EGOT 'The Goonies' Cast, Then and Now
Indian Express
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
It was the best outdoor ever: Sharmila Tagore on Aranyer Din Ratri
You entered the world of films with Satyajit Ray's Apur Sansar (1959). How did working with him that early in your career shape your sensibilities as an artiste? Although I was very young, I used to read a lot of books. I was what in Bengali they say paaka — more grown up than your age. To work with Manik da was a learning because you see him, and the entire unit… they were all very well informed about their profession… art and photography. I was 13 but even then, that process of osmosis… just by being there you absorb so much. What continues to make Ray's cinema relevant to present-day audience? He continues to be contemporary. At Cannes, a restored 4k version of Aranyer Din Ratri (1970) was shown. That was special. Even his other films like Devi (1960) and the Apu trilogy… the mother-son relationship in Aparajito (1956)… the sixth, seventh and eighth generation reacts to it because the romance of Apur Sansar is unforgettable. The Music Room (1958), for instance, is about an aristocrat who would rather break than bend. All these films touch you deeply at a human level. From the dialogues to music, they are all technically quite superior and once it is restored, it is as good as new. It speaks to today's generation also. Mahanagar (1963) in English is called The Mighty City; Seemabaddha (1971) is Company Limited. All these films can be understood today. Tell us about your experience at the Kechki Rest House where Aranyer Din Ratri was shot. I cannot tell you how hot it was. It was April-May. There was no electricity. We put up a generator at night or whenever we wanted because my room had a cooler. That helped. The boys — Soumitra, Samit Bhanja, Rabi Ghosh, Shubhendu — stayed in a shed with a tin roof. They called themselves Robi pora/ bhaja (burnt/ fried), but we were all happy because the work was so good. We worked early in the morning from 5.30 to 9, and then from 3 to 6. The rest of the time we just chatted. We visited the Santhals, danced with them. We could hear the elephants in the forest. It was the best outdoor ever. May 2 was Satyajit Ray's birthday and we celebrated. Simi got a cake from Kolkata. Also Read | At Aranyer Din Ratri's Cannes' premiere, Sharmila Tagore says, 'I, Simi Garewal are the only survivors' You made a comeback after 13 years with Gulmohar in 2023. What do you make of the OTT revolution? It is a good thing. So many new people got work, but again it is falling into a trap, I think, because people like Rahul Chittella, after doing Gulmohar, have been running pillar to post for his next film. OTT is also going for big stars. The Royals, for instance, was underwhelming yet you can see how expensive it was. But Netflix bought it and is showing it, but when someone with a good script goes, they are shown the door. I don't know who chooses the content. Puratawn (2025) is reportedly your last Bengali film. Is that true? What led to this decision? I didn't say if it's Bengali or Hindi; just that it's probably my last. We act with our entire body, so to speak. Physical fitness is important for an actor. In Puratawn, I had to climb a three-storeyed house. We were shooting on the top floor and climbing those steps at least three times a day. I could do it, but now I don't know.
Indian Express
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
The lost character in Satyajit Ray's Aranyer Din Ratri — the Kechki Forest Rest House
Satyajit Ray's classic Aranyer Din Ratri (Days and Nights in the Forest) is back in the news. Fifty-five years after its release, a restored 4K version of the movie was released at the Cannes Festival 2025 by Sharmila Tagore, Simi Garewal (the only two lead cast members still among us), and Wes Anderson. While reams have been written dissecting Ray, this movie, and its characters, the one character that has been all but forgotten is one that doesn't figure in the cast line up. This character is 'the forest bungalow', more specifically the Kechki Forest Rest House (FRH). Kechki was not just another 'filming location', a background prop. The FRH, and its environs, are integral parts of the story, the cinematography, and the overall mood of the film, an essential element of the film's proverbial soul. But unfortunately, unlike the film that became eternal and has now been restored, the Kechki of Aranyer Din Ratri exists no more. This is the story of Ray's Kechki and its demise. ****** On the western frontiers of the Chota Nagpur plateau, in Jharkhand, lies the Palamau Tiger Reserve. The rivers Koel and Auranga — slow-moving, shallow, always flanked by sandy beaches with the Sal forests forming their daaman (hem) — snake through its lush forests. The two sister rivers meet at the northernmost tip of the tiger reserve, birthing a vast sandy expanse that almost feels like a sea beach during summers. Here, at the fork of the two rivers, lay a quaint forest bungalow, constructed by the British more than a century ago. This was the Kechki Forest Rest House, named so after the nearby little village of Kechki. The campus consisted of the bungalow, a well, an outhouse-cum-chowkidar quarter, and a small parking shed. Behind the bungalow were the lovely forests of Kechki, to its front the sangam (confluence). As you looked out from the bungalow's verandah, the wide beige sandbars of Koel greeted you to your left, the paler sands of Auranga to your right, and an immense sandy beach of their confluence lay to your front. There were no walls, no boundaries, nothing separating this forest bungalow from its surroundings except for a few wooden poles that marked out the campus boundary. Ray chose this bungalow as the setting for his film Aranyer Din Ratri, based on the eponymously named novel by Sunil Gangopadhyay. The film, about four friends from Calcutta taking an unplanned break in the forest, begins with the lead male characters — Ashim (Soumitra Chatterjee), Sanjoy (Subhendu Chatterjee), Hari (Samit Bhanja) and Shekhar (Rabi Ghosh) arriving at the FRH. A significant chunk of Aranyer Din Ratri is set in and around the Kechki FRH – from philosophical discussions between the leads to the quiet romance between Ashim and Aparna (Sharmila Tagore), from building up Hari's dalliance with Duli (Simi Garewal) to the hilarious scenes of Shekhar bathing at the well as well as their later amusing encounter with a Forest Range Officer. And then of course there was the iconic memory game – a scene Wes Anderson confessed to have 'stolen' from for his film Asteroid City – played by the lead characters sitting on the beach which, in my estimation, was shot somewhere on the dry sandy bed of the Koel to the left of the FRH. The film begins with the protagonists' white ambassador rolling into Kechki. 'Persons intending to use F.R.H. must have permission of D.F.O. Daltonganj', Ashim reads aloud the rickety signboard outside the campus gate. Decades after the film was shot, in 1991, my father would go on to become the Divisional Forest Officer (D.F.O.) Daltonganj under whose jurisdiction the bungalow fell. An old-world field officer who spent more days in the forests than at his residence, various forest bungalows spread across the tiger reserve were his usual abode. Sometimes, we would join him too. Occasionally, that was at Kechki. While I had no idea who Ray was, or anything about a movie being shot here, even as a kid I vividly remember standing at the verandah and being overawed by the humongous sandy stretch that lay in front of me as the two rivers embraced. I remember picnics on the beach under the shade of the planted eucalyptus trees (a staple plantation tree for almost all FRHs in this part of India), much like the game sequence shown in the film. In 1998, we moved out of Palamau and I would not go back for over a decade. Then, with my father again becoming the Field Director of the Tiger Reserve in 2011, I returned to Palamau. One of the first things I did was to finally watch Aranyer Din Ratri. I was riveted and fascinated seeing Kechki, and Palamau, through Ray's lens. With great excitement, I immediately drove down to Kechki. What I saw, however, made my heart sink and a surge of anger boil over. Some officer in the preceding decade had ordered the construction of a hideous, tall concrete wall around the FRH campus. The view of the river and the beach from the bungalow had now been blocked. I remember asking Abba if the wall could be pulled down. He sighed and said, 'Raza, in Indian bureaucracy, it is much easier to construct something, anything, no matter how useless, than have something pulled down. Unless the courts instruct, such an action will be immediately flagged, and unfortunately, aesthetics and historical legacy are not an explanation that an average auditor will accept.' I remember being rather miffed at him for this answer. Nonetheless, I took solace in the fact that, barring the wall, at least the bungalow, the campus and the sangam were still largely as I remembered, and largely as Ray had picturised. There were a few minor changes — couple of rear bathroom doors had been bricked up, the old hand-drawn fan shown in the film had been replaced by a regular fan, a heavy concrete lid covered the well where Rabi Ghosh's character would often bathe, the chowkidar's outhouse had collapsed — but nothing too drastic. That was 2012. ***** Abba was transferred out in 2014, and with that, my permanent stay at Palamau came to an end. Yet, I would keep returning to Palamau. Then, in early 2015, I was informed of something that absolutely gutted me. 'Kechki FRH has been 'renovated' by the tiger reserve management', I was told. I knew what 'renovation' meant as far as heritage FRHs go, even though I desperately hoped to be wrong. Unfortunately, as the photos of the 'renovated' FRH came through, I jostled between feelings of heartbreak, despair and extreme anger. The bungalow had been completely defaced and disfigured under the guise of 'modernising' and 'upgrading' it. The old facade had been entirely altered making the FRH unrecognisable. The charming old sloping clay-tiled roof had been done away with, the verandah pillars redesigned. The chuna textured walls had been painted over in the most gaudy colours imaginable, while a ghastly floor-to-ceiling iron mesh had been put around all the verandahs. Old windows and doors had been replaced or blocked. Tacky shiny tiles had been laid over the old graceful cement floor, while the alignment of rooms and passageways picturised in the film had been changed. The antique wooden furniture had been discarded to be replaced by cheap plastic and plywood. Shimmering faux wood panelling had been installed haphazardly. If this was not enough, the walls around the FRH had been raised even higher, akin to prison walls. It was as if the planners had decided that under no circumstances should the river or the beaches be visible from the FRH. The old chowkidar quarter was gone, a random concrete shed had been built next to the old well. A horrendously massive concrete 'watch tower', resembling a prison guard-post, constructed just beyond the wall, towered over the bungalow. The separation of the bungalow from its surroundings was absolute. Kechki had become unrecognisable. Over the next decade, even as I returned to Palamau every year, I deliberately gave Kechki a miss. Then, in 2023, having made my peace with the mindless destruction of heritage and aesthetics, I decided to go back to Kechki one more time. As I drove down the same road that forms the opening sequence of the film, eventually opening up to the FRH campus, I sighed in disbelief! Just as I thought things couldn't get worse, there it was — even more mindless construction inside and around the FRH campus. Disused generator rooms, abandoned canteen, dilapidated toilets units — more defacing, more concretisation. I stepped inside the bungalow. It was crumbling and decaying, despite all the 'renovation' in the past, since no officer visited it anymore. Here I saw screengrabs from Aranyer Din Ratri hung up in one of the passageways. Looking at them, I chuckled in disgust. We had defaced and destroyed Ray's Kechki, and now had the audacity to promote this grotesque monstrosity created over its corpse as a celebration of his legacy. I walked out to the beach. More concretisation — gazebos, cement benches, random sheds. I wondered what drives this 'saundariyakaran' (beautification) mania that has gripped all government agencies across India, this mindless urge to 'beautify' what is already beautiful – from old heritage buildings to waterfalls, lakes to river banks. Why does the idea of 'beautification' or 'development' of a site or building always mean stripping away its simplicity – the very simplicity that made that place or building beautiful – and swarming it with thoughtless concretisation with utter disregard for history and heritage, legacy and aesthetics? Neither Ray's film nor the innate heritage value of the old Kechki FRH could save it from its doom. As my spirits dipped pondering over these thoughts, the sun began dipping too. I walked out to the riverbank through the unsightly iron gate. The last fading slivers of light shimmered over the waters of the two rivers. I gazed out towards a particular face of the beach, almost precisely the spot picturised being gazed upon by Ray's protagonists from the bungalow. The banal 'I Love New York' rip-off logo — an eyesore from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, plastered everywhere from waterfalls to petrol pumps to dusty town squares – read '# Kechki Sangam' with a heart emoticon. I sighed just as the combined waters of Koel and Auranga quenched the sun. ****** At the beginning of this year, a friend sent me a video of the newly inaugurated 'Kechki Sangam Eco Retreat'. The Forest Department had built some more at Kechki — a row of villa-style double-storied cottages, along with a new restaurant, more gazebos, concrete sit-outs, numerous lamp posts, bonfire pits, a manicured tiled nature trail, and so on. And of course, more fencing and new walls. Pushed behind this new tourist facility, the old forest bungalow now lay relegated to the margins, dated, decrepit, forlorn, forgotten. Scrolling through the videos and photos, I wondered if my thought process and views were as dated and decrepit as the bungalow itself. Will those tourists visiting this place care what existed before, anyway? Those visiting Kechki for the first time, or even those who perhaps come here on a casual visit after watching Ray's film, will, in all likelihood, go back perfectly content and happy. Only those who knew what Kechki once was might, perhaps, just perhaps, mourn its loss. And who am I to pass judgments anyway, on what is simple and quaint and what is concretised and monstrous, on what is beautiful and what is ugly? And what is the point of mourning a place, a memory, all over again when it was lost a long time ago anyway? Nonetheless, even as these doubts swirled around in my head, I was sure of one thing — neither Ray, nor any of those associated with Aranyer Din Ratri would recognise Kechki anymore. Ray's Kechki, the Kechki of my childhood, was dead. And in that moment, I knew that I would never go back to Kechki again. The writer is a conservationist, wildlife historian and works with Wildlife Conservation Trust, Mumbai
