A small tribute to the invisible lady – Smritirekha Bishwas
(Photo Courtesy – Osianama Research Center & Archive for Cinema and the Arts, India)
All this takes me back to our childhood days in Calcutta, when Kolkata was Calcutta – and I, a kindergarten school kid, all of 6 years.
Late one afternoon Ma dressed me and sister Tatu in the stiff Taffeta dress reserved for very special occasions. No sooner were we dressed, the unmistakable honk of Baba’s BMW car announced its arrival all the way from New Theatres in Tollygunj. Ma gave us a frantic last-minute look over with useful instructions on how to behave even as we stepped out to climb the two door car – its door being ceremoniously held by the driver. We sisters scrambled in the back seat. The car then cruised along the leafy Southern avenue past the low Tollygunj overbridge into a congested area of Anwar Shah road entering the narrow cul de sac of the famous N.T. studio.
Rarely if ever did we attend Baba’s film shootings. Yes, he sent for us if a song was being shot. The day about which I am writing was of one such day of song picturisation. The minute we stepped into the vast studio floor, Baba’s assistants rushed to greet us. My baby sister was swept up in someone’s lap. Baba barely smiled and continued to smoke away absently. Towards the rear of the set I remember seeing a quaint bridge. Over which hung pretty pink crepe blossoms. An electrician was busy lighting the pink clusters. Even to a child the creeper seemed utterly unreal. As I looked, a huge machine startled us by suddenly bursting into life, playing the music track and a duet song. From somewhere the romantic pair emerged onto the bridge – singing their lilting duet.
Both the actors were smiling as they sang, dressed in smart trendy outfits. The woman I recall, was wearing baggy Indian pants and a very short kurti. Her abundant dark shoulder length hair looked chic. A shot was taken, after everyone was asked to be silent. Only the music could be heard. The music stopped as abruptly. Then a loud voice yelled out:
CUT.CUT !
With that everyone wound back to life. There was much movement and activity at once. Tall lights on wheels were being moved about. I looked at all this in disbelief standing at the far end of the floor.
The pretty lady had meanwhile descended from the bridge and was walking towards us with dainty steps. On reaching where we girls stood, she smiled and hugged us both. Not much was said, after all she was a celestial being and left us incredulous. Very gently, she lead us on the bridge . Putting her arms around us – she had asked someone to click a photo. I was overcome with joy but also nervous. Guessing my discomfort, she held me closer till the still photo was snapped.
For years, I had that charming photo with Smritidi on the sets of the war saga – Pahela Admi, which signalled Baba’s farewell to New theatres. The photo was a priceless memento of our childhood, of a memorable meeting with the bubbly Smritirekha Biswas.
Thinking of her current condition, as she struggles bravely with age and illness in distant Nashik, I miss that lovely photo of Smriti di as she charmed us when we spent few moments in that incredible make believe ambience of crepe flowers, a pretend Japanese bridge and all the rest.
The image of her standing in the centre holding us on the quaint bridge is imprinted in mind’s eye forever.
Thank you Smritirekha di
Rinki Roy Bhattacharya
Chairperson: Bimal Roy Memorial Committee
102 Spencer Society, New Kantwadi Road,
Bandra-West, Mumbai- 400050
Maharashtra, India
bimalroymemorial@gmail.com