Remembering my friend Rituparno Ghosh

People knew you as  Rituparno Ghosh, Bengal’s most  distinguished filmmaker since Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen and Ritwik Ghatak. Everyone called you Rituda. For me, you were my dear friend, Ritu. They called you the hope of Bangla cinema. Your films whether it was Utsab, Dahan or Shubho Mahurat re-defined Bangla cinema. Working on water-tight budgets you owned the cinematic space like an astronaut in space.

But that was your professional triumph. At home, you were a lost, frightened soul often scared of the inner demons that attacked you when you were alone which was quite often. That’s the price you paid for your honesty. In a world where everybody hid in the closet, you came out of it wearing women’s clothes. Just like Lilly Elbe, the feminine persona that Eddie Redmayne has created so vividly and unforgettably in The Danish Girl.

Ritu, The Danish Girl,  that amazing film about Lili Elbe who underwent the first  gender-correction surgery in the  world, was your story. How much you’d have identified with Lilly, though of course you would have claimed to be far prettier. I loved your vanity about your looks. You genuinely believed you looked like Rekha, a true diva, unattainable, unfathomable…Like Lilly you were a bit of a tease. But Lilly had a supportive partner who saw her through to her sex change. You fought your way to a gender reversal all by yourself. No family member by your side. No one to hold your hand when you screamed in pain.

You were very lonely after your parent’s death. You spoke to me often of ending your life. You discussed your love life with me, spoke of your long-standing affair with a married Bengali matinee idol. You’d also giggle and speak about various heroes who would come on strongly and how one hero’s wife wanted to kill you because he was attracted to you.

When I look back, I wonder how many of these were the tales that you made in your fertile head for self-preservation. Beyond a point, I couldn’t probe  because I lost link with you when you set off on that lonely frightening road to sex correction. It must have been an awful awful experience, to go through these hideous hormonal changes with no one to comfort you.

You chose to shut yourself away from all your friends. This, I got to know after you passed away.

After you lost your parents you lost control control of your urges. You wanted to not just look and feel like a woman. You wanted to be a woman. This, I couldn’t understand. That’s when I lost touch with you. Your last year must have been hell for you. You must have battled with the bodily changes trying to stand tall amidst the hectic hormonal imbalances until you simply toppled over the abyss.

I hoped against hope that you too passed away peacefully, all the licks and lashes of life forgotten. I remember how hurt you were when a superstar Khan’s little son had asked you, ‘Should I call you Uncle or Aunty?’

Goodbye, my dear departed friend. I will never forget how you held my hand when I was bereaved. I couldn’t hold yours when you were plunging into the darkness.

My cowardice. Forgive me.

Yours warmly

Subhash K Jha