Shyam Benegal, Sir, Only Gratitude For You

‘With
his
passing,
Indian
cinema
has
lost
its
most
undaunted
voice,
a
voice
of
unsettling
truths,
a
window
to
history,
a
school
of
filmmaking.’
Sukanya
Verma
mourns
the
movie
legend.

A
striking
image
of
a
single
red
rose
against
a
black
screen
over
which
a
plain
white
font
declares

Bharat
Ek
Khoj
by
Shyam
Benegal
is
etched
in
my
childhood
nostalgia.

Shyam
Benegal
was
part
of
my
happiest
Sunday
mornings
as
well
as
my
window
to
history.

I
learned
more
about
India’s
roots
and
rise
over
the
course
of
the
filmmaker’s
sweeping
adaptation
of
Jawaharlal
Nehru’s

Discovery
of
India
for
Doordarshan
than
I
did
in
any
of
my
textbooks
at
school.

Fifty
three
hours
of
his
exquisitely
crafted
drama
chronicling
India’s
rich
mythology,
ancient
civilisation,
complex
geopolitics
and
independence
struggle
not
only
proved
educational
but
made
me
appreciate
his
genius
and
legend
back
when
I
had
no
inkling
this
would
be
looked
back
as
the
golden
age
of
Hindi
television.

Although
a
hugely
hallowed
figure
in
my
family
—
my
grandmother
could
never
have
enough
of
her
all-time
favourite

Bhumika
while
my
mother’s
profound
admiration
for

Mandi,
Manthan,
Junoon
and

Kalyug
can
rustle
up
reams
of
recommendation
—
his
cinema
wasn’t
as
much
a
part
of
my
growing
up
years
as
his
television.

Besides

Bharat
Ek
Khoj,
there
was

Katha
Sagar,
which
had
some
of
our
best
filmmakers
adapting
short
stories
and
literary
works
of
noted
authors
around
the
world
in
one
fulfilling
episode.

Shyam
Benegal
was
at
the
helm
of
quite
a
few
including
O
Henry’s

The
Last
Leaf
(later
adapted
into
a
movie
called

Lootera
by
Vikramaditya
Motwane).
There
was

Yatra
too,
set
against
the
backdrop
of
railway
journeys.

All
of
these
works
carry
an
informational,
illuminating
quality,
which
moulded
an
impressionable
generation’s
sensibility
and
objectivity.
Nothing
about
his
content
has
a
preachy,
patronising
tone
but
his
clarity
in
addressing
the
complex
and
talking
sense
at
all
times
reveals
his
deep
sensitivity.

At
the
same
time,
there
isn’t
any
brushing
aside
of
tough
realities
under
the
carpet.

As
a
kid,
I
came
across
a
few
clips
from

Ankur
and

Nishant
on
TV
and
felt
uneasy
looking
at
the
depiction
of
physical
brutality
and
sexual
violence
that
made
him
one
of
the
most
intense
voices
of
celluloid
at
the
time.

Anant
Nag
whipping
Shabana
Azmi’s
husband
in
that
final
scene
while
she
breaks
into
hysterical
cries
and
curses
in

Ankur,
an
utterly
traumatised
Azmi
watching
Smita
Patil
offer
her
morning
prayers
behind
a
grilled
window
in

Nishant
—
the
hurt
and
hypocrisy
of
these
important
scenes
was
lost
on
me
but
the
feeling
of
humiliation
they
captured
was
not.

By
the
time
I
was
old
enough
to
seek
his
‘new
wave’
creations
on
my
own
and
appreciate
his
insight
and
nuances,
Benegal
had
graduated
from
influential
to
iconic.

The
injustices
highlighted
in

Ankur
and

Nishant
are
as
disconcerting
now
as
they
were
then
but
Benegal’s
potent
commentary
on
caste
and
class
aren’t
his
only
achievements.

Apart
from
social
struggles
and
stories
of
empowerment,
his
versatility
shone
bright
in
detailed
rich
storytelling
and
versatile
characterisations
across
genres
like
biopics,
historical,
satires
and
romance.

His
gift
to
capture
human
impulses
at
their
best
and
worst
colours
his
portrayals
whether
telling
the
story
of
one
or
many.

Mahabharata
of
the
corporate
world
(Kalyug),
the
challenges
thrown
at
a
brothel
in
Hyderabad’s
backstreet
(Mandi),
a
village
discovering
the
power
of
change
is
key
to
progress
by
forming
a
cooperative
(Manthan),
the
hardships
and
heartbreaks
of
an
actress
(Bhumika),
the
disillusionment
of
a
free-spirited
romantic
in
a
patriarchal
cage
(Zubeidaa),
pains
of
Partition
directly
impacting
an
individual’s
life
(Mammo),
tracing
a

thumri
singer’s
turbulent
journey
(Sardari
Begum)
alongside
his
brilliantly
realised
adaptations
of
layered
books
like
Dr
Dharamvir
Bharti’s

Suraj
Ka
Satvan
Ghoda
and
Ruskin
Bond’s

A
Flight
of
Pigeons
(Junoon)
are
glorious
examples
of
his
diversity,
aptitude
and
politics.

 

It’s
a
tribute
to
his
evolved
mind
and
accessible
intellectuality
that
the
meaningful
discourse
across
his
movies
—
whether
commenting
on
the
rampant
misogyny,
corruption,
oppression,
communal
discord,
power
play,
administrative
policies
or
wobbly
infrastructure
—
a
voice
of
reason
and
sanity
found
its
way
to
the
viewer.

Shyam
Benegal’s
socialist
preferences
and
sublime
aesthetics
reflect
in
his
cinema
of
anger,
unrest,
reckoning
and
scepticism.
Yet
even
at
its
most
extreme,
his
characters
aren’t
completely
good
or
evil
but
complicated
beings
dipped
in
various
shades
of
grey.

Son
of
a
still
photographer,
Shyam
Benegal’s
visual
eye
lends
his
thoughts
a
poetic
fluidity
further
enhancing
the
excellence
on
display,
which
lend
his
movies
the
air
of
a
novel
even
when
they
weren’t
an
adaptation.

Frequent
collaborator
Govind
Nihalani’s
strikingly
composed
shots
understood
this
need
spectacularly
as
did
Ashok
Mehta,
the
ace
behind
the
moodily
lit

Trikal.

The
naturalism
in
the
cinematography
of
his
films
stands
out
as
distinctly
as
their
story-within-story
ideals.

The
raw
charisma
of
the
people
inhabiting
those
frames
—
the
likes
of
Shabana
Azmi,
Smita
Patil,
Naseeruddin
Shah,
Om
Puri,
Rajit
Kapur
—
truly
prospered
under
Shyam
Benegal’s
masterful
direction
and
responsible
feminism.

Hailed
as
the
backbone
of
the
parallel
cinema
movement,
I
never
found
Shyam
Benegal’s
movies
alienating
or
following
a
strict
idiom.

 

Music
isn’t
always
central
to
his
storytelling
but
if
it
was
essential,
it
found
its
place
with
ease.

From

Bharat
Ek
Khoj’s
haunting
chant

Shristi
Se
Pehle,

Manthan‘s
dairy
anthem

Mero
Gaam
Katha
Parey
to

Zubeidaa‘s
mehendi
staple,

Mehendi
Hai
Rachnewali
at
all
weddings
since
2001,
the
sound
of
Shyam
Benegal’s
soundtrack
is
as
eclectic
as
it
is
eternal.

The
authenticity
and
sophistication
in
his
storytelling,
which
is
the
recipient
of
countless
accolades
and
awards,
doesn’t
stem
from
highbrow
engagement
but
sharp
logic,
sparkling
honesty
and
eloquent
expression
where
even
the
trickiest
of
discussions
are
reasonable
while
the
most
ambiguous
of
conclusions
leave
room
for
retrospection.

When
I
look
back
at
Shyam
Benegal’s
influences,
it’s
not
just
his
magnificent
filmmaking
but
also
the
enormous
learning
this
champion
of
art,
cinema,
culture,
morality,
society
and
humanity
imparted
on
my
growing
and
grown
up
individual.

With
his
passing,
Indian
cinema
has
lost
its
most
undaunted
voice,
a
voice
of
unsettling
truths,
a
window
to
history,
a
school
of
filmmaking.

Shyam
Benegal,
sir,
only
gratitude
for
you.