‘I Feel Like I Have Lost My Father Again’

‘After
Om’s
untimely
demise,
he
would
call
us
every
Sunday
for
the
next
two
years
to
ask,
“How
are
you
doing
my
dear?
How’s
the
young
fella?”‘

Nandita
Puri
grew
up
on
Shyam
Benegal’s
Doordarshan
series

Bharat
Ek
Khoj.

After
marrying
actor
Om
Puri,
his
mentor
became
a
father
figure
to
her,
her
son
Ishaan’s
grandfather,
and
the
family
encyclopedia.

Gutted
that
she
couldn’t
spend
his
90th
birthday
with
him,
she
tells



Rediff.com
Senior
Contributor

Roshmila
Bhattacharya,
“The
best
tribute
we
can
pay
him
is
to
frequently
show
his
films
and
make
his

Bharat
Ek
Khoj
a
part
of
the
syllabus
in
every
school,
college
and
university
across
India.”

The
matchless
gift

I
still
remember
Shyambabu’s
wedding
gift
to
Om
and
me.

We
had
been
meaning
to
meet
for
a
few
weeks
when
suddenly,
he
called
and
invited
us
home.

His
wife
Nira
and
daughter
Pia
were
not
in
town,
but
he
cooked
Om’s
favourite

alu
tuk
himself,
along
with
delicious
mutton

raan,
which
he
cut
and
served
us
himself.

He
was
my
late
husband’s
lifelong
mentor
who
had
known
him
when
Om
didn’t
know
what
his
next
meal
would
be,
or
even
if
it
was
coming.

On
Shyambabu’s
sets,
everyone
ate
together.
On
occasions,
he
would
take
Om,
Shabana
(Azmi)
and
a
few
others
to
a
restaurant
for
a
meal,
introducing
my
husband
who
was
a
vegetarian
then
to
fish
at
Amber
restaurant
in
Kolkata.

In
Paris,
he
taught
Om
which
wines
to
pair
with
which
dish.

Om
used
to
drink
Old
Monk
for
the
longest
time,
it
was
Shyambabu
who
slowly
shifted
him
from
rum
to
Teacher’s
and
then
Single
Malt.

Whenever
Om
got
a
bottle
of
liquor
for
him
from
trips
abroad,
he
would
buy
one
for
himself
as
well
to
taste.

The
family
encyclopedia

Shyambabu
was
my
teacher
as
well
and
I
remember,
in
the
late
1980s,
running
to
the
television
to
watch
his

Bharat
Ek
Khoj
on
Doordarshan
as
soon
as
I
heard
the
signature
tune.

The
53-episode
television
series
based
on
Jawaharlal
Nehru’s
book

Discovery
of
India
gave
our
history
a
human
face.

Om,
who
was
the

sutradhar
and
also
played
several
roles,
including
Ashoka
and
Aurangzeb,
would
later
tell
me
how
Shyambabu
meticulously
recreated
the
period
and
if
even
one
man
stood
out
from
the
time
on
his
set
at
Film
City
Studio,
no
matter
how
far
he
was,
his
hawk
eyes
would
immediately
spot
him.

He
had
the
largest
collections
of
VHS
and
DVDs
in
his
personal
library,
cult
classics
from
Akira
Kurosawa
to
Satyajit
Ray,
and
would
ask
me
to
send
our
chauffeur
across
for
any
film
I
wanted
to
watch.

That’s
how
I
got
to
see
a
lot
of
Shyambabu’s
own
work
too
which
was
not
readily
available
then,
including
a
three-part
biographical
film
on
Nehru
which
he
had
directed
for
the
Films
Division.

If
I
didn’t
understand
something
or
wanted
to
know
more,
I
would
call
him
and
he
would
patiently
explain
it
to
me.

Even
when
we
had
to
go
somewhere
for
a
vacation,
he
was
our
go-to
person
for
information
on
travel,
sights,
food
and
even
what
clothes
to
pack.

He
soon
came
to
be
called
the
‘family
encyclopedia’.

I
still
remember
when
we
were
planning
a
trip
to
Prague
and
wanted
to
know
something,
my
son
immediately
quipped,
‘Ask
encyclopedia.’

The
Sunday
call

Ishaan
called
him
Shyambabu
too.

Never
having
known
his
own,
he
was
like
my
son’s
grandfather.

When
he
was
around
five-six
months
old
and
would
suddenly
start
crying
while
we
were
at
lunch
or
dinner
at
his
home,
Shyambabu
would
tell
me
to
continue
eating
and
carrying
Ishaan
around,
trying
to
distract
him.

After
Om’s
untimely
demise,
he
would
call
us
every
Sunday
for
the
next
two
years
to
ask,
‘How
are
you
doing,
my
dear?
How’s
the
young
fella?’

It
was
his
way
of
subtly
checking
on
us.

When
Ishaan
refused
to
do
his
graduation
after
completing
high
school,
I
sent
him
to
Shyambabu
and
I
don’t
know
what
he
told
him,
but
my
son
returned
home
saying
he
had
decided
to
study
economics.

I
was
relieved
but
also
surprised
because
my
son
was
a
liberal
arts
student.

Why
economics,
I
wondered,
and
was
told
that
had
been
Shyambabu’s
subject.

Ishaan
went
to
the
London
School
of
Economics
and
was
a
global
topper
in
Development
Management.

The

Susman
Story

It
was
Shyambabu’s
idea
to
start
the
Om
Puri
Foundation
to
carry
my
husband’s
legacy
forward.

He
was
the
founder
trustee
of
the
Foundation,
and
later,
with
advancing
age,
an
advisor.

The
Foundation
organised
a
session
on
his
1987
film,

Susman,
which
was
on
the
struggles
of
rural
handloom
weavers
who
lose
almost
80
per
cent
of
their
earnings
to
the
middlemen.

Shyambabu
shared
stories
from
the
film
on

The
Susman
Story
and
about
Om
who
plays
Ramulu
on
whom
the
film
is
based.

While
the
rest
of
the
unit
stayed
in
Hyderabad,
Om
stayed
in
Ramulu’s
village,
in
his
house,
and
learnt
how
to
weave
from
him.

He
wove
dupattas
for
his
co-star
Shabana
Azmi
and
writer
Shama
Zaida,
a

rumaal
for
Ila
Arun
and
shirts
for
Shyambabu
and
himself.

In
fact,
he
got
married
wearing
that
shirt.

During
the
session,
Shyambabu
asked
me
if
I
had
seen

Susman.

I
had
and
it’s
one
of
his
finest
socially
relevant
films,
films
with
a
purpose,
along
with

Manthan
on
the
‘white
revolution’,

Aarohan
on
the
sorry
plight
of
farmers
and

Mandi
which,
while
entertaining
and
fun,
throws
light
on
politics
and
prostitution.

He
asked
me
if
I
had
a
copy
of
the
film,
confiding
with
a
sheepish
smile
that
he
didn’t.

When
Om
was
chairperson
of
the
NFDC,
I
had
managed
to
get
copies
of
all
his
films
and
burnt
a
copy
of

Susman,
giving
Shyambabu
his
own
film
for
his
personal
library.

We
presented
the
Om
Puri
Karigar
Award
to
the
children
of
weavers
and
craftsmen,
and
the
Om
Puri
Kaisan
Award
to
the
children
of
farmers.

It
was
an
incentive
to
encourage
them
to
use
the
digital
and
social
media
to
edit
out
the
exploitative
middlemen
from
their
lives
and
continue
with
the
family
legacy
instead
of
moving
to
the
cities
and
a
new
profession.

It’s
a
life
lesson
we
have
learnt
from
Shyambabu’s
films,

Susman
and

Arohan,
both
featuring
Om
as
an
impoverished
weaver
and
a
destitute
farmer,
how
important
it
is
to
conserve
our
rich
cultural
heritage
and
farming
tradition.

The
bottle
of
Single
Malt
remains
packed

Shyambabu
had
been
ailing
from
kidney-related
problems
for
the
last
couple
of
years
and
initially,
dialysis
had
left
him
drained
and
frail.

But
then,
he
adjusted
to
the
tri-weekly
routine
and
was
doing
well,
though
he
would
say
that
if
he
had
to
go
every
day
for
dialysis,
he
wouldn’t
want
to
live.

On
Monday,
Wednesday
and
Friday,
the
days
when
he
wasn’t
in
hospital,
he
would
be
at
his
office
by
10.30
am,
leaving
for
lunch
around
1.30
pm,
be
back
in
a
couple
of
hours
and
stay
till
5
pm,
picking
up
every
call,
be
it
on
the
landline
or
his
cellphone,
and
attending
to
every
matter
himself.

He
made
his
last
film,
an
epic
biographical,

Mujib:
The
Making
of
a
Nation
Sheikh
Mujibur
Rahman,
the
founding
father
and
first
president
of
Bangladesh
at
the
age
of
87-88.

He
spoke
to
me
himself
when
I
called
to
tell
him
that
I
couldn’t
be
at
his
90th
birthday
celebrations
on
December
14
because
my
uncle
was
also
turning
90,
but
we
agreed
to
meet
me
at
his
office
on
December
11
at
11.30
am.

I
told
him
I
would
bring
a
cake
and
a
bottle
of
Single
Malt.

Ila
Arun,
who
wanted
to
present
him
a
copy
of
her
autobiography,
and
Ishaan,
were
to
accompany
me.

But
a
day
before,
I
got
a
call
from
his
office
informing
me
that
he
was
not
keeping
well.

The
meeting
was
rescheduled
to
December
30.
But
after
his
birthday
celebrations,
his
health
took
a
downturn,
and
with
still
a
week
to
go,
his
office
called
to
cancel
again.

Both
Ila
and
I
were
worried,
but
I
was
definitely
not
prepared
for
the
worst.

I
lost
my
father
when
I
was
11.
I
feel
I
have
lost
him
again.

The
bottle
of
Single
Malt
is
still
packed.

A
letter
for
Ishaan

It’s
been
a
year
of
huge
losses.

On
October
9,
we
lost
Ratan
Tata,
the
face
of
our
industry.

On
December
15,
we
lost
Zakir
Hussain,
the
face
of
our
music.

On
December
23,
we
lost
Shyam
Benegal,
the
face
of
our
cinema.

He
wasn’t
just
a
film-maker.
After
Satyajit
Ray,
Shyambabu
was
truly
India’s
Renaissance
Man.

The
best
tribute
we
can
pay
him
is
to
frequently
showcase
his
films
and
make
his

Bharat
Ek
Khoj
a
part
of
the
syllabus
in
every
school,
college
and
university
across
India.