When the woman made a radical choice, Ray was uncomfortable. He was more comfortable showing women taking a stand against institutional orthodoxy
Ray obsessed about the tiniest detail. A sceptic of the time had grudgingly admitted: ‘How did a city boy know that when a frog dies, it floats on its back?’
Satyajit Ray never touched alcohol, and listened to a sonata by Beethoven on his turntable gramophone at breakfast. What else could possibly be required for the biodata of a Calcutta god?