It is easy to see why Ray’s films were classed as arthouse in the West. In Calcutta, they were screened in cinemas which showed regular Bengali films, whose audiences in the 1950s and 1960s didn’t watch much Hindi cinema
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?
But you could always trust Satyajit Ray to say what he meant. His opinions were sharp, to the point
Satyajit Ray and Soumitra Chatterjee showed what it is to be a man in modern India