When innocence is Vidya Sinha’s mild-sunshine smile, Amol Palekar’s artless excuses, David’s bottomless kindness — all moving to the light-touch-direction by Basu Chatterjee. When reality is a broken chappal, or Ranganathan’s promotion prospects. When the title of a film is fragrant.
Everyone probably has a Basu Chatterjee favourite — Baton Baton Mein, Chotti Si Baat, Rajanigandha, Chitchor, Manzil.
The relaxed Goan ambience in Baton Baton, with the villas and a perennially good-natured neighborhood uncle David (“Uncle Tom”) dropping by, to chat; the effortlessly homely Pearl Padamsee.
The innocent unspectacularness of pre-liberalisation wages, the “teen-sau ki tankha (a salary of Rs 300),” the “naukri abhi pakki nahin hui hai (you haven’t got the job yet).”
The “nau-das ki gaadi pakadni hai (I have to catch the train that leaves at 9:10).”
“Teen Limca dena… (Give me three limcas)”
“Ab Kya Milta Hai (How much do you get now?)”
“Hmm…Abhi to teen sau milte hain (I get Rs 300 right now)”
“Haan haan, theek hai thek hai (Yes yes, it’s alright it’s alright)”
“Kehte-sunte…huuunn…huuun…ho jata hai”
The sweetness of Rajanigandha.
“Promotion to us Ranganathan ko hi milega (That Ranganathan will get the promotion)”
The brilliance of “Kai baar yun bhi dekha hai”
“Yeh jo man ki seema rekha hai”
The together-yet-apart body language of two people, as the cab windows catch the reflection of the city.
“Man todne lagta hai…”
The believability of the characters, innocence-like dappled sunshine. Basu da almost dreamwalked us through life at times.
RIP Basu da.