t2: Rituparno Ghosh films these days have become synonymous with homoeroticism and the third sex. Why had your first 16 films never touched upon the subject in the form of a character or a plot?

Rituparno: There came a time when feminist studies became gender studies, and when within that space everything from patriarchy to sexuality was attacked, queer studies was born. You will no longer get any book on woman studies, everything is now gender studies. And queer studies is an offshoot of that. This movement was the first to raise the sex vs gender question. And every kind of sex came under the spotlight for the first time. There was a time when I used to be asked: “Tumi keno meyeder niye chhobi koro (Why do you make films on women)?” Just the way the theory was naturally formulated, the sexuality in my films has flowed. It is with Chitrangada that you can stamp my film with essentialism. Queer studies like most other studies is not a biographical study. This is a separate science altogether. Straight or queer, anybody can make a queer film, write a queer text. Today, every Shakespearean text is emerging as a queer text. But the biographical correspondence is gone.

Mainak: Something that struck me recently was that the women in many of your earlier films, whether it’s Dahan or Dosar, had the same voice as your character in Memories in March (written by Ghosh). Even the way you reacted to many of the situations is similar to those female characters in the past.

Rituparno: Possible. Very possible. I cannot consciously spot them like that because I really don’t remember the earlier films. If there are audiences who remember and are being able to make this connection, then it’s very interesting.

Mainak: It was there. I’ll tell you. In the first scene of Dosar, when Bumbada (Prosenjit) and Chandrayee (Ghosh) are planning their trip, she says: “Plan-ta thik kore kori… Jaoa toh hobe naa, plan-tai hobe.” That’s very similar to a scene in Arekti Premer Golpo…

Rituparno: “Amader konodin- berate jaoa hobe naa…”

Mainak: So the voice was already coming out.

Q: Is that what you are trying to say? That your female voices have now become the voice of the third gender?

Rituparno: It’s not that black and white. Like in Dosar, many feel that it is Konkona’s story. For me, Bumba’s story is much more fascinating. It is actually an anti-patriarchy story. Till the time he was fit and fine, within the domestic politics space, he was dominant and she was dormant. Then that one incident flips it and makes everything opposite. Now, Konkona’s job is to keep him guilty all his life. So, a sense of pseudo-patriarchy is there. And just when people thought the story will continue to be an examination on a moral crisis of a husband cheating his wife, all the incidents shown around the couple — the Param-Pallavi relationship, the Shankar-Moumita romp — almost start justifying the man. Dosar is a very complex motif.

Mainak: I felt Dosar was like a sequel to Blue (Kieslowski). There the husband dies and Juliette Binoche has to deal with it. Here it gets dirtier because there are so many questions for the man to answer. So you are making it uneasy for the characters and the audience. Compare it to a film like Unishe April, which was far easier for the audience and where the audience accepted you for the first time. Was this a deliberate switch?

Rituparno: I have gone through criticism at every stage. In Unishe April, there was this scene where Bumba goes to urinate after mild foreplay with Debasree. The Bengali audience was shocked. “Ota keno dekhate gelen?” Then there was a men’s room sequence in Dahan. So it became almost like Rituparno Ghosh has to show urination in every film. That’s how the attack started. But no one ever talked about the fact that Sarojini the dancer, played by Aparna Sen, was wearing a mangalsutra throughout the film. Was she a widow or a divorcee? Because many dancers, many women in the south, wear the mangalsutra as an ornament. I was worried whether people would misinterpret the situation. But no one questioned me. I wanted people to talk about how this dancer may be or may not be manipulating her marital status through her art.

t2: Q, just as someone who’s been watching Ritu-da’s films for years, what do you make of the sexual politics in his films?

Q: I think what I found the most arresting about his cinema was that he created this adult domain and then brought the middle-class Bengali audience into that domain. And for a so-called ‘artistic director’ to turn that cinema into a populist space was very commendable. And to make everyone confront those scenes and situations was remarkable. I am an outsider really, because I don’t naturally take to Bangla films. While I appreciated your entry into the adult domain, I couldn’t understand keno tumi tar bairey jachhile na (why you were not going beyond that). Why were you not showing the other creatures? Your characters were very familiar people, people we saw around us… and I wanted to desperately see the adult domain looked at through the prism of the outsiders. Characters who you don’t want to see. And that included the third gender.

Rituparno: I can understand where you are coming from. At that time when I could identify a certain problem and figure that everyone else could see that problem but no one was doing anything about it, I realised that I needed familiar tools to show it. With those everyday tools I could sensitise people about the problem they were ignoring.

I first came out of this with Chokher Bali. Ekta time travel holo. Rabindranath was being treated as an adult theme. Especially Binodini’s menstruation… then the fact that she wasn’t wearing a blouse and we were used to seeing women wearing blouses around us. What is vulgar and what is not? I was challenging our very conditioning. That was when the dissatisfaction first surfaced. And everything was instantly blamed on Aishwarya Rai. “Rabindranath-er golpo, abangali naayika”… they safely bypassed the problem they were having with the adult theme. “Tomar lobh Bollywood-er proti (You are sold on Bollywood)!” The same Bengali had accepted Simi (Garewal) as a Santhal in Aranyer Dinratri, seen Waheeda (Rehman) in a Bengali film (Abhijaan), Vyjayanthimala had done Haatey Bajaarey, Dilip (Kumar)-Saira (Banu) had done Sagina Mahato… there was never a problem. And when Rakhee (Gulzar) was a prime Mumbai property, she came and did Paroma, Shabana (Azmi) did Sati, Bangali’r kono oshubidhe hoyni. In fact, those who are fans of Aranyer Dinratri, they have more problems with that Rinadi (Aparna Sen) cameo than having Simi around!

Mainak: Things got worse for you with Antarmahal...

Rituparno: Oh yes! Things got direct. Before that people would love watching sex scenes in movies. Bed scene dekhar ananda karur-i konodin kichhu kom chhilo naa. And everyone invariably had taken into account that this act of voyeurism must be a pleasurable experience. If it becomes disturbing, then there is a problem. There was a brutality in the love-making in Antarmahal, a constant poking on the false fatherhood, on inheritance, on patriarchal pride…. Then the fact that Roopa (Ganguly) had played Draupadi and she has to go to the five Brahmins and she is menstruating the same day. The Bengali audience was aware of these mythical references. They said no, “Aamra dekhbo naa!”

Q: Why do you make films? What is the objective? What are you trying to do?

Rituparno: I don’t know. Especially now, I have no clue. With every passing day I realise that I would never figure in the top 500 filmmakers in the world. Yet I understand that this is my skill and I have to continue doing this. And using that skill let me say the couple of little things I want to say. It’s not necessary that those things have to make history. Some people might enjoy watching those films. Like I really enjoyed watching Gangs of Wasseypur Part I. And I don’t envy Anurag (Kashyap). In fact I become protective, and I hope Part II is as good. Now, I can clearly demarcate between the success of me the filmmaker and the success of cinema itself.

Like with Ichche, I could appreciate what the casting of Sohini Sengupta had done. Initially Shibu (Shiboprosad Mukherjee) was trying to cast people like Sharmila Tagore and Rakhee in the role of the mother. At that time he himself was supposed to play the son. Then after trying the likes of Mamata Shankar and Roopa, he went with Sohini. When I first saw the film I found it very interesting but I couldn’t figure out what was working for the film. Then it struck me that by casting a younger woman as the mother, the possessiveness has taken a different meaning altogether, leading to a unique reading of the film. A film which was as vegetarian as Swet Pathorer Thala had suddenly turned into this potent thing. Shibu hadn’t understood the power of cinema; how it can completely change the way it’s construed. Asha kori chhele-ta shikhe jabe ekhan theke (I hope he has learnt it).

t2: The Bengali audience today appreciates an Ichche, admires an Arekti Premer Golpo, looks forward to a Chitrangada. You’ve always been someone who is very aware of the audience and have served up exactly what they would lap up. So, do you think the Bengali audience has changed over the past decade or so?

Rituparno: What I feel is that Bengalis love to believe that they are progressive. At the same time they want to look at cinema as a feel-good form of entertainment. They don’t want to see something which is disturbing. I can talk about a few films to elucidate my point. See, the audience which rejected Antarmahal took to Arekti Premer Golpo in such a positive way. I was really surprised! It was unbelievable. The film had only two men at its centre. But at the same time, it had a very strong heteronormative structure. I was decked out and presented in such a way that I was almost like a surrogate woman. The introduction to the world was very smooth.

Then I saw the reaction to 22shey Srabon which was filled with the choicest of verbal abuse. The audience would ideally not like to listen to their hero speaking in such a foul language. But that became immensely popular. I have seen women waiting for the next abuse to flow... they know it from beforehand what’s coming next. Why? Because here cinema is almost legitimising words and phrases that the audience knows but can’t say in the public domain. That doesn’t mean that their prejudices are getting minimised. They are getting curiously balanced in favour of a pleasurable experience. Also, the man on screen who is saying all those things is not one of us... he is an ex-cop, a drunkard, a recluse. So that’s okay!

Like we have clapped and cheered for Amitabh Bachchan the smuggler day in and day out and have never felt that there is a question of morality there somewhere. Ever since Vijay appeared on the scene, he legitimised the negative hero.

And I would like to add something very intriguing here. Now, a lot of people look at me as the bearer of Satyajit Ray’s legacy. And while just through the arts I could have been that man for them, the masculinity factor tilted things otherwise. They can’t ignore me but at the same time they can’t be with me. Now, two things saved me. One is my knowledge of the Bengali language. I write regularly; I edit a Bengali magazine. The other thing, which I have realised of late, is my relationship with my parents. The general perception about homosexuals is that uchchhonne gechhe kota lok... they don’t have family, they don’t have any kind of home. That is where my rootedness works in my favour. The whole legend of “Mera baap chor hai” and “Mere paas maa hai”... I can see it playing out right in front of my eyes.

t2: Are you this conscious of your persona when you are writing a script or writing a character that you wish to play yourself? Do you take into account that the Bengali audience will troop in to watch Rituparno Ghosh and not the character you play?

Rituparno: No, not really. When I did the documentary on Rabindranath Tagore, since it was government-funded, I had to do a specific job. Shyam Benegal had called and asked me to introduce Rabindranath to the people who don’t know him. To do this introductory job I had to maintain a sense of reverence towards Tagore. I couldn’t show the Rabindranath I love. And I love the Rabindranath of Chitrangada. The man who took the text from Mahabharata and completely flipped it into a text about a bad-looking woman turning into a beautiful being to get the man. Something which Kuch Kuch Hota Hai did!

And Rabindranath made the Bengali language gender-free. Our pronouns or verbs are not gender-specific, only adjectives are. And he used those adjectives to develop the plot. Tagore was writing a queer text. And he also formulated the concept of ei jonmei jonmantor. That you can move on to a different life in this life and at your will. And the big question — do you need a new body for your gender appropriation? The moment you are sexually reassigned, you are again being thwarted into a sense of heteronormativity, you are again moving towards heterosexuality vis a vis your partner. So is that necessary? Or can you achieve the same without modifying your body? Now someone who has really read Rabindranath, all these questions will haunt him or her. I owed Chitrangada to Rabindranath. Jaani naa shodh hoyechhe kina (Don’t know if I have been able to pay my debts).

t2: Q, you are just wrapping up Tasher Desh. What is your relationship with Rabindranath?

Q: I look at Rabindranath in a completely different way. Rituda, you have read him with love and reverence. All my life my inspirations have always taken me away from Rabindranath. And since childhood the Rabindranath that has been presented to me is not the Rabindranath I could love. I have always felt that he is not saying things that I love or care for. And if he is saying that at all, at least I can’t hear him. Only Tasher Desh is a text that I could identify with. Aamar chhotobela theke Tasher Desh mukhosto (From my childhood I have known it by heart). Since the guy who could sing played Rajputra, I played Rajputra many, many times. Then in school, when I wasn’t picked as Rajputra, I really got angry. Tokhon theke shei je khaar-ta... Later I felt that a classic writer like Tagore wrote something like this when he had already become the Rabindranath Tagore.

Rituparno: And you sit and wonder did Rabindranath actually know how to play cards?

Q: I am not so sure about that. Because if you sit and dissect the play, there are lots of wrong rules as far as card-playing goes.

Rituparno: Oh really?

Q: Technical mistakes. I think he used the analogy of the Western legend of “house of cards”. He also used the Aristotelian structure. And using those tools, he showed a Western style of governance which was relevant for his time and which would soon turn into world politics. The writing was very political. I found him straying into human consciousness much more than social consciousness.

Rituparno: This was another side to Raktakarabi. Even though the same thing is being said in both the texts.

Q: Maybe, but I felt he was only adjusting the division within himself. That he was a multiple personality, that thing was coming out here. And so many things happen at the same time in Tasher Desh, that it almost feels disjointed. That is why no one takes the play seriously and it has been reduced to a school play. Why is the protagonist shifting? Why doesn’t the prince have a resolution? What is going on? Most critics felt that it was a weak text and that he couldn’t achieve what he wanted to. But whenever Tasher Desh used to be staged, Tagore himself played Rajputra. When it was first staged in Elphinstone, Sarojini Naidu had produced the play. All this information made me all the more curious... and then there was the idea of the oracle. I felt Tagore was trying to bring the idea of Lalan (Fakir) here. There is one point where I am now finding a parallel with your work. The revolution has already started and Haratani is revolting, there are murmurs between Iskaboni and Tekkani. Chiratani enters the scene and tells them, tomra dujon mile sharakkhon pukur paare gujguj phishphish korchho (you both are constantly gossiping by the pool)... I have taken this scene and made it into a completely lesbian exercise. And the whole film moves into a woman’s liberation movement. Twenty years before it actually happened, Tagore was talking about it. At the end of the ’30s he was talking about something that happened in the ’60s. The world vision he had was tremendous.

Rituparno: Oh yes! And the way we have diluted the texts...

Q: Shesh kore diyechhe! Tumi khub bhalo manush... (They have finished it off, you are being nice...) you are giving a lot of credit to the Bengali audience. I as a filmmaker feel that after the ’60s and ’70s, the Bengali audience have stopped being an audience. Their main vocation is to watch. You have to watch everything first before you reject it. I will tell you from the point of view of music, because I would love to have been a musician. When this whole Bangla band wave had started, young guys wanted to play like the drummer of Def Leppard or the guitarist of The Eagles. All popular legends but at least there was a musical quality. Today in a room in Garia, the boy is saying: “Aami Baji-da’r moto drum bajabo!” Our horizons have become so limited. Isn’t it the responsibility of the artistes who are in the forefront to tell people, ki guru dekho kichhu (please go and watch)! We are giving you a list of 10 films; go and watch them. They are 20 years old but you watch them and you try and figure out where you are lagging behind.

Mainak: Tell me one thing... are both of you using Rabindranath to be accepted by the educated Bengali having alienated them a bit with an Antarmahal and a Gandu?

Q: I feel the need to subvert this sense of acceptance you are talking about. I feel the need to hit in the groin. The Bangali doesn’t want to be in an uncomfortable situation. They don’t go to watch my films at the theatres like they go to watch Rituda’s films. So I try and shock them in their bathrooms, on their phones and laptops. The idea of getting them into a theatre... well, Rabindranath does help there.

Rituparno: Rabindranath-er kotogulo daari chhirlo sheta dekhte jabe... Rituparno Ghosh-ke tara khorocher khaatay anek din-i phele gechhe (They would go to watch how many strands of Rabindranath’s beard Q has torn off... Rituparno has long been written off).

Q: (Laughs) Yes, if in Gandu sex was the tool, here it’s Rabindranath.

t2: Which is the biggest tool in Chitrangada? Rabindranath? Rituparno Ghosh? The third sex? Homosexuality?

Rituparno: I think I am rewriting Tagore for the first time. I am trying to get at what he was trying to say but I am not using the narrative tools he had used. Or maybe I have picked them and mixed them into this new life... a life of desires... of limitless desires... I am challenging the difference between habit and conditioning... shobhab aar protha. This whole tendency to club everyone under brackets. Take LGBT for example... transpeople are very different from lesbians, gays and bisexuals. Their lives are something else. Aamra ekta taal paakiye dite parlei khushi hoye jaai (We are happy mixing it all up).

t2: Is that why you don’t go for these gay walks and meetings that are fast catching on?

Rituparno: Everyone fights in his or her own way. Everyone lives his or her own way. I haven’t hijacked the LGBT movement in Calcutta. I gave them visibility. At a time when I was very secure, the toast of Bengali cinema, doing Rabindranath, being compared to Ray, I came out and did all this. After I was 45... it was no rush of youth. I felt that if I don’t tell my story now, when will I say it? Now whether you are accepting this just because it is the politically correct thing to do, that’s up to you. You have to learn to look at art in a non-judgemental way. Look at art as art. It’s time to bring in the changes.