In the preface to his book, RAY: IN BLACK AND WHITE (Alchemy, Rs 1,495), the photographer, Aloke Mitra, says, of the legendary Satyajit Ray, “Our worlds have not been very apart but not very proximal either. Whenever I approached Ray, I never received ‘no’ for an answer.” Thus, even though Mitra claims that he was not able to move with the filmmaker like a “shadow” — a word that Ravi Shankar had, in fact, used to describe the photographer in a letter he wrote in 1977 that was printed in a book of Mitra’s photographs of the late sitar maestro — the compilation of pictures in Ray is testimony not only to Mitra’s knack for photographing candid moments but also to his unerring dedication to preserving on film every facet of Ray’s life that he possibly could. Some of the photographs — such as the one showing Ray in Berlin with the Golden Bear he won for Ashani Sanket — were provided by Ray’s son, Sandip Ray, to “hide the gaps in chronology”.

Mrinal Sen, in the foreword, speaks of Ray’s “deeply humanitarian worldview” that influenced his work, leading to his huge popularity and the respect he commanded. This, too, is an aspect that Mitra manages to capture, such as in the photograph showing Ray on the streets of Calcutta raising funds for flood victims in person. Ray once casually told Sankarlal Bhattacharjee — who has provided the text for the book — that “the films are what I was and now am”. Though he later joked that those words were “too pompous for an interview”, most of the photographs that Mitra has chosen for his book point to Ray’s dedication to his craft, as they show the filmmaker at work, be it behind the camera on the sets of films such as Chiriakhana and Abhijan or in conversation with some of his stars like Uttam Kumar, Soumitra Chatterjee and Madhabi Mukherjee.

Mitra’s wide range of photographs, however, is not the only strength that Ray stands on. It is his careful focus on his subject — the man himself — and his placement of that subject in an environment that weaves stories around it which stand out as the book’s chief attractions. For example, a photograph showing Ray and Soumitra Chatterjee during a break in the filming of Devi — where they both face in opposite directions, lost in thought, with cups of tea in their hands — speaks to the viewer of calm moments in the midst of a rush, of an unhurried pace in the life of a man that was not disturbed by the phenomenal work he did. Another photograph captures a tender moment between Ray and his wife, Bijoya, where the latter has her fingers placed on Ray’s hand after his return from America where he underwent heart surgery.

Some of the most interesting pictures are the ones in which Mitra juxtaposes Ray with beautiful women such as Suchitra Sen and Ruma Guhathakurta. These photographs serve to highlight the sheer strength of Ray’s personality, the restraint in his expressive, handsome face and the class and sombre confidence with which he carried himself. Mitra creates a series of photographs of Ray’s face in close up, but it is the pictures in which he is among people — irrespective of whether they are eminent personalities or anonymous faces on the sets of his films — that really serve to separate him from the throng. Some of the photographs are blurry and could have been reproduced better. But salvaging prints of old photographs from negatives with “fungal covers” is quite a task, and Mitra deserves credit for that.

Left shows Satyajit Ray demonstrating a pose to the famous body builder, Moloy Roy, on the sets of Joi Baba Felunath. The picture was provided by Sandip Ray. Top right is a rare photograph of Ray and the then chief minister of West Bengal, Bidhan Chandra Roy, at the Lighthouse Miniature Theatre. Ray had arranged for a screening of the incomplete Pather Panchali for Roy in order to seek government help to finish the film. Roy sanctioned the grants, and Ray was able to complete Pather Panchali. Bottom right shows Ray and Chhabi Biswas after the toss at a friendly cricket match that was played at the Lake Stadium in South Calcutta.