Guest Column Budhaditya Mohanty

Crowded marketplaces, intricate filigree work, fairs and festivals and of course, the grand Barabati Fort, which stands witness to the city's history spanning more than 1,000 years, form a collage of what is popularly called as the Millennium City. But for me, it is simply Cuttack, my home. Born and brought up in the former state capital, my earliest memory of the city is the maze of gullies — enter one and come out of another; all roads in the city are interconnected.

Although I was born at Shaikh Bazaar, I spent my later childhood at Mangalabag. As a child, I could never differentiate between my family members and the other city residents. It was like a large but close-knit family. I felt everyone in the city was a relative — almost everyone would smile and greet you, enquire about your well-being.

The most cherished memories date back to my school days when my friends and I would take joyous rickshaw rides to school. Jostling each other for space, we would croon the latest song releases in the rickshaw, even as amused passers-by would wave at us. We had forged an alliance with the rickshaw-wallah (our partner in crime) who would keep the tales of our mischief a secret. The adventures and fun with other classmates give me a thrill even today.

Mohanty in a still from one of his movies. Telegraph picture

During the evenings, Kila Padia was a must-hang out place for my friends and me. With borrowed cricket bats, tennis balls and limp bamboo sticks (that we used as stumps) in our hands, we would march down to the ground in large numbers and not return home until darkness fell. On our way home, we would ride along the Ring Road on our bicycles, as the gentle breeze from the banks of Mahanadi brushed against us.

I remember bunking school and wheeling towards the Bali Jatra grounds with my gang of friends. We used to save our pocket money for months together and enjoy the numerous joy rides there.

Even as winter approached, we would spend most of our time on my terrace, flying kites. We would pool in money to buy the brightest and sturdiest kites available and huge kite reel winders. Local songs reverberating in the background kept us in high spirits while we competed with the other boys in the neighbourhood.

Nothing can beat the roadside food here. Although I have shifted to Mumbai that boasts of vada pav and kala khatta, my heart always beats for the dahi bara-aloo dum around the Barabati stadium and high court premises, and kaalia chaat of Choudhury Bazar. I never miss an opportunity to drop at these food joints whenever I am “home”.

I believe there is something in the air of the city that draws you to literature and art. Cuttack has been a nursery of artistes who have left an indelible mark on the audience through their breathtaking performances on the silver screen, most of whom were groomed at the Annapurna theatre in Buxi Bazar. Although it now lies in neglect, an eerie feeling of reverence grips me whenever I pass by this institution of art.

Going down memory lane, I remember my first stint in acting when I was an 11-year-old kid. I was lucky to perform at the cherished Kala Vikas Kendra, an alma mater for artistes, classical Odissi dancers and singers. At an annual drama festival there, I remember playing a cameo as a “choonawallah” (mason), which lasted only 15 seconds in the two hour-long drama. Donning a vest and dhoti, daubed with white paint all over, I remember I was barely recognisable.

The assembly of prolific artistes at our home also had its impact on me and in shaping my career preferences. I remember the celebrated Oriya music composer and singer Akshaya Mohanty used to drop in at our Shaikh Bazaar home for musical evenings. His towering personality and impish sense of humour used to mesmerised me.

Since my aunts Mahasweta Ray and Manaswini Ray as well as my mother Malavika Ray were actors, films were always the topic of discussion at home. Getting tickets for a movie evoked almost a festival fervour of sorts among us. I fall short of words now to describe how exalted it feels when my films release in the same theatres, which I earlier visited as an excited viewer. But nothing pains me more now to see many of these halls in ill-maintained conditions while shutters have come down on some others. Mumbai, which is described as the city of dreams, has been a home away from home for me. In some ways, it does remind me of Cuttack — the bonhomie of people, lanes, mouth-watering sight of street food and so on. However, somewhere deep down, I miss the warmth of my city, my home.

Although I am indebted to Mumbai for giving me a break in television soaps, I have always felt a compulsive need to get back to my roots. Thankfully, the film fraternity and people back home have received me with open arms. Within a matter of three years, I have been offered several big and small roles in commercial movies and I am fortunate that the audience has been appreciative of me.

Despite several changes in Cuttack over the years, the feeling of oneness among people has remained the same. And what really touches me is that people see me more as one of their own, a boy-next-door, than as a cinema star.