The Man Who Told Me More about the Mahatma

It was late evening, and that night too, when everyone in the family had sat down for dinner, the Gandhi name cropped up yet again. This time it wasn’t about another episode from The Story of My Experiments with Truth.  It was about a life translated on celluloid.

My father, who had the chance to watch the movie running in a cinema in distant Thiruvananthapuram that morning, had already made plans to take us all to watch it the next day.  Father was all awe when he narrated the story of a man who successfully toppled the reign of a nation so large and powerful wielding the power of non violence. He had told us many a tale earlier too, but on that day, the significance of his elaboration was the celluloid narration that kept him over awed.

Quite naturally, he wanted his family to watch the film. And so, the very next morning, we were in the train to Thiruvananthapuram to catch an early show so that we could return home before dusk. In a while, Gandhi was on celluloid before us, shaking up my conscience.

The story of a man who sacrificed all he had, to bring the smiles back to an entire nation, was being retold on the screen that stood large in front of us. From start to finish, I, as a student so naïve, watched the visuals that brought to life a man called Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, reel after reel.

The gunshots and the He Ram chant reverberated in me as we caught the next train that would take us back home. It was all silence, as no one spoke all through the journey. It was as if we were all in mourning. It was as if we all had travelled back in time. We were part of the massive crowd that followed the Mahatma as he led us all, walking in front, swift and strong, wielding a long staff that would support his gait. That evening, father told us that the film was directed by an Englishman called Richard Attenborough.

Years later, as a communication student, when I secured access to the British Library in Thiruvananthapuram, one of the books that called out for my attention from the racks was the detailed screenplay of Gandhi, as laid out by Lord Attenborough.

The book was a revelation. It had shot-by-shot accounts of how Lord Attenborough conceived Gandhi before translating it into the masterpiece it turned out to be. The realization that this great film maker had understood and imbibed the Mahatma brought in me a sense of pride. For, Gandhi was still unknown to many Indians around me.

Years later, Lord Richard Attenborough opened up in front of my probing eyes from the pages of Google. The internet brought to me more about this man. Actor, director and social being, Sir Richard Attenborough played out all roles in front of me.  More movies, literature and citations explained to me what this man was all about.

As I continued to learn about the great actor - filmmaker, many more celluloid creations played in front of me. From The Great Escape to Chaplain to Shantranj ke Khilari to Jurassic Park, Lord Richard Attenborough continued to hold an entire generation of film goers in awe.

A genius on any count, Lord Richard Attenborough lives within me as the director of a movie that narrated to me who Gandhi was! The effort, as I learned later, was stupendous. The hurdles he faced to put India’s most significant pages of history in their true form on celluloid make him stand out as the essential film maker of our times.  

His sense of commitment to his work had come out in the open when he had to produce Gandhi, his dream project, himself, after a reluctant Hollywood producer predicted that there would be no audience for “a little brown man in a sheet carrying a beanstalk.”  Lord Attenborough, of course, proved the producer wrong.

As Steven Spielberg, his Jurassic Park director, paid tribute on his passing, the world now stands in an endless line of those who completely adored him. I too am in the line.  And beyond all that, a tear rolls down my cheek as I remember the cute old Englishman who spurred a big bunch of incorrigible and arrogant Indian morons to realize the Mahatma in a half-naked man called Mohandas. 

Lord Richard Attenborough, India will miss you forever! 

Pic courtesy: LA Times