Shiboprosad Mukherjee: The Filmmaker Who Found His Partner and Strength in 'Didi'

I just informed my 80-year-old mother-in-law that her son was celebrating his 50th birthday. The reply was, "Jealousy girl, you are lying, Baba is only 20." "How can he be 50 when I have not reached that age?" she said, her eyes lighting up with the last of the scattered thoughts that had filled her head, now a little fuzzy with age. Her enthusiasm for life is infectious; despite being confined to a wheelchair for the last two years, she has grown from being a strong-willed, independent lady to his Baba. She has also taught all of her kids—including Shiboprosad Mukherjee, her youngest son—this lesson.

Shiboprosad is the youngest of four siblings, born to a homemaker mother who discovered her passion in writing much later and an academician father of low resources but deep beliefs. His mother changed his name from Mongolprosad, which his father had given him, because she thought he might be dubbed "Mongla" by his neighbors. He became known as Shibu to everyone in Baranagore, where he was born, as was to be expected.

His early years as a student at Baranagore Ramkrishna Mission were less structured and more enjoyable. He once informed me that even though he was discovered smuggling adult magazines into class, the thing that pained him the most was not that he was not allowed to participate in the traditional sweets distribution ceremony, but rather that the "Maharaj" had stopped talking to him for two months. However, his exceptional involvement in extracurricular activities was quickly overlooked; by the time he was in Class V, he had already established a reputation for himself in the acting and elocution departments.

In "khep" cricket, he discovered his calling at the top of the batting order while attending school. He would play nonstop, nearly rising to prominence and earning those additional dollars in the process. He got his mother a sari with one of his first paychecks. He had been bitten by the acting bug by the time he left school. Despite enrolling in Jadavpur University, where he met Sujan Neel Mukherjee, a capable partner and friend, he also went to Nandikar and started working there full-time. There, he received instruction from people like Rudraprasad Sengupta and Swatilekha Sengupta, and he grew close to Sohini, their daughter. Up to the age of 20, everything was going well.

In the course of twelve hours on Poila Boisakh that year, he lost both his Baba and his Kaka. He had no money in his pocket and no comforting umbrella over his head until Raja Dasgupta personally selected him for his television series Ekushe Pa. As Venkat, it helped him get recognition and fame, and with time, his minor part began to grow. Shiboprosad, who only had one shirt to wear to the shoot and had to borrow another from a friend whenever his mother forgot to dry it after washing, remembered that "more shooting days meant more money."

Thereafter, she took on a number of acting roles, such as The Name of a River by Anup Singh. Then one day, Nitish Roy, the art director, who was searching for a young director for his project, Jamai No. 1, noticed him. His life was drastically altered when he met Nandita Roy there. He was somewhat wealthy due to the constant flow of business, and his meeting with Didi was a memorable experience. When he didn't have any parts to shoot, Shiboprosad would spend a lot of time in his room smoking and drinking during the filming of Jamai No. 1. That reportedly greatly irritated Didi. Not content to just chastise him, she further said she wished to return him to Calcutta from Hyderabad, where the regiment was stationed.

Their rivalry quickly gave way to friendliness, and they began working together on television projects. They had the idea for Icche around 2008. Production on the movie took some time, and it wasn't released until 2011. Rituparna Sengupta, who Shiboprosad still feels a debt to, introduced the movie. Devoid of studio sponsorship and with little financial resources, Shiboprosad would stand outside theaters every day to tally the number of patrons. "If two people come, they will bring four the next day," he said, ever the optimist. And folks showed up. Theaters for Belaseshe, Praktan, Posto, Haami, Belashuru, and similar films were packed with fans of Icche, Alik Sukh, and Muktodhara.

Both Didi and Shiboprosad had seen enough life by the time of Muktodhara. They encountered numerous people who refused to finance their star-free films, were defrauded of their compensation, and had a producer who verbally abused them. I recall an incident that Shiboprosad told me about a while back. One of the cameras we needed was for a movie that had an outside schedule. The producer said he wouldn't give it to us, but we could rent it out with our money if we wanted to. That's what we carried out. We split the ₹ 1 compensation equally between us after paying the full amount.

They made the decision to start releasing movies from their own company, Windows, in an effort to overcome these obstacles. By this point, Shiboprosad had also made a mentor and friend in Atanu Raychaudhuri, who joined Muktodhara as a presenter after being greatly inspired by their videos. They worked together till Haami. Shiboprosad had even forewarned me in our early dating days about the possibility of being discovered by Atanuda.

Strangely enough, Shiboprosad and I were married the year he narrated the narrative of his ex-partners on film. Praktan was the name of it. Certainly, at least one of the movie's dialogues was based on actual events. In that sequence, Rituparna talks on the importance of living in the present and suggests that appointments and trips should be rescheduled for special occasions like birthdays and anniversaries.

I had already informed him that I was upset by his strange sleeping schedule—which often consists of no more than four to five hours, but it might easily be three—his constant work on Sundays, and his outright denial of the need to relax. I had even entertained numerous times the thought of traveling by myself. After the initial lockdown, I recall crying for eight hours straight to get him to go to Kalimpong! He also prepared some unexpected and frightening events. I once packed my bag with pullovers and went on a beach vacation with him! And when he was sent for groceries once, he brought home half of Lake Market. Thus, we at home agreed to let him watch movies by himself. And occasionally, especially right before a release, that makes the entire office feel scarier. He asked us a thousand times if we did enough for the movie Dabaru, but just this one. He reiterated, "I am learning every day," to emphasize his point.

He has two releases coming out this year: Bohurupi and Aamar Boss. He claims that Didi gave him both as gifts for his 50th birthday. We also know that, now that his hectic filming schedule is over, he will keep to himself, not letting anyone disturb his train of thought—that is, until his child-daughter, who is now in her 80s, shares these gifts with the audience. He also plans to overdo himself. He packs up and ends the day only when she cries "Baba" into the two-way audio camera in her room, which is constantly linked to his phone.

Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by Press Time staff and has been published from a syndicated feed.