Prosenjit Chatterjee |Actor | Bengal’s ‘all three Khans rolled into one’—on finally taking the leap, with a permanent address in the city, where he’s been an on-off guest for 60 years
Prosenjit had first moved to Mumbai in 1963 as a child, but soon shifted back to Kolkata. Pics/Abhishek Mukherjee
Bhalo kore bujhte paari, bolte paari na [Can understand Bengali, can’t speak it],” is how we break ice with actor Prosenjit Chatterjee, lovingly known as Bumba Da, over a Zoom call, because he’s on a shoot outside Mumbai. He’s suitably impressed.
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Although, it must be said, such rudimentary understanding of Bangla, or Bengal, for that matter, can barely equip you to grasp the superstardom of Chatterjee, 61, from Kolkata. For whom Mumbai is now the new home: “I’ve bought a place in Andheri, got a car, driver, the full set-up.”
Younger Hindi audiences have lately discovered him in Vikramaditya Motwane’s series Jubilee (Prime Video), as the fit, dapper, Srikant Roy—a Don Corleone-like patriarch of the Hindi film industry, modelled on Bombay Talkies’ Himanshu Rai. Or as Jaideb Sen (based on crime journalist J Dey) in Hansal Mehta’s Scoop. Jubilee, his OTT debut, was his 349th production (mostly as the lead).
In the ’90s, when Chatterjee was a young lead actor in Bengal, and producer Pahlaj Nihalani “a star-maker in Bollywood”—having launched careers of the likes of Chunky Panday, Neelam, Suniel Shetty, Divya Bharti, Govinda—Nihalani sat the latter down once to introduce Chatterjee.
“Chi Chi,” he told Govinda, Bollywood’s hero no 1: “What are we even doing? Just look at this boy—he’s already crossed 200 films!” A one-man industry, alright.
Since his breakout hit in Bengali cinema with Sujit Guha’s Amar Sangi (1987)—the song ‘Chirodini’ from its soundtrack is an anthem in Bengal, still; the film ran for over 75 weeks in theatres—Chatterjee says he would “open around 12, 16 to 18 films a year [in Bengal]. In one of the years, I had 22 releases!”
Nihalani first got him over to Bombay/Bollywood, in 1990, Chatterjee recalls: “Pahlaj ji had produced a Bengali film with me. During the shoot, he’d tell me about what a star I am! Those were the days, you know—arrey, tu fight bhi itna accha karta hai, dance aur romance bhi, look good [you fight, dance, romance so well].”
His Hindi debut hence followed: “A grand launch party was held at Hotel Sun-n-Sand, with all Bollywood biggies attending. It was a big Bombay party.” Nihalani’s film Aandhiyaan, directed by David Dhawan, also marked the return of the living legend Mumtaz, who’d by then moved to America.
Mumtaz played Chatterjee’s mother in the movie (available on YouTube), which is a bizarrely Oedipal love story, if you may, between mom and son, with young Chatterjee as an overgrown school-kid, also literally dancing around trees with Mumtaz.
That said, Chatterjee recalls, “I got lots of offers from Bombay producers. People say I wasn’t pushy. But I was already working 20-22 hours a day in Kolkata, and booked for the next three years. Also, I am an emotional man. I knew my stardom came from the work of great many Kolkata directors, technicians, co-actors… I had to be with them.”
Chatterjee is quick to point out, on his own: “It’s not about being in your comfort zone. It’s playing to your strengths, to get to where you want. It’s the same with stars from the South. Look at Kamal [Haasan] ji—after Ek Duuje Ke Liye [1981], he didn’t shift base to Mumbai. I’ve learnt from my seniors.”
Which is in contrast to female, Bengali stars in Bollywood: “Oh, they’ve always ruled. There is the concept of the ‘Bangali beauty’. But they’re also great actors.
“I was speaking to Moushumi [Chatterjee] Di, recently. Or you take Sharmila [Tagore] ji. Jaya [Bhaduri/Bachchan] ji changed the pattern of acting, when she did films like Guddi (1971).
“People wanted to see Dharam [Dharmendra] ji and Rakhee [Gulzar] ji together.” Evidently, the male equivalent of the Bengali beauty standard in Bollywood have been Punjabi heroes.
Chatterjee himself is hardly new to Bollywood, or Mumbai, though. His association goes back to early ’60s, when his father, the popular Hindi film actor, Biswajeet, moved to the city. Biswajeet owned a bungalow on 7th Road in Juhu, and now lives in a swanky apartment nearby. He’s been in Juhu for “60 years since”.
Chatterjee recalls, “In 1963, when I was about five or six, along with my mother, sister, and [paternal] grandfather, we shifted to Bombay as well.
“I started schooling here. Only that my grandfather developed health issues. The water didn’t suit him. In those days, the bahu [daughter-in-law] had to take care of the sasur [father-in-law], since my grandmom was no more. And so we moved back to Kolkata.”
The parents subsequently divorced. Ever since, he says, his father has been “a guest in Kolkata, and I’ve been a guest in Mumbai—visiting every year during summer holidays, when I was a child.”
The Bombay of his growing up years doesn’t sound too far apart from his period piece, Jubilee: “I’ve played on Dilip [Kumar] Sahab’s lap. I think Biswajeet ji and Saira [Banu] ji were doing a film together. They’d go out for late dinners. Dilip Sahab liked to stay in. He’d asked to leave the bachcha [the kid] behind with him!
“We spent a lot of time in Shakti [Samanta] Da’s house. And with Raj [Kapoor] ji. In fact, Raj ji and my father shared their birthday, December 15. They would call each other up and plan their parties, accordingly—Raj ji would host his on Dec 14, and my dad on Dec 15, and alternate it the following year.”
What does he miss from that Bombay? It’s an easy question, clearly: “Oh, the studios, the peculiar smell of raw stock, and the make-up room, where everyone gathered. Spot boys, that belonged to the studios then, who knew everybody’s personal tastes/requirements.
“The huge shooting floors, that could capture so much depth on camera. You can tell from the films of the time—there were no green screens and CGI then. Vikram [Motwane] captured that really well in Jubilee. I know that technology has changed, and we don’t need such studios anymore. But those were our temples. RK Studio, in particular.”
RK is quite close to where we’re speaking to him over Zoom. It’s just turned into a posh apartment block: “I know. I feel something inside me, when I see it!”
Surely, it’d be the same with similar establishments in Kolkata. The other thing peculiarly common to Mumbai and Kolkata film sets, regardless, is the use of the endearment ‘Dada’ (elder brother), for all males in the technical crew—‘Spot Dada’, ‘Make-up Dada’, etc.
The ‘dada’ in Mumbai sets, of course, comes from Marathi. Which, Chatterjee reckons, has far more in common to Bengali cinema than one recognises: “For years, I’ve been great friends with people in the Marathi film industry. They share their works with me. I share mine. Our storytelling styles are quite similar.”
His reasoning is simple: “Cinema bears its roots in literature and theatre, that are strong in both Bengali and Marathi cultures. I’m sure other cultures too. But in Bengali cinema, 49 out of 50 actors come from stage. As with Marathi. Likewise, both Marathi and Bengali languages have deep bases in literature.”
And how’s Mumbai and Kolkata different, outside the set, of course, given that the former is also now his home base. Culturally, in the absence of the ‘adda’, he says, “In Kolkata, if you’ve worked for a few hours, it’s fine for you to go, ‘Okay, bahut ho gaya kaam [enough work]. Aadha ghanta adda maarte hain [let’s chill for half an hour].
“It’s impossible to do that in Mumbai. People interpret this [trait] differently [as lethargy, perhaps]. But I don’t see it that way.”
Also, he adds, “Both cities are changing a lot. Look at the night-life. Kolkata has gone ahead of Mumbai, in that regard. In Mumbai, I have started seeing streets clearing up after a point in the night. On Park Street in Kolkata, it feels like Christmas all year! People have really started enjoying life a lot there, especially after the pandemic.”
Chatterjee’s own social scene in Mumbai, it seems, starts and ends with Hotel Sun-n-Sand! The Juhu hotel, known as an adda for ’70s Bollywood, especially—you can watch it in practically every other film of the era—that, Chatterjee confesses, has been his home away from home, all along.
“I’ve been coming to Sun-n-Sand for the last 30 years. Now that I live in Andheri [West], my gym is still in that hotel. And if I’m free for even an hour, I just drive up for a cup of coffee there. My father had a suite in the hotel, I think, for a year and half, when he got his break in Bombay, with Bees Saal Baad (1959). I had a suite for quite a long time too.”
Which is true for several stars of the bygone era, the likes of Raaj Kumar, Dev Anand, who used to have an earmarked, year-round, staycation suite, in the sea-side hotel, that appears boutique, only by current standards. Waiters and old-timers often point to those suites as city landmarks of sorts. Which one was his? “402.” Okay, his Bangla fans got a shrine in Mumbai!
Chatterjee comes across as a creature of habit—something that might show in a lot of his mainstream works, that rightly kept the Bengali film industry’s fire burning, all through the decades, that he’d fuel it with dozen-odd movies a year. There was a switch of sorts, he reckons, in his head, therefore his career—“for about 10-12 years now.”
Its genesis lies in the much loved, middle-of-the-road director, Rituparno Ghosh (1963-2013), who offered him a “special appearance; just two days’ work” in the decidedly artsy, Unishe April (1994).
Chatterjee says, “He lit up a matchstick that was inside me. [Until then], I was making films for the audience, and I love them. If they don’t exist, neither do I. But while I am a star, I have to be the actor as well.”
Chatterjee worked with Ghosh for nine films. Dosar (2006), we tell him, is our favourite. The big one, of course, was Ghosh’s Chokher Bali, where he starred with Mumbai’s Aishwarya Rai.
He argues, “You know, people these days talk of ‘pan-India’ films. But Ritu Da, and Mani Ratnam [from Chennai], have been making them forever. When [Ratnam’s] Roja [1992] or Chokher Bali released, we just watched them in theatres, no matter where we were in the country. We never called them ‘pan-India’ films, did we?”
Working with artistic directors like Buddhadeb Dasgupta, Gautam Ghosh, and others, Chatterjee says he began travelling to international film festivals: “When I went to Toronto first, I realised, this is a completely new world, and they should equally look forward to my films.
“The idea is to win a new audience every day. In Mumbai now, it’s gratifying when people, who don’t know me from my past works, come up to me, in the gym, or when I’m out.”
And that’s been his North Star since. Especially, when he was offered Jubilee, before the pandemic: “I haven’t ever said yes to offers [from Mumbai] right away.
As with Dibakar Banerjee’s Shanghai [2012], when he came to meet me in Kolkata. Or Vikram [Motwane]. I want to be convinced about why they want to cast me, first. When Hansal Mehta called me for Scoop, I just knew it was the sort of character that was missing from my repertoire.”
Also, this time on, Chatterjee could sense a wider tectonic shift taking place, among both the audiences, and the Hindi film industry: “It’s become possible for actors from across India to perform together. And it’s not just about films.” Meaning, the braver new world of OTTs as well.
Hence, Chatterjee, bought himself a permanent address in Mumbai: “I had done it before the pandemic. But, of course, I couldn’t move in then.”
And he’s also clear-cut about his professional goal. “I want to do big productions in Bombay, bearing in mind our treasure of [Bengali] literature, that our forefathers had so beautifully tapped into as well. Having been a student of cinema for 40 years, I want to direct now,” Chatterjee reveals.
As for Mumbai and his acting career, the most legendary story about him is how he’d turned down Maine Pyar Kiya, offered to him by the Barjatyas, before the role went to Salman Khan: “Well, I don’t like talking about it. The fact is the film gave Indian cinema its hugest star.”
Evidently, not the one who enjoys looking back much, Chatterjee is only excited for what’s ahead: “David Dhawan was the first person to call me, after he watched Jubilee, you know? He just went, ‘Yaar, tu phaad diya yaar, woh [Bollywood debut] Aandhiyaan ka hero nahin hai tu abhi [Killed it, you don’t seem like the hero from Aandhiyaan anymore].” Well, he’s also a Mumbaikar now.
Mumbai meri jaan?
Love about Mumbai From the film industry perspective, it’s a city that hugely respects talent. They shower you with love and hugs for your body of work alone.
Hate about Mumbai Honestly? Traffic. It’s gone to another level now, and it scares me. I’m sure things will improve with the metro.
Expectations from Mumbai I hope, in the next four to five years, Mumbai will give me a home for my creative expression—an intellectual shelter, as a student of cinema, to reinvent myself.
Did Mumbai live up to it? Especially, after Jubilee, I’d say, yes.
Will it remain forever home? As it is, it’s my mother, who connects me to Kolkata, and my father [actor Biswajeet], to Mumbai. And now I have a home here as well.
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