By Rudraprasad Sengupta
About a couple of months back I witnessed Rangapat’s Production of Tathaagata, Mohit Chattopadhyay’s last (by no means the least) play. He has been ailing for quite some time. He finished Tathaagata from his sick bed (actually, the dead bed), writing one page one day, another day half of a page and some other day, only one dialogue! That was Mohit! One of the very best dramatists of our time, Mohit Chattopadhyay does not need an introduction to Indian theatre fraternity.
Mohit was very close to some individuals and some groups, whereas I was always in the queue, never a front liner. As a result, Nandikar produced only his adaptation of Eugene O’neill, and, that too, a somewhat indifferent creation. The best of Mohit, Nandikar could never work upon. Our loss! I worked in Mohit Chattopadhyay’s Galileor Jibon (via Brecht’s Life of Galileo). But that was, for me, only a side dish.
Mohit gave me a short shrift, even after his death. Mohit and I were recipients of Tagore Ratna from Sangeet Natak Academy; the date of investiture was 25th April, 2012. But tomorrow I shall miss him there. Once again he has given me a shrift! RIP.
