Story books of satyajit ray. Review on Store.Apple

This book makes me miss a lot of people I have grown up reading. And wish they weren't just writers.

That they too, like Satyajit Ray, were artists of the word, painting scenes thick with intrigue and texture, where even the predictability of some endings becomes irrelevant because of the sheer tumult of characters, thoughts and events.

Usually, it is difficult to pull off convincing vignettes in cinema or theatre in short frames, but Satyajit Ray's stories manage that with elan.

The reflective pigmentation that runs as an overcast through Indigo Stories spans diverse locales and makes convincing a fictional sansar full of scenarios impossible, gentle or mundane: the bhadralok's world, which is populated with laughing dogs, scarecrows in a reverie that haunt as the conscience of another time with tender regret, the transmogrification of a witnessing night when the wanderer strays into the pain of an indigo planter's cursed fate and gives the reader a souffle of an ending almost intangible in its ordinariness and compassion.Occasionally shadows from another dimension fall upon the whiteness of the pages, touching you with a strange chill, like the moulting skin of the man who angers the swami in "Balkishen". Or the gathering of all things inevitably killed in the progress of any man, from casual mosquitoes to stray dogs and snakes, haunting a fugitive from a murder he has not really committed. Ray at his dark best, yet dappled with the sunshine of gentle humour and understanding.

The Feluda story is a rare one for collectors since it was found among his paper's after Ray's death, but as is typical with all his detective stories, it should be read more for the quaint pleasure of meeting Feluda again than for the suspense of pre-guessing a whodunit.

Ray was one of those rare beings in a world full of flamboyant pop icons and telebrities - a Renaissance man, like Da Vinci. And as Renaissance men, dexterous in many talents while excelling in one. Not because he was inferior in the rest, but for the reason that cinema was his passion and true love.