“I think I understand human psychology,” Satyajit Ray once told Andrew Robinson, his biographer. And how did the globally revered director get such an in-depth idea of human nature? “I must have been observing a great deal in my childhood about people, because of being a loner, in the sense that I had no brothers or sisters, and I was alone much of the time with my thoughts and with my little preoccupations,” he explained in the same interview.
For most people, Ray’s understanding of human psychology and nature is beautifully reflected in the nuanced relationships he explores in his monumental, critically-acclaimed movies. But not many know that Ray also explored the same relationships and nuances of human psychology through his books and short stories. In fact, unless you’re a native Bengali reader, or have been lucky enough to pick up a translated version of his works, you’re more likely to be unaware of the literary genius that is Ray.
Recently, a lot of people have become aware of Ray’s literary works since the release of the Netflix anthology, Ray, which adapts four Ray short stories for the screen. But if you’ve only seen these highly adapted and rewritten stories, then you won’t get a clear idea of Ray’s nuanced understanding of human nature, and the way he puts it in his own words. Reading those stories is vital, because they provide a rare glimpse into the mind of a person who suffers from unheard of mental illnesses, and those around him (yes, most of Ray’s literary characters are male).
Mental Health In Ray’s Stories
Whether it’s through his detective novels revolving around Pradosh C Mitter, aka Feluda, or science fiction novels featuring Professor Shonku, or short stories first published in the Ray family’s children’s magazine, Sandesh, Ray introduced the world to many unheard of mental health issues—issues that real people deal with in real life. If normalising conversations around mental health issues, illnesses, disorders, treatments, etc can help destigmatize the field, especially in societies like ours where it is still taboo despite advances, then Ray’s literary works certainly do that.
Take, for example, Nakur Chandra Biswas, a frequent character in the Shonku books. Nakur Babu is written as a psychic with the ability to get flashes of the past and future, but his capabilities emerge from being an extreme empath. Barin Bhowmick (from the short story, Barin Bhowmick-er Byaram) is a kleptomaniac who has been through therapy for years to get cured. In Bipin Chowdhury-r Smritibhrom, the lead character suffers from a curious case of memory loss and embarks on a journey to find out what caused it—and what is it that his mind is pushing him to remember. In Fritz, a 37-year-old man explores a childhood trauma and tries to deal with its roots.
Another brilliant example is the Feluda story, Dr Munshi-r Diary. The story revolves around the murder of Dr Munshi, a leading psychiatrist, and people in his household. One of these household members is a patient who has persecution mania: the irrational fear or feeling that you are the object or target of collective hostility and persecution. This story was published in Sandesh in 1990. Persecution mania is now better known as persecution complex, and the understanding of this type of psychosis has evolved over the years. But the fact that Ray wrote about it and its symptoms in 1990 provided his readers with an insight into a mental health issue that many, still, may not be aware of.
But, Where Did The Women Go?
The examples can keep piling up, because the scope of the characters Ray wrote about was immense. At first glance, Ray’s stories—written in novel form or short stories—can seem superficial and trivial. They were mostly written for children after all. But delve a little deeper and you’ll find everything from trauma and horror to severe mental health issues. You will find the perspectives of not only the patients suffering from it, or getting treatment for it, but also get an idea of how these issues affect those living with or around those patients.
The only perspective missing, is a woman’s. Coming from an artist and director who brought brilliant women characters to life through cinema, whether it was Durga in Pather Panchali or Doyamoyee in Devi, the absence of women lead characters in his literary works does pinch a lot. In fact, more than that, it presents a skewed perspective of reality, because no man’s life is as untouched by the feminine touch or presence as Ray’s male characters—unless you’re writing about a dystopian future or past where women have limited or no voice. This critical divide between Ray’s cinema and his literary works often makes his novels and short stories unrelatable for women.
In Ray’s defense—and it’s going to be a very limited one—he perhaps understood male psychology best, and chose to write about what he understood rather than misrepresenting women like many authors tend to do. For his cinema, he adapted the stories of writers who understood the female psyche much better—like Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay (on whose semi-autobiographical stories the Apu Trilogy was based) and Rabindranath Tagore—which gave these characters the nuances and depth they deserve and we love. However, Ray himself never gave an explanation for his limited glimpse into a woman’s mind through his literary works, so we can only guess about his reasons today.
And yet, despite the lack of women as lead characters, Ray’s short stories and novels do present readers with things to think about. This remains true about mental health illnesses and issues. So, the next time you want a conversation starter about mental health, maybe pick up one of Ray’s works and start your journey into awareness there?