The 1967 Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts

BIOGRAPHY of Ray Satyajit

Scion of an extraordinarily gifted Bengali family, SATYAJIT RAY was born on May 2, 1921 in Calcutta, India. Founder of the family artistic tradition was his grandfather, Upendra Kishore Ray Chauduri, a product and leading member of the Brahmo Movement that spearheaded the cultural rejuvenation of Bengal. He collaborated with the Tagores whose family, in the arts, achieved world renown. As a writer he is best known for his collection of folklore; as a printer he pioneered in India in the art of engraving and was the first to attempt color printing at the time when engraving and color printing were also being pioneered in the West. His son, Sukumar Ray, the father of SATYAJIT chose to drop the last (caste) part of the family name. He wrote verse and children's rhymes with buoyancy, sparkling humor and flights of fancy, and commonly illustrated his writings himself. He remains today the most popular, oftquoted Bengali poet after Rabindranath Tagore. Sukumar launched the first illustrated monthly magazine for children in India which soon became an institution in Bengal. A lover of double entendre he named this magazine Saneshd, after the popular Bengali sweetmeat which, in Sanskrit, also means "news." Sukamar Ray died in his early thirties leaving his wife, Suprabha Das, the care of their son and the boy a legacy of two generations of remarkable artistic creativity.

SATYAJIT attended Ballygunge Government School and graduated from Presidency College, Calcutta, in 1939. He studied art for three years at Viswa-Bharati University, Santiniketan, Bengal, under Nandalal Bose, father of Bengali revivalist art. In 1943 he joined the Calcutta branch of the British advertising firm of D. J. Keymer & Co. as a visualizer, becoming Art Director in 1950.

RAY has since recalled that his interest in film making "did not happen all of a sudden. . . .It developed slowly. A time came when I felt I must make a film." The Indian film industry of the 1930's and 1940's was much influenced by Hollywood, relying heavily on the expensive star system, making extravaganzas with various technical gimmicks, and introducing many extraneous songs and dances. Throughout these years, however, a few pioneering Indian film makers were attempting to depict contemporary problems, using the medium for "the creative interpretation of actuality." Some of the best of these films made between 1933 and 1945 originated with New Theatres, Limited, in Calcutta.

In 1947 RAY founded the Calcutta Film Society to open "a tiny window on world cinema." The idea of making a film himself began to grow. He wanted to make a true film of India and he remembered the novel Pather Panchali (Song of the Road) by Bibhutibhushan Banerji for which he had done the illustrations a few years earlier, and which had become a popular classic.

He had already started to develop a scenario when Jean Renoir, the famous French director, came to Calcutta to film Rummer Godden's The River. Renoir's broad humanist outlook and free and fluid methods of work made a deep impression on those who came to observe his filming over the following months. Among them was RAY who, as he recalls, "spent several Sundays—the only day I was free . . . watching Renoir making his film, and I discussed my ideas about Pather Panchali with him." It was during one of these talks that Renoir told him, "you would be making great films here if you could only shake Hollywood out of your system."

Following these meetings RAY wrote an article on Renoir which was published in Sequence. In it he set forth what was to become his own credo: "There is nothing more important in a film than the emotional integrity of the relationships it depicts. Technique is useful and necessary insofar as it contributes toward that integrity. Beyond that it is generally intrusive and exhibitionist."

Early in 1950, not long after his talks with Renoir, RAY's advertising firm sent him to Europe for further training. "This was the time," he recalls, "when the neo-humanists dominated the European cinema and I was further encouraged and inspired." While in Europe he saw as many films as possible. He was particularly impressed with such classics as Bicycle Thieves, Louisiana Story and Earth. He returned to India determined to proceed with his own project.

The timing was propitious. In 1951 an international film festival—the first of its kind—was held in India. It featured the neo-realist masterpieces of Vittorio de Sica and Roberto Rosellini, and it introduced intellectual giants such as Jean Cocteau and Akira Kurosawa to Indian audiences. This festival opened the eyes of the Indian film industry and the Indian public to experiments in theme and technique taking place in other parts of the world.

Filming of Pather Panchali began in October 1952 with as RAY has written, "a unit of eight of whom only one had previous professional experience," and "an old, much-used wall camera which happened to be the only one available for hire on that particular day." Manning that camera was Subratra Mitra, an experienced still photographer but he had never before handled a movie camera. Mitra's principal knowledge of movie making came from observing, with Renoir's permission, the filming of The River. It was on that location that these two amateur film makers met.

The filming proceeded slowly, in fits and starts. Shooting could only be done on weekends and holidays for RAY was still employed as an advertising artist. Money was a constant problem. To be able to add even a little footage to the film, RAY borrowed on his life insurance and sold his wife's jewelry; Mitra borrowed from his parents. They rummaged their homes for props; the infant's bedding used for Apu was the same which Mitra himself had used in his infancy. They shot most of the interior locations with the help of no more lighting equipment than a searchlight, removed from a police van, which the government of West Bengal gave RAY permission to use.

At one point finances became such a problem that all shooting had to be suspended for nearly a year and an half. "It is diffuclut," RAY wrote later, "to describe the peculiar torments of a production held up for lack of funds. The long periods of enforced idleness produce nothing but the deepest gloom. The very sight of the scenario is sickening, let alone thought of embellishing it with details, or brushing up the dialogue." Finally, with financial help from the government of West Bengal the film was finished in 1955.

Pather Panchali is the story of a poor Brahmin family living in a patched-up hovel in a small Bengal village. It is woven around the central figure of the young boy, Apu.

The father, Harihar, with a Hindu priest's training, is a clerk, paid poorly and often not at all. He dreams futilely of being a poet. His wife, Sarbajaya, shrewd and practical, her own dreams long ago stifled by the harsh reality of life, is the pillar of the family. There are two children, the girl, passionate and untamed, the boy, something of a dreamer.

The children are full of life and happy in spite of the anxieties at home. They enjoy the simple pleasures of village life—the sweets seller, the wedding preparations in the richer family, the strolling players' performance and the like. But sadness waits around the corner.

The father goes to Benares to try to find better work. The girl grows wilder and gets into trouble with the neighbors; and when the rains come, falls ill. By the time the father returns to take the family to town, the girl is dead. The film closes as the three who are left leave their old home to the snakes and sit in a wagon waiting for whatever life will bring.

Although RAY began his filming as an amateur, the final result showed an amazing mastery of the medium. When it was shown in Calcutta, Indian critics called Pather Panchali a creative masterpiece, citing its lyrical quality and its naturalness in expressing human struggle and aspiration. "His images are continuously beautiful but never obstructive," one critic wrote; "they rise out of the story as naturally as thoughts rise out of the pool of Vishnu—there is nothing arty in RAY's art. By the same token his actors act, not with the usual combination of Oriental drama, but as though the camera had found them alone and simply living; and they live, as few characters in pictures do, real lives that swell to the skin with pain and poetry and sudden mother wit. . . ."

Although Pather Panchali was an artistic landmark, it was not a commercial success outside Bengal. It was too true to life for audiences used to films that provided a brief escape from their everyday lives. RAY's career as a film director might well have ended then had it not been for the critical acclaim accorded the film at the Cannes Film Festival of 1956, where it won the Best Human Document award. The film went on to win the Golden Laurel Award at the Edinburgh Film Festival and other top awards at the Stratford, Ontario, San Francisco and Vancouver film festivals. It ran for 42 consecutive weeks in New York City alone.

"The grand prize at Cannes was the turning point," acknowledges RAY; "I never imagined it would be shown outside Calcutta." Encouraged by the international reception of his first effort, RAY gave up his position with the advertising agency to devote himself full time to film making. He had conceived of Pather Panchali as the first of a trilogy and thus he turned next to the second part, Aparajito (The Undefeated), which was released in 1957. He completed the trilogy with Apur Sansar (The World of Apu) in 1959.

Aparajito tells how Apu lost his father and mother and is left to make his own way in life. It is set in Benares, the holy city of the Hindus, in the year 1920.

While Sarbajaya keeps house, Harihar spends the day reading scriptures to an audience consisting mainly of old widows whose subscriptions provide him with his main source of income. Apu plays with the boys of the streets, explores the ghats (river steps) and begins school. One evening, while Sarbajaya counts the day's collection, a letter arrives from an aged uncle, himself a Brahmin priest, suggesting they return to Bengal and live in his house in the village of Mansapota where Harihar could take over priestly duties so the uncle could spend the last years of his life in Benares. Although times are not easy for them, Sarbajaya does not hesitate to decline because she feels the offer smacks of charity.

During the festive season of Diwali (Hindu Festival of Light), Harihar dies of a fever, and subsequently Sarbajaya takes Apu to Mansapota, to the uncle's home. Finding village life dull, however, Apu returns to Benares to take his school examinations, only to learn that his mother too, is ill, and she dies before he can return to her bedside. Gradually the dazed Apu realizes that the death of his mother has made possible a life of his own choosing.

Aparajito, too, received wide critical acclaim. It won the Grand Prize in the 1957 Venice Film Festival as well as the Film Critics Award, and it was included on the "Year's 10 Best" list of both the New York Herald Tribune and the New York Times. It received the Best Direction Award at the 1958 San Francisco Film Festival, and in 1959, the David O. Selznick Golden Laurel Award which is given to individual film makers.

In Apur Sansar, the final film of the trilogy, Apu has passed his intermediate school examination. He lives in a squalid room on the top floor of a house in north Calcutta and spends the better part of each day in a fruitless search for a job. He finds intellectual nourishment in working on an autobiographical novel which he believes will bring him fame.

One day a wealthy friend, Pulu, invites him to the arranged wedding of his cousin, Aparna, in a village 100 miles from Calcutta. The bridegroom arrives babbling incoherently and it is revealed that he is given to fits of insanity. Faced with the necessity of finding another groom within the hour appointed for the ceremony, Pulu, in company with some elders, asks Apu to take the bridegroom's place to save the family's name and prevent the bride from being accursed. At first Apu violently objects, but out of pity finally consents.

The wedding takes place. Apu brings his wife to Calcutta and takes on a clerical job. Although brought up in affluence, Aparna quickly adapts herself to circumstances of privation. Apu's pity soon turns to love and the two spend an idyllic year together.

With a heavy heart Apu bids goodbye to Aparna as she leaves to spend her period of confinement with her parents. A month later the news arrives of her death in childbirth. Stricken by his loss, Apu forgets even to inquire about the child who has survived. He relinquishes his job and his writing and goes wandering in a vague search for peace.

Five years later Pulu returns from England to find Apu's son, Kajol, growing up neglected in the village. Pulu hunts down Apu and persuades him to return to assume the responsibilities of fatherhood. Apu goes, more as a gesture to convention than out of anxiety for the son who cost his mother's life, but sight of the boy fills Apu with a deep love. Thus, with love to give his life new meaning and his heart new courage, the film ends with Apu striding happily striding down the road his son on his shoulder, to a life no less uncertain than before.

Apur Sansar is considered by many to be the finest film of the three. One critic called it "a masterpiece that while not faultless can claim preeminence over any film achieved in the last decade. Poverty and illusion, beauty and pain, death and distance reverberate quietly till the end. The conduct of the lengthy narrative remains cool and intimate, and though I have suggested some failure to get inside the central character, there are incomparable flashes. . . . People, scenes, objects seem none of them to have been stared at by a camera before. Surprise is always catching our sleeve. . . ."

Apur Sansar won the British Film Institute's Sutherland Trophy at the London Film Festival, the President of India's Gold Medal as the Best Feature Film of 1959, and the Special Wellington Film Festival Award at the 1960 London Film Festival. Altogether, the Apu trilogy won 16 international awards, a singular achievement in the history of world cinema. While each film stands on its own, the three are part of a whole. Seen together they form a "work of sustained poetic continuity," which Time magazine called "the Mahabharata of modern India."

Pioneer of an entirely new tradition in the Indian movie industry, RAY has set new standards by projecting to the world "a striking, edifying, sad and beautiful but true image of India." Meeting the tall, soft-spoken director with the strong, handsome face one observer spoke of being struck immediately by the artist in him—"a very cultured man but above all a human being with indomitable conviction and determination to convey what is felt in the innermost recesses of the human soul."

Popular actors are much in demand in India, frequently acting in two or three films at the same time. Directors, therefore, must often work on a couple of films simultaneously to fit in with the comings and going of their stars. Hence, during the years he was completing his trilogy, RAY produced several other films, including Jalsaghar (The Music Room) and the tragicomedy Parash Pathar (The Touchstone). In Jalsaghar the protagonist is "an exquisitely selfish old aristocrat, brooding over the music he loves more than life, redeemed by the fact that his devotion is to an idea of beauty. His crumbling estate, with a solitary elephant padding about the grounds, is held as a stronghold against the new men, whose lorries roll by along the road."

Another film produced during this period was Devi (The Goddess), considered by some as debunking religious fanaticism, by others as a thought-provoking effort to explore a psychological situation within a family—in this case involving a young woman who is suddenly thought to be the incarnation of the Goddess Kali. The girl is trapped—not knowing what she is herself— ordinary young wife or the incarnation her father-in-law believes her to be.

Only the elder sister-in-law realizes the danger inherent in the situation forced upon the girl. She writes to the husband who is away and begs him to return. He arrives one moment too late: a devotee has laid a sick child at Daya's feet and it has revived—to the worshippers a miracle. The husband knows that a child can recover without help of the supernatural, and he persuades Daya to leave with him and go back to her normal existence. However, as they are leaving they come upon a statue of the goddess. Daya is terrified and sees this as a sign to return to her father-in-law's house and resume her role as a Kali incarnation; the husband leaves, defeated.

In time the sister-in-law's child, who once loved her, falls seriously ill. They bring the dying child to Daya and lay it in her lap. Unable to produce a miracle when she most needs one, Daya slowly goes insane because she cannot adjust to reality. Her husband comes back—too late to save her. She flees to the seashore and dies near the goddess image—the victim of an old man's dream and her own uncertainty as to her identity.

As one reviewer pointed out, such intensity of faith, or credulity, is not unique to India. Devi, therefore, "becomes all the more interesting if regarded as a film of universal rather than local significance. . . .So far as I can recall," she continues, "it is the only film yet made anywhere which actually tries to present an aspect of religion from the viewpoint of the rational agnostic. . . ."

"The opening sequences of Devi," she adds, "are extremely effectively photographed in order to convey a kind of strange expectancy, a sort of isolation . . . . The diffused light behind mosquito netting, the richly carved and highly polished furniture add to the effect of an artificial and remote world out of touch with everyday existence. The very slow movements of the camera when the husband is waiting and wondering what to do to arouse Daya from her trance-like condition create an atmosphere of approaching doom. No less in the right key are the darting movements of the camera when he is searching for her at the end of the film."

Devi was awarded the President of India's Silver Medal as Best Regional Film of 1960.

RAY has been called the "poet of the cinema," and likened to Rabindranath Tagore in his ability to help the world see into the beauty of Indian mysticism and philosophy. A not-accidental resemblance to the young Tagore can be seen in the heroes of many of RAY's films, in the touch of innocence and idealism, the purity of ideas. "Tagore's writing, his songs, his paintings, have all been a great influence on me," RAY states. "I don't think any creative writer, poet or musician in Bengal has in this century escaped the cultural influence of Tagore. . . .[except] the youngest of the young poets. . . . Their guru is Ginsberg and not Tagore."

In 1961 RAY made a full-length documentary on Tagore which won the President of India's Gold Medal as the Best Film of that year, and which also received the top award of the Locarno Film Festival—the Golden Ball. That same year he chose three of Tagore's short stories for a one-film trilogy, Teen Kanya, for which he wrote the background music himself. The Postmaster one of the three films making up Teen Kanya, RAY calls, "one of my best." Teen Kanya won the Golden Boomerang, the Melbourne Film Festival's top award, and the David O. Selznick Golden Laurel Award at the West Berlin Film Festival in 1963.

His first and only film in color, Kanchenjunga, was made in 1962; it is also one of RAY's very few films not based on Bengali novels or stories. The story, which he wrote himself, deals with the relationships among a group of sophisticated people. A wealthy and powerful businessman of Calcutta has brought his large family on a trip to Darjeeling; a few episodes during the last day of their visit constitute the plot.

In 1963 RAY turned for the first time to the problems of city living with Mahanagar (The Big City), which deals with both the strain put upon a marriage when the husband cannot earn enough and his wife has to go to work, and the social problems arising from the increasing emancipation of women in Asia.

The husband, Subrata, finding it increasingly difficult to make ends meet on his small salary as a bank accountant, suggests his wife, Arati, find a job. Resentful at first, Arati finally agrees and, in going out to work, discovers a new world opening up for her. Arati's transformation makes Subrata vaguely anxious but before he can do anything about it, he learns that his bank has dosed and he has lost his job. From here on Arati is the only wage earner. Subrata suffers the humiliation of watching her go out to work while he sits in bed scanning the want ads. Relationships are strained almost to the breaking point when an incident involving a colleague suddenly brings the drama to an unexpected conclusion and Arati is happily left with no cause for regrets.

Mahanagar was India's feature entry in the 14th Berlin Film Festival in 1964, where it won the prize for best direction. The film received an especially friendly reception at its European premiere. Western critics were intrigued at being afforded such a skillfully portrayed glimpse into the intimacy of Indian family life. RAY, who had come to Berlin for the premiere, received prolonged applause after the screening.

When, as The Big City, it played in New York, Newsweek magazine called it a "lovely, rueful and universal comedy." To call it a foreign film, the magazine's movie critic contended, was a misnomer. "Foreign to whom?" he asked. "Certainly not to any man who has ever competed with a breadwinning wife, or to any woman who has tried to untie her own apron strings and show the world what she really can do. So much is immediately familar in RAY's crowded, tenderly quarrelsome family: the half-blind grandfather, a former English teacher who does nothing anymore but dream of a lottery windfall; the bumbling bank-accountant son, hanging on to a dreary job at a failing bank; and his beautiful wife who succeeds so well as an apprentice salesman of knitting machines that her husband's ego unravels."

As in his Apu trilogy and Kanchenjunga, he adds, RAY "reveals people simply and quietly by studying their intimacies—all the private and tiny glances, gestures, smiles and touches people use to tell each other they are wounded, safe, or loved. The performances are uniformly splendid and the photography fine."

The following year RAY filmed Charulata, based on another story by Rabindranath Tagore and set in Calcutta in 1880. He again focused on relationships between people and the strains and tensions of marriage. Charulata won the President of India's Gold Medal for Best Film of 1964. Another film made that same year, Abhijan, a serio-comic saga of a Calcutta taxi driver, won the All-India Certificate of Merit as the second best feature film of 1964.

RAY drew from Bengali literature for the film, Kapurush-O-Mahapurush (The Coward and the Holy Man), then turned again to a contemporary theme for Nayak (The Hero). In the latter, written by RAY, the camera delves deeply into the character and past life of a top-ranking film star, essentially a lonely man in spite of fame, money and success.

Nayak was India's official entry at the 1966 Berlin Festival where it received the International Critics Union Prize. At this same festival the International Jury, composed of film directors from Sweden, Argentina, the United States, Italy, West Germany, France and India, presented RAY with a special certificate paying tribute to his directorial talents and honoring his entire output. Nayak also received the President of India's Silver Medal for Best Regional Film in 1966.

Despite his reputation both in India and abroad, RAY's films attract limited audiences in India. They are not popular with the common people because, as RAY himself points out, "our people are terribly poor, they already know poverty and misery, and they don't want to see this when they go to the movies." Among Indian literati, however, the core of his success is his ability to interpret works which have already given Bengali literature a distinctive place in Asian culture. The Indian Government recognized his important contribution in awards of the Padmashree in 1957 and the Padmabhusban in 1964.

Some critics have accused RAY of being too contemplative and placid, of failing to come to grips with guilt, with strife and violence. He replies, "I am not clear what the critics mean. Is it that there are no murders in my films or rapes or communal violence? The fact probably is that they do not interest me in the same way as does, say, the struggle of an inadequate man trying to be good. Somehow I feel that a common person—an ordinary man whom you meet every day in the street—is a more challenging person for cinematic exploration than persons in heroic moulds, either good or evil. It is the half-shades, the hardly audible notes, that I want to capture and explore."

On the technical side of film making RAY's concern is not so much to portray or interpret as to reveal—to give the viewer a more intense awareness of the truth of a situation. As one writer puts it, "Man and nature form a harmonious whole in his art. The touch of rain on lotus leaves, the chirp of birds. . . .the train steaming across the lonely countryside, fish and vegetables sizzling with a monotonous hiss in the pan, a broken door rattling in the storm—all these contrive to a rich evocation of life. There are no clever distortions, everything is presented with restraint, sometimes even silence enhancing the impression made by a scene. . . . He thus consciously appeals to our visual intelligence."

The extraordinary naturalness of his films, RAY explains this way: "I never work with a tight script. I have a rigid overall concept of the film in my mind, but in executing it I improvise a great deal. I think if you rehearse a scene too much, actors become stiff. What starts coming out is pure skill and not much emotion. . . . We stick as close as we can to the absolutely natural. If a man is supposed to be cold and wet, the actor should be cold and wet, too. People move and speak differently when they're cold, and their muscles work differently. A warm actor can't really imitate a cold man, no matter how good he is."

RAY believes in taking total charge of his movie making, in the manner of Eisenstein, Griffith and Chaplin. "If you want to put your personal stamp on a film you have to control as much of it as you can, from the writing of the screenplay to the final cutting—which is what I have been doing from my very first film. With Mahanagar, I even took over the camera, to get the shots exactly as I wanted them. . . .I have never used a collaborator in writing my scenarios. . . .I even write my own music."

Probably the closest to a collaborator is his wife Bijoya Das whom he married in 1949, and in the wings is his son Sandip, now 13. "Bijoya," RAY says, "is the first person to read my scripts and before that I always discuss new story ideas with her. She is very much a part of my film making, and as work on it progresses she hears the music I compose and offers suggestions on it and visits the studio to watch the shooting. Sandip is inevitably going to end up as a film maker. From the age of six or seven he has had his own eight-millimeter movie camera and he edits his own movies. He spends a lot of time with me on the set watching the shooting and in the lab when I am editing. Even when school is on he drops in after school to watch. I suppose he's missing his homework and some studies."

That there will be many exciting challenges for his son and others in exploring the potential of what he calls "quintessentially the 20th century art form," RAY has no doubt. "I think we are just beginning to understand the medium and realize its immense possibilities. . . .Remember how painting grew after the chains of perspective were broken. The same thing happened to music when the bounds of tonality were loosened. There is no reason why the cinema will not experience a comparable growth."

As a result of SATYAJIT RAY's pioneering, his son and other future Indian film makers will be freer of the financial problems that beset his early efforts. Following the phenomenal success of RAY's Pather Panchali and the other films in the Apu trilogy, the New Delhi government became seriously interested in fostering the healthy growth of the Indian film industry. There are now outright grants and subsidies for the production of quality films, particularly those that are intended for world-wide exhibition and international film festivals.

Even so, as RAY points out, quality films will continue to need what he calls "the true film artist; that dominating individual who is not only a master of his craft, but who is also aware of its social implications, of his responsibility as a possible influence on a very large and often a very naive mass of impressionable, film-hungry individuals; who is also able to inspire and channelize a diversity of talents into the best interests of work that must in the end bear the impress of his own dominating personality."

To a critical following, RAY is the "true film artist" he describes. He is also a chronicler of change in the main body of tradition in India, but he stands aside to present a certain panoramic view of the transition and contemplates it with a typically Indian sense of fatalism. "I aim," he says, "at realism, I hope, a certain humanism, poetry and genuine Indianness. How far I have been able to achieve my aims is for others to judge. I can, however, say one thing: I have worked in complete freedom. I have not accepted directions from any quarter."

August 1967 Manila

REFERENCES:

" 'Aparajito' Revisited," Illustrated Weekly of India. Bombay. January 30, 1966.

"The Art of Satyajit Ray," Radical Humanist. Delhi. April 30, 1961.

"The Background of the Short Film in India and Future of Documentary," Marg. Bombay. Vol. 13, no. 3, June 1960

"Bed and Board," Newsweek. New York. July 24, 1967.

"Cameraman Subrata Mitra," Filmfare. Delhi. Vol. 12, no. 26, December 27, 1963.

"Cinema as a Culture Pillar," Daily Mirror. Manila. November 3, 1964.

"Cinematic Unity," Far Eastern Economic Review. Hong Kong. October 4, 1962.

"Debi—Ray's Latest Film," Times of India, Delhi, June 12, 1960.

"A Film of India," New Statesman. London. April 28, 1961.

Houston, Penelope. Contemporary Cinema. London: Penguin Books. 1968.

"The Indian Cinema: Changing Horisons," Annual Review 1967. London: India House. 1967.

Indian Cinema, 1965. Faridabad Government of India Press. 1965.

"Indian Director Hailed in Berlin," Philippines Herald. July 20, 1966.

"Indian Film Hailed at Berlin," Manila Evening News. July 3, 1964.

"Indian Film Industry Looks Forward in New Directions," Bangkok Post. July 18, 1966.

"Indian Films Today." Journal of' the Film Industry. Bombay. Vol. 22 no. 2, January 1962.

"A Jewel From India," Newsweek. New York. September 26, 1960.

"The New Cinema," Times of India. December 2 and 5, 1963.

"A New Role for Ray," Life. New York. April 18, 1968.

"Poet of the Cinema," Manchester Guardian. July 13, 1963.

Ray, Satyajit. "This Work 'Technique," Seminar, Delhi. May 1960.

"Satyajit on Cinematics," Times of India. February 16, 1964.

Satyajit Ray Film Week. Sapru House, New Delhi: International Cultural Center. (Souvenir Programs.) 1965, 1966, 1967.

"The World of Apu," Time Magazine. September 26, 1960.

Interviews with and letters from persons acquainted with Satyajit Ray, Viewing of Ray's films.