I do not understand much about lighting, so I do not have the ability to analyse how important Tapas Sen was as a lighting artist.

There is another thing I should mention in this context. Since I had been associated with Bahurupi from a very young age, and because I knew his son Joy and daughter Jayanti, Tapas Sen was never a very distant person to me.

I had a strong interest in theatre from my school days. When I was studying at Jadavpur University, Jayanti was in another department. Whenever we had no classes, the two of us would sit and talk, especially about Tapas Sen and other theatre personalities. We became so absorbed in these conversations that quite a bit of gossip started about my relationship with Jayanti.

Apart from that, Tapas Sen came to watch Bahurupi's productions, and I saw him from close quarters. The man had absolutely no airs about him. Once in the green room, Shakti Sen was putting on makeup. Tapas Sen said to him, "So, Shakti, you still earn money by slapping people on the cheeks?"

When applying makeup, one has to pat and slap the colour onto the face to blend it properly. That was what he was referring to.

I had seen this simple man. So when it was decided that Tapas Sen would do the lighting for Sandarbha's production Yajatiya, I was not particularly tense. I went to him and asked. He agreed and said, "But remember, I am a professional. You will have to pay for my taxi fare. If I come in my own car, you will have to pay for the petrol."

That went without saying.

So that was settled. Tapas Sen would do the lighting for a small and insignificant group like ours.

But there was one issue that created quite a problem. The stage design for this production was done by Ranjit Chakraborty. At one time, Ranjit-da designed sets for many plays. He was a member of Anya Theatre. Now I hear he has become quite frail and mostly stays at home.

The set he had designed consisted of a black-and-white chequered pattern, like a chessboard, covering the entire back of the stage.

When Tapas Sen came to rehearsal, he was quite dissatisfied.

"There is so much white at the back. Why didn't you tell me? The light will bounce. The characters in front won't be visible properly."

I am sure he said these things to a few other people as well. One of them was Bibhas Chakraborty.

Bibhas-da scolded me thoroughly.

"You have no idea what kind of person he is, and you've gone straight to Tapas-da! First become worthy of having Tapas Sen do the lighting for your production. Then think about approaching him."

After receiving that scolding, I worked with Tapas Sen again on the very next production. The play was called Bijorito.

The stage rehearsal was going on. Tapas Sen was sitting as usual, head bent forward, looking half-asleep. Those who belong to the theatre world will know that this was one of his habits. He watched rehearsals with his head lowered, as if nodding off.

Later, one of his students told me that he would listen very carefully to the dialogue, listen to the sound of the voices, and create images in his mind.

Anyway, we came to the interval scene, a part of the play that I was very fond of.

I went to Tapas Sen and said, "Three isolated people are standing on the stage like this. When I see your lighting, it seems like that these three people are very lonely, separated from one another."

What can I tell you? The man did not even pause for a moment.

The boy operating the lights was named Uttiya. Tapas Sen immediately began instructing him from memory—which lights should come from where and how they should be used.

The lights were switched on.

Tapas Sen said to me, "Now look."

Then he lowered his head again and returned to his drowsy posture.

And I saw that an exquisite painting had appeared on the stage.

There was another incident connected with Yajatiya, which I should mention here.

Do you remember that Tapas Sen had said, "I am a professional"?

The production was over. The next morning, I received a phone call from him.

What happened now?

"Soumitra, I found an envelope in my shirt pocket containing two thousand rupees. Did you give it to me?"

I mumbled, "Yes... I mean, I couldn't really manage more than that..."

The reply came from the other end:

"No, that's fine. But I was wondering who had given me the money. I didn't even notice when you handed it to me or when I put it in my pocket."

Then he hung up.

That "I am a professional"—this was what that professionalism looked like.

Why was Tapas Sen a great artist?

I have often felt that a person becomes a great artist when, through his art, he can explain the subject and the deeper meaning hidden within that art in an artistic way.

Tapas Sen did that through the lighting of countless plays.

And when one thinks about how little he had to work with, it seems astonishing.

When he imagined that famous scene in Angar, where water rises inside the mine, what resources did he really have in his hands?

Many more such examples can be given.

We could never build a laboratory where he could experiment with lights. Instead, we constantly made him labour for us. We had him design lighting for Durga Puja pandals.

Yet Tapas Sen was like the sapling of Red Oleanders (Raktakarabi) emerging from a heap of debris.

He remained unstoppable.

My salutations to this simple and extraordinarily gifted man.