"Born in Gurdaspur... taught at the Doon School... brief stint at the BBC... maker of unforgettables like Haqeeqat, Heer Ranjha, Hindustan Ki Kasam, Kudrat... Chetan Anand passed into history."

So much like the man. No blowing of the trumpets for a rare and unusual talent to have graced the glorious annals of Indian cinema, more importantly the maverick world of commercial cinema.

So much like the first family of Indian cinema. Understated, cultured, no frills, no out-bursts, never given to talk about their work unless literally badgered to.

So unfair:

Considering most of his films came down as inspirations, or direct lifts to the contemporary viewer. The funky, fun-filled Funtoosh as Hero Heeralal. The sensuous and gorgeous Heer Ranjha in the same eponym. The dark look at the lurid city life Hanste Zakhm as Mitti Aur Sona. The evocative, moving Haqeeqat as Border. As the crackling sound of the car radio died in my ears, a deep silence enveloped me. This was it! The last goodbye! The final bow!

Yes.

That's how artistes and filmmakers take their final bow. Silently.

A plethora of images from his indomitable oeuvre, the few personal moments that he had graced my life with flashed in my mind.

This is a tribute of a young filmmaker who wants to tell stories, to the Master Storyteller:

In the early eighties a bunch of us collegians "went to the movies". But this time as we sat guzzling colas and chomping pop-corn, the film that unfolded in front of our eyes caught us completely dumbfounded. This was not the regular fare that we had been enured to watch. Five minutes into the film a hush descended on our boisterous group, as we watched with our mouths ajar.

The film was Kudrat. A story about a girl who comes for a holiday to a hill-station only to be reclaimed by a past birth which haunts and tortures her. As she finds the lover of her previous birth in this life, the two discover the mystery and horror of their unexplained deaths. The story unfolded gently, a petal at a time and a full bloom emerged. The experience was thrilling. The thrill remains till today as I marvel at the craft and the mastery of story telling. The characters, etched deep, noble and gracious, caught in the designs of Fate or Kudrat.

Mesmerised by the last strains of the song Kudrat ki har ek mala kudrat hi piroti hai, I recalled another film by the same "auteur".

As a child I went to see a film at Golcha cinema in Delhi, Aakhri Khat. The film's protagonist was a toddler like me, in search of a father who does not know him, and a mother who has been claimed by the indifferent and uncaring city. The only two words that the child can speak are "Mama... Duddu". The loneliness and the helplessness of the child seared through my soul. In the darkness of the auditorium my small hand groped for the reassurance of my mother's touch. Overcome, she held my hand as we shed tears, carried into the heart of the experience the filmmaker had woven for us.

Then, a July morning in '89, I had been commissioned by Dev Saab to research for a film on the Forty Years of Navketan, a company which took its name from Chetan Saab's first born, Ketan. And the Nav for the new and path-breaking films that Navketan will always be associated with. A promise they fulfilled and left a whole generation of cinegoers like us awed and thrilled.

On a dreary, dripping July morning (like the morning I recall these moments) I made my way to the office of Himalaya Films, a company Chetan Saab set up after moving away from Navketan.

Goldie Saab had said there was a 10 year difference between Chetan Saab and Dev Saab. And Goldie Saab was 10 years younger than Dev Saab. He said our generation will never be able to understand the awe and respect with which he looked up to his two brothers. And the respect and deference with which Dev Saab held his older brother. I did not know what to expect as his words rang in my ears.

The first impression I recall on seeing Chetan Saab is the high forehead, lending the face a nobility and grace of Robin's "Thinker". Handsome, enigmatic. The famous Anand looks, the same features but each of the brothers is so unique.

The curious, intense, direct gaze. Another Anand trademark. Persons more interested to know and learn about the people who come into their foci. Even if the people are nobodies. No, I-am-Chetan-Anand. I-have-done-this-look-at-me. No me-my-mera-mujhe. Probing, interested to know what I was all about. Thrilled, I thought this is the gaze of a filmmaker for whom life is unfolding, revealing every moment. Small gestures of rising to greet a person, escorting the person to the door after the meeting is over. A gesture which Dev Saab also spoilt me with. I came to expect it from the industry I worked in only to learn that they were proportional to what one's status was. The statuesque and somewhat amused Priya Rajvansh took in this fresh-faced youngster, dripping like a wet hen. Tea and warmth were provided by her. While Chetan Saab was all curiosity at the newest deposit at his doorstep.

I babbled trying not to gawk too much at the lovely Priya Rajvansh and trying to meet the gaze of such candour from Chetan Saab.

At the mention of the utterly fascinating colour scheme of Heer Ranjha, reminiscent of Shobha Singh's paintings of the legendary lovers, the watchful Chetan Saab glowed. He must have heard all waxing eloquent about the film entirely being in verse. But colours, textures... the visual splendour?

Suddenly the room lit up with a thousand lights. As Chetan Saab spoke, he radiated a passion, which turned that grey dripping afternoon golden.

He recalled that the colour yellow had not been allowed into any frame till the Basant Panchami song. There he literally flooded the frame with yellows — in the costumes and lush yellow sarson fields.

The same visual eye and a sensuous feel for colour was evident in Kudrat. As the two lovers claw at the veils of memories to recall a love they had shared, they were dressed in complementary, muted, earthy colours. The past birth had the vibrant colours of the Indian countryside, and a gorgeous Hema Malini, whom Chetan Saab called "a lovely girl". For Heer Ranjha a lighting scheme was designed by Chetan Saab and cinematographer Jal Mistry, for every individual character. He remembered chuckling what a job it was when more than three characters occupied a frame.

A film folklore that had fascinated me went something like this. For Aandhian made in 1952 under the Navketan banner the studio was shut out for 7 days after the muhurat. Jal Saab was lighting up a shot of a rain drenched street. Each electric wire intersecting the street was lit up (vaseline was used to give it a glow) and each drop of rain hanging on the wire was specifically lit up. Was it true?

Chetan Saab gave his characteristic soft laugh and said "Not 7 days, 5 days if I am not mistaken."

The austerity of Haqeeqat. The visual sweep of Heer Ranjha. The mastery over language, never verbose. The sheer audacity to make a hip Kudrat and a hand-held Aakhri Khat. The range is stunning.

Neecha Nagar, made in 1946, won the Grand Prix at the Cannes Festival. Years later his nephew, Shekhar Kapur, created a sensation with Phoolan Devi, at the same festival.

Neecha Nagar left Chetan Saab with no work and a medal which he promptly lost.

Dev Anand's rise to stardom synchronised with the desire in the two brothers to tell a different kind of story and create a different kind of cinema. Navketan was born in 1949.

Unfortunately, the first Navketan offering Afsar, starring Dev Anand and Suraiya, later to be made as Sahib Bahadur, is lost. The negative burnt in a laboratory fire. The nagative of Aandhian (1952) is also lost, though a muddy dupe print in 16mm exists at the Film Archive. Aandhian, an artistic masterpiece had Ustad Ali Akbar Khan scoring the music, and Pandit Ravi Shankar and flutist Panna Lal Ghosh scoring the background music. An experience surely worth resurrecting!

The company needed magic for survival. The magic happened.

A star became a superstar! A fledgling company found its commercial feet! A youngster, a trendsetting filmmaker in the making wrote his first script and saw it translated on screen! To think it all happened in 40 shifts! The film Taxi Driver (1954). The success unprecedented. Dev Saab recalls that on the first day of the showing as they sat up in the exhibitor's office all they could see was taxis innundating the cinema hall in an endless line.

In 1956 came Funtoosh. As the modern parlance would call it, a wild and whacky comedy. An escapee from a lunatic asylum wants to commit suicide. He is stopped by a businessman who asks him to postpone his death by 15 days, do a job which will get him out of a financial mess, and then go ahead and die. To fill his time he introduces him to the rich luxuries of life. As the fifteen days crawl closer the young man falls in love with life and refuses to die. Besides an unconventional story line, the film established that the brothers, Chetan and Dev, had a very fine ear for music. The music of their films would always be distinctive and have their special signature.

Chetan Saab moved on to Madan Mohan from SD Burman and later to his worthy successor RD Burman. But his music remained melodious — experimental (Main yeh soch kar uske dar se utha tha), traditional (Do dil toote do dil haare), jazzy (Tum jo mil gaye ho) — all his own. With his own company he made Joru Ka Bhai, Anjali, Haqeeqat, Aakhri Khat, Hindustan Ki Kasam, Heer Ranjha, Sahib Bahadur, Hathon Ki Lakeeren. And Param Veer Chakra for Doordarshan.

Besides Hanste Zakhm and Kudrat.

An individualistic repertoire. An ability to colour very unusual stories. A man who lived by his own terms. An artist, a craftsman at once sensuous and vibrant.

Dev Saab said with Chetan Saab's going "...it seems an eternity passed away..."

In the darkness of an auditorium, the images illumine, your life, moments you carry back in your memory, snatches of melodies you always recall. After that — FADE OUT.

In the dark rainy night, I hummed Hoke majboor mujhe usne bhulaya hoga.

Life goes on, but Chetan Saab, you are an unforgettable.