Opinion Remembering Satish Kaushik: This Calendar came to an end too soon

Satish Kaushik is no more. As I type my memories of the man who I knew for almost eight years, there is a veritable stream of fans and colleagues out to get their last darshan.

Satish Kaushik was not a friend. He was way too senior. I enjoyed his company. He was funny, sensitive and well-informed, all at the same time. I could count on him for honest feedback. I have bounced three of my scripts off him and got an honest opinion each time. If I wanted real feedback on some of his colleagues he would oblige without mincing words.

I had written a script for the stage on the life, times, and music of Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. I sent him a text introducing myself and seeking an appointment. In a couple of days, I was seated opposite him and I read the play for about an hour. He seemed to have liked what he heard and asked me to leave the script with him. I did that. We had some more sessions where we discussed not just the nuances of the play but also the music I intended to use. However, I thought that the play would be a costly proposition.

I then decided to change the subject and worked on a goofy story of old-age romance with an unexpected twist in the tale The new play was Mr and Mrs Murarilal. I did a couple of drafts before all of us were happy with the final shape the play took. Satish ji was punctual and diligent. He loved to improvise and I happily let him do so. He would rework lines which added layers to his character. No tantrums, no fuss. We had incorporated a passage from Charlie Chaplin’s The Great Dictator. I knew English was a language that did not come naturally to him. So I suggested we rework the lines in Hindi. He put his foot down and would keep working on the English lines relentlessly.

He loved to promote actors from the National School of Drama and made sure I cast Amit Pathak, his junior from the academy. His only grouse with me was that I was too technical for his liking and that I used too many lights. “That restricts my movement,” he would say with some consternation. But he soon understood the grammar I was deploying.

I usually give a day off to everyone before the opening of any show. “Saif bhai you are too relaxed. Why give a day off now?” I would tell him we have worked for almost three months, a day will not make a difference. Use it to rejuvenate yourself. His silence meant point taken.

He could mock himself. He once narrated how he wanted to put an end to himself after the debacle of Roop Ki Rani, Choron Ka Raja. The way he narrated this and the reason he gave for giving up the plan had me in splits.

He was sensitive. I believe he was allergic to milk. But one day, post a show when my then six-year-old son offered him cold milk, he could not refuse the child. “Bachche ko kaise mana karun, Saif bhai?”

He had undergone a great personal loss. When I went through the same, he understood my pain and gave me gentle advice when it was most needed.

These days he was into fitness and made reels. A shaven head and reduced girth made him a different person altogether. But the smile remained the same. So did the twinkle in his eyes.

My latest script is about a person suffering from dementia. I asked him if he would like to present it. He read the script and said I want to play the part. And immediately started performing for me. I was mesmerised. We decided to meet again, which we did after a lot of back and forth. I was looking forward to working with him again. He wanted me to send him an email, à task which is still pending. I just kept telling myself… I’ll do it tomorrow. Alas, I never realised this calendar had an end date.

The writer is a theatre director