If you’re from Bengal, or even remotely connected to Indian cinema, chances are the name Satyajit Ray brings a certain reverence, a personal nostalgia, maybe even a childhood memory scored to hauntingly beautiful melodies. At Calcutta Records, our mission is to archive not just facts, but feelings—and Ray’s legacy is soaked in them.
More Than a Filmmaker: A Composer at Heart
While the world lauds him for Pather Panchali and the Apu Trilogy, those who listen closely know that Ray’s genius extended far beyond the visual frame. In fact, to understand Ray fully, one must listen to him—through his music.
It began modestly. Initially working with legends like Ravi Shankar and Ali Akbar Khan, Ray eventually felt the need to craft the sonic experience himself. With no formal training, he sat at his piano, often late into the night, experimenting, sketching tunes, orchestrating themes that were deeply emotional yet deceptively simple.
He composed using a Western staff notation system he taught himself, blending Indian classical elements with Western orchestral textures. What resulted were soundscapes that didn’t accompany the narrative—they narrated it.
Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne: Where Music Becomes Magic
In Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne (1969), Satyajit Ray didn’t just create songs—he built a world. The story of two village misfits gifted with the magical power of music offered him a canvas unlike any other. The musical number “Bhuter Naach”—with its eerie rhythm based on Carnatic percussion patterns—still sends chills.
The songs weren’t just for flair. Take “Dekho Re Noyon Mele” or the ghost dance—each piece had narrative function. Goopy and Bagha’s music was literally their superpower. Ray composed every note, wrote every lyric, and even guided the playback singers on emotion, cadence, and expression.
There’s a delightful anecdote about Ray whistling out an entire tune to a flautist because he couldn’t find the right instrument to demonstrate the melody. That was his process: organic, intuitive, deeply felt.
Hirak Rajar Deshe: Satire Sung in Rhyme
When he returned to the magical duo in Hirak Rajar Deshe (1980), the music had matured, just as Ray had. The film is political satire cloaked in rhyme and rhythm. Nearly every line is in verse, a brilliant strategy to encode sharp political commentary within lyrical charm.
The song “Dori Dhore Maro Tan”—a revolutionary cry—remains an anthem of resistance. Composed during India’s post-Emergency era, it subtly mocks authoritarianism. Satyajit Ray used rhymes not only as creative flair but as mnemonic devices for protest.
And then there’s the brainwashing song of the “Jantarmantar” machine—a chilling melody sung with such brightness it becomes sinister. That’s Ray: always with layers.
Shatranj Ke Khiladi: The Sound of a World in Decline
By the time Shatranj Ke Khiladi (1977) arrived, Satyajit Ray had long mastered the art of making music do more than accompany a scene — it could evoke history, satire, even irony.
Set in the crumbling court of 1856 Awadh, the film follows two noblemen obsessed with chess as their kingdom teeters on the edge of British annexation. Ray’s score wasn’t just period-appropriate decoration. It was an audible echo of a world at dusk.
Collaborating with legends like Ustad Vilayat Khan for the sitar segments, and featuring a poignant thumri, Kanha Main Tose Haari, performed by the Kathak maestro Birju Maharaj, Ray wove a soundscape that captured both the elegance and the inertia of Lucknow’s aristocracy. The music was regal, yes, but also filled with an undertone of decline.
Unlike the vibrant, sometimes whimsical scores of Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne or the biting rhymes of Hirak Rajar Deshe, here Ray embraced subtlety. Long, contemplative stretches of quiet were punctuated by classical motifs, suggesting not only the literal decay of a kingdom but the internal erosion of its citizens’ sense of responsibility.
There’s a famous moment when General Outram (played by Richard Attenborough) observes the Nawab’s passion for music and poetry. In that scene, Ray’s choice to let the music swell — then fade into near silence — speaks louder than any dialogue. It’s the sound of an old world refusing to acknowledge its inevitable end.
Much like the chessboard in the film, Ray’s score is filled with calculated moves. Every raga, every beat, is a quiet commentary on colonialism, cultural stagnation, and the cost of disengagement.
Why the Music Still Resonates
Satyajit Ray’s music lives on not just because of nostalgia, but because it still sounds fresh. There’s complexity beneath simplicity, much like the man himself. His compositions are used in classrooms, remixed by DJs, and hummed by children.
Why? Because his music never pandered. It challenged, it taught, and it moved. It was crafted with care, not to sell a soundtrack, but to serve a story.
A Lasting Echo
The global film community continues to cite Ray as a master of sound and vision. His influence is found in the works of filmmakers like Scorsese, Kurosawa, and Wes Anderson. But in Bengal, he’s more than a global icon—he’s family.
At Calcutta Records, we believe his music deserves as much study as his films. Whether it’s a satirical rhyme from Hirak Rajar Deshe or the ghostly hums of Goopy Gyne, Ray’s soundtracks are living documents—timeless, transformative, and uniquely ours.
Want to experience Satyajit Ray’s music anew? Keep exploring Calcutta Records for rare audio gems, behind-the-scenes stories, and heartfelt tributes to Bengal’s sonic storyteller.
