I first saw him in the show named after him, The Pritish Nandy Show. We were probably watching Pronay Roy in The World This Week and Siddharth Basu in Quiz Time at the same time, engaging shows that reflected the brilliance of Indian television then. I liked Vir Sanghvi too for his personality and style of presentation; but Pritish was different—bald, clean-shaven, and with a french cut that would become grey and ultimately white in his lifetime.

By then, Pritish had already earned acclaim for his poetry album Lonesong Street with the legendary Ananda Shankar and his thought-provoking collection A Stranger Called I. Pritish had arrived.

Yet, despite his success, his heart remained rooted in Kolkata. Bengal has seen many of its own rise to fame after moving to Mumbai (then Bombay), but few paid back tribute to their origins quite like Pritish did. Even as one of Doordarshan’s most successful producers, and later also, Pritish never distanced himself from Bengali literature. Instead, he embraced it, translating works by stalwarts like Subhas Mukhopadhyay, Samar Sen, Tagore, and Sunil Gangopadhyay, keeping their voices alive for a broader audience.

I can still vividly recall his commanding presence on our old Sonodyne TV—his resonant voice, magnetic personality, and thought-provoking words. No, I never had the privilege of meeting him in person, but his influence was profound. He planted the seeds of admiration in my young mind, inspiring me with his powerful, introspective, and unflinchingly honest words.

He was not just a poet, filmmaker, and journalist but a symbol of creativity, boldness, and intellect that dared to challenge conventions at his time.

To me, he was a dreamer who never stopped creating, a thinker who never stopped questioning, and an artist who never stopped expressing. With his passing, we haven’t just lost a remarkable artist; we’ve lost a beacon of inspiration in a world that so desperately needs it.

Rest in peace, Pritish Nandy. You were, and always will be, a masterpiece.