Rakhi Gulzar: Amaar Boss The Last Act
Veteran actress Rakhi Gulzar returns to Kolkata after 22 years for Amaar Boss, reflecting on cinema, solitude, and the art of graceful goodbyes.
By Jove, when Rakhi Gulzar walks into a room, even time seems to pause for a moment to take a peek. And last Friday evening, at a posh office in Kolkata, that’s exactly what happened. There she was, wrapped in a red chiffon saree with the kind of slow, graceful poise that would make even the most seasoned catwalk models look like they’re rushing for the loo. At nearly 80, the woman hasn’t just aged — she’s matured like fine Darjeeling tea.
The golden frames of her specs glinted under the dusky office lights, which, let’s be honest, were trying rather hard to match the golden glow of her skin. One could almost hear the ’70s softly humming in the background as she strolled in. It wasn’t just an entrance — it was a time travel ticket, and we were all holding onto our metaphorical Oyster cards.
She’s in Kolkata after 22 long years, back not for a lazy cup of mishti doi but for the promotion of Amaar Boss, a film by Nandita Roy and Shiboprosad Mukherjee. She plays Shiboprosad’s on-screen mother. Yes, you read that right — the star of Tapasya, Sharmilee, and umpteen heart-thumping classics is now everyone’s maa. And you know what? She’s smashing it.
But here’s the rub — there’s something in her voice, a whiff of detachment, a refusal to cling. “I’ve done so many films that I don’t feel the pull anymore. No addiction left. Believe me,” she says in that calm, elegant Bengali, with the kind of finality you’d use to reject a third helping of rice at a relative’s house — firm, but polite.
It’s not boredom. It’s not bitterness. It’s a curious peace. The kind of peace that says, “Been there, done that, folded the saree, and put the Filmfare on the shelf.”
Yet, the whole room, with actors like Srabanti Chatterjee, Kanchan Mallick, Gourab Chatterjee, and Shruti Das hanging onto her every word, clearly didn’t want to hear “This is my last film.” Even Anupam Roy and Shiboprosad’s wife, the screenplay writer Zinia Sen, looked like they were going to stage a polite mutiny.
“Will you act in one more of our films?” came the inevitable plea.
She laughed — a soft, red-lipped smile, equal parts indulgence and closure. “No, this is the last. Time to go now.” It wasn’t said with sadness. More like a cheeky granny announcing she’s off to bed while everyone else is still trying to find the bottle opener.
The film Amaar Boss is no glitzy, razzle-dazzle showstopper. It’s about families falling apart, parents left behind like old VHS tapes — remembered only when something breaks down. And that’s what pulled her back in. Not fame. Not nostalgia. Just truth. “My daughter Bosky used to sleep curled up beside me the night before her wedding,” she recalled. “Now? She’s always busy. I never worked in an office, but I can see what’s happening in every home. Parents are growing lonelier.” Spot on, Rakhi-di. Hit the nail on the head and then handed over the hammer with a namaskar.
And speaking of names — actress Uma Bandopadhyay got rechristened on set, thanks to Rakhi. No diva tantrums, just a gentle, godmotherly upgrade. The woman can make naming someone sound like a benediction.
In her softest voice, she delivers what might just be the most understated mic drop in acting history: “I never learnt acting. I don’t know how to act. I don’t believe any of my films worked because of me. No one needs to learn acting. We all act, every day. That’s life.”
There you go. Philosophy served with a side of simplicity.
So here’s to Rakhi Gulzar — who arrived like a breeze, stayed like a memory, and left with a line that’ll echo for years: “এটাই শেষ। এ বার তো যাওয়ার পালা।” (This is the end. Time to leave.)
But don’t worry, Rakhi-di. You can drop the mic, but we’re still clapping.
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