Ramchandra Gopal or Dadasaheb Torney
A young man of 22 made a feature film in 1912 and had it released on the 18th of May, 1912, at the Coronation Cinema. Before Phalke's Raja Harishchandra.
Pundalik was the name of the film after the man who brought Vithal to the shrine at Pandharpur. He features as a shadow in the writing of the glorious early history of indian cinema. no one wants to be bitter, why would he? as time rolls by ( waiting with dread for someone to pick up the carpet and make it his story)...
there was a day in the future when the (unfair) results of the shabby race over coming first, (unfortunately one of the crucial ways of making it to the history that you deserve) was more forgotten, when other bits slivers of information had long replaced naming the first film in indian film history.. This afternoon, without assigning dates, Dhundiraj Phalke' s Tukaram and Ramachandra Gopal' s Pundalik were part of a busy afternoon screening programme at the Film Appreciation course in Pune.
The smell of the rain has seeped into the air and seed pods are everywhere on the roads around NFAI. Satish Bahadur is lifting the rims of his white pajama cylinders. Mr. Nair, dressed in blacks and greys, (with the rich black of a man in his prime at his sideburns), is all ready, waiting by the main screening room gate.
Students are moving in, talking, opining, not sure of what they think or feel, the corners of their young eyes tinged with a brush dipped in romance, affected by each cool kiss of the breeze at their ears. Older people are easier: the weather toss is an old acquaintance, they recognize her and find themselves laughing in despair at her familiar ways.
The young really talk a lot as they stand about, waiting, their many words like noisy pebbles trying to hold down the sensation of being carried along like leaves.
Ramachandra Gopal gets a small smile watching Satish Bahadur walk with those lifted pajamas and sees that the smile releases his mind for some time this afternoon, from the decades old choking feeling of an unfairness done. Even if only in this land which is at some unknown juncture of possibilities, someone's idle wish on the internet highway, these people before him at the Archive gate are lovers of the medium and he should be happy for that. He concentrates on the approaching man to not think further, he looks carefully at the now soaked ends of the pajama legs.
He concentrates on what he hopes for.. yes, he is hoping some regular locals will brave the rains and join the audience of film students..he hopes he will not be asked to make a generous preliminary speech that will suggest that much can be forgiven, he thinks he might refuse if they make that cruel demand, he thinks he will go and say things as he felt them. He wonders if Phalke might come, he might not, he is gone senile, is old, ailing, says mad thing, he has heard. Maybe he, Ramachandra should feel sorry for Dhundiraj. The rain is coming down in sheets of mist now, it is difficult to see, everyone has moved into the theatre, Ramachandra turns towards the gate and stops as he sees a silhouette of a large balding head in the pouring rain, an old man in a limp dhoti, a face made of furrows. Ramachandra's breath catches and pulls at a pair of strings that open wider the lids of his eyes
