Satyajit Ray had this magnificent ability to take a camera and put it on a tripod from where it took an unflinching and unapologetic look at reality in all its stark-naked glory.
The usage of the word ‘magnificent’ to describe his work is admittedly ironic in one way as almost none of his films had magnificence in the landscapes and the inhabitants that it projected.
But, there is sublime magnificence in his skills as a writer and director to project images into our minds, and more importantly, into our hearts. Images that linger on long after the end credits have rolled by.
Images that so natural and real, we get to see everything and everyone as they truly are without any gloss being added. But not for a single moment do we feel that it is indulgent in the manner of being deliberately over-simplistic; nor was it an attempt on his part to try and 'art'-ify his stories on celluloid. He was a poet who could also paint, to transform his poems onto celluloid, and in that way was able to reach across barriers of language and geography. It helps that they were almost always in black and white. Here was an artist who didn't need any colors to create masterpieces.
Here was a director whose work had the gumption to say “look! This is how it's really like. You can love it or hate it but you can't ignore it or deny it ".

The first movie of his famed Apu Trilogy was aptly titled “Pather Panchali”, which loosely translated in English means “Song of the little road”.
A song, not of joy or celebration, but a song that tells a poignant story, a song of quiet sorrow. A sorrow that is laced with dignity and hope.
One that plays on with the film as it traces the journey of a family through the course of their life. A course that lies in a singular road that is for large stretches, narrow, and one that never strays from the theme of the trilogy - courage and hope that keep resurfacing despite the cataclysmic eddies that try and drown the human spirit.
It is a road that leads to personal triumph albeit minimal, but one that also leads to considerable loss and grief. A road that is serpentine in its unforgiving nature and in the rough terrain it traverses.
It tells the story of a small Brahmin family set in rural Bengal in the 1920s.
We are initially familiarized with Durga, a little girl who doesn't think it wrong to steal fruits from her neighbors’ orchard, to feed her aged aunt.
Her mother chastises her for this and in an exchange of harsh and accusatory words the aunt decides to move out of the house and seek another of her kin who’ll take her in. But it isn't long before she rushes back to the house as Durga informs her of the family's new blessing.
A new baby boy has arrived in the family. Durga’s mother bears her a brother, Apu. The continuity of the family lineage is thus ensured and the family is overjoyed.

It is only now that we start seeing more of the ‘head’ of the family, the father, although by now it is clear that the mother, a woman of strong character, a woman of honor and silent dignity, is indeed the true backbone of the family.
The father, a priest by profession, is a dreamer-a poet and a playwright, always insisting that fame and riches are just around the corner, despite knowing that it is mere wishful thinking. But, time after time he's forced to take a reality check and ends up working for some landlord or the other, and more often ends up taking up some low paying job that is in fact unsuitable for a man of his learning and intellect. It is made clear early on, that he is a man of profound meekness ,as in one scene he calmly tells his wife that the orchard they once owned has been given away without a fight to the neighbor in lieu for the debts his late brother owed them. He is also a man who believes in luck and probability and has a simple logic that every bad turn will be followed by some good fortune that will keep the family content and happy until the next pitfall arrives. And now, with the arrival of a son, there is new hope and joy in the family despite the fact that it means there's one more mouth to feed.

With time the aged aunt passes away and Apu becomes Durga's partner in crime.
Apu creates for us a world where there is no place for sorrow as we see the simple joys of childhood innocence. Be it the time when we see Apu and his school friend playing tic-tac-toe instead of doing math in class; or when we see Apu and Durga run after the candy man despite having no money to buy any. Or the time when Apu and his sister go and visit the rail tracks to catch a glimpse of the iron monster that passes by once in a while;and the time when the bioscope-walla comes by and showcases images of the major Indian metros and Apu and Durga squeal in delight while watching. It could well be one, if not their only glimpse of life outside their village,that they may ever get.

There is a scene where Apu is playing with his bow and arrow. He shoots the arrow and it falls a few feet away from him, and he keeps repeating this task with boundless energy. Perhaps in a sub-consciousness manner he is aware that it won't be long before he too finds himself being released from the village.
The monsoon showers arrive but instead of garnering new hope for the family it only dampens their spirit.
Durga falls ill after playing in the pouring rain and after a rainstorm that night,she passes away.The tears never flow from the mother who is shocked beyond belief as is Apu.
Then the father returns, from his sabbatical in the city to which he had gone seeking work.His luck has turned and he has got a new well paying job.As he surveys the the havoc the monsoon has wreaked in the neighborhood and his house,he curses the monsoon for not waiting for a few more days.But he is still unaware of the loss and when he hands over a new Sari to his wife that he's bought for his daughter, the mother unable to restrain herself anymore finally explodes in tears. The father is devastated and all dreams of seeing their daughter getting married and leading a happy life is vaporized.
Apu takes all this in quietly, the grim and gloomy clouds of despair and helplessness hanging over him, but his eyes tell us that he is not a boy anymore, despite his age. Here is a boy that is forced to grow up to be a man, and he must carry forward the family toward its destiny.
The father realises that it is pointless to stay back anymore for a foolish pride of it being his ancestral home.
He also laments how worthless his poems and plays have turned out to be ,as he was unable to pen a tale of joy for his family in real life.
The film ends with the shot of the father, mother and son leaving the village in a bullock-cart, looking back on what they’ve left behind painful memories that they hope will be washed away by the holy waters of the Ganges, when they reach Benaras.

It is quite clear that Ray, with his love for the Italian neo-realism style (he was reportedly inspired by Vittoria De Sica's 'Bicycle thief'), reassures us that life is about the joy we find in small and simple things in daily life rather than the life that is showcased in the opulent, artificial candy floss filmed by the ‘commercial’ movie makers of yesterday and today.
Opulence,Pather panchali is not, but it certainly doesn't lack in grandeur. It is grand in its emotions,in its unflinching honesty and in its power to entwine us in the threads that weave the fabric that clothe the lives of Apu and his family.