The screens grow dim, the heavy curtains fall,
A sudden silence grips the crowded hall.
The fierce, untamed volcano breathes no more;
A quiet settles on the distant shore.
In the shadow of Nana Patekar’s quiet departure, his muse and mirror,Dimple Kapadia, wept for the art that knew no vanity, no gilded lies,
Only the truth that burns in hollow eyes.
She walked the memory of
“Prahaar’s grim stage,
Where he, the master, turned the tragic page.
No artificial tears, no borrowed sigh—
He whipped the soul until the throat ran dry.
He stripped away the armor of the star,
To touch the bleeding edge of who we are..
And years rolled by, yet still the command remained,
When mimic grief and chemical tears were feigned.
No glycerine Dimple his sudden voice would chime, Remember the words, defy the march of time
Tlo him, the frame was not a painted view,
But a holy fire where the false became the true.
He leaves behind a storm that now is still,A towering presence on the highest hill.
A rebel heart that demanded the divine,
Leaving his footprint on the sands of time. That was Nana Patekar
News Edit KV Raman
