In the evenings (his grandmother) would recount to him some of those ancient stories, and he would listen with rapt attention. Once she was describing the episode of Krishna's departure from Vrindaban, one of the moving scenes of the Bhagavatam, Krishna's uncle, Akrura, was sent to bring Krishna to Mathura, much to the despair of the shepherd boys and girls of Vrindaban. When Krishna sat in the chariot the boys began to cry, and they pleaded with him, 'O Krishna, do not leave us!' The girls held the wheels of the chariot, and some of them grabbed the reins of the horses. But Akrura would not pay any heed to them. He left Vrindaban with Krishna and thus the days of joy that Krishna's playmates had known in his company came to end. Girish was listening intently and, with tearful eyes, he asked his grandmother, 'Did Krishna ever return to Vrindaban?' 'No, replied the grandmother. Girish asked the question three times and each time got the same answer. He then burst into tears and ran away. The story upset him so much that for the next several evenings he refused to listen to any more tales.

Girish had a brilliant and creative mind always found ways to overcome the inevitable managerial problems. There was no sufficient money to buy expensive costumes, so he wrote Chaitanya Lila, the drama on the life of Chaitanya, which Sri Ramakrishna saw, because it required only a few ochre robes and rosaries as costumes.

Girish's mind worked so fast and prodigiously that he required two secretaries to take down his words; he could not write them fast enough himself. Absorbed in the flow of ideas, he would pace back and forth in his room and dictate all the dialogues of the drama in a loud voice, as if he was acting each role himself. His secretary always kept three pencils ready at hand. He could not use a pen and inkpot because there was never enough time to dip the pen into the pot. Once the secretary could not keep up with the speed of dictation and requested Girish to repeat what he had just said. Girish became angry and asked him not break his mood. He told the secretary to put dots where he had missed words and he would fill them later.

Girish was his own greatest competitor. When one of his dramas was particularly well received, he felt that he had to work harder on the next in order to surpass the previous one. He was fond of defeating himself.

Sometimes the monastic disciples of Sri Ramakrishna, in order to bring a response out of Girish, would tease him: 'You are writing and acting prompted by your own desires, and yet you say that the Master gave you the task saving the fallen people of the world. Don't you feel ashamed to talk like that?' But Girish would boldly reply 'wait, brother! When I meet Sri Ramakrishna again I shall tell him that I won't act in the role of villain anymore. The next time let his monastic disciples play the villains and I shall act the part of a noble character'. Truly, Girish believed that it was the Master who brought these devotees to the world to act in different roles in his divine drama.

Girish was actually the moving force behind the establishing of several theatres in Calcutta, including the Baghbazar Amateur Theatre, the National Theatre, and the Star, the Emerald, the Classic, and the Minerva Theatres. He was himself a superb and versatile actor, and wherever he performed, crowds would come to see him. Once he played five different roles in the same play, Kapalkundala, and proved by his performance the importance of each of the five characters.