Middle-class metropolitan life has its twists and turns. Often enough, there are patches of the straight and narrow. Periods of placidity. A monotony leads to a strange insouciance. Until something happens. And one is blindsided. A series of events propel you forward and you are sometimes not in control of your own life. Would you call that destiny? Or the stuff that stories are made of? Even if our lives are stories, it is never easy to tell others about our experiences.
Storytelling is an art and director Kaushik Ganguly is certainly an expert in spinning a yarn that can hold your attention. In Ajogyo, the dramatic seamlessly dovetails into the romantic albeit not without the evocative twists and turns. This is the chiaroscuro tale of Parna, Raktim and Prosen; a narrative with a rather intriguing back story that interrogates the text in a novel way. Contemporary social commentary is adroitly woven into the fabric of the narrative and the dialogue is crisp, believable and precise.
What is particularly interesting is the way the story moves along leaving the audience to mull over some of the questions raised even as the plot develops. This is an unusual film concentrating on the dramatic possibilities in unexpected circumstances while taking care to include crucial elements of the milieu and zeitgeist. A series of short flashbacks and even flashcuts provide a whiff of Bolpur and the dark face of rural exploitation and oppression.
The film begins after a brief esoteric montage, with an interview situation and then merges into the middle-class existence of Parna and Raktim, in a spot of bother owing to financial difficulties. Raktim has lost his job in a private bank and is fast turning into a dipsomaniac. They have a child who is physically challenged and they badly need work. One can clearly see that Raktim is going to pieces.
The director’s handling of his actors is masterly as the performers bring out the dark shades of this unconventional story. Parallely, the white lies that one is forced to take recourse to, are hinted at here.
Prosenjit’s entry is suitably dramatic and his presentation is normal and relaxed although one can sense the turmoil that seeks to burst out from within. His Prosen is a complex creation, well-meaning but intriguingly taciturn at moments. He plays his cards close to his chest and excels at the effort.
Rituparna Sengupta as Parna executes a resonant performance that is, to an extent, out of the box. It is an acutely emotional endeavour embellished with delicate nuances and gestures. Her relationship with Prosen is etched out in an uncommon manner, often underplayed and distant even if acutely disturbed. She often pulls out the stops in some sequences and still manages to be poised and convincing. Her relationship with her husband and adopted child is a delicate balancing act replete with paroxysms of fear and remorse.
Silajit Majumdar is wholly believable as Raktim the husband who takes to drink to alleviate the sorrows of being retrenched. His joys, and his woes are delicately balanced in a wonderfully praiseworthy performance. His inebriated moments are both poignant and somewhat ‘in the face’ but wholly comprehensible in the light of his tragic circumstances. When he falls on the floor — a kind of precursor to a second and more serious collapse — it is an astounding moment, stupefying in its inevitable intensity.
Sudip Mukherjee, too, is spot on in his depiction of the office boss who, too, is hiding something from Parna. Ambarish Bhattacharya as the bachelor who lends a helping hand, is quite realistic and natural. Lily Chakraborty, as always, is marvellously insightful in her depiction of the troubled mother, deeply concerned about her son, Prosen. She is so straight-faced in her sardonic dialogue delivery that her antics are sure to bring the house down! Moreover, the way the director has built up this character is to be seen to be believed! The mother is a strong personality, capable of taking control and even dictating terms to her son, Prosen. She is thoughtful, anxious and yet witty in a rustic sort of way; and her appearances are never forced or artificial in any way.
If the performances are a highlight of Ajogyo, the visualisation, too, is attractive with Gopi Bhagat’s cinematography blending well with Kaushik Ganguly’s screenplay. If the preponderance of slow motion in a few sequences seemed unnecessary, it may be just a personal opinion. The indoor lighting is rather cinematic and some of the gentle dolly shots, angular and moving as in a quadrant, are aesthetically applied.
The editing is competent and in consonance with the script. The occasional use of parallel cutting gives space to the characters who are troubled in their own way. Appropriate use of reaction shots of the principal players succeeds in creating a creative mosaic of unanswered questions although one felt the repetition of the wedged-in flash cuts seemed a trifle overdone.
The sound design is interestingly evocative with the perspective adding a separate dimension. Even when the dialogue is loudly articulated, the mixing lends it a soothing quality. The sounds of Calcutta and Puri are accurately reproduced albeit the frequent music in the background did seem excessive at times.
Yet, the juxtaposition of Raktim and Prosen’s conversation in the drawing room with Parna’s reaction in the bedroom was brilliant, to say the least.
Prosen’s interactions with his mother are very well written in terms of balance and rhythm. Subtle humour is a running thread through this production and the artistes are equal to the task. In terms of the mise-en-scene, the decoupage is effective with a plethora of telling close-ups. Towards the end, the lighter which Parna accidentally discovers becomes significant in the unravelling of the plot.
Another sequence that catches the eye is the ultimate interaction between Prosen and Parna on the sea beach. Here the gentle bluish hues in the wee hours of the morning serve to create a fitting finale to a tragic drama of loss and longing. As the ill-fated lovers come together for a few evanescent moments, the film seems to revel in this sudden stoppage of time. Could the film have ended here? Perhaps not because there are a few twists before one reaches the last visual.
Open-ended conclusions are often found in Kaushik’s films and this presentation is no exception. The sea in the sequence featuring Prosen and Parna stands a witness, not entirely mute, to the closure of this resonant relationship, fraught with tremulous moments and disjunctions.
But can memories be effaced completely? Can the lingering desire to revisit one’s past be suppressed?
Epistles and memories form a significant part of this complex tapestry of desire and diffidence. The one missive, more than two decades back was a harsh bolt from the blue, smashing the aspirations of a tender soul; the other, in the present, no less painful. There is an indefinable sense of melancholia in this bewitching film and words are insufficient to express the pain caused by the second epistle. Here it is a dull pain, an ache reminding the one about what was and will never be again.
