'Abosheshey': Scrapbook of memories

When Soumya nonchalantly arrives in Kolkata to settle legal ‘issues’ with his dead mother, he gets entangled in a mesh of memories and hitherto unknown relationships, and a city, in a manner he had never expected. Aditi Roy and Neel B Mitra place the clueless San Francisco boy at the heart of Kolkata his mother thought was not just a city but ‘a way of life’ and allow him to get lost in its interstices in such a way that by the time he connects with the heartbeat of the half-asleep metropolis, the audience has already rediscovered and fallen in love with Kolkata all over again. The ‘Interval’ moment is a little emotional climax that acts a warm prelude to a more intense second-half.  

                 

Abosheshey, at the end of it all, celebrates human bonding, but with a difference; while acknowledging the delight in being ‘Bound Together’, the film also takes a very libertarian stance in respecting individuality. Suchismita lets her husband migrate to the United States with their only son; she stays behind, for she is deeply rooted to her place and feels the necessity of being with an ailing father-in-law. Piyali, her childhood friend, reproaches her for such a strange decision; she feels women should not be so headstrong. In the absence of a real family, Suchismita, the quintessential sunshine girl, spreads happiness, and finds her own in singing, painting and preserving memories. She becomes foster-mother to Nandini, and finds in her an affectionate confidant. Her agony, her pain, and her depression melt into her lonely hours like the dripping colors in her painting that hangs on the wall of Nandini’s living room. As if living up to her name (Suchismita means a woman having a beautiful smile), she does not let her profound pain surface and lives life to the lees as a vendor of joy. However, as the story unfolds, that element of suspense introduced at the very beginning of the film, continues to nag: who does Suchismita search for in the Seven Hills?

                 

Soumya who is initially in a terrible hurry to return, extends his stay as he gets irrevocably caught in the life his mother had memorialized in her letters and diaries. He finds out people and places that had been close to his mother: Ranga Mama, Piyali Mashi, the old ancestral house, the painting on the terrace, the kitkit court…and yes, her connection with the Seven Hills. The film merging the past and the present in the same frame puts the technique to marvelous use to delineate the increasing closeness between the mother and the son. The virtual spatial distance between them shrink as the film heads towards the close, and ends with the mother-son duo standing side by side staring at the skyline of their favorite city. As the end credit rolls you feel a lump in your throat. And you are suddenly surprised: the story has traveled beyond the last frame. Soumya now knows his mother better, and surprises Ranga Mama and Nandini by asking them whether they know Atin! The man both Suchismita and Piyali had fallen in love with.

Although, the film is all about how Soumya retraces his way back to a lost past and connects with his mother, he never once calls her ‘Ma’. Perhaps she deserves the respect of being known only as Suchismita: a fiercely independent woman whose life cannot be contained in the image of the mother alone. This is exactly where Abosheshey too is fiercely modern and loveably so!

Ankur Khanna has been completely rediscovered by Roy and Mitra. His effortless metamorphosis from an indifferent and stern American kid to a melancholy yet jolly son deserves a resounding round of applause. Roopa Ganguly’s controlled and understated performance makes Suchismita both dignified and vulnerable. Raima Sen as Nandini is literally the next-door-girl. Sudipta Chakraborty in a guest role delivers believably. Ronjini as Rai brings a breeze of mint-freshness every time she appears. And, Manashi Sinha is perhaps the most real of the entire cast: her annoyance, her concern and her deep affection shine through the two or three frames she appears in.

 

From Bijano ghare to Durey kothao, the lilting music creates tuneful continuum of city spaces and the exotic hills. Roopa Ganguly's national award is certainly well-deserved. However, the horizon of the camera could have been a slightly wider, and the first-half could have been a little more compact. As a debut film these little flaws can be definitely forgiven, and Aditi Roy and Neel B Mitra, I presume, have arrived to stay.

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