Arabinda Nag Chowdhury

From the water dripping from an eye (either from eye drop or from the sorrow of losing one’s father) to the entangled tape within the tape recorder, which symbolically ends the song of life, there is artistry of the highest order in this movie weaved through the background sound (e.g., the whirring of the old fan at home could be equated with daily drudgery of a worn-out life, the whining of the street dog etc.), use of light (e.g. the room getting slowly illuminated after getting completely dark just like our pupils dilate in a dark room) and camera work (so many examples, the most stunning of which is the shot of the house from the top with a small part of it in the middle illuminated by light bulbs. I have not seen any other Indian movie that has so successfully elevated “sound” to being one of the indispensable characters. The defunct street bulb with a bit of water inside it after a thunderstorm and a series lightening thunders, the plants within an old TV set, the old refrigerator towards the fag-end of the movie have been used brilliantly to portray a life in shambles. Chandan Sen’s giggle upon the downpours, presumed to be a response from his newly found love, namely the cloud, is unforgettable. The symbolism of love-communication conveyed through the kite and consummation, through the overnight rainwater collected in a bucket in the rooftop are unmistakable. In this age of extravagance and ostentatious, even stinking, display of wealth, a single flower is a perfect antidote - both after his father’s death when the tape recorder is the alter and at again, the end, when he closes his friendship with Kali. Just a flower. If you are a serious movie buff, DO NOT MISS THE MOVIE.