Revolutions are often thought of as these larger-than-life, paradigm-shifting movements that fundamentally change the fabric of their surroundings.

What’s often missed, however, is the multitude of quiet revolutions that are waged across the country every single day, whether it’s a mother who works three jobs to keep her children fed, a boy who holds on to his dreams and his fractured family despite the seemingly hopeless nature of his circumstances, or a young couple who chooses to embrace the love they share in spite of the whole world telling them they’re wrong.

While admittedly small, these individual acts of defiance are no less significant and can often have ripple effects that span successive generations. 

It is these all too invisible revolutions that lie at the heart of Tanushree Das and Saumyananda Sahi’s feature film ‘Shadowbox’ (Baksho Bondi), which recently premiered at the 75th Berlin International Film Festival. 

Right at the outset, we’re dropped straight inside the modesty of a middle-class Kolkata home and become embedded spectators in the lives of its inhabitants — Maya (Tillotama Shome), Sundar (Chandan Bisht), and Debu (Sayan Karmakar). 

Maya is fiercely intelligent, headstrong, and is dead set on carving out a life and an education for her son, Debu. She works multiple jobs, including as a house help for the wealthy.  Her husband, Sundar, is an ex-military man who suffers from PTSD due to an unexplained incident that occured while he was serving in the army. Sundar’s condition prevents him from holding down a steady job or living any semblance of a normal life.

In one of the film’s very first scenes, we see him sitting in a barber chair; whimpering in terror at something as seemingly routine as a haircut. We also see the embarrassment on his son’s face, as he’s forced to baby and coddle the man who’s he’s supposed to look to for guidance and support.

Across the length of ‘Shadowbox’, each character fights an invisible force that seems almost insurmountable. For Maya, it’s her own pride and her seemingly hopeless devotion to her unstable and unpredictable husband. For Sundar, it’s the unexplained PTSD that affects every facet of his life. For Debu, it’s the collective trauma of growing up in an unstable household; an insidious amalgamation that every child from a broken home can relate to.

For co-directors Tanushree and Saumyananda, this film is a love letter to the collective experiences of families across the country; encapsulating joy, togetherness, solitude, heartbreak and tragedy.

Beneath the surface, each of our three protagonists are powderkegs of angst, trauma, and isolation that are tied together by their love for one another. “We arrived at the title, ‘Baksho Bondi’, very early on in the writing,” explains Tanushree. “In a way, all of the characters could be described by this phrase – which, in Bengali, is used to describe someone who is caged up, locked in, unable to express, or keeping what they feel hidden."

While the Bengali title came to the duo fairly quickly, the film’s English title took considerably more time. In military parlance, a ‘shadowbox’ is where a soldier stores his medals and achievements. “What Sundar returns home with is not medals for his bravery but with trauma,” says Saumyananda. “He returns home a broken man. The residues of violence, and those left to care for what is broken, are both central themes in our film – so we felt this idea of a showcase box carried an irony that was powerful.”

Tanushree asserts that the underlying premise of the film and even the characterisation of Maya came from her own experiences growing up and draws on the determination of her own mother. “I grew up in a home quite different from the homes of my cousins and other relatives,” she says. “I would see my parents having to work harder than my relatives to make ends meet. All my memories of my mother are of her working. This feeling of being poorer than your relatives carried such a sense of humiliation for me as a child, but in my parents, I saw a kind of pride and rebellion instead. I wasn’t always conscious of it while we were working on the script, but in retrospect, I see how much Maya’s resilience and pride borrow from memories of my mother. I can also see myself in Debu, trying to shadowbox my way out.”

On the surface, the film appears to be a tale as old as time. You have a hardworking mother who does everything she can to give her child the education and life they deserve and a hapless father who seems to do nothing to contribute to the household. This movie, however, subverts that trope. Through fleeting exposition, we learn that the reality of the family’s plight is far more complicated than it seems but the film never fully explains what happened to our protagonists before we entered their world — whether it’s the dynamics of the rift between Maya and her family or the exact cause of Sundar’s trauma.

The movie’s decision to leave so much unseen acts as a narrative anchor that forces us to follow the breadcrumbs and to put ourselves directly in the shoes of its characters; perhaps even relating our own experiences to what’s unfolding on screen. “The choice to not spell out things was very deliberate,” asserts Tanushree. “For us, what we leave unsaid is an invitation to the audience to fill in the blanks; to bring their own versions of what might have happened.”

“At the same time, we needed to give enough information for the audience to truly engage,” adds Saumyananda. “There had to be enough mystery about what will happen next, and enough pegs for the audience to base their guesses on. The fact that Sundar goes missing and the whole angle of the murder investigation definitely helps create intrigue and momentum for the audience, but we also wanted to linger on smaller mundane scenes as well, where we get to know our characters.”

Despite the fact that the film itself doesn’t give too much away, both Saumyananda and Tanushree went the extra mile to create intricate backstories for both Maya and Sundar. During pre-production, they mapped out everything from how Maya and Sundar met, to when they got married to the specific cause of Sundar’s PTSD. It was only after doing this that they could get a sense of how to deliberately blur out these details.

“We created this rich and three-dimensional world and then took it all away,” smiles Tanushree. “But it still remains, like the traces on a wall after you have taken away a picture frame.” It is these traces — that allow us to piece together a full picture of what happened to Maya, Sundar, and Debu before we joined their world. Their backstory is both so close yet still tantalisingly out of reach. 

The suburban landscapes and interiors of the city of Kolkata become the personification of lives that are in varying ways perpetually weighed down by the shadows of the past. Whether it be the layout of Sundar and Maya’s modest home or the backdrop of the shops, cinema houses and stalls that we see, there’s an unmistakable Bengali essence that’s channelled in practically every shot. There’s also serene beauty that contrasts wonderfully with the chaos and confusion of the story and the state of relative dilapidation that we see in many of the buildings.

The duo decided to move to Barrackpore, the locale in which the film was shot, and all their location scouting happened within walking distance from the apartment in which they lived. The movie invokes the history of the area, which was the first cantonment of the East India Company, to lend context and weight to the movie's underlying narratives. “In the evenings, many young men from the barracks come to roam these streets,” says Tanushree. In our minds, this is how Maya and Sundar would have met; having a plate of futchka or aloo chop on the roadside. Our choice of Barrackpore was therefore very integral to telling this story. Or rather, our story grew out of this specific place.”

“With Baksho Bondi, we always thought of the city as an extension of the characters; as giving characters a context,” says Saumyananda. “Seeing Maya sitting next to the railway tracks reading the newspaper is not only descriptive of her locality but also gives her a new dimension, it gives her roots and a sense of belonging.”

There’s one scene in the film that particularly stood out to me. Maya is speaking to the woman she works for about computer classes for her son — the same classes the woman’s own son attended. The woman immediately attempts to dissuade her, saying that it’s too expensive and not realistic. She suggests giving him driving lessons instead so he can pursue that as a career. 

It’s a conversation we’ve all seen play out in some form over the years, whether it’s within our families, at work, or even in conversations with our own peers. While it might be well-intentioned, it also shows us how the lower and lower middle classes are often locked out of any form of upward mobility. 

“In Bengali, there’s this proverb of how crabs in a basket don’t let any individual crab escape, they will always pull each other down,” says Tanushree. “We need a similar proverb for how people of a different class will always keep someone else where they belong, even if it’s in the guise of helpful advice.”

We find out as the film progresses that Maya comes from a family of some means herself and is educated, tenacious, and driven; much like countless Indian women in similar circumstances. Despite this, she’s often derided for her intelligence and her refusal to bow down to anyone’s terms. She does things her own way and in many ways is punished for her audacity. Even her own family puts her down for doing what she believes is the right thing by sticking with Sundar. 

In many ways, this is the film laying bare the cost ordinary people must pay for daring to defy the irrational dogmas and the cultural status quotes that have become entrenched in every facet of our society. It also shows us how we often both intentionally and inadvertently pull someone down when they dare to be more. 

“Keeping people in their place is the basis of our caste system, and our class system too,” says Saumyananda. “Meritocracy is often just a farce that just displaces a society's injustice to seem like a personal failure.” Nonetheless, he remains cautiously hopeful. “There’s immense pride and joy to be found in people’s lives however poor they might be, and it’s the most humbling thing to witness.”  

“Our families are mirrors of our larger politics and value systems that govern us and many times also oppress us,” adds Tanushree. “At the same time, the family can be the only refuge and protection, the only safe space where difference can be nurtured. Without my family’s support, I would not be where I am. I know that I am my mother’s biggest rebellion.” 

In depicting similar rebellions through the lens of a family in strife, Baksho Bondi spotlights how far we still have to go towards creating a society that is tolerant of those who choose to go against the grain. It shows us that you should never have to choose between societal acceptance and love; between financial security and true free will; between the people you love and the life you want to live. It’s also a stark reminder of the power of even just one solitary, quiet revolution. 

“I think love and understanding and allowing voices to be heard without prejudice is the next revolution. It’s a gentle revolution and one that will need the participation of every family member. We have to begin our revolutions in our homes,” says Tanushree as she signs off. 

You can follow Tanushree here.

You can follow Saumyananda here.

Watch the trailer for 'Shadowbox' below:

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