"Poetry
on celluloid" is a cliché. In
India, its origin can be traced to the marketing
blurbs for Satyajit
Ray’s Kanchenjungha (1962).
Later, Ray turned cinema into virtual poetry in
Charulata (1964).
Rituparno Ghosh borrowed generously from Tagore
for Asukh (1999), investing the film
with a harmony that poetry alone can bring. In
his Mondo Meyer Upakhyan (2002), Buddhadeb
Dasgupta evolved a new form by basing his screenplay
on three poems and a short story creating a third
genre. Other examples are G Aravindam’s
Esthappan (1980) and Chidambaram
(1985), Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s Anantaram
(1987) and Kathapurushan (1996),
Shyam Benegal’s
Sooraj Ka Saatvan Ghoda (1993), Aparna
Sen’s 36
Chowringhee Lane, Mani Kaul’s Siddeshwari
(1989) and Kumar Shahani’s Khayal
Gatha (1988).
In contemporary Bengali cinema, Anjan Das has
made his presence felt with his poetic vision.
His first film was never released. Years later,
he was reborn through Saanjhbaatir Roopkathara
(2002), based on the first novel of cult
poet Joy Goswami. Barring a few rough edges, the
film marked his individual, slow-paced, lyrical
style. His use of muted colours and low-key characterizations,
beautiful music and poetic cinematography revealed
a rare aesthetic and emotional sensibility. His
latest film, Jara Brishtitey Bhhijechhilo
(Drenched in the Rain), produced by Gautam
Kundu under Rose Valley Productions, is a celluloid
interpretation of an original, long, autobiographical
poem of the same name.
Interpreting a story-poem by Joy Goswami is a
challenge Anjan Das does not shy away from. As
a little boy, Arani (Joy Sengupta) loved to soak
Nature with all its smells, sounds and colours
into his being. He lives in a world of his own,
and does not realize his responsibility towards
older sister Laboni (Anjana Ghosh) and widowed
aunt (Urmimala) when their father dies suddenly
of a heart attack. Laboni is a part of his growing
up as she is of his poetry. She gives up dreams
of having a home of her own and ceaselessly indulges
Arani in his whims and fancies.
 Radha
(Indrani Haldar), a beautiful young woman, lives
in the same town. Arani admires her from afar.
He is too shy to reach out beyond ringing his
bicycle bell to announce his presence. Later,
they discover that they share much more than love
– both love poetry. He loves to create poetry
while she loves to listen to them. He gifts one
poem to her every day as they meet on the riverbanks.
She carries these with her when she gets married.
The marriage is a disaster. But Radha still makes
space for herself by reading out those poems on
the terrace of her new home, by getting drenched
in the rain, and by creating her little world
of greenery in one corner of the rooftop.
In the meantime, Arani has become a poet of some
distinction and also teaches at the local school.
Admirers Suchetana (Rupa Ganguly), an aggressive
ad agency executive and Apala (Ishwari), her young
friend, hijack him to the city for poetry reading
sessions. Arani feels drawn towards Apala, a girl
with permissive values. As the relationship warms
up, Arani is shocked to find Apala and Suchetana
sharing a lesbian relationship while Apala also
has an affair going with her local guardian (Soumitra
Chatterjee), a retired professor.
The scene moves to where the film opened –
at a suburban railway station where three people
– a young man and two women – get
off the train separately. One of them is Radha,
who has walked out of her marriage. There is Rina
(Churni Ganguly), her widowed friend, looking
for a rickshaw. There is Arani returning from
Kolkata. They meet by chance and the film moves
back to a point-of-view unfolding of the past
alternately through the eyes of Arani, Radha and
Laboni.
But the real protagonist of the story is the
rain splashing away merrily to its heart’s
content. It is there on Radha’s terrace.
It mercilessly lashes against Laboni when she
steps out of her office. It is there wherever
Arani is creating his poetry. It can be seen through
the square of a moving train window. It is oblivious
to the tragedy of Radha’s barren marriage,
Laboni’s sacrifice or Arani’s coming
of age. "Listen, I am a cloud no more.
They call me 'rain' now," quotes Radha
to Arani on the riverbanks, from his own poem.
Arani has given up poetry for good, after his
disillusionment with what he thinks was love.
Does he begin to write again? Does he find his
lost Meghbalika (The Cloud Girl) in Radha?
Shirsa Ray’s camera realises enough of
Anjan Das’s dream of liberating poetry from
the written word to set it free in the miracle
world of words, images, sound and colour. Deepanwita
Mukherjee’s script aptly fits into the poetic
ambience while Indraneel Ghosh’s production
design effectively vacillates between the prose
of plush and humble interiors and the poetry of
Nature. Jyotishka Dasgupta’s background
score adds to the rhythm of the film.
Indrani Haldar is wonderful in her low-key fleshing
out of Radha. Roopa Ganguly’s abrasiveness
throws up an effective counterpoint, as does the
tranquility in Churni Ganguly’s Rina. Anjana
Ghosh’s Laboni is dignity and restraint
personified. But one must give Joy Sengupta a
pat on the back for his realization of Arani.
He brings to pulsating and vibrating life the
shy, timid, introvert and much younger Joy Goswami
on screen.
"There is no art without poetry,"
wrote Delacroix. "Poetry is human language
reduced to its essential rhythm," said
Mallarmé. For those who have not heard
of these two gentlemen, Jara Brishtitey Bhhijechhilo
should suffice.
Shoma A Chatterji is a freelance journalist
who specialises in cinema and gender. She has
won the National Award for Best Writing on Cinema
twice.
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