An audio drama
Team Members: Manali Majumdar, Souvik Mukherjee, Poulomi Banik
There is a Tomorrow...
Mahashweta Acharjee
Pexels
They built their walls
With the same bricks
They threw at you.
You felled the wall
That kept you from yours.
This is just the beginning.
You will fell every edifice
That refused to recognise your humanity.
You will build playgrounds over
The lands they seized from you.
Your laughter will hit the ground running.
One after another, every empire
Will come crumbling down.
And I will meet you there.
We will dance the Dabke
Over the barrage of those graves.
We will hold hands, you and I,
The present, the past.
They killed you, but you lived through...
Those that came after you.
The world will watch in stunned silence
As the Danse Macabre begins.
The ghost and the once-lost—in unison.
Life will return.
From the river to the sea...
I met her ...
Samanwita Das
Pexels
I met my younger self for coffee today
we arrived together
both ten minutes late.
with her huge backpack, she came rushing
“The traffic was terrible” I say as I stride in
she had a boy cut hair with two red strands
wearing an outfit our mum chose
I was dipped in pink, ear pods in and a little purse in my hand
still wearing our mum’s choice but now with bows!
she was mesmerised by my skin while continuously looking at herself in the mirror beside
I complemented her strawberry freckles and told her, “It’s okay to hide”
she asks me whether I still struggle with friendships
i pat her head and said we found home in them now
she cried about how she will never find the love that she offers
I tell her how a boy loves her like it’s the easiest thing in the world now
she makes me order her a cold coffee with whipped cream
while I sip on my warm tea and look at her smile beam
she swirls her fingers over her scars worried about never being good enough
glancing at my wrists, I smile and tell her how she’s always been tough
as she leaves, she asks me a question
“Do we still dream? will we ever accomplish them?”
I say I believe we will and we’re almost there now
as we both walk away
I realise that I became the person she’s strives to be
and I will always let her live in me.
I hope we meet for coffee again...
Celebrating Ritwik Ghatak's Centenary: A Timeless Commentary on Partition and its Global Relevance
Sourav
K Basu
Assistant
Professor
Amity
School of Communication
Amity University, Kolkata
Description: A photograph of Ritwik Ghatak from his early years, likely taken around 1950 when he was active in the Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA). License: Public Domain (image published before 1950)
My coming to films has nothing to do with making money. Rather, it is out of a need to express the pains and agonies of my suffering people.
Ritwik Ghatak, “My Coming Into Films”
In
2025, we mark the centenary
of Ritwik Ghatak—an auteur who remains one of the most powerful and
poetic voices in Indian cinema. His legacy remains strikingly relevant, especially in the
context of the global refugee crisis. Whether due to the ongoing crises in Bangladesh,
Syria, or the Ukraine-Russia war, the world faces a wave of
displacement and migration, themes Ghatak explored deeply in his films. His
works resonate with the current human struggles of refugees, making his films
increasingly important in global discussions today.
Though
his life and career were both tragically brief, Ghatak's legacy looms large
over the cultural landscape of South Asia and beyond. More than a filmmaker, he
was a seer—one who captured the trauma of Partition not just as a
historical rupture, but as a spiritual wound, a lingering fracture in the human
psyche that continues to haunt generations. As the world grapples with forced
migrations, statelessness, and identity crises, Ghatak's work feels startlingly
prophetic.
During my time in Mumbai starting in 2008 with Zee News & Aamir Khan Productions for ‘Satyamev Jayate’, I had the opportunity to visit FTII Pune several times to attend seminars, guest lectures, and technical workshops there. I observed the deep respect for Ghatak's memory, including a wall mural commemorating his time at the institute. Ghatak had served as Vice President of FTII from 1965, and his influence is still felt there.
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Ritwik Ghatak's workspace archived at FTII, Pune Pic Courtesy: S.K.Basu
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A wall graffiti at FTII, Pune Pic Courtesy: S.K.Basu
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At FTII, Pune Campus, 2010 Pic Courtesy: S.K.Basu
The
Man Behind the Camera
Born
on November 4, 1925, in Dhaka (then part of British India, now the capital of
Bangladesh), Ritwik Ghatak experienced Partition firsthand. His family's
migration to Kolkata was not just a geographic shift but an emotional and
psychological schism that deeply informed his artistic sensibilities. Initially
drawn to literature and theatre, Ghatak eventually found in cinema a medium
expansive enough to contain his anguish, his anger, and his hope.
His
filmography is lean but incandescent. While commercial success eluded him in
his lifetime, posthumous appreciation has only grown, particularly among
filmmakers, historians, and cinephiles who regard him as one of the few
directors who dared to look at India’s Partition not merely as a political
event but as an existential crisis.
Supriya Devi from Meghe Dhaka Tara
The
Partition as Living SpecterThe
Partition of 1947 uprooted millions, tore apart families, and sowed seeds of
communal distrust that have yet to be reconciled. While mainstream cinema
largely glossed over these harsh realities or romanticized them into digestible
tropes, Ghatak delved deep into the emotional core of the tragedy.
In
Meghe Dhaka Tara (1960), arguably his most acclaimed film, Ghatak
uses the story of Neeta—a self-sacrificing refugee woman in post-Partition
Kolkata—as a metaphor for the nation itself.
Similarly,
in Subarnarekha (1965), Ghatak explores the taboo of incest and
the desperation born of rootlessness, underscoring how displacement fractures
not just geographies but moral and social orders. These are not just stories of
refugees but stories of erosion—of culture, identity, and human dignity.
Global
Echoes: Why Ghatak Matters Today
The
world is witnessing unprecedented refugee crises—from Syria to Sudan, Myanmar
to Ukraine. Borders continue to be drawn and redrawn with tragic
consequences. The themes that Ghatak explored—displacement, identity
loss, cultural amnesia—resonate deeply in today’s fractured world.
In
many ways, Ghatak's films serve as a lens through which we can
understand the universality of Partition-like traumas. His insistence on
remembering, on mourning, on resisting the erasure of history, is a powerful
antidote to the homogenizing forces of nationalism and cultural sanitization.
Ghatak also challenges us to rethink the role of art and the artist. In a world increasingly driven by algorithms, franchises, and formulaic storytelling, Ghatak's cinema is a reminder that art is also witness. That the camera can record not just faces but feelings, not just events but their echoes.
Ritwik Ghatak Commemorative Stamp (2007)
Description: An image of the Indian postage stamp issued in 2007 to honor Ritwik Ghatak.
License: Public Domain (government-issued stamp)
Source: Wikimedia Commons
Legacy
and Reclamation
It
is perhaps fitting that Ghatak has found more recognition internationally than
in the mainstream Indian cinematic canon. Filmmakers like Martin Scorsese and
Kumar Shahani have acknowledged his influence. Institutions across the globe
now screen his restored films, and academic studies continue to unearth the
layers of his work.
On the centenary of his birth, retrospectives, symposiums, and re-releases are beginning to reclaim his rightful place in cinematic history. But more importantly, they offer a moment for collective introspection—for remembering not just a man, but the questions he posed, questions that remain painfully unresolved.
A partition picture in 1947. Refugees crossing the border in East Bengal Source: Wikipedia
Conclusion:
A Cry Across Time
In
Komal Gandhar (1961), another of Ghatak's masterpieces,
the backdrop of Partition serves as a canvas for exploring fractured political
ideologies and the difficulty of healing. Yet even in its bleakness, the film
gestures toward hope—through love, through solidarity, through art.
Celebrating
Ritwik Ghatak’s centenary is not just about honoring a cinematic genius. It is
about engaging with a conscience that never stopped probing, never stopped
feeling. His films compel us to acknowledge the wounds of the past, not to
dwell in them, but to ensure we do not repeat them.
In an era of curated forgetting,
Ghatak reminds us of the power of remembering—and the sacred responsibility of
bearing witness.
News - Journalism - Post-Truth - Democracy
Team Members
Camera Person: Triparna Guha, Ananya Dey, Priyanka Das
PTC: Tania Mukherjee
Editing: Arpita Adhikary
Pexels
The Man in the Shadows
Niyonika Thapa
by Pexels
He doesn’t speak loud, but I always
hear,
A calm kind of strength that
lingers near.
He walks like the world doesn’t owe
him a thing,
Yet it gives me the moon, the
stars, and spring.
He ties his shoes in a curious way,
And hums old songs at the break of
day.
He laughs at jokes that no one
gets,
And fix all my broken bets.
He waits behind the scenes with
grace,
A gentle smile on a weathered face.
He claps the loudest in the crowd,
Even when he’s not allowed.
You might not see him take the
lead,
But he’s there in every brave good
deed.
And if you ask me who he is—
This quiet man who loves like this
You’ll know him by the way I glow,
He’s, my father.
Now you know.
The Killer in Town...
Prakriti Pujari
By Pexels
My mother told me about
the killer in town.
I asked her what he looks like
and she said -“its a man”.
I asked her who he targets
and she said -“girls like you”.
“girls like me?”
“Yes. Girls who are smart, beautiful, loving, caring,
meek, outspoken, dependant, independent”.
“…but thats every other girl I know mother!”
“Yes”.
I asked her how do I know its him?
She said “You don’t and that’s why you stay in”.
I asked her- “How long?”
She said- “as long as he stays in town.”
“But what if he stays forever?”
Romanticizing life in your 20’s
Riddhika Chakrabarti
Taylor Swift once wrote “How can I know everything at 18 and nothing at 22” and that has always
felt like home to me and many other people out there. I have come to realize that teenage
is not the most confusing and overwhelming stage in your life but your 20’s
are. I am almost 23, and I have never been so lost even when I am doing all the
things I dreamt of doing when I was a frolicking teenager who thought the world
was made of candies and strawberries. Actually, now that I think about it,
younger me was much better at romanticizing and manifesting things than I am
now. However, the question still stands, despite all the chaos, confusion and
lessons that life is teaching us, how do we continue
to romanticize life? Another question
is why do we need to romanticize life? Why can’t we just survive and go
by without trying to look at it positively? I am realizing that I might have
posed too many questions right from the start but I promise, it will unfold.
Perhaps the
reason why we try so hard to romanticize life is because deep down, life is so mundane on its own that none of
it really makes any sense. Maybe it’s not about pretending that everything is beautiful and
breathtaking but more about choosing to see the small beautiful things on a
very confusing day. Like just the cup of coffee that just hits the spot or the
sunshine breaking in through your windows giving you the perfect amount of
warmth. These things do not fix much but they make us feel more present and
more alive. I never romanticized life from this aspect when I was a teen but
only discovered the joy in it in my 20’s.
I understand
that sometimes even that seems like too much work. I mean, what's the point?
Why embellish a mundane existence? Perhaps, though,
it's not about
the costume. Perhaps it has to do with soft survival.
about avoiding becoming frigid by the harsh realities of maturity.
Romanticizing life is a silent resistance, not an illusion. A means of
preserving sensitivity.
Therefore, it
is not necessary for us to romanticize everything. However, when we do, it can be our way of expressing that "I'm
still choosing to care." And to be honest, that might be sufficient.
Pic Courtesy: Riddhika Chakrabarti
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