Jaya Aar Sharmin: An intimate tale of two confined souls 

Although for most of us, the memory of Covid-19 may feel like a distant past in our present lives that is snowed under with events and schedules, 
some souls are still haunted by nightmarish visions. 

They are bearing the brunt, looking for the missing pieces of the puzzle called life, which has been lost to the pandemic. 'Jaya Aar Sharmin' is a bitter reminder of that. After being shelved for five long years, the film had its theatrical release on 16 May. 

Jaya Aar Sharmin stars Jaya Ahsan, who plays the eponymous role, and Mohsina Akhter plays Sharmin's role. In his debut feature, Piplu R Khan dealt with the complex theme of trauma, suffering, guilt, and suppressed emotions entirely confined in a single setting, which gives the audience a sharp sense of claustrophobia. 

Yet you will feel the gentle zephyr and smell the petrichor in moments beautifully captured by Xoaher Musavvir. Sometimes stationery, often hand-held shots, creates the tension between two confined souls without causing any jarring experience. 

It is a story of two people entangled in a delicate relationship who were compelled to lock themselves in a house during the time of the pandemic. They do not share the same social stature, carefully nurture their own secrets, cope with different traumas, and maintain separate routines. The fabric of their relationships is stitched together by these differences, forming a nameless connection that at times resembles friendship—and at other times, does not.

Being true to the fundamental nature of a chamber film, Jaya Aar Sharmin is a notable attempt that leverages the cinematic power of mise-en-scène—set, lighting, colour, acting, and overall setting. 

The lighting contrast, sense of space, and specific color tone effortlessly explore the emotional landscape, developing a sense of mystery, seclusion, and melancholy. But it doesn't create any hindrance to celebrate the mundane of routine lives. 
 
Jaya, a famous actor, spends most of the time reading the script and talking to her undisclosed director, who wants to make a movie about a doctor who died of Covid-19. Sharmin, Jaya's housemaid, does all the household chores—cooking, cleaning, and talking to the grocer.

When they spend time together, they play Ludo, prattle on about cooking and cuisine, and talk about Tanju Miah (Sharmin's imaginary child). During their early days of confinement, they shared joy and laughter. Their only connection with the outside world is the phone and television. 

However, as time elapses, the grim reality of the outside world begins to strain their joyful moments. Crawling fear and a quiet sense of isolation slowly seep into their existence. Jaya finds out about the death of an online shopper, who was a big fan of hers, which triggers unbearable trauma. 

She started to deal with the guilt trip for not opening the gift package she sent to Jaya, not even seeing her message earlier. Jaya felt selfish, got angry with herself, and vented her anger on Sharmin. Unbeknownst to her, Sharmin got profoundly disturbed by that act as well.            
 
Possessing the characteristics of slow cinema, the world of Jaya Aar Shamin shines in retrospective, inviting its audience to take a respite from overabundance and appreciate every nuance of life. It slowly expresses unexpressed emotions in extraordinary circumstances, and takes a bold yet gentle approach in unfolding intricate details of a relationship, told or untold. 

What must be applauded is the acute sense of restraint displayed by the director while telling the story of Jaya and Sharmin. The subtlety makes it more authentic. 

The background score produced by Debojyoti Mishra, who has experience of working with the likes of Rituparno Ghosh and Aparna Sen, complements the film's atmosphere well, albeit, for one or two instances, it shows the possibility of going a bit over the top. Phew, Debojyoti also walked a tightrope. 
 
Jaya Ahsan and Mohsina Akhter both shine independently in their characters in the movie. The emotional intensity of their camaraderie and prowess to grapple with the ups and downs easily connects the audience with their inner turmoil. Their smooth transition from spontaneity to vulnerability adds an extra depth to the screen. Jaya, being Jaya, was very natural in portraying the eponymous role, while Mohsina, being Sharmin, also delivers exceptionally, especially when she talks about it or with her son.            
 
The movie ends on a hopeful note as time is seen through a deciduous wood-apple tree. Will it ever turn green, or will Tanju Miah return to his mother? 

We see Jaya donning the new dress gifted to her, and the weather seems smiling in lush green, and we prepare to leave the theatre with a placid and longing voice of Anwesha Datta Gupta.