Unishe April turns 28: Rituparno Ghosh’s film challenges idealised notions of motherhood and companionship

Rituparno Ghosh’s second feature directorial, Unishe April, was a significant milestone in Bengali cinema. Released in 1994, the film, led by Aparna Sen and Debashree Roy, ushered in a new era in Bengali cinema that was unafraid to tackle contentious subjects and do away with the routine song-and-dance sequences in favour of more nuanced stories about human nature and relationships. This mumblecore drama is replete with non-eventful moments, from the telephone ringing off the hook, men with cameras and equipment swinging up and down a lavish house, and a young irritated woman attempting to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez as her mother conducts dance classes outside her room.

Ghosh’s cinematic oeuvre predominantly consists of stories about the status of women in society and the micro-struggles that women face every day in their homes and outside of it. In Ghosh’s films, femininity is not worshipped and revered, and motherhood is not deified. Unishe April, also written by Ghosh, demystifies this idealised notion of motherhood through her protagonist Sarojini (Aparna Sen).

Mothers in films until then were embodiments of selflessness and sacrifice. The other extreme was the bad mother stereotype — with coiffed hair and sinister plans up her sleeve to upend the lives of her innocent children. Sarojini is a professional dancer who has dedicated her life to the stage. She has been suffering from acute gout pain for a long time, but perseveres for her love of the craft. Her daughter, Aditi (Debashree Roy) does not identify with her mother’s ambitions, or her purported lack of motherly instincts of wanting to spend more time with her daughter. Having lost her father as an eight-year-old, Aditi hankers to the fading memories of her father, and distances herself from her ‘negligent’ mother.

The film begins with a flashback sequence of the day Sarojini’s doctor husband passes away. The house is brimming with relatives and guests, while Sarojini is conspicuously absent. The women gather around the kitchen to discuss how Sarojini’s lacking acumen in building a healthy family life. They dismiss her as a “career-woman who should not have gotten married” anyway. Seconds later, it is revealed that none of them knows Aditi’s full name, or are even concerned about her wellbeing.

The narrative shuttles between past and present, slowly revealing the cracks in Aditi and Sarojini’s relationship. Through Aditi’s dealings with her entitled brat of a boyfriend Sudeep, one realises that she has internalised patriarchy to the point that she does not even recognise his emotionally distant behaviour. He routinely fails her, does the bare minimum, and yet, Aditi remains steadfast in her attempt at making the relationship work, because she has come to believe that it is a woman’s duty to do so. That her mother failed at it is a constant reminder for her to bend backwards as much as possible, even at the cost of her own career and self-respect. When Sudeep claims his mother won’t let him marry the daughter of a dancer, Aditi breaks down, stating that she is her own person. In contrast to Titli, where the daughter nursed a jealousy against her mother, and despised her profession, Aditi does not view her mother’s work as disrespectful. When a distraught Sarojini asks Aditi if she would have a problem had her mother been an absentee Economics professor, Aditi dispassionately reminds her that it was always her absence that bothered her, not the profession that she has chosen for herself. Aditi’s grudge is far more insidious because, for her, a married woman should find her identity within the domestic roles ascribed to her.

Ghosh displayed unparalleled sensitivity in telling this story about a mother and her daughter. In his universe, characters are not evil; they are a product of their circumstances. Sarojini even jokes that just because her husband Manish was not physically abusive did not make him a good partner, at least for her. Their incompatibility is not dramatised — they both silently suffer in each others’ company, until one of them passes away.

28 years since its release and National Awards win, Unishe April remains one of Ghosh’s most subtle pieces of cinema. It is a slice-of-life drama that is more concerned about the unspoken dynamic than verbose declarations of love and sacrifice. It is a mother-daughter relationship at its rawest.