Projapoti Biskut 2017

Sraboni / Ishaa Saha as Shaon and Antor Sen have been married for 2 years and 5 months, living in a bustling joint family that includes Antor’s parents, brother, sister-in-law, and niece. The household is dominated by Shaon’s mother, a draconian, Rabindrasangeet-loving idealist who shapes daily life with strict rules and cultural expectations. Shaon works behind the scenes as a scriptwriter for Bengali soaps, a career she guards closely because the family prohibits watching those very shows inside the home. Her mind rebels against the quiet tyranny of domestic life, even as she keeps her professional world separate from the family’s gaze.

Within this balancing act, Shaon stands in stark contrast to Antor, who tends to hesitate and equivocate when faced with decisions, living in the shadow of others’ opinions rather than pressing for his own path. Shaon’s longing for creative independence and personal dignity presses on her, even as she wrestles with a painful personal limitation: polycystic ovary syndrome, a condition that brings quiet torment as she longs for a child but cannot conceive. This infertility becomes a quiet, unspoken trial that strains her relationship with the world she’s trying to redefine.

The turn comes when Parijat Parijat Mukherjee, Shaon’s friend, becomes pregnant by her boyfriend and contemplates an abortion. Shaon steps in with resolve, convincing Parijat to carry the baby to term and pledging to adopt the child and provide a loving home. It’s a moment of hopeful selflessness that briefly lights up Shaon’s sense of purpose, offering a glimpse of motherhood on her own terms. Yet life intervenes in a cruel way: Matthew, Parijat’s boyfriend, reappears and assumes responsibility for the child, leaving Parijat to retract her plan. The heartbreak of this reversal gnaws at Shaon, compounding the weight of her ongoing struggle against a family that wants to define every facet of her life.

Feeling both stifled and adrift, Shaon eventually leaves the in-laws’ home and seeks refuge with her own family—the eccentric father and mother she rarely gets to be herself around. The change of scene intensifies the sense of distance between Shaon and Antor, who has his own doubts about city life and what it means to truly belong. Soon enough, the two reconnect and decide to mark their wedding anniversary in Diamond Harbour, a small, cheap hotel where the rigid roles of their life begin to loosen just enough for honesty to surface. In that room, Shaon opens up about the deep-rooted need for freedom—freedom of thought, of dress, of cultural taste—that had been constrained within the walls of the family home. It’s a raw, intimate moment, and for a heartbeat, it seems as if reconciliation might finally take root.

But the ever-watchful eye of society intrudes again when the couple is arrested on charges of immoral behavior. They manage to escape when Antor’s elder brother arrives at the police station with their marriage certificate, a dramatic reminder that legal legitimacy and familial approval can override social scandal—yet not the emotional toll left in Shaon’s heart. The incident leaves Antor feeling disenchanted with urban life, prompting a transfer to Bhilai. With the move looming, the two arrange to meet one last time two days before departure. In that final exchange, Shaon tells Antor she is willing to follow him to Bhilai, while he promises to grant her the freedom she seeks and the chance at motherhood she’s long desired. It’s a vow that reframes their marriage not as a surrender to convention, but as a mutual commitment to growth and choice.

The story unfolds as a nuanced meditation on love, autonomy, and the friction between personal dreams and family duty. It holds a quiet tension between two people who care deeply for each other yet must navigate the heavy expectations of tradition, respect, and the enduring ache for a future they can call their own.