Melody of pain and feelings The world is a very large organism, even if we are talking about such a small part of it as the theater. It is a complex organization with its own internal and external structure. And it includes actors, multiple auxiliary and technical staff, material details, the place necessary for the performance and the auditorium, finances, without which it is impossible to create a beautiful show and not to lure the viewer to the performance. And how many nuances are connected with the fact that the performance was really successful and warmly received by the viewer. As in every complex organization, there are many intrigues and undercover struggles that can at any moment destroy the subtle sensation of the creative process of creating art.
Ritvik Kumar Ghatak himself devoted a significant part of his career to the theater, in which he was an actor, director, and director. So all this behind the scenes is close and understandable to him. Probably, few others could show this difficult life so vividly and reliably, with all its difficulties, joys and difficulties, collapses and literally rising from the ashes. Creative people are a special people. Inspiration for them is that necessary spiritual food, which they will not change even for ordinary food, not to mention the rest of the comfort and luxury of the earth.
The second main theme of Komal-Gondhar is the tragic pages of the middle of the last century, connected with the division of Bengal into two parts on religious grounds, which forced millions of people deprived of work, shelter over their heads and confidence in their future to become refugees to seek protection and food on the other side of the newly formed border. And after division came hunger and poverty. How many lives have been lost in those terrible years. Each of the characters of the film died at that time one or more relatives. Some are orphans altogether. The last unifying principle of the two Bengals remained only the Padma River, which Rabindranath Tagore sang in so many poetic lines. One coast became Bangaldesh, the other remained Indian. And even the railway, once tossed across the river, is now destroyed. On the Indian side, it culminates in an eerie dead end, crudely boarded up with boards, unequivocally saying that this is the end. And if you look at that shore, although people and their houses seem similar to the locals, they are now different: alien, foreign.
Another symbol of cultural division in Komal-Gondhar is the attempt to stage the beautiful play Shakuntala in a hall owned by two troupes. One of them is led by the ardent stubborn but incredibly talented Bhrigu (the ancient Hindu mythological name of the founder of the clan of warriors and sages) and the envious Shantha, who agreed to this compromise only to shame her rivals. The evil woman then makes up more than she should, then capricious, then changes the voices of the cuckoos to the croaking of frogs, and one of the actors, releases in large modern glasses, completely destroying the ancient charm of the action. But despite the evil and total triumph of the separation of people, even among the creative elite, in all this tragicomic disorder that almost destroyed the theater, two hearts from hostile clans meet and throw a fragile rainbow bridge to each other and to a bright future. This new union, together with the nameless beggar baby in the fateful hour twice seized the sari of the main character, gives hope that art, like good in the hearts of people, are alive and will remain forever. And with them, there will always be hope for a new unification of West and East Bengal, once politically divided but culturally close to each other.