Shibaji forces me to question the quality of life Bengali cinema is living out. An intelligent man with a terminal illness tries to enrich the quality of the shortened life he has left. A man reduced to a vegetable cannot even exercise this choice. Nor can he opt for euthanasia because he is not even aware that he is alive.

Agreed that these films do extremely well in the suburbs, small towns and villages of West Bengal and now Bangladesh, perhaps. Agreed that commercial success leads to more films being produced and more jobs for people. But is commercial success the only indicator of keeping cinema alive? Can putting a criminal, a corrupt police officer and an honest lawyer together in the same film, weaving in some vendetta with a kidnapping, a rape, a murder and a suicide thrown in keep Bengali cinema ‘alive’?

Is it not also your responsibility and concern to improve the quality of a life slowly getting paralysed by a quality-famine? Can you not give us films with a powerful storyline, reasonably good production values and a tight script? This letter by implication addresses itself also to three other stalwarts of Bengali cinema, namely Tapas Pal, Ranjit Mullick and Bappi Lahiri, all of who are seniors who count and who can make a difference if they put their heads together with your help. “We give the audience the kind of film they want,” is the excuse thrown at us. Can’t you create some audience taste for a change? Can such films really ‘save’ Bengali cinema? Think about it again, my dear friend. I know you can, even it takes another 30 years. You must remain healthy and alive to achieve this.

I offer one star for Swastika’s ability to rise above a wobbly script with her restraint and low-key acting.