Still from Mayanagar Photo: Trailer Still from Mayanagar Photo: Trailer In Indian understanding, Maya denotes a little bit of illusion and a lot of affection. Aditya Vikram Sengupta’s latest film, Mayanagar (2021) rekindles that sense of Maya—one that my generation associates with Kolkata. Fittingly, its English title reads: Once Upon a Time in Calcutta. The film was screened in the ‘Orizzonti’ section of the Venice International Film Festival in 2021, though it saw its domestic release at the end of January this year.
We were the early children of Manmohanomics. So, most of my school friends moved to bigger cities like Bombay, Bangalore, and New Delhi, or even abroad to New Jersey in the late ‘90s, seeking job opportunities Kolkata couldn’t offer.
gokupgWe left our city behind, distancing ourselves from its cultural offerings. We did our best to unlearn the values it had instilled in us, convincing ourselves that Kolkata was an idea no longer relevant.
Sengupta attempts to thread together these forgotten, unrestored fragments of our past and present through a dreamlike narrative—one where the city’s most vulnerable can see their own reflection.
Ela (Srilekha Mitra)—the daughter of a cabaret dancer—is a failed actress grappling with the grief of losing her daughter and the weight of financial hardship. She shares an old North Kolkata house with her considerate but jobless husband, Shishir (Shatrajit Sarkar), yet an unspoken distance has settled between them, turning their marriage into a cold, near-broken bond. On the verge of separation, Ela is desperate to secure a place of her own. At times, she turns to her stepbrother, Bubu (Bratya Basu), who owns a shuttered theatre hall—once an iconic performance space in North Kolkata.
Bubu is a reclusive, paranoid man who lives on the top floor of the abandoned theatre, avoiding visitors. He relies entirely on the old caretaker, Ananta, and his son, Raja (Sayak Roy), for his daily needs. The decline of the playhouse weighs heavily on both Bubu and his stepsister Ela. Yet, while Bubu clings to the hope that the playhouse can be restored, Ela knows its glory days are long gone—selling it to developers seems the only practical choice.
For Ela, the theatre holds a single, haunting memory—watching her mother perform cabaret in the revolving arena, a stage that once rose and fell with a touch of a lever. Now, that mechanism is broken, and with it, the magic has faded. This part was filmed in Circarena, a venue grappling with a similar fate—burdened by its past legacy and present decline.
Mayanagar: Once Upon A Time In Calcutta Poster Photo: IMDB Mayanagar: Once Upon A Time In Calcutta Poster Photo: IMDBBubu’s paranoia deepens, convincing him that Raja and Ela are plotting to sell the theatre. In a fit of suspicion, he fires Ananta, severing one of his last ties to the outside world.
Raja works for a chit fund company run by Pradipta Sen (Anirban Chakraborty), a man with multiple ventures—he’s not only a big-time promoter and builder but also produces a B-grade astrology show, which Ela anchors. The name "Pradipta Sen" is bound to stir memories among Bengalis, as it closely resembles that of an infamous chit fund owner. Pradipta has an interest in Ela, one she tries hard to avoid. But when she finds herself unable to reach Bubu, she makes a fateful decision—spending a night with Pradipta in exchange for ownership of a flat in his company’s New Town property.
New Town, a modern twin township built to house Kolkata’s emerging elite, stands in stark contrast to the decaying grandeur of North Kolkata. Ironically, Ela rekindles her relationship with her former lover,66cassino Bhaskar (Arindam Ghosh), who happens to be the executive engineer overseeing the construction of a bridge linking old Kolkata to New Town. Meanwhile, Pradipta’s company tempts Bhaskar with a bribe to approve their use of substandard materials. Though he initially resists, such offers are rarely easy to refuse.
Still from Mayanagar Photo: Trailer Still from Mayanagar Photo: TrailerFinally, the chit fund company collapses. The bridge to New Town breaks down. Pradipta Sen, desperate to escape the public’s fury, is crushed beneath the crumbling structure. Bubu is found dead inside the playhouse building. No one knows how long his body had been lying there. Meanwhile, Raja is forced to flee, unable to return the promised interest to the poor investors. His girlfriend Pinky’s father suffers a shock from the financial loss, and Raja — once a hardworking, ambitious young man — loses everything: his love, his reputation, and his dreams.
Bhaskar is arrested as the supervising engineer of the collapsed bridge. Ela’s New Town flat is seized, along with all of Pradipta Sen’s properties, during a police raid. With nowhere else to go, Ela returns to her North Kolkata home, where Shishir still lives.
The film ends with a haunting, magical image: after discovering Bubu’s lifeless body, Ela walks across the damaged circular stage. Slowly, the long-forgotten mechanism stirs, and the stage begins to rise — a ghostly echo of the theatre’s former glory, where the dreams of the dead and the living briefly converge.
Sengupta’s films are known for their unique, dreamlike audio-visual storytelling, and Mayanagar is no exception. The film weaves a tapestry of symbolic images and evocative sounds that captivate the viewer throughout. From the dilapidated mansion-like playhouse to an under-construction flyover, the haunting contrast between an enormous dinosaur statue and countless half-bust statues of Rabindranath Tagore, every frame feels steeped in meaning.
Certain images strike a familiar chord, reflecting the ironies of our times—the bridge collapse, a truck loaded with Tagore busts crashing onto Pradipta Sen’s car, crushing him to death. The soundtrack, too, plays with layers of meaning: a remix of Tagore’s “Aloker Ei Jharna Dharay Dhuiye Dao” (Cleanse me in this cascade of light) underscores the unfolding chaos, while the song’s original rendition emerges as the film nears its climax, evoking a sense of catharsis.
The film’s immersive sound and imagery owe much to cinematographer Gökhan Tiryaki and music director Minco Eggersman, whose contributions add depth and resonance to the narrative. The performances feel both authentic and impactful—Mitra’s seamless portrayal of Ela evokes both agony and a sense of helpless selfishness, resonating deeply with the audience. Basu exudes a palpable mix of paranoia and vulnerability. Chakraborty, as always, is reserved, while newcomers like Ghosh and Roy bring a natural ease to their roles.
When asked about these symbols, the director revealed that they came to him through dreams. In the wake of Kolkata’s flyover collapses and chit fund scams, these fragmented images haunted his subconscious, compelling him to translate them into a cohesive narrative. The result is this cinematic experience full of Maya—a delicate blend of illusion and affection for Kolkata, the city that continues to inspire wonder and disillusionment in equal measure.
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