Hyderabad: Durga Puja, for those who have left Bengal, carries a feeling that is hard to put into words. It becomes a reminder of a time when there was no gap between one’s surroundings and one’s sense of belonging.
Sarbojanin, a short film directed by Goutam Bhattacharyya, does not attempt to recreate the grandeur of the festival. It lingers in the spaces between where longing and adaptation coexist.
The film follows Paromita, a Bengali woman in Hyderabad, who, like many before her, finds herself negotiating between familiarity and newness. The rituals remain the same, but the backdrop has changed. She spends Ashtami and Nabami moving between pandals, squeezing in moments of festivity between the responsibilities of an adult life that does not pause for Pujo. Bengalis scattered across different cities have, at some point, stood where she stands, watching the festival in a manner that is both comforting and disorienting.
“Sarbojanin means shobar jonyo (for all),” Bhattacharyya explains. “Durga Puja is not a religious event for us. It is a carnival.” That sentiment shapes the film in a way that feels lived rather than stated. The moments it captures, from the anticipation of Anjali, the casual ease with which non-vegetarian food is eaten during the festivities, the way people gather not just to pray but to meet, eat, and celebrate, speak to a cultural reality rather than a religious one. Even in Hyderabad the essence remains unchanged.
Paromita and her Hyderabadi friend, AK, move through the city. No forced exposition, no grand declarations. The connection between them is made of subtle relatable moments rather than intensity or dramatic revelations. Zeeshan Janbaz, who plays AK, carries his role with an ease that makes the dynamic believable. A brief moment where he instinctively wipes his glasses after being sprinkled with Ganga Jal stays with the viewer.
Baishali Sinha’s portrayal of Paromita falters at points. Her dialogue delivery feels rehearsed and that stiffness keeps the film from reaching the naturalism it otherwise strives for. Nonetheless, Sarbojanin does not rely on individual performances to convey its essence. It finds its strength in the setting, the music, and glimpses of a community celebrating in a city that is not their own.
Bhattacharyya almost abandoned the project at one point. “I wasn’t even that satisfied with the output,” he admits. “My wife and friends pushed me to send it to film festivals.” Seven awards later, the film has travelled through various circuits and surprised even its creator with the reception. Not that the recognition was ever the goal. The real success of Sarbojanin lies in the way it captures something intangible, the way a festival becomes an anchor, the way a city that once felt foreign starts to feel like home.
What Sarbojanin does best is remind its audience that home is not always something left behind. Sometimes, it is built anew, in borrowed traditions and unexpected friendships, and in the scent of bhog (prasad) served in an unfamiliar city.
