Shadowbox: A Nebulous Tale of Captivity and Resistance

In a literal world, ‘Baksho Bondi’ — Bengali words carrying set meanings — need not exist together. When translated to English, ‘baksho’ means ‘box’ and ‘bondi’ is ‘captive’; both denoting the idea of being boxed up. But then again, in a literal world the verbatim translation of ‘Baksho Bondi’ would be a phrase: captive in a box. Yet first-time directors Tanushree Das and  Saumyananda Sahi forsake precision in favour of interpretation, choosing Shadowbox (Baksho Bondi, 2025), meaning to fight with an imaginary adversary, as the English title, and in doing so, shrink the subjectivity of a person to the objectivity of an experience.

The result is a film that unfolds as an interplay of both titles —imbued with the angst of confinement and the spirit of resistance— while mirroring the ambiguity that comes with it. Maya (Tillotama Shome) lives with her husband and son in Barrackpore, a neighbourhood located at the fringes of Kolkata, a densely populated Indian city. She works constantly although the specificity of her labour takes shape later. She irons clothes and ferries them from door to door on a cycle, and does domestic work for a family. In between, she outlines her husband’s routine and instructs their teenage son Debu to help him with it.

Shadowbox, a Bengali language feature, focusses on Maya’s marriage with Sundar Bisht (Chandan Bisht), a drifter with no source of income. He is a former army officer and suffers from PTSD, resulting in a total dependence on his wife. Contrary to what one might assume, Maya harbours no misgivings towards him; if anything her husband’s helplessness draws out a care in her that seems maternal in its tangibility. Through their portrait of this lopsided partnership the filmmakers bring into focus the steely resolve of Maya, enlivened with defiance.  

The details trickle in. Maya shares a strained relationship with her broader family. Her brother owns a shop and has financial backing. But he hardly talks to her. Sundar’s condition could be a factor and also the fact that Maya, proficient in English — a marker of class in a country like India — is forced to do menial labour to make ends meet. Her mother too is resentful, possibly because of Maya’s decision of staying with someone as fragile as Sundar.

  Shadowbox’s tendency to not portray, arguably, the bigger moments is offset by tight framing and a constant motif of bars, amplifying the confinement of the characters when free; even the dialogues fill in the gaps the film refuses to offer. The discord Maya shares with her brother and mother might seem tethered to one reason but with time, another explanation becomes apparent. Her brother is abrasive and prone to ingratiation, and seeing his sister cornered and not asking for help fuels his frustration and hostility. He perceives her the way everyone else does: as a captive in a box, stranded with an adolescent son and a mentally debilitated husband eager to catch frogs than work for a living.

His contrast with Sundar, a Hindi-speaking timid man vulnerable to blindspots but capable of genuine warmth, not just contextualises Maya’s love for her husband but lends subtext to her choices. Caring for Sundar is a defeatist cause to others but it grants autonomy to Maya – the act akin to shadowboxing and gathering strength to face the world. Her marriage to a man so unlike her kin is her rebellion.

But the upshot of the nebulous space Shadowbox inhabits is a diffused narrative that spawns a plurality of protagonists without offering them a solid ground to stand on. As a result, their stories jostle with each other. Sahi and Das are compelling technicians (he is a cinematographer and she is an editor) and their style of elliptical filmmaking, which eyes the quotidian, is distinctive but restricts the viewers to bystanders even when certain scenes feel primal in their proximity.

As the film draws to a close, the imagery built into the title is literalised with an accident. The metaphors of resilience and subjugation become blatant and manifest in a limp coda that resembles a beginning and an end. Shadowbox trails off suspended between two languages and many worlds. If ambiguity was its intent, it is also its undoing.