The metro screeched past the fourth-floor window of Babumoshai — The Modern Indian Bistro every few minutes, slicing through the lazy afternoon hum of the city. Inside, over his black coffee and my cappuccino, Abir Chatterjee looked surprisingly fresh for someone in the middle of promotions, dubbing memories, interviews and the chaos surrounding the release of Saptadingar Guptodhon.
The last time we had met was on the shooting floor of the same film, before the team had left for the Sundarbans. Back then, there had been the anticipation of an adventure waiting to unfold. This time, there was calmness. Confidence. The easy familiarity of someone stepping back into the world of a character he has now inhabited for almost a decade. “It’s after all, Sonada,” Abir smiled. “It’s a special film for me, for the team, especially because of the love we get from the young audience. From almost infants to young adults — everyone.”
Directed by Dhrubo Banerjee, the fourth chapter in the wildly popular Guptodhon franchise takes history professor Subarna Sen aka Sonada deep into the dangerous terrains of the Sundarbans alongside Abir and Jhinuk, played once again by Arjun Chakrabarty and Ishaa Saha. The trailer already promises tiger territory, crocodile-infested waters, hidden treasure, dark caves, forest brigands, gun violence and a perilous expedition rooted in Bengal’s forgotten myths and history. Abir was invested in discussing why the franchise emotionally works. “There is too much content today,” he said. “Too much information everywhere. I’ve learnt you cannot force anything. Let the content grow first. Let the audience react first. People already love Sonada. Why should we force unnecessary things? It’s not important how I get out of my car or whether I’m having black coffee. We have enough content already. I have confidence in the film.” Then, laughing, he lifted the exact black coffee he had just dismissed as irrelevant.
The Sundarbans schedule, naturally, became one of the biggest talking points. The trailer of Saptadingar Guptodhon, which releases in theatres across the country on May 15, positions the adventure as the franchise’s most dangerous one yet, but Abir repeatedly returns to responsibility. “We planned the shoot very carefully,” he said. “I should really thank the production and directorial team. Joydeepda, who is part of our team and works in tiger conservation, guided us from the scripting stage itself. Dhrubo asked him which areas we could shoot in without disturbing the ecology, without disturbing the animals, without entering risky zones. If it is Sonada, we have to be more responsible because Sonada himself stands for responsibility,” Abir explained.
Yet for all the seriousness around permissions and ecological caution, the memories Abir carried back from the shoot were unexpectedly tender. “The fun this time was very subtle,” he said. “Arjun, Ishaa and I were also catching up with each other... after four years, a lot has changed in life. Arjun was in Mumbai for a long time, we weren’t meeting regularly. So while shooting, we were also rediscovering the new versions of ourselves.”
That maturity, according to him, quietly seeped into the film’s emotional fabric. “By now, Sonada, Abir and Jhinuk know each other completely. They know each other’s spaces. Earlier, maybe Sonada would constantly lecture them or react dramatically, but now there’s comfort. There’s trust. Everything is more undertone. You don’t need extra effort anymore once you truly know someone. It’s like any relationship — friendship, family, romance. After a point, you stop performing. You just exist comfortably. That happened in this film also.”
And then, grinning suddenly, he added the real chaos of the set: Kaushik Ganguly. “People know Kaushikda as this very serious intellectual filmmaker. But there’s also a very different side to Kaushikda. He’ll say one tiny line with the straightest face possible and we’ll completely lose our minds laughing while the rest of the crew has no clue what just happened.”
Watching Abir speak about Sonada after four films is fascinating because the distinction between actor and character now feels instinctive rather than deliberate. “By now I know what Sonada is,” he said. “The demarcation isn’t like — this is Sonada, this is Byomkesh, this is another character. At the end of the day, it’s me playing all of them. A part of me exists inside every character and I also take things away from them.” But Sonada, according to him, remains the gentlest version of himself. “I’m not as sweet as Sonada,” he laughed.
“Young kids think I’m exactly like him, but I’m not. Sonada is too good.” The fourth film, however, introduces subtle changes to the beloved professor-adventurer. The audience has already noticed the stubble in posters — unusual for the usually neat and composed Sonada. “There’s a reason behind that,” Abir teased. “After 10 or 15 minutes into the film people will understand.” More than appearance, though, he believes the character has emotionally evolved. “There’s a laid-back confidence in him now,” he explained.
“Earlier, Sonada would constantly monitor Abir and Jhinuk. Now he trusts them. He gives them space. Even while dubbing I realised there’s a certain ease in him this time. It wasn’t even fully intentional. It just came naturally. Maybe because after all these years, even Sonada knows himself better.”
That instinctive understanding also means improvisation now comes more freely on set. “Dhrubo told us during this film — ‘I don’t need to explain Sonada, Abir and Jhinuk to you anymore. You know these characters better now. You tell me what they would do.’ That freedom helped immensely.” And unlike actors who obsessively revisit their own performances, Abir admits he barely watches his films after release. “I need distance from my work,” he said thoughtfully. “Too much attachment isn’t good for me or for the film. I need objectivity. Otherwise, I become overtly possessive and then I cannot judge things properly.”
What has made the Guptodhon franchise culturally significant, however, goes beyond adventure. Somewhere between treasure hunts, history lessons and humour, Sonada has become one of Bengali cinema’s rare modern family heroes. Abir sees that impact most strongly through children. “You cannot fool young audiences,” he said firmly. “And you cannot force them either. Their reactions are completely filterless. If they don’t like something, they’ll say it immediately.”
He recalled a recent school visit where students had prepared extensively around the franchise. “I was honestly overwhelmed,” he admitted. “The amount of research they had done, the rehearsals, the effort — I told them, ‘You probably know more about these films now than we do. It’s your film now.’”
That sense of responsibility towards younger audiences shapes even the smallest creative choices. “From the very first film, we decided Sonada would never smoke,” Abir revealed. “You know how detectives often solve mysteries and then light a cigarette dramatically? We didn’t want that. Similarly, once there was a scene where the trio was escaping on a bike without helmets. I immediately asked — ‘How can Sonada do that?’ We dropped the scene.” He paused before adding quietly, “These sound like very small things. But this is what Sonada stands for. High morals without being preachy.” More importantly, Abir believes the films have reignited curiosity about Bengal’s history and identity among younger viewers. “Bangaliana doesn’t only mean wearing dhuti-panjabi or eating fish,” he said. “It’s a mindset. A cultural confidence. And there’s also an innocence in these films that many adults miss in their own lives. Older people watch these films and for two hours they become children again.”
In an entertainment landscape dominated by globally consumed spectacle, Abir knows Bengali cinema is constantly fighting an uphill battle. But he sounded strangely energised by the challenge. “Our limitations force us to innovate,” he said. “Necessity is the mother of invention for Bengali cinema. If we don’t have certain resources, then we have to become smarter creatively. Bengali cinema should still look and feel like Bengali cinema. At the same time, audiences are now exposed to world entertainment, so balancing those two things is difficult.” He admitted that sometimes the industry fails at striking that balance. “Most of the time we may fail,” he shrugged honestly. “But we’ll keep trying. At least for Sonada we’ll keep trying.”
Outside, another metro roared past the window, momentarily drowning conversation. Abir glanced at it and smiled faintly. He spoke about travelling in the old metro as a child, long before fame and film sets entered his life. The city outside has changed since then. Audiences have changed too. Attention spans are shorter, algorithms louder, and spectacle far more demanding. Yet somewhere in the middle of that chaos, a quietly intelligent Bengali history professor searching for lost treasure still manages to hold attention. Perhaps sincerity itself has become rare. Perhaps because nostalgia still survives. Or perhaps because, as Abir put it before finishing the last sip of his coffee, “There’s an innocence we’ve all lost. When people watch these films, they get a little bit of that back."