The June sun had settled comfortably over the city by the time we arrived at Aqua, the poolside lounge at The Park Kolkata. The blue of the swimming pool almost mirrored the cloudless sky above, and for a moment, it felt like the city had traded its usual frantic rhythm for a slower, almost cinematic pace. After a quick photo session by the water, Jisshu Sengupta and Subhashree Ganguly disappeared into the quieter residential wing of the hotel, still chatting as they walked in. There was no dramatic star entrance, no entourage fussing over last-minute details. Just two actors in relaxed clothes, each carrying a black coffee, ready for an afternoon conversation that would drift effortlessly between cinema, friendships, growing older and the strange beauty of emotional vulnerability.
The easy camaraderie between them is perhaps the first surprise of the afternoon. Abhhiman may only be the second film they’ve worked on together, but watching them interrupt each other mid-sentence, exchange knowing smiles and burst into laughter at the smallest jokes, you’d think they’d shared far more sets over the years. Jisshu is animated, often answering a question before wandering into another anecdote altogether. Subhashree balances him perfectly, quieter but wonderfully observant, often distilling an idea into a sentence so simple that it lingers long after she’s said it.
Their upcoming film, Abhhiman, releasing on June 19, brings together an ensemble led by Prosenjit Chatterjee, Jisshu Sengupta and Subhashree Ganguly. It is a film rooted in music, relationships and the emotional bruises we quietly carry through life. It also marks several important firsts. It is Subhashree’s first collaboration with Prosenjit Chatterjee, or Bumbada as everyone fondly calls him. It reunites Jisshu and Subhashree after years. And it launches Why So Serious?, the production house founded by Jisshu and actor Saurav Das.
Yet before any of those milestones enter the conversation, we wanted to begin with a single word.
Abhhiman. Not anger. Not heartbreak. Something subtler.
Jisshu and Subhashree in a scene from 'Abhhiman'
‘Abhhiman is proof that love exists’
“The film is about abhhiman — that feeling of hurt or emotional resentment. It’s one of the strongest emotions we experience,” Jisshu begins, leaning forward slightly. “It can exist between parents and children, partners, siblings or anyone you love. You only get truly upset with people who are close to you. Recently, I experienced that with my own sister! That’s how relationships are.” It’s an emotion, he explains, that cannot exist without affection. If there’s no love, there’s simply anger.
Subhashree nods before gently offering her own definition. “I don’t think abhhiman has one fixed definition. It’s a feeling. Wherever there’s love, there will always be abhimaan. You only feel it towards someone you trust. I actually think it’s quite a sweet emotion.”
The answer immediately changes the mood of the conversation. Instead of treating abhhiman as something destructive, both actors describe it almost as evidence of emotional intimacy. To be hurt by someone, they seem to suggest, is to have cared deeply enough in the first place.
The discussion naturally shifts to which relationships invite the most emotional vulnerability. Is it friendship? Or love? “I actually think friendships carry the most abhhiman,” says Subhashree without hesitation. “Of course, there’s emotional hurt in romantic relationships too, but that’s a different kind. Friendships somehow make you more vulnerable.”
Jisshu smiles. “I completely agree with Subhashree. In fact, I think abhimaan is one of the ways you measure a relationship. The deeper the abhimaan, the deeper the relationship probably is. I’ve had most of it with my closest friends.” For a film carrying such a title, it’s perhaps fitting that neither actor defines the emotion dramatically. Instead, they speak about it with remarkable tenderness.
Jisshu and Prosenjit Chatterjee in 'Abhhiman'
The story behind the story
The emotional core of Abhhiman may feel deeply personal, but Jisshu is quick to point out that audiences shouldn’t confuse the story with autobiography. “The story is mine, but it has nothing to do with my own life. The idea came to me while I was shooting another film. Rituparno Ghosh, who was like my mentor, had heard the story and was amazed that I had come up with it!”
Although he collaborated closely throughout the filmmaking process, he insists that he wasn’t interested in directing this particular project. Instead, he wanted to protect the story first. “I genuinely feel this is a story audiences haven’t experienced before. It’s a different story. The biggest theme is emotion. Every character is connected. Sometimes they know it, sometimes they don’t. That’s what makes this story different.”
Listening to him, it becomes increasingly obvious that Abhhiman isn’t built around twists or spectacle. It is built around people — the messy, beautiful ways in which lives intersect, often without realising how deeply connected they already are. The film’s musical backdrop only strengthens those emotional threads. “Music is a very, very important part of this film. Music has always been an important part of my life. I still play the drums. Our band is still active. We’re even touring the US.”
In many ways, his character isn’t too far removed from his real self. “I play Rishi Chatterjee. I also play a musician. Music is a part of my character too.” Then, smiling, he addresses one of the biggest assumptions audiences may have. “Bumbada isn’t playing a rockstar. He’s playing a legendary singer from the ‘90s.”
A first with Prosenjit, and a reunion years in the making
For Subhashree, Abhhiman represents more than another film on an already remarkable filmography. It marks her first time sharing screen space with Prosenjit Chatterjee — a collaboration Bengali audiences have waited years to see. She speaks about it with quiet gratitude rather than excitement, acknowledging what it meant to finally work with someone whose career has shaped generations of Bengali cinema. If that is one first, reuniting with Jisshu is another. Interestingly, despite being two of the industry’s most recognisable faces, they have rarely been paired opposite each other.
“We were both in Lawho Gouranger Naam Re, and years ago we did Anjan Dutt’s film together,” Subhashree says. “But honestly, we’ve hardly been paired together. Maybe nobody imagined we’d work as a pair.” Jisshu laughs. “This is really the first big film where audiences will properly see us together. Whether we’re a pair or not... I’ll let the audience decide.” Watching them across the table, the irony isn’t lost. Their comfort with one another feels completely natural, yet they’ve barely shared the screen. Perhaps that unfamiliarity helped. Perhaps it allowed both actors to discover each other afresh.
‘I didn’t know she was this good’
Jisshu has spent nearly three decades acting alongside some of Indian cinema’s most celebrated performers. Which is why what he says next catches even Subhashree off guard. “We’re working together only for the second time. We hardly knew each other before this. She has evolved tremendously as an actor. If you compare where she started to where she is today, it’s an incredible journey. She’s absolutely fabulous. I pray she reaches wherever she wants to in her career.”
Subhashree laughs, visibly embarrassed. But Jisshu isn’t done. “I honestly didn’t know she was this good. I hardly watch films apart from action thrillers, so I wasn’t aware of the work she had been doing.” The compliment makes everyone around the room laugh. “I’ll happily take that as one of my biggest achievements,” Subhashree shoots back. “Jisshuda genuinely doesn’t watch films.” Then she reveals another conversation they’d had during the shoot. “He’s already told me I should start working in other language industries as well.”Jisshu nods. “I mean it.” There is no flattery in his voice. Only conviction.
After a pause, she quietly says, “I think it’s okay to show your emotions. But boundaries are important too.” Jisshu nods in agreement. Then he delivers perhaps the afternoon’s biggest compliment. “There were scenes where I forgot my dialogues because I was just looking at her. I was simply watching her perform. It has happened to me only a handful of times. I’ve worked with Kajol, Deepika Padukone and Vidya Balan. Very few performances make you stop and think, ‘Oh, wow.’ Subhashree did that.”
Subhashree covers her face with her hands for a moment before laughing. “You’ll make me emotional now.” The laughter returns almost instantly. For a film about emotional hurt, there is remarkably little heaviness in the room. Instead, there is admiration. Respect. And the unmistakable feeling that Abhhiman may have reunited two actors just when they were ready to discover each other all over again.
Growing up, letting go and learning to speak your mind
If there was one recurring theme that kept surfacing over the next hour, it was growth. Not the kind measured by box office numbers or awards, but the quieter kind that comes from spending years in an industry, making mistakes, losing people, finding perspective and learning when to protect your peace. Jisshu had already spoken about vulnerability. It was a subject he kept returning to, almost instinctively. Watching Subhashree today, he says, reminds him of a younger version of himself.
“She’s all heart. When you put your heart out there, it’s such a delicate space. I was exactly like her two or three years ago. Not everyone understands your vulnerability. People backstab you. To be more precise, people take advantage of your vulnerability. That’s why she’s strong. She’s learned to create boundaries.”
Subhashree doesn’t disagree. If anything, she seems to understand exactly what he means. “Every six months, someone sitting beside me says exactly the same thing — that I’ve changed so much,” she laughs. “But I’m still a very easy-going person in general. I think it’s okay to show your emotions. Boundaries are there, of course, but that doesn’t mean you stop feeling.”
Perhaps that ability to remain open while also protecting yourself is what both actors identify as the biggest lesson adulthood has taught them. Later, when the conversation circles back to abhhiman in real life, Jisshu jokingly declares, “Neither of us is particularly sulky.” Everyone bursts into laughter. Then he turns unexpectedly philosophical. “I genuinely think you shouldn’t keep abhhiman bottled up inside you. We all worry about cholesterol and sugar, but we happily store resentment in our hearts. Why? If something bothers you, say it. Talk about it. That’s exactly what Subhashree did.”
Subhashree nods immediately. “Artistes are like water,” she says. “They’re usually very simple people. I don’t think abhhiman should stay inside you. It’s much healthier to say what you’re feeling rather than letting it build up.” It is one of those deceptively simple observations that somehow captures the essence of both the film and the people sitting across the table.
‘We were always laughing’
For a film centred around emotional relationships, the atmosphere on set, surprisingly, couldn’t have been lighter. Ask either of them about their favourite memories from shooting Abhhiman and neither reaches for a dramatic anecdote. Instead, both smile. “We were always laughing,” says Subhashree. “We were always having fun.” Jisshu agrees almost instantly.
It is perhaps why their chemistry feels so effortless. There is no sense of trying too hard around each other. Throughout the conversation, they interrupt, tease and occasionally answer questions meant for the other person.
From actor to producer
While Abhhiman tells a story of emotional relationships on screen, it also marks the beginning of an entirely new relationship off screen — that between Jisshu the actor and Jisshu the producer. It is the maiden release from Why So Serious?, the production house he has launched with actor Saurav Das. Asked how he fared in his new role, Subhashree answers before anyone else can. “Full marks,” she says instantly. “But honestly, on set I mostly got actor Jisshu. Saurav handled much more of the production responsibilities.”
Jisshu laughs and happily agrees. Producing, he admits, has humbled him. “Making a film and producing a film — my goodness — it’s a completely different world. You almost feel like you need a psychiatrist, a counsellor or therapy. We didn’t know anything when we started. You only really understand by going through it yourself.” He pauses, smiling at the memory. “It’s been a huge learning experience. It’s very stressful. There are nights when I wake up at three-thirty in the morning. I’m not a morning person. I’m a complete night person.”
The actor who has spent decades walking onto film sets suddenly found himself worrying about budgets, schedules, logistics and hundreds of invisible responsibilities audiences never see.
The transformation
The conversation takes another amusing turn when Saurav Das’s name comes up. Before anyone has finished the question, Jisshu bursts into laughter. “Very bad,” he says dramatically. The story dates back to the Bengal Premier League, where the two first met as fierce competitors rather than future collaborators. Time, however, had other plans.
“Over the last 10 or 11 years, he’s changed completely. Today he’s like my brother. He took on so much responsibility. I became a fanboy. I genuinely admire the journey he’s had over the last five to seven years.”
It’s difficult not to notice how frequently Jisshu speaks about people changing for the better. Whether he is talking about Saurav, Subhashree or himself, he seems deeply interested in transformation.
Direction feels like the next chapter
If producing has given Jisshu Sengupta an entirely new appreciation of filmmaking, directing is the dream that now refuses to leave him alone. The subject comes up almost accidentally. Before Jisshu can answer, Subhashree leans across the table with the certainty of someone making a prediction rather than asking a question. “You didn’t direct this one,” she says with a smile. “But you will soon. You’ll soon be a director.”
He laughs, but there is very little hesitation in his response.
“I didn’t direct this film, but I will. I think it’s time now. It’s become a calling for me. I want to express myself as a director. I’ve worked with directors for almost 30 years. Every film teaches you something new. I’m learning every single day, and that’s why I finally feel ready. I feel I have something of my own to say now.”
Interestingly, what excites him most isn’t calling the shots. It’s creating a better environment for actors. “As an actor, I know where time gets wasted on a film set. If I direct, I know I can save that time and spend more of it with my actors. I’d rather give actors time to perform than waste hours unnecessarily. That’s where I think I can make a difference.”
Subhashree listens with a knowing smile, almost as though she’s heard this speech before. ”You’ll do it,” she says again, matter-of-factly. The conviction in her voice suggests this isn’t encouragement. It’s inevitability.
More than co-stars
For all the conversations around Abhhiman, perhaps the biggest surprise is discovering just how little Jisshu and Subhashree actually knew each other before making the film. Despite having worked in the same industry for years, crossed paths at countless events and shared mutual friends, their interactions had been fleeting. That changed during Abhhiman.
Somewhere between emotional scenes, music rehearsals and long shooting days, admiration quietly turned into friendship. Watching them through the afternoon, it’s easy to understand why. Jisshu is expressive, often speaking in stories rather than sentences. Subhashree has a way of grounding every conversation, offering one thoughtful observation after another without ever trying to dominate the room.
Even when complimented, she redirects the spotlight. When Jisshu insists he hadn’t realised just how accomplished an actor she had become, she laughs and replies, “I’ll happily take that as one of my biggest achievements. Jisshuda genuinely doesn’t watch films.”
Moments later, she casually reveals that he has already been encouraging her to think beyond Bengal. “He’s told me I should start working in other language industries now.” It is a tiny exchange, but one that says plenty about the relationship they seem to have built. Support comes naturally. So does teasing.
The music never really left
It is impossible to spend an afternoon with Jisshu without music entering the conversation. Even before Abhhiman, it had been one of the defining threads of his life. Looking around the hotel almost nostalgically, he smiles.
“I have innumerable memories here. I used to come and listen to live bands at Someplace Else and play here, and today I am promoting Abhhiman here, which is a first for me production-wise, and music plays a huge role in the film. Life has come a full circle!”
Subhashree immediately points out how fitting that feels. “Music has always been such an important part of your life. Now you’ve made a film that’s rooted in music as well.”
The connection isn’t lost on him. In many ways, Abhhiman feels like a meeting point between the different lives he has lived — as an actor, musician, storyteller and now producer.
‘Why so serious?’
As the afternoon edges towards evening, the conversation gradually leaves cinema behind. No one seems in a hurry anymore. The coffees have long since gone cold. The questions become fewer. The answers become more personal. Jisshu leans back and smiles. “Life is actually short. There are already enough problems outside. It’s all about perspective.” Then comes the sentence that explains not only the production house’s name, but perhaps his entire approach to life. “Why so serious?” He laughs.
“Enjoy life. Have a great shoot. Let’s enjoy the shoot we’re doing. We’re actors. We’ll do our work. If I don’t enjoy the process, then I’m not enjoying filmmaking. Let’s enjoy the time we have. Let’s enjoy every moment of our lives.” He pauses, then continues, more softly.
“Let’s enjoy the moment. If I have this moment with her, I want to enjoy it. If I have this moment with you, I want to enjoy it. We don’t know what’s going to happen next.”
Beside him, Subhashree quietly completes the thought. “Perspective. We don’t know.” Earlier in the afternoon, she had spoken about not having regrets, about believing that even life’s disappointments eventually work in our favour.
Now, listening to the two of them together, it becomes obvious that despite approaching life differently, they have arrived at remarkably similar conclusions. One believes in expressing every emotion. The other believes in accepting every outcome. Somewhere in between lies Abhhiman.
Leaving with an emotion
Before we wrap up, I ask Jisshu what he hopes audiences carry home after watching the film. He doesn’t mention box-office numbers. He doesn’t talk about performances. He doesn’t even speak about success.
Instead, he returns to the word that has quietly anchored our entire conversation. “Perspective. The biggest takeaway from this film is perspective. I can guarantee that if someone walks into the theatre with an open heart, they’ll leave with an emotion. If a person in the audience has an ongoing rift with someone, they will want to pick up the phone and fix that rift! I don’t want people to just watch the film. I want them to experience it.”
Outside, the afternoon sun has begun to soften over Park Street. The pool at Aqua glitters a little differently now. Staff members move quietly through the hotel as Calcutta slips into another evening.
Walking out of The Park Kolkata, I find myself thinking about something Subhashree had said much earlier in the conversation.
“Abhhiman is actually quite a sweet feeling.” Perhaps she’s right. After all, resentment only exists where love once found a home.
For a film named after one of the most misunderstood emotions in the Bengali language, Abhhiman isn’t really about anger at all. It’s about trust. About friendships that survive disagreements, families that struggle to say what they feel, artists who learn to wear their vulnerability with pride, and people who discover that growing older often means letting go without letting love disappear. And maybe that’s why this afternoon never felt like a routine promotional interview.
It felt like sitting across two people who have learnt — through success, setbacks, changing relationships and changing selves — that life is far too unpredictable to spend holding on to resentment. Or, as Jisshu would put it with a grin before taking the last sip of his black coffee: “Why so serious?”
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