The April sun slanted low and golden across the room at Offbeat CCU, warming the polished wooden floor and casting long shadows that drifted lazily across the furniture. From the window, the EM Bypass unfurled in the near distance — a steady artery of honking cars and restless movement. Beyond it, the Hooghly river shimmered in the haze, languid and knowing, as if it too had a memory or two tucked away beneath its surface.
Ishaa Saha sat perched on the bed laden with white sheets, legs folded neatly beneath her in a checkered dress that cheekily nodded to the homophone in her film’s title. She was in an easy, reflective mood and laughed when it was pointed out — “Well, I had to match the film, didn’t I? Check In Cheque Out, after all.”
The film in question, her latest, is anything but typical. Check In Cheque Out — a play on the hotel term and the monetary ‘cheque’ — is as much about ghosts as it is about generations, legacy, and the quiet burden of responsibility. Ishaa plays the daughter of a once-proud hotel-owning family, returning from abroad to confront a crumbling property, absent father, and the possibility of finally letting go — or perhaps, being pulled back in.
She looked out at the afternoon light and the thick traffic below. “It’s funny, I never imagined myself in a horror film,” she said softly. “Not because I was against it, just… it never came up. But this wasn’t like anything I’d read before. It’s eerie, yes, but it’s emotional too. There’s loss, family tension, memory. You don’t always need a ghost with messy hair to be afraid of something. When Satrajitda (Sen) approached me with it, I said that I needed time. First, because of the genre and second, most of the team is fairly new. The set was expectedly busy, chaotic and bubbling with fresh energy. I am so glad I agreed!”
Her character — distant, introspective, reluctant to re-engage with the life she left behind — was an easy skin to slip into. “She’s come back from bidesh, yes,” Ishaa said with a grin. “But you don’t have to be from London to understand what it means to feel out of place or unheard in your own home. Sometimes your family becomes a kind of haunted house, no?”
There’s a line in the film where her character — confronted with the mounting pressure to sell the family’s century-old hotel — quietly asks, “And what happens to the stories in the walls?” It stuck with her long after the cameras stopped rolling. “We all inherit things we didn’t ask for,” she mused. “Money, trauma, expectations, keys to rooms we never entered. This film holds that idea close.”
Despite the character’s deep connection to her family’s past, Ishaa couldn’t imagine herself running a hotel in real life. “Absolutely not,” she laughed, shaking her head emphatically. “I struggle with my present schedule itself. Running a hotel sounds like pure stress for me. Bookings, plumbing, guests — and imagine if there was an actual ghost? I’d be the first one to sell and move back home.”
Still, there’s something deeply cinematic about old hotels, she admitted. The empty lobbies, the faded wallpaper, the lingering smell of polish and damp history. “They hold energy,” she said, “good and bad. People pass through them, leave parts of themselves behind. A hotel is like a family — some doors stay locked for a reason.”
Filming took place at Novotel Kolkata Hotel & Residences, one that wrote its own character without a script. Ishaa remembered how warm the stay for around 10 days was at the property, as the team was set up in rooms. A foodie at heart, she loved the hospitality. The character’s look was deliberately pared back — simple saris, minimal make-up, a deliberate choice to contrast the polished surface of typical horror heroines and to replicate a staff in a real-life Calcutta hotel. “It had to feel grounded,” she said. “Like someone who’s just stepped off a long-haul flight and walked into a memory she tried to forget. No gloss. Just layers of fatigue and familiarity. I did not exactly take inspiration from anyone because I haven’t met a woman general manager of a Calcutta hotel yet!”
Even among her diverse body of work, this film stands out. “It’s not showy,” she said. “There are no dramatic speeches. No melodrama. It’s a fun film. A thrilling burn that lingers.” She paused, smiling slightly. “Also, I have to say, I love that the horror isn’t just about the supernatural. It’s about business. About money. About how we treat old things — whether it’s property or people. That’s the real ghost, I think. Greed. Guilt. Grief.”
When asked if she’s ever had a real-life brush with the paranormal, she shook her head. “No,” she said slowly, “nothing I can say for sure. However, we were once shooting at a very old property somewhere around Calcutta. The stillness of early morning call times, how the corridors echo even when no one speaks. You start imagining things, you know? A door moves a little, and suddenly you’re alert. A draft brushes past your neck, and your heart jumps. You know it’s nothing, but it feels like something. One of my co-stars even scared me with a story and I couldn’t sleep that night even with the lights on! Also, since childhood, I have believed that if the lights are off, I cannot see the ghost, so they cannot see me either,” she added, chuckling. “But I’ve met people who’ve given me more chills than any ghost ever could.”
She spoke with affection about her co-stars, especially Ratul Shankar playing her grandfather. “He returns on screen after such a long period and he has brought such gravitas to the scenes. It is like a swimmer never forgets swimming, no matter how long they have been out of water. I was cast first and then Ratulda; the evident royalty just reflects on his face.” Talking about how her fans will receive the film, she shrugged, playful again. “They might be a little surprised. They’re used to seeing me as the girl-next-door or the love interest. This one’s different. It’s lonelier. But maybe they’ll see a part of themselves in her — the version that wants to run but ends up staying.”
The Hooghly continued to glint behind her as the afternoon wore on, the sun beginning its slow dip into the horizon. Ishaa glanced at the time and sighed. Another meeting, another commitment. But she lingered a moment longer, letting the silence settle. “I think that’s what I liked most about this film,” she said finally. “It reminded me that spaces hold stories. And sometimes, even if you don’t want to listen… they find a way to speak. It’s a film about space — about the places you grow up in and the ones you try to escape. Sometimes, they find ways to call you back.” A pause, and then with the signature half-smile, “Also... there’s a decent jump scare or two. But I won’t tell you when.” She stood, brushing down her dress, ready to re-enter the noise of the day. But for a brief moment, in that quiet room with its chequered shadows and river-view melancholy, it was easy to believe that some stories really do stay behind — waiting patiently, between “check-in” and “check out”.
