Kalyani Natyacharcha Kendra is that rarity among Bengali groups who believe in the international norm of inviting critics on opening night. Actually, in London and New York, critics are called to previews, so that their reviews appear in the media on the day of the premiere or immediately after, which does grant them the unfortunate power of making or breaking a show. Indian practice is to invite our tiny tribe (if at all) only when the production has “settled in” after a few weeks, perhaps months — suggesting that it remains undercooked during that period.

The Kendra’s break from custom does not automatically raise the quality of their work, but it does indicate their confidence in themselves. It just so happens that their latest, Tritiya Arekjan, may well rank as their best so far, in my opinion, recommended all the more highly because, located in Kalyani, they do not get enough dates in Calcutta, and because the playwright, Samir Dasgupta, is not exactly a household name to pull in the crowds. He takes an enormous risk in Bengali theatre by writing a two-hander, bucking the convention of a moderate-sized cast and depending so heavily on just two actors for nearly two hours without any other distraction. Under Kishore Sengupta’s nuanced direction, the young pair of Turna Das and Himadri Sekhar Dey (picture) deliver the goods impeccably.

They enact a couple married for eight years, he a college lecturer who spends long hours at a press after work, she a homemaker who helps him by copying out his articles in fair. Despite his education, he does not allow her to take a job or to continue with her talent in dance. Cooped up in these conditions, she finds some light when a former college-mate revives their old friendship. Her husband feels betrayed because she does not tell him. The plot develops unexpectedly with alternate takes, for instance at the interval when the actors step out of their roles to state that the drama could go a different route.

For reasons obvious by now, Tritiya Arekjan deals with female self-fulfilment, something we cannot take for granted even in our times. Echoes of Ibsen’s Doll’s House reverberate, from larger happenings that I must not reveal to the use of words like putul and phrases like gan gaoya chhotto pakhi amar (“my little songbird”). Of course, the differences stand out; Ibsen gave Nora children to make it very difficult for her to leave.

Das and Dey share a chemistry that leads to volatile interaction. She gives her finest performance to date, calibrating characterization perfectly to match the shifting ground beneath her feet, changing volume and modulation, physically expressing everything between joy and disillusionment, subsequently questioning and protesting. Sengupta capitalizes on her singing and dancing skills as well. The husband’s part being totally unsympathetic, Dey cannot hope to win our hearts, but he portrays the boor —and sometimes the beast — in civilized man’s garb very credibly. His English pronunciation, however, needs to improve, particularly as he teaches Othello in class and quotes from it (another fitting dramatic allusion). While Hiran Mitra’s rope rig on the forestage cleverly conveys entrapment, the nondescript furniture does not add anything to his set. Still, the last word: don’t miss this play.

Cut to an old couple equally confined but devoted to one another in Sudrak’s Dahananta, facing a society devoid of values. Their son in Oklahoma and daughter in Delhi have their own families and as little to do with their parents as possible, except for the property, which they want promoted. The ailing seniors pine for their other son, an idealistic extremist killed in an encounter. Dramatist-director Debasis Majumdar has composed a commonplace scenario, variations of which have occupied similar dramas for over twenty years.

We can understand the ordinariness of the situation, the depiction of all-round social deterioration and the familiar troubles that hit individual lives. But enough septuagenarian role models of activity exist for us not to have to succumb to the melancholia of isolation. The bleak finale contrasts with, for example, Rangroop’s Mayer Mato, dramatized by Mohit Chattopadhyaya from Kabita Sinha’s story. If nothing else, with actors of the calibre of Debshankar Halder and Indrani Moitra, Majumdar should aspire to tragedy, not have to plumb sentimentality.